“So you’ve got your memory back?”
“Only fragments. I’m a hair stylist, and I’m pretty sure I used to live in a city, not a small town or the country. I like Thai food and the color orange.” She smiled sadly, then shrugged. “Not much, is it?”
He glanced at the cigarette. So far she hadn’t taken a single drag. “And that?”
“I thought maybe I smoked, but I took a puff and it made me cough. So I guess I don’t.” She ground the cigarette into a large can filled with sand.
“Give it time. I bet you’ll remember more tomorrow.”
“I still have no idea why I was in that man’s truck. Or even if I knew him.” She stared out into the night. “I should at least be sorry he’s dead, shouldn’t I? But I don’t feel anything.”
“You’ve had a bad shock. Physically and mentally. I wouldn’t be too hard on myself, if I was you.”
“Boldness be my friend.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not sure. I was thinking I had to stop feeling so scared about the future and those words just came to me.”
“Anyone in your situation would be scared.” Only four days ago this woman sitting across from him would have been living her regular life. Now she had no idea who she was or where she’d come from. “But you’re safe here. Try to relax.”
“I’d like to. But I can’t help feeling as if there is something important I need to be doing.”
Was this another memory, trying to break through?
“But the harder I try to remember what it is, the more my head aches.” Birdie reached a hand to her scar and touched it gently. “What if I never remember?”
He had no answer for her. He couldn’t even imagine being in her shoes. To be himself, but to have no memories of Twisted Cedars, or his job, parents, or any of his friends. Who would that person be?
* * *
Jamie thought about the twins as she drove home from her meeting with Kyle. Charlotte had told her that when they drove out to the summer camp to tell them about their mother, they’d claimed to already know she was dead.
Was it possible they’d also known their father was responsible? They’d only been toddlers the night their mother died. But maybe they’d heard things. Kids often knew more than adults suspected they did.
It was awful to think of Chester and Cory carrying such heavy burdens.
Jamie’s route home took her right by the Hammond’s house. She was tempted to stop and say hi to the children. But they needed to get used to the routine of living with Charlotte.
So Jamie took a right turn into town, drove a few blocks, then turned right again. A group of pine trees growing in a vacant lot reminded her of the woods at the back of the Librarian Cottage. She thought of Daisy, buried and forgotten all those years.
How could he have done that?
He was a monster. He had to be.
And yet—she thought of how patient and gentle he could be with the children. In bed he’d been giving and loving. And he always made the time to listen when she needed to talk about missing her mother or being upset with her brother.
What advice would her mother give, if she were alive? Would she tell her to have her marriage annulled, to cut her losses, not to worry about children who weren’t hers to worry about?
No.
Jamie knew her mother had retained an attachment to her father, even though he’d been abusive toward her. She suspected her Mom had kicked him out because she was worried for Dougal, and for the unborn child who had been Jamie, not for herself.
Why else had she found a letter from her father in her mother’s possessions after she died last year?
Besides, it hadn’t been in her mother’s character to hate or dismiss anyone. She’d had the most loving heart of anyone Jamie had ever met.
Having reached the small bungalow where Stella and Amos lived, Jamie turned off the ignition and car lights. Now that it was almost nine, the air was finally cooling off. The gentle breeze carried summertime scents of backyard barbecues and blooming gardens.
The lights were off inside Stella and Ward’s house, but Jamie could hear voices coming from the backyard. She followed the paved path along the side of the house, her arms brushing against the lilac hedge that separated this property from the neighbor’s.
When she emerged from around the corner, she was surprised to see three people sitting on the plastic patio furniture.
“I didn’t know you were having a party, Stella.”
But the only festive element to the gathering was the fact that all three of them—Stella, her brother and Liz Brooks—had a beer in their hands. Their expressions were grim, and no one had bothered to light the outdoor candles or to set out any munchies.
“Grab a drink,” Dougal said. “I think you’ll need it.”
“What in the world were you guys talking about?” She’d heard their voices earlier, but they’d clammed up the moment they saw her.
Liz was so small she was able to sit cross-legged in her chair. Jamie remembered Stella saying she and Liz were planning to have a business meeting tonight. But she didn’t think Dougal would be much interested in that subject.
“Would you like a drink, dear?”
Before Stella could get out of her chair, Jamie indicated she should remain where she was. It seemed everyone was very anxious that she have a beer, so she might as well oblige them. She filled a bowl with potato chips, too. Not having eaten much of her dinner, she was suddenly starving.
Back outside, the tension seemed even thicker than before.
Was this an ambush?
Had Stella told Dougal she was meeting Kyle?
But that didn’t explain Liz’s presence.
“Would someone please tell me what’s going on here?”
“Liz?” Dougal said.
“Jamie, I was just telling your brother something that I should have told you both when I first moved here. But I was afraid you’d think I was some kind of weird stalker. So I kept quiet. I thought it might get easier once we got to know one another a little better.”
“I don’t get it.” Jamie studied Stella’s face, then Dougal’s for a clue.
