About Face

by Fern Michaels

  “How long was it before they got married, Flora?” Maybe the chronological sequence of the events would help her remember.

  “Oh, it was years. Your mother was having personal problems. John took care of her finances. He still felt it was his fault that your father died, and like the fine man he is, he took responsibility.”

  “What about me and my brother? Where were we while all this was going on?”

  “Oh, you were always with your mother. Your brother never came.”

  “Swan House is so enormous, I think I would remember if I ever lived or visited here.” Casey looked around the huge dining room. She knew she had never been in that house before. She could feel it.

  “It’s odd that you say that. I don’t recall Evie bringing you inside. She made you wait in the car. She would never come to the drive in the front of the house; instead she would park at the gate and walk.”

  “I knew I hadn’t been in here. Then my mother and John must have dated for a long time.” It wasn’t a question, but Flora answered it anyway.

  “I don’t think I would call what Evie and John did dating.” Flora’s cheeks flamed red.

  “Evidently it was more than dating. He married her,” Casey said.

  “While Mr. Worthington was charmed by her . . . he wasn’t foolish. He knew it wouldn’t look right if they married so soon, especially after the murder.” Flora paled at her apparent slip of the tongue.

  “What murder, Flora? You keep bringing this up and don’t explain yourself. Please, tell me. I won’t tell anyone you told me. Flora I need to know,” Casey begged.

  Flora appeared deep in thought, as if weighing her answer. “You’re right. Evie should have told you, but she’s so confused these days.”

  Flora’s gaze never wavered as she spoke. “It was your brother, Casey. He was murdered.”

  Chapter 9

  “Who in the name of God would murder my brother? More to the point, why would someone want to murder him?”

  Casey paced the dining room, her movements jerky and flat-footed. She stared at the dark furniture, which looked even more somber than it had moments before. Her mood was starting to turn as dark as the furniture.

  “This is all so confusing. Isn’t Adam my stepbrother?” Casey ran a hand through her hair in frustration.

  “He is. The real brother . . . it’s a long and tragic tale. This is another story that should be comin’ from your momma.” Flora held up a hand to silence her as Casey opened her mouth to pose another question.

  Did Flora know anything about her brother’s death? A brother she had no memory of. A brother whose life was taken in a moment of anger, vengeance, or what? What made people kill?

  “I don’t think my mother is in a position to tell me anything, Flora. Whatever I learn, I’m going to have to learn it on my own. No one seems to think I need to know what kind of life I had. I just don’t understand all the secrecy.”

  Who were these people who were supposed to be her family? Her life, blank slate that it was, was becoming more and more riddled with puzzles and unanswered questions.

  Casey was tired; she wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget about her life, at least for today. Tomorrow she would make a plan. Tomorrow she would decide what she should do with . . . the rest of her life.

  Sun flickered through the thin crack in the heavy drapes. With sleep still skimming the surface of her subconscious, Casey rolled over and observed her room.

  The silken comforter was soft and felt lush against her skin. She nestled deeper into its warmth. Slinking lower, she pulled the blanket over her face to block out the rays of light and tried to return to the blissful state of sleep.

  There she wouldn’t have to think, or plan, or make any life-altering decisions.

  But her mind was buzzing and wouldn’t stop. With a heavy heart, Casey threw the covers back and went to the window. The thick drapes parted easily. Golden sunlight streamed into the room, bathing the furnishings in a soft glow.

  She stood back and viewed the garden below her. A rainbow of colors greeted her early morning vision. She smiled. Maybe she could work in the garden with Hank. She’d ask. At least her hands would be busy.

  The questions and doubts that had plagued her before bed returned. She tried to block them by filling her mind with the splendor of the gardens below, but couldn’t.

