Why is he saying this? Why does he need to put me on the defensive? “I’ve tried to—to be loving. But Duncan’s been busy with his work and I’ve been just as swamped.”
“So, no time to make whoopee. Is that it?”
Whoopee? That’s straight out of the Dark Ages. I want to leap out of my chair and poke him in the nose. Instead, the lump in my chest grows heavy with the truth that lately Duncan’s comforting arms seem more like vises and what he calls love seems more like an imposition.
Dr. Solomon breaks into my thoughts. “Are you ready to let me jiggle a few memories?”
This is it Allie. You have to give him control. Instead of answering, I lie back, begin my deep breathing and counting and in no time I’m limp as a noodle.
Solomon sounds like he’s in a well. “You feel very heavy now. Arms and legs weigh a ton. Too heavy to lift, but try to raise your right hand for me, just a little, will you please?”
I think I manage to slightly move my index finger, but I don’t care. It’s very peaceful, wherever I am. Then I look into the bright blue eyes of the man on the porch. He’s in a police uniform. Sheriff.
I’m trembling, not because I’m afraid, but because no man I’ve ever been with has aroused me so. We are in a musty room. I hear him speak for the first time, though his voice is almost a whisper. “Tomorrow?”
Yes, that’s his voice with the soft, lazy drawl. I say something to him, but whatever it is doesn’t move him. I say it again. Nine o’clock autopsy.
Finally, he edges by me and disappears into the darkness.
I want to think about that moment. Feel the way I felt. Delicious. Yes. Delicious.
Solomon’s voice cuts in. “What about the autopsy?”
The scene shifts to a well-lighted office. I smell stale coffee—hear the clacking keys of a typewriter. Yes. Yes. It’s him. I see his lips move. “I’m Bill Cotton, the Sheriff. Welcome to Uvalde.”
“Come with me now, Allie,” Dr. Solomon insists. “It’s nine o’clock and time for Reena’s autopsy.”
“No.” I blurt, shaking my head hard.
“Does it frighten you to see your dead friend?”
“I never saw her body. Pictures. I saw pictures.” I try to turn my head as the gruesome black and white images flash before me.
I hear myself say, “Don’t gag, ask questions. Good. We’re leaving but I can’t stand up. Oh hell, I’m going to pass out.”
“Who’s with you? Is it Paul?”
“No, not Paul.” I smile. “Bill Cotton.”
“So,” Solomon says. “We finally have a name.”
I nod and murmur, “Yes. The sheriff.”
Solomon brings me out of the trance by counting down from ten. He waits until I sit up and face him. “And was it love at first sight?”
I’m startled by his question. “Maybe so. Certainly a strong sexual attraction, but there’s more to it than that, I’m positive.”
“I’m sure your first impulse is to get in touch with this man, but I’m strongly advising you not to because you don’t know the whole story yet.”
“Okay, okay. I promise I won’t call until all the pieces fall in place.”
I rise to go, but Solomon’s next words stop me in my tracks. “What about Duncan?”
I slip back into my chair and sigh. “I don’t want to think about Duncan right now.”
“But maybe you should,” Solomon says. “After all, you tell me you haven’t been able to be intimate with him for the past few weeks. That should tell you something.”
“But, I do love him.”
“Yes, I think you do, Allie, but isn’t it plain this Bill Cotton is standing in the way of any future the two of you might have? Wouldn’t it be better to let the guy off the hook until all this is resolved?”
It’s like a large stone lifts. Tears come, but not sad ones. Tears of relief. Later that day, I removed my engagement ring and put it in the office safe.
Christmas in Lampasas turns out to be the best one we’ve had since my grandparents were killed. Angela and I are able to be just “the girls,” staying up late every night. Mother cooks our favorite foods and Dad takes us skeet shooting. We even get stockings stuffed with crazy gifts, just like we did when we were little.
The table is once again filled with guests who watch as Angela and I fight over who gets the pully-bone.
Duncan calls only once to wish me Merry Christmas. It’s a short conversation, lots of noise in the background of both homes. I hope he won’t say he loves me, and am relieved when the conversation ends without it.
The holiday is over before we know it. After dropping Angela off at the Austin airport, I have almost two hundred miles to consider a future with Duncan and am surprised to discover I scarcely thought about him at all while I was away. That I never once longed to be with him. That the ring is exactly where it belongs. By the time I arrive in Houston, I know I have to end the relationship.
The first evening Duncan is back, I suggest we meet for dinner at a downtown restaurant not far from his office since I have a meeting at the nearby Pennzoil Building. When he agrees, I make a reservation, specifying a banquette in a side alcove usually reserved by lovers.
Our greeting embrace is as brief as the kiss, but then, we’re in a public place. We follow the maître d’ through the crowded main room, slide into the banquette, then order martinis. Though Duncan makes no move to take my hand, the mood we share is relaxed and our conversation centers on family holiday anecdotes for the first part of our meal, then what is happening in our careers.