“Liz’s father met ours in prison. I guess they were sort of buddies.”
Jamie blinked at him, surprise robbing her of words.
“Liz was just telling us a bit about her life. Her mom passed away when she was young, and her dad was shiftless. She ended up in foster care.”
“I don’t mind telling people about the foster care, part,” Liz said. “It wasn’t great, but it was okay. When I was young, though, I hated for people to know I had a dad in jail.”
“What did he do?” Jamie asked, finally getting her equilibrium back.
“He got drunk and picked a fight at a bar. And he killed the guy.”
“And he served his time with our father?”
“Part of it. He actually got out a few years before your dad. I was twenty at the time, on my own. I’d learned not to give a rat’s ass what other people thought of me. So when dad asked if he could live with me, I said yes.”
“Sit down, Jamie. We have an extra chair.” Stella pointed.
Jamie did as told.
Then her brother indicated her beer. “And if you’re going to keep your mouth open like that, you might as well pour some of that into it.”
Obligingly she took a sip. “Was it just a coincidence that you moved to Twisted Cedars and took a job with our Mom?”
“No. Dad was full of stories about Ed when he got out. Your father made quite the impression. Dad said no one could tell a story like Ed. What he liked to talk about most, though, was his son.”
Dougal sank a little into his chair.
“He was so proud of you,” Liz said. “He read all your books over and over, then he’d re-tell the stories to the other prisoners. He said that one day you were going to write a book about him, and then you’d both be famous.”
“Christ.” Dougal looked disgusted.
“Another thing he talked about a lot was this wonderful town, Twisted Cedars. He said he’d never been happier than when he lived here, and he told my Dad that when he got out of prison he’d meet him here and they’d start up a construction business together.”
“But your dad never came to our town?” Jamie guessed.
“No. He was sick when he got out of prison. He only lived a few months. But he told me I should come here. I guess I was curious. Was any place really as wonderful as Dad seemed to think this town was? I had nothing tying me down after Dad died. So I kind of made it a pilgrimage. Even sprinkled some of his ashes by those two cedar trees downtown.”
Jamie felt her throat thicken. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“I hadn’t known Stella and your Mom long before the topic of Ed Lachlan came up. And it was pretty clear how much Stella hated him. Maybe your mom, too, I couldn’t tell.”
Jamie thought of the letter her mother had saved. “No. I don’t think she hated him.”
“Well, Stella did.”
“Damn right.” Stella’s tone brokered no doubt on the subject.
“So I kept my mouth shut. And then I started hearing how Dougal wanted to know more about his father, so I thought I would tell my story. Even though it isn’t much, I guess.”
“It’s good you told us,” Dougal said.
“Yes,” Jamie agreed. “It’s nice to know that there were people who liked our father.”
“You would see it that way.” Dougal looked at her with a brotherly mixture of contempt and fondness.
“I keep telling you, he isn’t all bad.” Jamie thought about Kyle. “No one is.”
chapter eighteen
charlotte was in bed when she heard Dougal’s car pull into her driveway. Since Borden was sleeping sprawled over her legs, she waited for him to let himself in.
“Hey, Char. It’s been a hell of a night.” He stripped his T-shirt and tossed it on the chair, then unbuttoned his jeans.
She set down Pride and Prejudice, to enjoy the view.
Dougal didn’t work out regularly, not in a gym, at least. But his body was lean and well-muscled, all the same. Then she noticed something else. “Nice haircut.”
He scrubbed his hands through his hair as if trying to rid himself from fleas. “Belle sprayed this guck on it. I can’t wait to have my shower tomorrow morning.”
“Did you see Birdie?”
“She shampooed my hair.”
“And? What did you think?”
“Felt sorry for her, actually. Her memory loss seems legit. There is something sort of compelling about her, isn’t there.”
Charlotte felt the slightest ping of jealousy. “She’s very beautiful.”
“Yeah. But that’s not it.” He picked up the book she’d just set aside. “Jane Austen?”
“You’re not a fan?”
“Oh contraire.” He put a hand to his throat. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Charlotte burst out laughing. Never would she have guessed Dougal could quote from Pride and Prejudice. “Don’t stop,” she said, when she had control of her voice.
“But this is where you tell me I’ve got my head up my ass and you wouldn’t marry me if I was the last person on earth.”
“Jane says it so much more eloquently. I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
This time Dougal was the one to chuckle. “I see I’ve met my match.”
“I’ve only read the book about twenty times. And watched the movie at least that often. How do you explain your fluency?”
“Last year I helped a friend with her lines. She was trying for the part of Elizabeth Bennett in an off-Broadway play. Have to say it was a lot of fun.”
He sat on her side of the bed and gave Borden a scratch on the neck. “Nice to see the two of you curled up together. Kids asleep?”
“At least an hour ago.”
“And the back door—why was it unlocked?”
“For you, obviously.”
“Maybe you should give me a key.”
“Looking for more commitment?”
“Right. That, plus I’d rather you and the kids were safe at night.”