  Her heart started to race. Back at Sanctuary, Sandra had always told her if she wanted to find out something, she had to search for the answer. Maybe she needed to go back to that other life for the answers. But before she did that, maybe, just maybe, she could find out something here at Swan House. If the answers she sought failed to surface, only then would she go back to the doctors and the hospital that she had vowed never to visit again. If she failed in her attempt, she would permit the doctors to experiment on her, anything to help her uncover events prior to her hospitalization. Determined to learn the reason for her loss of memory, she hurried to the shower, her decision hastening her along. She’d start immediately. If she was lucky, maybe she’d find some answers.

  She stood under the warm spray from the shower and let her mind wander.

  Adam had been late returning from the hospital the previous night. When Flora poked her head in the door to say good night, she’d told her Mr. Worthington would be home in a few days. She’d said Evie was staying the night at Worthington Enterprises, where John had a small apartment. She hadn’t mentioned Blake. Flora had seemed contented with her news and had left her alone with her thoughts. Then the day’s events caught up with her and she fell asleep moments after her head hit the pillow.

  Casey turned the water off and stood naked in the warm, steamy room. It felt eerie, like yesterday, when she’d encountered the ground glass in the jar of cream. Flora hadn’t been a bit surprised when she’d told her what happened. She’d looked at the scratches and cuts, clucked her tongue a few times, and nothing more was said. Any thought of how the glass shards had gotten into the jar seemed of no importance. It was as if she had imagined the entire incident.

  Casey stared at the mirror. The mist from the shower prevented her from viewing the dark circles she knew existed under her eyes. Wiping the fog with one hand, she glanced at her reflection. Wet hair clung to her neck. She looked like a scrawny drowned rat.

  She ran the towel along her arms and legs, wincing at the sharp tingle where her skin still smarted from cuts and scrapes from the day before.

  Who had placed the glass in the lotion? And why?

  A last quick swipe with the nubby towel and she was ready to get dressed. In the closet she reached for a pair of panties and a lacy bra. She no longer appreciated the designer clothes that Evie had gone to so much trouble to purchase. She dressed with one thought in mind: starting her search. Now. It was time to rediscover the life she’d had prior to the ten years she spent at Sanctuary.

  A stab of fear settled in the pit of her stomach. Was her earlier life one she even wanted to remember? Without Evie to explain her childhood, she’d have to rely on Flora. Maybe Adam. While her heart told her she could trust these people, she knew in her gut she shouldn’t trust anyone just yet, even Mother and Adam, until she knew what they had to do with her past. If she needed their help, she would ask for it. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She crossed her fingers that she would have the mental as well as the physical stamina to handle whatever it was she found in her search.

  One last glance in the mirror told her it was as good as it was going to get. At least for the moment. Her appearance wasn’t a major concern. When she had her life back, then she’d think about clothes and all the girly things she’d missed.

  She peered out in the long hallway; all was quiet. With Mr. Worthington in the hospital, it seemed that the light of Swan House had temporarily dimmed. And she hadn’t even met the man. Flora told her he ran a tight ship, but with a loving hand. As she walked down the stairs, she heard the soft murmur of voices echoing off the kitchen. An older woman was openly
crying as Casey approached the doorway leading into the kitchen. Apparently Mr. Worthington was well liked by his staff. Casey felt sad for the man she didn’t even know. She made a silent promise to herself to find the way to the hospital so she could visit him.

  She entered the kitchen, clearly the heart of the house. Flora was directing a young woman about her age, showing her how to fold cloth napkins. Smells of chocolate and baking bread gave the room a cozy feel.

  She observed the daily routine at Swan House. Here she wouldn’t have to clam up when a patient was administered a megadose of Valium. Here in this cozy, comfortable kitchen she wouldn’t have to cover her ears to block out the terror and the screams of the insane. She wouldn’t have to hold her breath, waiting to see if the dreaded footsteps would stop outside her door. No, here she could walk about freely. Here, she could think and plan and not worry about someone watching her every movement. She could go outside if she wanted. With that thought in mind, Casey made her presence known with a robust good morning.

