Deadly Memories

by Joanne Fluke

  Maura smiled, and nodded. Secretly, she was relieved. Dinner had been tense, and she thought she knew why. Steve’s date, a very nice female doctor, had been called away on an emergency during the salad course. The moment she’d left, and it had just been the three of them, the tension had started to build.

  It was clear that Keith resented her close relationship with Steve, a relationship which seemed to have survived her memory loss. And even though Maura had tried to treat Keith as a loving wife would treat her husband, calling him “honey” and “dear,” he must have noticed that there was no real warmth in her voice.

  “You’re quiet tonight, Maura.” Steve turned to her the moment Keith left the table. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Not really. It’s just difficult finding myself married to Keith, and not being able to remember why I married him, or whether or not we had a good marriage.”

  Steve nodded. “You don’t feel close to him anymore?”

  “He’s a stranger. I don’t really know him at all. The memories are gone and love is . . . well . . . I’m just not sure. Do you know if I loved him?”

  Steve looked vaguely uncomfortable. “I assume you did. You married him.”

  “You must have seen us together. Did we look as if we were in love?”

  Steve took a deep breath and let it out again. “Look, Maura. I’m not the right person to judge something like that.”

  “But you’re the only one I can ask!” Maura tried not to look as upset as she felt. “You spent a lot of time with us, didn’t you?”

  “No. I did my best to leave you alone.”

  “But why?” Maura was confused. “I thought you were my friend?”

  “Let’s just say I had some personal problems. And you had your own life as Mrs. Keith Thomas. I didn’t want to interfere. That’s why I left you alone.”

  “But you’re back in my life now?”

  Steve hesitated for a long moment. And then he reached out to take her hand. “Look, Maura . . . I really don’t know whether I’m doing you a favor or not, but yes . . . I’m back.”

  * * *

  Jan unlocked the door and motioned for Hank to follow her to the kitchen. “Let’s get some Cokes and carry them out to the patio. It’s warm out tonight, and we can sit by the pool.”

  “Are you sure that’s all right?” Hank looked a little nervous. “I mean, your mother’s not home and we’re here alone.”

  “No, we’re not.” Jan pushed open the kitchen door and reached down to catch the furry ball that hurled out of his basket. “Cappy’s here, and that means Nita’s around here somewhere. Besides, Mom’s met you and she won’t mind. Trust me.”

  Hank nodded. “Okay. I just didn’t want to do anything wrong. I like your mom and I’d feel bad if she got mad at me.”

  “She won’t.” Jan handed Cappy to him and took several cans of Coke from the refrigerator. “Cappy can go outside, too. We can keep an eye on him while we read the rest of the notebook.”

  It didn’t take long to get settled at a table, and Jan lit the lantern she’d brought out with her. “Do you want to read, or shall I?”

  “You read, I’ll listen.” Hank smiled at her. “I like the sound of your voice.”

  “Thanks. Okay, here goes . . .

  “‘There were tears in my eyes as I listened to their words of praise. He’d been a brave man, a good man, and he’d made them proud. They were glad the woman had escaped but it was a pity she couldn’t attend his funeral to pay her final respects. What kind of world was it when his own wife wasn’t allowed at his funeral?’”

  “His wife?” Hank shivered slightly. “The woman who’s watching from the trees . . . is she his wife?”

  Jan nodded. “I think so, but I don’t know for sure. Maybe she says.

  “‘One man is the leader of the group. He is taller and slightly older than the rest. I hear him tell them to gather more firewood and they split up to ski off into the woods. The older man stays behind and he beckons to me.

  “‘Trees whirl past as I ski rapidly down the hill. And his arms open as I approach. He holds me for a moment, patting my back, and then he gestures toward a wooden shack at the edge of the clearing. There are tears in his eyes as he takes my arm and escorts me there. I slip off my skis, open the door, and then I am inside.

  “‘The shack is cold. Icy cold. And there is a bundle on the bench, wrapped in blankets. I pull off my mittens and fold down the blankets, gazing down through a blur of tears at his dear face. His eyes are open.’”

