Peppermint Creek Inn

by Jan Springer

  Tom opted for the first. After all, he had the hood covering his newly dyed and cut hair, and he was one beard and one mustache less now.

  He turned around slowly, preparing to defend himself, but to his cautious surprise, the cop extended his hand.

  Blinking the rain out of his eyes, he shook hands with the cop.

  “Howdy.” Tom said casually, hoping the shakiness traveling like lightning speed through him wouldn’t show up in his voice. “Name’s Smith. Tom Smith.”

  The man openly stared at Tom. “You related to Garry Smith?”

  He shifted uncomfortably under Jeffries’ curious gaze.

  “Nope.”

  “Just visiting?” The cop’s cold voice dropped a chilly shiver upon Tom’s spine.

  “Passing through,” he replied.

  Jeffries’ eyes squinted narrowly behind his rain-spattered glasses and Tom suddenly realized Jeffries might not be able to see him clearly or have an idea who he was talking to. On the other hand, he might. Tom didn’t miss the cop’s right hand snake smoothly to his holstered gun.

  “You look a bit familiar to me. Have we met somewhere?”

  Those words froze Tom’s smile. “Don’t think so. Never been in these parts before.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy Jeffries and he nodded and his hand flew away from his holster, he saluted and turned on his heel.

  Tom watched warily as the cop strolled casually down the sidewalk. He’d been lucky Jeffries hadn’t recognized him. The rain had been his savior today. But how long before Jeffries figured out why he looked so familiar? One hour? One day? How long before Cran Simcoe decided to spill his guts and tell a friend that Sara had a stranger living out there with her?

  He cursed softly beneath his breath.

  He’d been crazy to even flirt with the idea of leaving Sara. He would have to try again to persuade her to seek safety somewhere else. And if her stubborn pride got in his way and she refused to leave, then he’d have to stay and protect her himself, because there was no way in hell he was leaving her alone.

  —

  “How does a person get amnesia?”

  Dr. Smokey McKay’s dark gray eyes narrowed with curiosity as she leaned forward in her creaky old overstuffed leather chair and shoved the pen she’d been using to scribble notes on a patient’s chart, behind her ear.

  “Why are you so interested in amnesia all of a sudden, Sara? Has this something to do with your memory confusions when Jack was murdered? Or is it something else?”

  Sara swallowed hard and squirmed uncomfortably under Smokey’s intense gaze. The woman knew Sara so well. She could almost feel herself blurting out about Tom and decided against it. She knew without a doubt she could trust the shrink, but it was best not to get her involved.

  “Actually, um, I’m thinking of writing an article about my experience. That’s all.”

  “That’s all, huh,” Smokey said doubtfully. “I know you too well, Sara. Something’s going on isn’t it?”

  Sara laughed nervously. “My God, I’ve only asked you one question. How can you be so interested in one lousy question?”

  “Because, Sara, you are positively glowing. Something happen to you over the winter? Have you met someone?”

  Sara shifted uneasily. The question had caught her off guard.

  “I’m just doing some research for Garry that’s all. Nothing suspicious about that.”

  “Writing? Or research? Which is it? Besides I didn’t say there was anything suspicious about your question,” Smokey replied gently. “Why are you being so defensive?”

  Sara grabbed her purse off the desk. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Smoke. Just forget I asked.”

  “Wait!” Smokey urged. “I’m your doctor. If you have questions, I’m obligated to answer. You don’t have to tell me why you want to know. I’m sorry for being so pushy. It’s just you’ve changed so much, Sara. You look so alive. Healthy. I’m just surprised. Please have a seat. I won’t ask any more questions.”

  Sara sighed and plopped back down on the chair. If she’d known Smokey would get so suspicious, she’d never have come to her for help. She knew she should tell her. Tell her everything about Tom. His amnesia. How attracted she was to him. How she wished he’d make love to her. Sara shook the racy thoughts from her head as Smokey spoke.

  “I know dealing with memory is very tricky,” she said. “And every case of amnesia is unique. What exactly do you want to know?”

  Sara’s grip tightened on her purse. “How does someone get amnesia?”

  “We still don’t know everything about it, but people can get amnesia in a variety of ways. A serious illness, a blow to the head or as you well know some sort of mental trauma can make a person block out certain aspects of their life. What specific questions do you need answered?”

  “This is a strictly hypothetical question, of course.”

  “Of course.” Smokey smiled and urged Sara to continue.

  “If someone say—killed someone and didn’t remember it or anything else for that matter, what are the chances of his ever regaining his entire memory back?”

  “It depends. If the person is deliberately blocking out something because it’s too painful to remember, for example killing someone, it’s called psychological or defensive amnesia, whereas the memory is being suppressed unconsciously not deliberately.

  “He may say he wants to remember, but in fact really doesn’t because his life is so pleasant at the moment he fears the memory return may complicate matters. Whereas if the amnesia is caused by head trauma, the memories may return with time or may never return, depending on the severity of the case.

  “Either way the longer the person has amnesia, the worse the chances are of regaining their memory.”

  “And what happens when they regain their memory? Will he remember what happened to him during the period he was lost?”