  Flora jumped and placed her hand on her chest. “Oh dear, you gave me a start.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. It all looks so . . . normal.” She felt herself blush as the rest of the staff stopped to stare at her. She instantly regretted her words. This is what they would expect of her. From this moment forward, she’d show them. She wasn’t crazy. She was as normal as they were. The only difference was, they had a memory of their past and she didn’t. The girl folding the napkins looked embarrassed. Casey thought she looked to be around her age. She would need a friend; maybe this was a start. She walked over to the young woman and held out her hand.

  “I’m Casey Edwards.” The girl fumbled with the pile of napkins and held a work-reddened hand out to Casey.

  “Julie Moore. Nice to meet you.” The girl apparently was over her moment of discomfort. Warm brown eyes brightened, and her smile revealed a dimple etched in the groove of her cheek. Cherry red cheeks, Casey thought. I like this girl already.

  Casey knew she would have to take the initiative if she were to make friends at Swan House. Her past had preceded her, and there was nothing she could do about that, but she could see to it that her past didn’t follow her around like a dark shadow.

  She reached for Julie’s offered hand. “Thank you.” Wanting and needing to know more about her new acquaintance, Casey formed her next question.

  “What is your job at Swan House?” Casey watched as Julie added another napkin to the pile. She looked to Flora as if asking her permission. Flora took Julie’s hand and led her to the table.

  “Time for a break. Casey, would you mind entertaining Julie while Ruth and I go over the linen list?”

  Ruth, a short, heavyset woman with a too-tight bun, followed Flora out of the kitchen. Mabel, the cook, continued to fill bowl after bowl with ingredients, oblivious to the actions of those around her.

  Casey poured hot chocolate into rose-patterned cups and carried them to the table.

  “I guess Flora thought I needed a break. Actually, I’m not tired at all. I hope she doesn’t think I’m a laze-about. This is my first week here, and I don’t want to mess up because I really need this job. My husband, he’d be so angry if I . . . well, let’s just say I need the work.” Julie fiddled with the place mats on the table.

  Casey smiled. “Me too. I’ve never had a job. . . .”

  Julie laughed, and Casey joined her.

  “I guess we both need to learn when to open our mouths and when not to. It’s just . . . I felt when I saw you we could be f—,” Julie sputtered.

  “Friends?” Casey finished for her new friend.

  “Yes. We even think alike.” Julie said.

  “I thought so, too.” Suddenly, Casey felt happy for the first time in years. Before they could have a friendship, she needed to clear the air. If Julie had questions about her past, she wanted her to feel free to ask them.

  “I know most of the staff is aware of . . . where I’ve lived for the past ten years. If you have any questions, please don’t be afraid to ask. If I can answer them, I will. I’ve lived under a dark cloud too long. I want to walk in the sunshine again.” Casey stared across at Julie, her gaze intense.

  “I’m glad you brought this out in the open. I overheard Mrs. Worthington talking the day before you came home. I was curious.” Julie glanced down at her hands resting on her lap. She looked uncomfortable.

  “About what?” Casey inquired.

  “I don’t like to gossip. I just thought someone should know. Until I met you, I wasn’t sure who I should tell.” Julie stared at the table.

  “What is it?” She hated how anxious she sounded. She hoped her new friend wouldn’t pick up on the anxiousness. In the end, though, it couldn’t be any worse than what she’d already heard and been through the past twenty-four hours.

  “Your mother was whispering on the upstairs phone. There’s a phone in the main hall; you may have noticed it in an alcove. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d miss it. I wasn’t intending to eavesdrop; I want you to believe me.”

  Julie’s former cheery disposition was gone, replaced with . . . fear? Casey was apprehensive. Did Julie have another tale to add to the burgeoning stack? No matter what this young woman said at this point, she would believe her.

  “Tell me Julie, what exactly did you hear?”

  “I heard Mrs. Worth . . . your mother talking about your brother. She said you weren’t going back to Sanctuary, no matter what.”