  Jan shuddered and handed the notebook to Hank. Her hands were trembling. “You read. I think I’m going to cry.”

  Hank cleared his throat, and took up the story. “ ‘He has startling blue eyes, blond hair, and a rugged face. Even now, his color hasn’t faded. He is deeply tanned, and he looks physically fit, my handsome lover.

  “‘I reach down to touch his lips, the lips that kissed me only hours ago. Warm lips that are cold now, as cold as death.’”

  Tears began to gather in Jan’s eyes, and Hank reached in his pocket to offer her his handkerchief. Jan gave him a tremulous smile of thanks, and he read on.

  “ ‘There is a tap on the door. It is my signal to hurry. I quickly pull back the blanket a bit farther, and uncover his hand.

  “‘My fingers are growing numb from the cold, but I slip off his watch and open the back. There is something inside, something wrapped in a thin piece of paper, which I take out and tuck into an inner pocket of my parka. And then I reach for his gold ring, turning it so the inscription glitters in the light from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. To Nick. Love forever, Emmy. My hands are shaking, and I am blinking back tears as I slip it from his finger and place it on my own.’”

  “Did you say Nick?” Jan’s eyes widened as Hank nodded. “That’s funny . . . Mom’s got a picture of a man named Nick and he looks like the man in this story.”

  “Relax, Jan. This description’s pretty generic. And everyone knows at least one Nick.”

  “But I don’t know any . . .” Jan stopped, and sighed. “I take that back. I do know a Nick. As a matter of fact, I know two. Go on, Hank. It’s just a coincidence.”

  “ ‘There is another knock, sharp and urgent. My fingers fly as I wrap the blankets around him again, and hurry to the door. A nod to the older man, another brief hug, and I am snapping on my skis. And then I am flying over the snow, disappearing into the dense woods that surround the small graveyard.

  “‘I look back once, when I reach the safety of the trees. The clearing is deserted now. The older man has vanished. And then I see them, a party of six men coming over the top of the hill. They have come for him. I have arrived just in time, and they will fail to complete their mission.’”

  “What mission?” Jan was enthralled. “Keep on reading, Hank. Maybe she’ll tell us.”

  “‘I dig my poles into the snow and ski down another steep hill. I ski for what seems like hours, until the terrain grows familiar. There is a farmhouse over the next rise, and I zigzag down to the barn. The hay is piled deep on the lee side, and I slip off my skis and push them into the pile. And then I run to the house to change to my nightgown and eat the snack the mother has left on the bed table for me, gjetost and bread, my favorite.’”

  “Gjetost?” Hank looked puzzled. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a goat cheese that tastes like peanut butter. Mom loves it. We had some just a couple of nights ago. Do you want me to see if there’s any left?”

  “That’s okay. I’ll try it some other time. Let’s see how this ends.”

  “ ‘I finish my snack and climb under the covers. It is bitter cold and I pull the goose-down comforter up, all the way to my nose. My dreams are uneasy, but somehow, I manage to sleep right through the pounding on the door.

  “‘I look dazed when they question me. Of course I can ski, but not very well. I’m trying to learn, but I don’t have much time to practice. I’m an exchange student and my class work is very d
emanding. As a matter of fact, I have a test in calculus this morning. Could they possibly give me a ride to the university? The professor won’t accept any excuses for being late, especially from an American.’”

  Hank paged through the notebook, scanning the other sections, and then he sighed deeply. “That’s it. She doesn’t write any more about that. It’s almost as if she was interrupted, and never got a chance to finish it.”

  “But there’s more . . . isn’t there?”

  “Sure. But each one is like a slice of life. They’re little self-contained scenes that might make up a unified whole if she’d written them all. And I got the impression that the whole would be much more than these scenes indicate.”

  Jan nodded. “Like a Gestalt?”

  “Exactly! I’d really like to do this as my student film. It’d be a great project!”