  “When a person has amnesia they are in what we in fact call the ‘fugue state’. The person has no recollection of who they are or where they come from. Certain aspects of their lives are retained such as foods they like, traffic laws, how to walk, how to talk, things like that.

  “The person who has amnesia will go on living, making new memories and sometimes the fugue state dissolves allowing the person to remember who he is and where he came from. They can return to their normal lives again.

  “But will they remember what happened during a fugue state? It depends on the individual, and again it depends on how long the amnesia lasted. The longer it goes on, the poorer the chances of even remembering what happened in a fugue state.”

  She had the answer she was looking for. There was a chance Tom wouldn’t remember who she was when he regained his memory. The horrible thought made her feel like crying. But she didn’t. Instead, Sara squared her shoulders defiantly. She wouldn’t think about it. She couldn’t.

  Smokey leaned forward in her chair, her eyes narrowing. “There’s a case I had when I was living down in Florida. You could use it for your article or research, if you’re interested.”

  “Sure. Tell me.”

  “A woman and her family went down to Mexico for a trip. One day her husband took the kids shopping and she decided to settle under a palm tree to read a book. She was reading when suddenly a coconut fell on her head. She couldn’t remember who she was or where she came from. She wandered away from the hotel and was reported missing.

  “Eight years later, she reappeared at the same hotel, her previous memories totally intact. She believed she had just returned from sitting under the coconut tree. Much to the woman’s surprise, her family wasn’t there.

  “She went home to discover her two children were almost teenagers and her husband had declared her dead and remarried. Making matters worse, he married her very own best friend.” Smokey shook her head. Her reddish brown curls bounced with wonder. “Needless to say, their lives were totally turned upside down. Eventually the husband did go back to his first wife. And then after a fe
w months, a man showed up on the woman’s front door claiming to be her husband. Apparently she’d married during her fugue state and had two more children.”

  “You mean she didn’t remember remarrying or having any more children when she regained her memory?”

  “She remembered nothing. As I said, she thought she’d only returned from her vacation. Tests were made to determine if the children were hers and all results pointed she was indeed the mother. But she was unable to be their mother because all maternal instinct had been wiped out.”

  Sara bit her lower lip trying hard not to show any emotion as Smokey watched her curiously.

  If Tom regained his full memory, there was a chance he wouldn’t even know who she was. And he might also have another family out there waiting for him to come home. A family who loved him.

  And if there was a family out there? Could she let Tom go?

  Could she pretend he never existed and move on with her life? Or would she return to those horribly depressing months she’d fought so hard to overcome after her own family’s destruction?

  —

  Queens, New York…

  Garry and Jo stared through the ten-foot-high chain-link fence at the abandoned-looking red brick building housed smack-dab in the industrial section of Queens, New York.

  “This is definitely the address,” Jo said. “ My memory might not be the greatest but I’m one hundred percent sure this is the place.”

  She winked at Garry as she held up her palm to show him where she’d rewritten the address.

  Garry’s forehead wrinkled in surprise. “I thought you flushed it down the toilet.”

  “I did. But not before writing it down somewhere else.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Hey, you never know. You might wake up one day with amnesia or something.”

  Garry smiled as he continued to eye the building. “Looks deserted. Kind of spooky. Not a place to be hanging around, even in broad daylight.” He wheeled his wheelchair closer to the fence. “Do you think we’ve been scammed?”

  Jo shook her head. “For a place that looks abandoned they sure have a fancy security system.” She pointed to the overhang over the front door. “And a high-tech surveillance camera.”

  Garry cocked a curious eyebrow as he spied the shiny camera scanning them.

  “Why don’t you sit tight, Garry, while I check this out.” With a sudden burst of speed, Jo leaped up the fence, her fingers grasping the chain links.

  “What are you doing, Jo?” Garry shouted from behind her.

  “Trying to see if anyone is home,” she yelled back as she scrambled monkey-style up the fence and down the other side.

  Within a minute she stood at the front door gazing at the number pad encased in cement in the wall.

  “Now why would someone have such fancy gadgets in this neck of the woods,” she mumbled beneath her breath. Jo reached into her back pocket and withdrew her wallet.

  “Careful, Jo,” Garry shouted. “I know what you’re thinking of doing.”

  Jo winked at Garry as she withdrew her credit card. “This should get us some action,” she said. In one quick fluid motion, she swiped the card through the swiper and punched in a few random numbers.

  Sirens and bells screamed throughout the air.

  Bingo!

  Garry cursed loudly outside the chain-link fence.

  The front door burst open and three men dressed in black, with drawn guns surrounded her.

  “You must be the welcoming committee,” she said cocking an inquiring eyebrow at them. From the corner of her eye she spotted another “welcoming committee” surrounding Garry.

  “Take it easy guys, I’m a P.I. My ID is in my wallet.” She held the wallet out at arm’s length so the goons could see it. “I’m also armed. The gun is in my right shoulder holster. Just so you know.”

  A tall, very pretty woman with shoulder-length auburn hair dressed in a smart navy blue blazer and short skirt erupted from the building. She was followed by two more armed men dressed entirely in black.

