She's My Mom

by Rebecca Winters

  She opened her eyes in time to see them turn into the driveway of a lovely contemporary home. In the moonlight it looked a pale yellow with white trim. The landscaping included several ornamental trees and was equally beautiful.

  Her husband pressed the remote attached to the sun visor, and the double garage doors opened. When they’d parked inside, she noticed there was no car in the other space.

  “Did I drive before?” she couldn’t help asking.

  He shut off the engine. “Yes.”

  “Did I have my own car?”

  He nodded.

  “You had this Jaguar in a hunter green,” Brett volunteered. “Sometimes you let me drive it around the cemetery so I’d be ready when it was time to apply for my driver’s license.”

  “That’s three years away yet. I didn’t know you guys did that,” his father murmured in surprise.

  “Mom said that with so many bad drivers on the road, it was never too early to learn. All my friends wished they had a mom like mine!”

  “Let’s get your mother inside, shall we?”

  Before she could blink, he’d walked around to open the door for her. Obviously the discussion about her car was a painful one.

  There was no use kidding herself.

  For the last six months, Grady Corbitt and his son Brett had been in a living hell.

  So had she, but for different reasons.

  Finding out she had a husband and a son she couldn’t remember compounded that hell a thousand times.

  Assuming she and this man had been in love until the moment she disappeared, she couldn’t imagine how he’d even continued to function. If their positions were reversed…

  Martha refused to entertain the horror of it.

  Listen to me. I’m still thinking of myself as Martha Walters. But after all this time I finally have answers.

  My name is Susan.

  Susan Nilson Corbitt.

  Mrs. Grady Corbitt.

  “MOM? WOULD YOU LIKE a cola or something?”

  She and Brett had followed her husband through a hallway lined with family pictures to the main foyer of the house. A huge potted tree stood to one side of the front door.

  She glanced around, noting that the vaulted ceilings added an elegance and spaciousness. From the foyer, they went into a den with a desk and computer. The room had been made cozy with the addition of plantation shutters and a fireplace.

  “A cola sounds fine,” she said as she sank down on the deep white crewel sofa. One wall contained a built-in bookcase. Every shelf was filled. How many of those books had she read?

  She studied the other pieces of furniture, the interesting watercolor of a lighthouse, the entertainment center with its television and stereo.

  The light gray walls and white woodwork gave everything a fresh, clean look. If Brett and his father did all the housework, she was impressed. The hard-wood floors gleamed.

  Did the house reflect her taste or her husband’s?

  It was no use asking herself why she couldn’t remember living here. The past had been erased. Any memory that could tell her she belonged under this roof, that she belonged with Grady and Brett Corbitt, was gone.

  Being in this home was like attending a play. From the audience she watched the man and his son give their performance. She was a fascinated spectator, not the involved participant they wanted her to be. Mar— Susan couldn’t join them onstage.

  Instead of having to endure the piercing regard of the powerful-looking man who’d known her intimately for at least thirteen years, she wished she was back at the apartment around familiar people, familiar things.

  “Here you go, Mom.” Brett came in the den and handed her a tall glass of cola filled with ice.

  She wished he’d stop calling her Mom. It made her feel so guilty she wanted to hide. The boy was crying out to be loved by the mother he’d lost. The mother he thought he’d regained. That much she could feel.

  Susan took a long swallow. How did she tell him that the mother he adored was still lost, that she’d probably never be back?

  One of the doctors who volunteered at the shelter had taken a look at her head wound. He’d said it was healing without problem. But the loss of memory she’d suffered was another matter. Whether it would ever come back was anyone’s guess.

  “If you have questions that can’t wait until morning, go ahead and ask them now. Otherwise, we’ll show you to the guest bedroom when you’ve finished your drink. Your eyelids are drooping.”

  “Bed would be wonderful.” He had no idea how grateful she was for his sensitivity to her needs.

  She finished off the rest of her cola, very much aware that he didn’t want to discuss his fears for her safety in front of their son. In truth, she wasn’t capable of dealing with anything like that tonight.

  A crestfallen Brett took the glass from her. The comment he’d made about the early driving lessons led her to believe they’d been close as mother and son. Able to share everything. She couldn’t bear to be the source of more pain for him.

  When he left, she and her husband got to their feet at the same time. He had to be six foot two or three. Would Brett grow up to be as tall and hard-muscled?

  “After you,” he murmured.

  There was an air of unreality about the whole situation. She walked out of the den to the foyer, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. “How long have we lived here?”

  “If you mean in this house, eleven years.”

  “How did we meet?”

  “In California. We were both in college. I was on a trip to the beach with my friends during spring break. You were playing volleyball with a bunch of your friends.

  “I took one look at you and asked if you needed another person on your team. You looked back at me and said yes. From that moment on, we became inseparable.”

  The huskiness in his tone made her swallow hard. “How old is Brett?”

