“They are fast acting, but not addictive.”
“All right. I’ll give them a try.”
Chapter 4
Eight weeks later . . .
It was the night of the Tampa Hospital’s Auction. The media attention promoting the event was astronomical. Once the news of the auction hit the local newspapers and magazines, her neighbors on Sunset Boulevard came by Layla’s house and called her to see what they could donate. They also complimented her on taking the initiative to help the hospital raise money for the oncology department. Layla and Damien had been interviewed by a local TV station. A photographer and reporter from an online society blog site had also come by their house to interview them and take pictures.
Items that were donated for the auction attracted collectors and antiquers from up and down the East Coast. One of the donors was a ninety-eight-year-old woman from Palm Beach who was filthy rich. She also had stage-four cancer. She didn’t have long to live, and she didn’t have any family members to leave her fortune to. Because of the auction’s high-profile publicity, she had decided to donate five million dollars to the hospital’s oncology department and some of her antiques to the auction. One of the pieces was a picture of Elizabeth Taylor with her autograph at the bottom. She also donated a necklace that the famous actress had owned. The stage-four cancer patient had obtained the necklace from a Christie’s auction. She got the autographed photo from Ms. Taylor herself when vacationing in the south of France. She was married to Richard Burton at the time.
Layla was able to host the event at the Tampa Palms Country Club. She and Damien were members, but she had only been there once. Damien would only go if one of the other doctors at the hospital or at the medical building where his private office was located invited him to lunch or to play golf.
Social hour started ten minutes ago. Layla and Damien made the rounds. At least forty percent of the attendees were from out of town. Almost everyone from Sunset Boulevard was there along with the crème de la crème of Tampa.
Carlton and Amanda Quinn approached them. They lived on Sunset Boulevard.
“Damien, Layla, smashing event,” Carlton said with a big smile.
“Yes, I believe this will be the nicest charity event we’ve had here in a long time,” Amanda stated.
“Thank you, Amanda. All the credit goes to my illustrious wife,” Damien replied with pride.
Layla beamed. “Oh, honey, you’re giving me too much credit,” she said bashfully. She was glad that social hour was going well, but they had to get through the auction and the dinner afterward. Even though the caterer that she hired had an excellent reputation, she was still nervous about how everything would go. All she could do was not show her anxiety and keep smiling.
“I’m sure you deserve every bit of praise, Layla. I was hoping that we could set up a play date next week. Our son is a year younger than your daughter, but I’m sure they’ll get along,” Amanda said.
Layla’s eyebrows arched with surprise. This was the first time that anyone in the neighborhood extended an invitation to set up a play date. The only time Keisha got to play with other kids is when Layla took her to the park at the end of the cul-de-sac or to the park in the city. “Oh, yes, of course. That sounds great.”
“Wonderful,” Amanda said as he pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “Let’s exchange numbers.”
Layla took out her cell phone, and the ladies exchanged digits.
“Darling, let’s get a refill. Damien, let’s get together for a game of golf next week,” Carlton said.
“That sounds fine,” Damien replied.
They said their goodbyes to the couple.
Layla looked at Damien. “Wow,” she whispered.
“Yeah, I know. I think your plan has worked. With that being said, I better start brushing up on my golf game.”
They both chuckled.
****
Alec Peterson walked down the stairs to enter the room. Everyone was dressed to the nines. His partner and best friend, Bruce Styles, was already working through the crowd. They thought they would cover more ground by splitting up despite the fact that they were doing an unofficial investigation.
Four years had passed since he saw her last. He had thought she was dead. That he had failed her. Bruce had thought it was a coincidence that Layla Miles, up and coming socialite, was the long-lost Lana Murphy when Alec had shown him the article on the Tampa Bay Society website. The conversation they had two weeks ago played in Alec’s mind as he maneuvered around the crowd.
“Everyone has a double out there, Alec. There’s no way it is her,” Bruce said.
“It has to be her. A man doesn’t forget a woman like Lana Murphy,” Alex countered.
“Yes, she’s gorgeous, but it can’t be her.”
“A grown woman doesn’t disappear into thin air.”
“Well, she did. I’m sorry, Alec. I know you cared for her, but deep down, you know that she is probably at the bottom of the Hudson.”
“I just need to be sure.”
“Our supervisor isn’t going to approve an investigation on a hunch and a woman who looks like a dead witness.”
Alec stared at the family photo that was attached to the online article. “It’s okay. I’ll go it alone if I have to. I’m just going to go to the event to make sure it isn’t her.”
“All right, but I’m not letting you go alone. We’re partners, and you might need a friend there with you.”
Alec walked to the bar and ordered a rum and Coke. He was thankful that the drinks were free for social hour. There was no way he could afford a drink in this place. Once he got his beverage, he surveyed the room. Some of the items up for auction were in display cases. He was handed a program that listed the items. He almost choked on his salvia when he saw the minimum bids for some of the pieces.