  “I know who you are,” the woman said sharply. “You’ve just broken into a high-security government building. If you don’t answer some questions mighty quick, you and your accomplice are going to jail.”

  “You better show us a federal arrest warrant mighty quick or we’re walking,” Garry yelled from the other side of the fence.

  Jo picked up Garry’s hint and turned to leave.

  “No. Wait!” the woman shouted at Jo.

  Jo stopped and turned to the woman. “You’ve got questions. We’ve got answers,” Jo lied. “How about you tell us what you know and we’ll reciprocate. Have we got a deal?”

  “Deal,” the woman mumbled. “Come inside.”

  —

  “Listen, I’m sorry I snapped at you last night. When you took off like that I was worried for your safety,” Sara said as they headed back home in the truck with the rain drumming against the roof of her cab like a thousand impatient fingers. Ever since she’d picked up Tom at their designated meeting spot, he’d been quiet. Brooding. Actually, he’d been quiet since early this morning, barely touching his breakfast and saying few words to her except for when he’d argued he would be going to town with her.

  When he’d finally spoken to her, he’d said only enough to tell her Cran Simcoe was her shadow, and in his opinion a harmless one at that.

  Tom didn’t acknowledge her apology. As a matter of fact, he totally ignored her as he stared blankly out the passenger window.

  “Tom? Did you hear me? Or are you simply not going to answer me?”

  “I just don’t feel much like talking is all.” A muscle twitched in his jaw.

  It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out he had another headache.

  “I’ll make you another cup of willow bark tea when we get back.”

  “Sure.”

  Sara frowned. He really must have a doozie of a headache if he wasn’t protesting the awful tea.

  “There’s some extra-strength painkiller in the paper bag right there.” She pointed to the bag on the bench seat between them then suddenly realized her mistake.

  Oh, shoot!

  The condoms! They were in the bag!

  Sara made a grab for the bag but realized she was too late.

  He’d already opened it and was looking inside.

  She watched in shock as his face suddenly turned pale as a ghost. Her foot had already hit the brakes when he shouted his warning. Tom barely made it out of the truck in time.

  —

  Tom grimaced as Sara placed the second cup of the bitter tea in front of him and sat down beside him.

  “So what gives?” Sara asked.

  “The headache. A little.”

  “Quit goofing off. I’m serious. Why’d you react like that in the truck? Was it—” Sara hesitated.

  She wanted to know if he’d seen the condoms buried underneath the mail. She didn’t think he had, but still, she would appreciate knowing if the thought of making love to her repulsed him so much he’d become violently ill and almost passed out.

  Instead she went with her instincts and asked, “Did you have another memory flash?”

  He frowned in response and picked up the cruel smelling brew, took a deep breath and gulped down a giant mouthful. Another grimace quickly followed, this time obviously from the horrid taste.

  “Yes. I had a memory flash. I’ve been having more of them over the past few days.”

  “Well, I’m glad you could confide in me.” Sara angrily crossed her arms.

  Tom nodded, the fine lines around his mouth deepening as his frown increased. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have.”

  Her anger quickly faded to compassion when she realized he indeed was truly sorry for not telling her.

  “Are they about your family? Do you remember their names?”

  “Nothing about my family.” His words were drenched with dread and Sara shivered under the onslaught of the troubled look in his eyes.

>   “What…what do you remember?”

  Anxiety curled around her. She remembered what her shrink Smokey had said, that if he remembered his past he might forget her.

  “I couldn’t see his face. But he was an older man. He was lying on the floor. There was—” Tom shut his eyes tightly as if to squeeze the memory away “—lots of blood.”

  Sara swallowed hard at the scorching look of pain twisting his face and she tried to dispel the fear creeping across her shoulder blades. There were questions to ask. Questions she didn’t want to rise, but she had to. “Did this man have red hair? A pencil-thin mustache?”

  “No, he had white hair.”

  “Thank God.” Sara let out a breath of relief.

  “It’s not the missing officer?”

  “No, it’s not. Did you see yourself killing this man?”

  He shook his head. A frustrated frown crossed his face.

  “Good. That’s good.”

  Another hurdle crossed.

  “But I didn’t see myself not killing him,” he said tightly.

  “Let’s keep this positive. Remember innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Okay, okay,” he whispered and nodded his head. “Positive. I can do that.”

  “Is there any more you’re not telling me?”

  “No, it’s always the same. I’ve tried to see who he is, but I can’t make out a face. Just white hair and lots of blood.”

  “It’ll come with time,” Sara said gently.

  “I don’t know if I want it to come.” His jaws tightened and released and he stood. His strong muscular legs took him over to his raincoat hanging on the peg by the door where she heard paper rustling as he searched for something in the pocket.

  When he returned to the kitchen table, he sat down and plopped a small paper bag on top of the table in front of her. For a horrible instant, Sara thought it was the bag containing the condoms.

  Then she relaxed when she saw the writing on the bag indicated it was from the hobby shop.

  “Open it. It’s for you. I bought it with some of the spending money you gave me,” Tom said, his expression was soft and tender.