I drop it on him over dessert and coffee, then extract the ring from my purse and place it on the table next to his hand.
He looks at me, then down at the ring, then back at me.
“My therapy isn’t going well at all. Solomon says it may take a year or even longer before my memory is completely restored, and I can’t ask you to begin a marriage based on the unknown. It isn’t fair after all the waiting you’ve done already.”
I hear the words tumble from my mouth, planned—practiced, but they sound rushed, false, and unfeeling.
I search his face to find no pain there, no look of amazement, just speculation. Then he says, “I had a feeling about us when we didn’t get the house in Tanglewood, didn’t you?”
The house in Tanglewood? Did I know we’d lost the bid? I search my memory and come up empty.
Duncan picks up the ring, slides it in his pocket, then gives me a thin smile. “I’ll miss you, Allie. We had something pretty great going there for a while. Looks like fate’s just not on our side. I think it’s best if we don’t see each other at all. They say a clean break is always better.”
He signals for the check, walks me to the car, and says goodbye.
I feel tears edge forward, surprised my emotions could still be so raw. Everything was neatly planned. Just a civilized dinner and a short goodbye. And now that it’s done, where’s the relief? Why, instead, regret?
Chapter 23
I HAVE JUST FLOWN IN FROM DALLAS. On the way to Bammel Lane I take a slight detour down Kirby Drive to witness the beginning of spring. The flowering quince and pink magnolias have come and gone, but the azaleas are right on schedule: ready to pop just in time for the last freeze of the year. Seeing the burgeoning pale green trees and carpeted lawns dotted with tulips and daffodils is somehow soothing.
My job at Perkins, Travis is going extremely well. It seems real estate is my forte. My success with Dixon-Renchen rolled me into an even bigger venture dealing with a major property swap in Dallas, where I’ve been living in a hotel since January. This has limited Dr. Solomon and me to one Saturday session a week at best, and now that the deal is coming down to the wire, our group has been working through the weekend.
Even with that, the timing on the trade couldn’t have been better. Finding out about Bill Cotton and my attraction to him certainly clarified my feelings for Duncan. When Dr. Solomon brought me out of the trance that Saturday, I remembered
everything that happened in the Medical Examiner’s office, when I saw the graphic pictures of Reena and almost passed out.
What happened after Bill and I left the ME’s office is still a big zero. This lack of progress is extremely frustrating for two reasons. The main one being my tremendous urge to get back within kissing range of the sheriff. The second is my failure to remember even one small detail after that nine o’clock appointment at the ME’s office.
For the last three sessions, after I go under, Solomon has me repeat the events while he tries to drive me over those last few hurdles.
He reports that when I’m hypnotized, I relate exactly the same events, and include exactly the same details. Still, he won’t tell me anything. Part of the therapy is for me to remember everything in a waking state.
After each session Solomon reminds me to keep hands off on any contact with Uvalde until I can remember everything. I’ve been tempted to call Susie more than once, but so far I’ve been able to resist, since the closing in Dallas has taken up most of my time.
My building has one great perk. A doorman who, if he likes you, will retrieve and park your car. Elton is round and middle-aged. He definitely has his pets and, happily, I’m one of them.
I hand over my car keys, then check my watch. Almost six. My appointment with Dr. Solomon is at seven, so I have plenty of time to bathe and get into something comfortable. I hardly notice the couple preceding me into the elevator until the man says, “Hello, Allie.”
I look into Duncan’s steady brown stare, then realize he’s attached to the woman next to him. “Allie, I’d like you to meet Ellen Anderson.” He turns to her. “You remember my telling you about Allie, don’t you, darling?”
She smiles and extends her hand. “Of course, I do. Glad to meet you.”
“And I, you.” I manage to purr, while checking out her blonde hair and flawless, glowing complexion. I glance at her left hand and there it is, the same ring that once graced mine.
I can’t ignore the surge of bile at the base of my throat as I realize Duncan has not only speedily recovered from being dumped, but has happily gotten on with his life.
The elevator stops and the doors glide open, but I can’t seem to turn away and make my exit.
Duncan’s soft voice gives me the thrust I need. “Your floor, I believe.”
I nod and push the closing door wide, then scurry to my apartment and drown in the morass of rejection.
“So,” Dr. Solomon says, as he pushes the tissue box in my direction. “You got blind-sided?”
“I guess you could say that. I certainly didn’t expect Duncan to be engaged so soon.”
“He’s ready to settle down, that’s all.” “But it’s only been three months.”
“True, but remember how relieved you were when you broke off your engagement? He probably suffered a lot back then.”
“Then why am I feeling this way when I was the one who broke it off?”
I tune up again. Damn, I hate to cry. I grab another tissue and blow my nose, but the tears keep coming.
“Simple. Nobody likes to lose control over a situation.” “And I did?”
He nods. “Your reaction is perfectly normal.”
“Seeing him with another woman really hurt. I suppose I was jealous.”