He could see the top of Bruce’s dark-haired head moving through the crowd toward him. It was hard for him to squeeze through tight spaces because of his bulky frame. “Hey,” he said as he approached Alec. He was holding a glass filled with clear liquid. It was more than likely a gin, Bruce’s drink of choice.
“Did you see her?” Alec asked.
Bruce cleared his throat. He had known Bruce since undergrad. Alec knew when Bruce had something important to tell him that might shake things up. “Okay, first you have to promise me that you won’t go off half-cocked in this place.”
“Why?”
“Just promise,” he repeated in a slightly demanding tone.
“Okay, Dad,” Alec enunciated sarcastically. “I promise. Now, what is it?”
“I think you’re right. Layla Miles could really be Lana.”
“What?” he said loudly.
A few people turned to look at him.
“Keep your voice down. Where do you think we are? The twelfth street bar? You promised not to get upset.”
“No, I promised not to go off half-cocked. Now, tell me what you found out.”
“Well, I spotted her with the man in the picture, her husband, Damien. She’s a little older and her face is a bit fuller, but I think it’s her. To be certain, I walked over to the waiter they were getting a glass of champagne from. I introduced myself and said I wanted to meet the couple who organized the auction.”
“What did she say? How did she react to seeing you again?”
“Well, that’s the weird part. It was like she had no idea who I was. I could see it in her eyes. She shook my hand like she was truly meeting me for the first time. That’s what made me doubt it was really her. Then she spoke. She sounds the same,” Bruce explained.
“She had to be pretending for her husband’s sake. We need to talk to her alone. Show me where you last saw her.”
They walked through the crowd, trying to blend in and act like they attended these types of functions all the time.
Alec stopped in his tracks. There she was, in a sky-blue gown that hugged her body. He’d recognize her anywhere. Bruce was right. She was curvier now t
han she was four years ago. Her light skin glowed and her dark, urban hair was in a French twist. She was talking to a man that looked like he worked for the country club. Alec quickly scanned their surroundings. He spotted her husband a few feet away chatting with a group of men. “This is our chance. Let’s approach her.”
Before they could move, the last person Alec wanted to see near her walked up to her.
“Oh shit,” Bruce said.
Alec was stunned. How the hell did he find out she was in Tampa? And so quickly? He took a step, but before he could move any closer, Bruce put his hand on his shoulder.
“Wait. We can’t make a scene, and we can’t take a chance on him seeing you,” Bruce said. “Turn around.”
“What if–?”
“He’s not crazy enough to cause a scene here or try to kidnap her at the moment. There are too many people who will notice that she’s missing,” he reasoned.
Alec turned around to hide his face.
“Good. I’ll keep watch. Just act natural, like we are having a leisurely conversation.”
“I know what to do, Bruce. I’m not a newb at this,” Alec sneered in a whispered tone.
Chapter 5
Two African American men approached her. The man was bald, and he had a mustache and a goatee that framed his face perfectly. He was a few inches taller than her, and he had an average frame. He gave her a polite, yet small smile. She and Damien had shaken hands with the man behind him a few minutes earlier. He had introduced himself as Hugo Mitchell. He had told them about his grandmother who died of cancer, and he and his cousin came from New York to attend the event. They were entrepreneurs and philanthropists. Hugo was a good name for the man because he was huge in height and weight. He had a round afro that looked like it has been freshly cut for the occasion. Both of their tuxes fitted them to a tee.
“Mrs. Miles,” Hugo began. “This is my cousin. Carter Mitchell.”
“Layla Miles,” she said with a smile and extended her hand to him.
Carter’s grin widened as he took her hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Miles.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.
It surprised her, but she appreciated a gentlemen. However, she did not appreciate him undressing her with his eyes – even though it made a jolt of excitement run through her veins. “Your cousin tells me you two came from New York for the event. I know news of the auction had reached Virginia, but I had no idea anyone from New England would attend.”
“Oh, yes. You see, Hugo and I have devoted all of our charitable resources to fighting cancer. Our grandmother had it. She fought it off the first time, but when it came back, she was too old to defeat it again. Her death really affected us,” Carter explained.
“Yes, Hugo told me about your grandmother. When did she die?”
“Two years ago,” Carter answered. “My only regret was that I couldn’t fulfill one of her final wishes.”
“Oh? What was that?” she asked.
“For her to see my fiancée again . . . well, my ex-fiancée. Grandma was crazy about my Lana. I tried to find her, but it was like she disappeared into thin air,” Carter said as he stared into her eyes.
“Oh, that’s terrible. Did you ever call the police?”
“Oh no,” Carter said quickly. Then he paused for a moment, like he was studying her. “I . . . came home one day, and she was gone . . . along with her things. I guess she changed her mind about marrying me and couldn’t tell me face to face.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, but I think things will start looking up in the love department real soon.”
“I’m sure it will. You’re an attractive man,” Layla said. She wasn’t just saying that to be polite either.
“Thank you, and may I say you are a beautiful woman. Your husband is a lucky man.”
She giggled. “Well, thank you.”
“We better go into the ballroom and find our seats. I came a long way for the food and the auction. I don’t want to miss anything,” Carter said.