  “He just turned thirteen. We’ve been married seventeen years,” he added, having anticipated her next question.

  Seventeen! And she couldn’t remember?

  Susan had so many questions, but she didn’t think she could cope with any more information tonight. Desperate to be alone, she hurried up the steps.

  “The guest bedroom is the first door on your left. There’s an attached bathroom. I’ll bring you a nightgown and robe.”

  Thankful that he didn’t expect her to go into their bedroom while he picked out something for her to wear, she escaped into the guest room.

  Except for the moment when he’d learned about her death, she suspected tonight was probably the hardest experience he’d ever been forced to live through.

  If she were the one who had to hold back from taking him in her arms because he had no memory of her and wouldn’t welcome her advances, Susan’s heart would be broken by now.

  His restraint gave her insight into his character. One thing she’d already learned about her husband: she hadn’t married an ordinary man.

  Her eyes moved from the floral-print bedspread to the cream-painted walls and matching carpet. The warmth of the room drew you in. After the dump she and the girls had been living in, this house was paradise.

  “Mom?” She wheeled around to see Brett enter. He put the picture album on the table, then walked over to her. “Dad asked me to bring you these.”

  She let him hand her a sleeveless nightgown in pale blue and a white terry-cloth robe.

  “Thank you.”

  After an uneasy silence, he murmured, “Is there anything I can do for you before I go to bed?”

  “No, but it’s very nice of you to ask.”

  “Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Susan nodded. She walked him to the door, and when he left the room, she couldn’t shut it fast enough. Her son was suffering, but she couldn’t bear to think about that now.

  She rushed into the bathroom to change. It gave her a strange feeling to put on a nightgown she’d worn before. The faint fragrance
of laundry detergent clung to the material.

  While she was putting her shoes and clothes in the closet, she heard a soft rap on the door. “Susan?”

  That was her name. How long would it take her to get used to being called that?

  “Just a minute.” She tightened the belt on her robe, then hurried to the bed. As soon as she was resting against the headboard with the covers pulled up, she told him to come in.

  He entered quietly and closed the door. Her husband had an intimidating presence, and she felt her heart speed up as she watched him.

  “Unless you’re too tired, there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you before we say good-night.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Brett’s room is next door. I’d prefer if he didn’t hear us talking. Mind if I pull up a chair?”

  “Of course not.”

  He reached for one of two ladder-back chairs placed near a small table and brought it to the side of the bed. He turned it around and straddled it, gripping the top with his hands.

  The strictly masculine gesture caused his jacket to part enough for her to see he wore a shoulder holster. She felt like someone who was about to be interrogated at police headquarters.

  Was he the kind of man who always brought his work home from the office, or did he simply feel more comfortable facing her like this?

  Eyeing her dispassionately, he said, “I’ve been a detective with the arson and bomb detail for close to ten years. During that time, I’ve arrested a lot of criminals who will spend the rest of their lives in prison. It’s no secret that in this business you make enemies.

  “After discovering tonight that you didn’t die in the explosion, I’m beginning to wonder if one of them hired a hit man on the outside as a way of paying me back.”

  “That’s a horrifying thought.” How had she ever tolerated that aspect of his career?

  “It happens.” He rubbed his jaw absently. “If I’m right, then they believe they’ve accomplished their objective. But even if the explosion wasn’t a retaliatory act of revenge against me, someone wanted you out of the way badly enough to commit murder.”

  She realized he was talking about her, and she gave an involuntary shudder.

  “For those reasons, no one can know you’re alive until I reconstruct what happened and this case is solved. For now, you’re safe here at the house. But before this goes much further, I may have to arrange for you and Brett to be sent someplace to keep you safe.”

  She shook her head. “Why would someone want me dead?”

  “Maybe you knew more than you should.”

  “About what?”

  She could tell that he was wondering how much to tell her.

  “You graduated from college with a degree in accounting and got your CPA,” he began. “You used those accounting skills on a volunteer basis for certain charities, but you didn’t earn a full-time living at it until about thirteen months ago, when you joined the Lytie Group CPA firm here in town.”

  She’d been a CPA?

  Did her decision to go to work so late in their marriage mean she’d always intended to do it and felt that Brett was finally old enough?

  Or had there been trouble between her and her husband that had made her want to find work outside their home? It certainly didn’t look as if they needed the extra income.

  “When you were hired, you replaced an accountant who’d died in an automobile accident. He’d been working on two accounts.” He paused. “Does the name Drummond mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t recall ever hearing it mentioned at work?”

  She shook her head.

  “Johnny Drummond owns sixty-two percent of the Etoile hotel here in Las Vegas. He’s part-owner of another hotel in Reno, too.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  He studied her for a moment. “What prompted you to apply at the Etoile? Do you think you remembered something about it because you’d been working on that account before the explosion?”

  The hope in his voice devastated her.

  “I wish I could say yes, but I’m afraid it was pure coincidence.”