  “Which brother? And of course she knows I’m not going back to Sanctuary.”

  Julie looked confused for a moment. “The one who died. It’s just that . . . never mind.”

  “I’ve just learned about his existence myself. Prior to coming here, I didn’t even know I had a brother. No one wants to talk about him. At least to me they don’t. Why are you telling me all this?” Casey asked.

  “You asked. I want you to be careful. Watch who you talk to, what you say,” Julie cautioned.

  “Then how do I know I can trust you? How do I know you’re not just telling me this? I don’t know who or what to believe. I’ve been warned, yet I remember nothing.” Casey threw her hands in the air. “Do you have any idea how frustrating all this is?”

  Julie’s face reddened before she spoke. “Frustration, I understand. Warnings, I understand, but the loss of memory, I can only imagine. Casey, I want to be your friend.”

  At that precise moment Casey wanted to grab Julie in a bear hug, but was afraid she’d think she was truly nuts if she acted so spontaneously.

  “Thank God! You can’t imagine how wonderful this makes me feel. Just to have someone to talk to, to be there for me, is going to help me more than anything in the world. I can feel it.”

  “You better wait before you give me too much credit. Spend a few days in this house, then come back and praise me.” Julie’s words came out fast, like a stream of bullets. After they were out, she looked at Casey, waiting.

  “What do you mean?”

  Julie allowed her gaze to sweep around the kitchen, apparently making sure Mabel was ear deep in flour. She leaned across the table and cupped a hand to the side of her mouth. “There’s an evilness in this house. I felt it the minute I got here, and I’ve only been here a week. Soon you’ll see for yourself what I’m talking about.”

  Julie took their cups to the sink and resumed her task of folding the napkins. Flora and Ruth returned to the kitchen at that moment. All thoughts of further questioning were put on hold.

  Flora looked at Julie, then Casey.

  “Is everything okay?” Flora asked, her gaze settling on Casey.

  Summoning a smile, Casey looked at Julie, then Flora. “It couldn’t be better. I think Julie and I hit it off pretty well.”

  “Good. Young ladies need friends. Real friends, not just women whose idea of friendship is gossiping and competition. I’ve had those kind of friendships, and trust me, you can do without them.”

  Casey sensed a
n underlying message in Flora’s words and hoped she wasn’t trying to warn her about Julie. She said as much. “No need to worry. Julie and I have much in common.”

  Casey watched Julie as she continued to fold the napkins into pyramids. A smile touched the edge of her mouth when she lifted her head. “I think you’re right, Casey, we do have a lot in common.” Casey sensed that Julie wanted to add more, but felt the timing was wrong.

  Flora gave a satisfied nod in Casey’s direction, pleased with their response.

  “What do you plan to do with your day, Casey? I’m sure any plans you might have made with your mother will have to be put on hold since Mr. John is in the hospital.”

  Casey was wondering that herself. She remembered the promise she’d made to visit her stepfather. With Evie hovering by his bedside and especially in her mental condition, if you could call it that, she didn’t think she could manage the pretense required for a visit. At least not that day.

  She wanted to learn about her past.

  “Does Sweetwater have a library?” she inquired.

  “Well, for Pete’s sakes, Missy, we’re not that uncivilized. Right by the courthouse it is. If you’re looking for something to read, Mr. Worthington has a fine library, filled with volume after volume of books.”

  “Thanks, but I wanted to do some research, you know, about Sweetwater and all. Maybe something will prod my memory.”

  “Well, then, tell Lilah you don’t want to be bothered. That woman lives to gossip.”

  “Is Lilah the librarian?” Casey asked.

  “Yes, sad to say. I think she’s read every book in that library a thousand times, or at least the ones on Sweetwater. She’s probably hoping she’ll find some missed piece of hundred-year-old gossip that she could use against someone. Actually, she’s quite sweet once you get past her wagging tongue.”