“A minute ago you’re declaring your ardent love. Now you don’t want commitment?” She stopped teasing. “Honestly, Dougal, this is Twisted Cedars. We’re safe.”
“For a woman who is scared of crowds, the dark, and speaking in public, you’re awfully blasé about this. But you’ve got to promise me you’ll be more careful. Lock the doors, Char. I’m serious.”
Her home, and this town, had always felt like sanctuaries to Charlotte. It was the rest of the world that was scary.
But now that the children were living with her, Dougal was right, she shouldn’t take any chances. “Okay. I will.”
“I hope you mean that.” He gave Borden one last pat, then crawled under the covers with her. “Mmm. I like what you wore to bed.”
Which was nothing.
And led, quite quickly, to something. With a disgusted sniff, Borden jumped off the bed and retreated to someplace quieter.
* * *
Charlotte loved being held by Dougal after they’d made love. He pulled her head to rest on his chest, and then teased his fingers up and down her back in the most delightful way.
At some point Borden returned to the room. She resumed her position on the bed, gave them a baleful look, then curled into the space between their feet.
“I don’t think Borden approves of our sex life.”
“It’s not her approval I’m looking for.” He gave her ass a suggestive rub.
She laughed and pushed his hand away. “You haven’t told me how things went with Stella, tonight. Did she tell you anything more about your father?”
“Cripes, have I got loads to tell you.”
“Oh? Should I get up? Pour some drinks?”
“Come back here.” He pulled her tightly into his arms. “The big news didn’t come from Stella. But let me tell this in order. When I asked about my father, all Stella had to say was that he was originally from Salem. Probably raised on a farm, or an acreage, where neighbors couldn’t hear the abuse that went on. He finally ran away for good when he was sixteen.”
“Sounds rough. Not surprising when you consider how he turned out, I suppose.”
“I haven’t told you the interesting part yet. Liz Brooks came by while Stella and I were discussing dear old dad and she dropped a big confession on us.”
Charlotte pushed herself up so she could see Dougal’s face. “What does Liz have to do with any of this?”
“Turns out she had a secret connection to Ed—or at least her father did. They were in prison together.”
“Well that’s kind of weird.”
“I guess Ed turned on the charm in prison, told lots of stories, had everyone hanging on his every word. He talked Twisted Cedars up big. Told Liz’s father that when they got out they’d move here and start a business together.”
“So did Liz’s dad ever get here?”
“No. He died before he had the chance. But Liz brought some of his ashes.”
Dougal explained more about Liz’s reasons for coming here and why she’d kept quiet about the connection for so long.
Then he explained how Ed had told everyone in prison who would listen that his son, the famous author, was going to write a book about him one day.
“Well, this explains a lot. Would have been nice if Liz told you this sooner.”
Dougal agreed.
“So what are you going to do next?”
“Tomorrow I go to Salem.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And you make sure you keep that front door locked.”
chapter nineteen
five days after the accident
dougal left early for Salem on Wednesday, was out o
f the house before Charlotte or the twins were awake. Charlotte couldn’t help wondering if he would have stayed for breakfast if the kids hadn’t been living with her.
They were becoming more comfortable with each other now. Charlotte knew Cory liked her eggs scrambled, Chester preferred them fried. Cory would eat an orange for breakfast, but only if Charlotte peeled off all the white bits. Getting Chester to eat some fruit was more of a challenge. Today she tried him on blueberries.
He wrinkled his nose.
“How are things going at Mrs. Thompson’s?” she asked them.
Both kids stared down at their plates.
There had to be a better option. “Want me to sign you up for some fun day camps? We have a whole list at the library. There are camps that focus on arts and crafts, or computers, or sports—whatever you’re interested in.”
The twins exchanged a knowing look, and when Chester suggested, in a studiously nonchalant tone, “Maybe we could go back to Wolf Creek? It was kind of decent there,” Charlotte knew she’d been expertly maneuvered.
But—if it was what they really wanted, why should she deny them?
“Is that what you’d both like?”
Vigorous nodding confirmed that this had been a set up.
“I’ll call the director today and see if there are any openings, on one condition.” She paused, to make sure they were both paying attention. “Will you tell me the real reason you want to go back to camp? And if that reason is because you’re not happy staying here with me, then please just say so. I won’t be upset with you. Honestly.”
Again the twins shared a look, but this time it was Cory who spoke.
“It’s not you, Aunt Charlotte. It’s the Thompson kids. They’re telling lies about our dad.”
“It was easier at the camp,” Chester added. “Most of the kids aren’t even from Twisted Cedars. And they don’t have any TV, newspapers or Internet.”
God she hated gossip. No doubt the kids were just repeating what they were hearing at home. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I know this teenaged girl who babysits. Her name is Laila and she’s really nice. I’m going to phone her right now.”
Fortunately Laila was home, and glad to line up a paying job for the day, that would get her out of the house and helping her Mom look after her younger siblings.
forgotten (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 2) Page 11