  Her husband made no comment, but his attractive face hardened and she could sense his despair. If only he’d leave the bedroom and end the pain for both of them, at least for tonight….

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “TELL ME EXACTLY HOW you came to work there.”

  The interrogation was far from over. Since she was married to a detective, she supposed it was inevitable.

  Physically and emotionally spent, Susan looped her arms around her upraised knees beneath the covers.

  “There’s a woman at the shelter named Colleen Wright, who helps people find jobs. She called me into her office and said the Etoile was looking for maids because it was the most recently built hotel on the Strip.

  “She volunteered to get me an interview and said she’d explain my situation to the recruiter. I was grateful because I knew I couldn’t stay at the shelter much longer.”

  He ran agitated fingers through his hair at the temple. “It sounds like they were very kind to you there.”

  “You can’t imagine.”

  “I’ve sent battered wives to the shelter before. It’s gratifying to hear firsthand that the system is working so well.” He lowered his voice. “The list of people I owe for taking care of my wife keeps growing.”

  One moment he was all detective. In the next instant, the husband emerged. In either role, she could tell, he was a man who was fiercely protective of the people he loved. The list of things she admired about him was also growing.

  “Getting back to your CPA job for a moment, you were working on another account, too. LeBaron Fireworks. Does that name have any significance to you?”

  “No,” she said quietly.

  “It was a company that shipped fireworks all over the U.S. The plant was located in the desert east of the city. Geoffrey LeBaron, the owner, had been put on notice that the IRS would be auditing him.

  “According to you, his fear that they’d find something wrong made him unusually anxious. Both Brett and I heard you on the phone several times trying to reassure him that everything looked fine so he shouldn’t worry.

  “On Saturday morning, the twentieth of August, you drove out to meet with him. That was at his suggestion, because the plant was closed and you could both talk freely.

  “You and I had breakfast together before you left the house. You told me you were planning to go over the areas of greatest concern to him and prove that the IRS wouldn’t find anything wrong. You’d nicknamed him the ‘Paranoid.’

  “I walked you out to the garage and kissed you goodbye. You said you’d call me later and tell me how it went.”

  Susan knew what was coming next and averted her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see the anguish in his while he explained what happened.

  “Later in the morning there was an explosion. A lot of people in the city felt it. I thought it was the sonic boom of a jet from Nellis Air Force Base. At 8:10 the dispatcher that serves the police and fire stations received the first 911 call.

  “I was just leaving the house when headquarters phoned to tell me that the LeBaron Fireworks plant had just blown up. I was to head there immediately to start an investigation.”

  She groaned so loudly it reverberated through the bedroom.

  “We can thank God that Brett was having a sleep-over at Mike’s. He had no idea what happened until later in the day, when I could be with him.”

  Unable to stay still another second, Susan threw off the covers and got out of bed.

  Now her husband was on his feet. Even after six months, his face had lost its color in the retelling. That alone gave her a glimpse of the agony he’d suffered on that fateful day.

  “There was a mushroom cloud of smoke in the sky. When I got there, nothing was left but a pile of rubble still on fire.”

  Racked with pain for him, she hugged her arms to her waist.

&n
bsp; “The team uncovered parts of both your car and LeBaron’s in the debris, but neither your bodies nor those of the Doberman pinschers guarding the plant were found.”

  She listened to one ghastly revelation after another, trying to put herself in his place. Convinced she would have died from the shock, Susan didn’t know how he and Brett had survived.

  “At first it was assumed to be an accident, but I wasn’t convinced. Not when we couldn’t find your bodies. And then, after we sent material to the ATF lab for examination, the proof came back that someone had planted two bombs to trigger the explosion.

  “One was placed in the plant where a lot of flash explosives had been stored. The other was in the main office, probably taped under the computer table where the two of you would’ve been working. That would have explained the reason there were no tissue samples found.

  “The damage to the plant was so severe, I assumed the firefighters had probably destroyed any bone remnants just putting out the fire, moving material around, cutting holes for ventilation. No matter how careful they are, vital evidence can be lost while the men are trying to prevent the fire from spreading.”

  He reached for the chair back and clutched it so tightly, his knuckles stood out white.

  “When I gave the FBI the material and disks concerning the LeBaron account you kept at your desk in the den, they went over all of it very thoroughly. But like you, their people couldn’t find anything that could get him into trouble with the IRS.

  “It validated your expert opinion that LeBaron didn’t have anything to worry about. Yet there was a consensus among the detectives in the department that his paranoia had caused him to commit murder-suicide by sabotaging his own plant in order to avoid facing IRS scrutiny.

  “I never did buy that explanation. But then it was my wife who’d died in the explosion. I’m afraid I wasn’t in any shape to be philosophical when it came to LeBaron’s state of mind.”

  His gaze locked with hers. “Nothing about your death made sense. And then you walked out of your apartment a little while ago….”