  “I can see it all now . . .” Jan looked just as excited as he did. “Produced and directed by Hank Jensen! Starring . . . who?”

  “Jan Bennett, of course. With a cast of total unknowns pulled from one of my Cal Arts film classes. You’ll work on it with me, won’t you?”

  “I’d love to!” Jan began to smile. But then she looked down at the notebook, and her smile faded away. “You can’t use this, Hank. We don’t know who wrote it. You’d have to find out and get the writer’s permission.”

  Hank sighed, and then he nodded. “You’re right. And there’s no way we can do that.”

  “Let’s read the rest.” Jan picked up the notebook and opened it to the next section. “There might be a name we could trace, or a location where we could go to ask questions.”

  Just then the patio door opened and Maura stood in the open doorway, silhouetted by the light from the kitchen. “Jan? Are you out here?”

  “I’m here, Mom.” Jan grabbed the notebook and stuffed it in her bag. “Hank and I were just talking about his student film project.”

  “That’s fine, honey. Hello, Hank.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Thomas.” Hank turned toward the patio and waved.

  “Is Cappy out there with you?”

  “Hank’s got him.” Jan glanced at the puppy that had cuddled up in Hank’s lap and gone to sleep. “Did you have a good time at dinner?”

  “Yes. It was fine. Will you make sure you lock up when you come inside? And put Cappy in his bed with his clock and his hot water bottle?”

  “Of course. We’ll probably be up late, so I’ll say good night now. See you in the morning, Mom.”

  “Good night, honey. I love you.”

  The patio door slid closed again, and as they watched, the kitchen light flicked off. Then there was only silence and the chirping of crickets.

  A long moment passed and then Hank turned to Jan. “Am I wrong, or did your mother seem upset?”

  “You’re not wrong. She’s always upset when Keith’s home.”

  Hank digested that remark in silence, and then he cleared his throat. “Look . . . I know it’s none of my business, but I like you. And I get the feeling you don’t exactly approve of your stepfather.”

  “He’s not my stepfather. He’s just my mother’s husband.”

  “Jan . . .” Hank reached out to take her hand. “I hate to disillusion you, but any man who marries your mother is your stepfather.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think of him that way. And he doesn’t think of me as a daughter. We’re strangers who happen to love the same person . . . if he does love my mother, that is.”

  “Is there a reason why you think he doesn’t?”

  Jan sighed, and then she shook her head. “Nothing I can put my finger on. He’s nice to her, but he doesn’t really act like a husband. And she’s polite to him, but she doesn’t really act like a wife.”

  “What do you think husbands and wives are supposed to act like?”

  “There’s supposed to be some sort of bond there, some kind of understanding that doesn’t need words. My uncle Steve and my aunt Donna were like that. They knew each other so well that he’d start a sentence, and she’d finish it. I remember one time, when I was just a kid . . .” Jan began to smile at the memory. “I really believed that they could read each other’s minds.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Jan’s smile grew wider, and she nodded. “I must have been about eight, because I remember that I was in third grade. And it was a month or so before Christmas. Mom was working late at the boutique, and I’d gone over to Uncle Steve and Aunt Donna’s for dinner. It was dark when they got ready to take me home, and we all got into the car. Uncle Steve was just pulling out of the driveway, when he turned to Aunt Donna and asked, ‘Should we . . . ?’ And before he could finish his question, she said, ‘Oh, yes. Definitely. ’ And then Uncle Steve asked, “But do you think . . . ?’ And she cut in again, and said, ‘I know they have. I saw them this morning.’”

  “Wait a minute . . .” Hank started to laugh. “Did you ask them what they meant?”

  “Yes, Aunt Donna said. “He asked me if we should take you past the big Christmas tree the Petersons put up every year in their yard. And I said we should. And then he asked me if I thought they’d decorated it yet. And I told him that I’d seen them working on it this morning.’”

  Hank laughed. “They didn’t realize they’d finished each other’s sentences?”