“Of course, and the food should be excellent. The best caterer in the city donated his services.”
“How generous of him. I hope to see you again soon, Mrs. Miles.”
“I hope so, Mr. Mitchell.”
****
Carter and Hugo Mitchell slowly walked into the ballroom. The oval tables were decorated with white tablecloths and crystal water and wine glasses. They looked for their table number.
“She’s never been that good of an actress,” Carter said. “You were right, Hugo. She has no idea who we were.”
“I told ya,” Hugo stated.
“What do you think happened?” Carter asked as he glanced around at the tables as they walked.
“I don’t know. When I talked to her the first time, she was with her husband. I asked her if either one of them had lived in New York. They said no. I asked them how they met. The husband answered that question. He said they met at a coffee shop in DC.”
“DC?” Carter repeated with confusion.
“Yeah, she didn’t say a word. She just smiled and nodded as the guy was telling me their love story. Apparently, it was love at first sight.”
“Pssh, maybe from his end, but the woman I knew wouldn’t fall for a loser like that,” Carter sneered.
“How do you know he’s a loser? He’s obviously well respected, and he’s a doctor. He’s got to be loaded. Did you see the jewelry she was wearing?”
They found their table and sat down. “Yeah, but I can tell how that guy carries himself that he is off. However, this is the best thing that could happen. Deep down, you know I never really wanted her dead.”
“I know,” Hugo said.
“And since she has no memory of us, she can’t squeal to the cops or the FBI,” Carter said.
“That’s even better,” Hugo stated.
****
The staff was moving the display cases out of the social hour space. They were going to take the items to the back of the ballroom and then wheel them out as each item was announced for bidding. Layla walked around the crowd, politely accepting everyone’s compliments on the evening. It was ten minutes before the auction in the ballroom, and she was trying to find Damien so they could take their seats. She wanted to show a united front when they entered the ballroom.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Miles,” a male voice said.
She turned around and saw the dark-haired white man who had chatted with her and Damien thirty minutes earlier. A man who had hair color of a light-brown wicker basket and pale-blue eyes looked at her with his lips parted like he had never seen a woman before in his life. He was an inch or so taller than her. Despite the odd way he was looking at her, she noticed that he was cute.
“Um, Mr., um. I’m sorry. I know we just spoke moments before, but I can’t remember your name.”
“Bruce Styles,” he said politely.
“Yes, please forgive me. I’ve met so many new people this evening that I’m starting to lose track,” she said as she struggled not to stare at Mr. Styles’s companion.
“I understand. I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Alec Peterson.”
She looked at him. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you live in Tampa, too?” She did remember that Mr. Styles said he lived in Tampa.
“Yes. It’s nice to–” He stopped and glared at her. Then he slowly leaned into her personal space. “You don’t have to speak. Just shake your head,” he whispered. “Do you know who I am?”
She was so taken aback by the question that she answered verbally anyway. “No,” she said quickly.
His nearly blonde eyebrows rose. He was absolutely stunned.
Her mouth dropped open. Was this man someone from her past? “Should I?”
“I . . . I,” he stuttered.
“Have we met before?” she asked with intensity. If she had met this man before her accident, he could tell her things that she had long forgotten.
“My god,” he whispered a
s he stood straight again. “You really don’t remember.”
Layla glanced over Mr. Peterson’s shoulder. Damien was standing at one of the ballroom doors motioning for her to come along. She put her finger in the air indicating she would be over in a minute. Mr. Peterson noticed this and looked to where she was motioning to.
“My husband is calling me, so I don’t have much time. What I’m about to tell you . . . please be discrete about it. I don’t want to disrupt our surroundings.”
“We understand,” Mr. Styles replied in a serious tone.
“Four years ago, I was in a bad accident. When I woke up, I had no memory. I didn’t even know my name,” she whispered.
“You’re kidding,” Mr. Peterson mumbled with an aghast expression.
“I wish I were,” Layla said as she looked past his shoulder again.
Damien was looking at her as he was tapping his watch.
Layla nodded at him and turned her attention back to Mr. Peterson. “Look, we can’t talk about it now. Let’s exchange phone numbers,” she breathed frantically as she fumbled in her handbag for her cell.
“Exchange numbers?” he repeated.
“Yes,” she confirmed. And then she dropped her purse. A few things spilled out on the carpet. Luckily, her cell screen wasn’t damaged, but she was more concerned about people seeing the anxiety pills that Dr. Samuelson had prescribed to her two weeks ago. She snatched them up before Mr. Peterson knelt to help her.
“Are you all right?” he asked with concern.
“Yes,” she said as she quickly gathered the rest of her things off the carpet. “It’s just that I have never met anyone from my past since it happened.” She stood.
Mr. Peterson did the same.
“Did we know each other before I got married?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” he answered with a conviction that was undeniable.
“Please give me your number,” she pleaded. “We can meet in a few days and talk. I have so many questions.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry, but I think it is best that you just forge ahead. And . . . be careful of who you speak to in the future,” Mr. Peterson said.
Blank Slate Page 3