  “No. It was absolutely amazing. They were always on the same wavelength. And you could see how much they loved each other, every time you were in the same room with them. He was always touching her hair or her shoulder when he walked past her chair, and she’d always smile at him in a special way. I guess that’s why I grew up thinking that people got married because they were so love, they wanted to spend their whole lives together.”

  “That’s beautiful, Jan. And that’s the way it would be in a perfect world. But I think you’re being just a little unrealistic. People get married for all sorts of reasons.”

  “Maybe.” Jan shrugged. “But that’s the way it’ll be for me. And a couple of years ago, when I asked Mom, she said that was exactly the way she felt about my dad.”

  “But you don’t think she feels that way about Keith?”

  “I know she doesn’t.” Jan shook her head. “It’s none of my business. I know that. And Keith’s never done anything bad to her, or to me. But the whole thing is driving me crazy!”

  Hank reached out and took her hand. “Why, Jan?”

  “Because I’m studying to be a psychologist. And I’m a pretty good judge of people and their motivations. And I just can’t figure out why the hell she married him!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Maura took a deep breath for courage as she shut the patio door and turned back toward the living room. She’d much rather join Jan and Hank, but her husband was waiting. She just wished she knew what he’d expect, this first night they were together at home.

  Keith smiled at her as she came back into the living room, and Maura smiled back. Then he patted a spot next to him on the couch, and she walked over to sit down. There must be something they could talk about to break the ice. It was even more difficult, now that they were alone, than it had been over dinner with Steve.

  “It’s good to be home.” Keith draped a friendly arm around her shoulder. “What have you been doing since I’ve been gone?”

  “Oh . . . the usual. I played tennis with Jan, and I went to work at the boutique . . . things like that.”

  “Have you designed any new clothes?”

  “No. I tried to do a tennis outfit, but I couldn’t get the sleeves right. I really hope I haven’t lost my touch.”

  Keith gave her a little hug. “Don’t worry, honey. It’ll all come back. It’s like Steve says . . . you just have to be patient. Are you going ahead with the fashion show, or did you decide to cancel?”

  “The fashion show?” Maura turned to look at him in alarm. “What fashion show?”

  “You always have one at the end of the summer, to introduce your new fall line. Your regular customers expect it,
but we could figure out some way to get out of it if you really don’t want to do the show.”

  “No. I’ll do it.” Maura nodded quickly. “Do you know if I’ve started designing the clothes?”

  “Everything’s done except the highlight. I ran into Liz a couple of weeks ago and she told me.”

  “The highlight?” Maura was puzzled. “What’s that?”

  “It’s the special outfit you present at the very end of the show, your grand finale.” Keith sighed, and turned to her. “Poor baby! You really have forgotten, haven’t you? It must be hell!”

  “It is. Or maybe it’s heaven.” Maura eyes narrowed as she remembered what she’d learned about Liz. “There might be some things in my life I’d be better off forgetting.”

  Keith looked shocked for just a moment, and then he smiled and nodded. “That could be true for anyone, I guess. I know I’d rather forget that last speeding ticket I got. Or the miserable food we had on the plane.”

  “We?” Maura raised her eyebrows. “I thought you came back from New York alone.”

  “I did. But there were other passengers on the plane. They served something they called filet de boeuf en croute in first class, but that was a joke. The beef was overdone, they used a liver paste instead of truffles, and it certainly wasn’t wrapped in brioche dough. It tasted exactly like those prepackaged crescent rolls that come in tubes at the grocery store.”

  Maura nodded and tried to look as if she remembered what filet de boeuf en croute was. “Did they serve champagne?”

  “You’d have to stretch to call it that. It was domestic and it couldn’t have cost them over two dollars a bottle. And speaking of champagne . . . would you like a glass? After all, this is an occasion.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course it is.” Maura put a smile back on her face. “Do I like champagne?”

  Keith chuckled. “You love it, especially if it’s Dom.”

  “Dom?”

  “Dom Pérignon. It’s your favorite. Unfortunately, we don’t have it on hand. I should have thought to pick up a bottle.”