“Maybe you should think about that.”
“It’s too late,” I wail. “I told you, he’s engaged.”
Solomon smiles. “Trust me. When we get you through this, you will be able to make the right decision... and for all the right reasons.”
Chapter 24
IT’S MID-MARCH. With the Dallas deal successfully sealed, Perkins, Travis is talking partnership. I should be ecstatic, and would be if my therapy were producing the results I hoped for. Of course, Solomon has assured me we would have been right on schedule if I hadn’t spent all winter in Dallas.
Instead of attending the party for the Dallas group, I’m taking Friday off to fly home. Solomon has promised to set aside time this evening, as well as tomorrow, to “explore some other directions.”
I’ve been on the couch for over an hour, and Dr. Solomon’s voice sounds like he’s in the well again, but he hasn’t hypnotized me this time. I’m only in the alpha state.
“What happens when you and Cotton leave the ME’s office?” “I don’t feel so hot.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“My stomach is queasy, but Bill has my arm. We’re walking down the street. His shirt is brushing my cheek. He’s very tall.”
“And looks just like Paul Newman.”
We’ve been here before. Solomon is saying this to irritate me and he’s been plenty irritating lately.
“I never said that. Angela did. She’s the one hung up on movie star look-a-likes. The sheriff doesn’t look at all like Paul Newman. It’s the bright blue eyes.”
“Does he have on the Kryptonite aftershave?”
I smile. “Yes. Maybe that’s why I’m queasy.” “Allie?”
“Yes?”
“Can you hear everything you’re telling me?” “Yes.”
His voice is very close and it sounds as if he’s trying to buffer his excitement. “Please open your eyes.”
I do, and Solomon says, “I want you to look directly at me when you talk, okay?”
“Fine by me.”
I go through the rest of that day. Breakfast sitting across from Bill Cotton. Paul’s sudden disappearance. My trip to the emptied ranch and how frightened I was until I found the old wall telephone. Susie’s description of the cocaine and the small Piper Cub.
Dr. Solomon leans forward. “And what happened next?”
“I went back to the motel and changed rooms. The air conditioner was on the fritz, remember?”
He smiles. “And after that?”
“I put on jeans and riding boots and drive out to visit Susie and Del. They’re celebrating the recovery of the Darden oil property. They ask me to join them on the porch and Susie starts inside.”
I shiver as fear shoots through my innards and my two friends freeze-frame.
Poor Dr. Solomon, he’s so close—just inches away from getting me over that last dark hurdle. I guess he can’t stand it any longer because he says, “Didn’t you ask them about something before Susie left to get you a glass?”
I realize I’m wringing my hands. “Did I?”
“You were on a mission.”
I shake my now-throbbing head. “No. No. I went out to the Dardens’ for a drink because I was having dinner with the sheriff if he could get away in time.”
“What happens next isn’t that bad, Allie. You already know how it ends. You survived the blow to your head and you’re sitting here talking to me. What is it that frightens you so?”
My head is splitting. I thread my words through clenched teeth, “I don’t want to know the truth.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Can you tell me why you don’t want to know?”
“Can you?” I look away, searching for my purse, which I hope contains some aspirin.
“Oh, yes. I’ve known the reason for your reluctance for several months. And if you’ll allow yourself, you will too.”
Eureka. I find the bottle, throw two aspirin in my mouth and wash them down with water from the glass on the table next to me, hoping that will be enough to dull the pounding.
Solomon’s voice weaves through the ache. “I thought you were using the relaxation technique to solve your headache problem. Too much aspirin can tear up your gut.”
“It’s my gut, dammit, and these are my memories. Besides—” I grab my purse and stand, relieved he didn’t hypnotize me this session. “That’s enough for today.”
Solomon stares up at me, then says, “You’re afraid Cotton is involved with the drug trafficking operation, aren’t you?”
I lose my middle and crash back to the couch as the scenes I couldn’t face replay. Del’s veiled threats. Stealing Mr. No-Name. The journey up the mountain. The terror in Paul’s fac
e. Every detail of those last moments on the mountain flashes before me.
Tears stream down my face. “Satisfied?”
Dr. Solomon nods sympathetically. “There are a couple of questions you need to ask yourself, Allie. The first being, if you’re so sure Cotton’s involved, why didn’t he kill you then? He couldn’t possibly have known you were amnesic. For all he knew, once you recovered, you could’ve gone straight to the police and exposed the operation implicating him.”
I brighten. “I didn’t think of that.”
He frowns, then says, “But, there’s also this to consider: If there are no obstacles in his life, why hasn’t he tried to contact you?”
My euphoria fades as quickly as it bloomed.
Chapter 25
HOUSTON’S BRIEF BUT GLORIOUS spring is over, but thanks to daylight savings time, I’ve been able to get in a late-evening jog on the cinder track at a high school near my apartment.
Unfortunately, this evening I’m still at my desk, re-reading the final paragraph on a contract before I head for freedom.
When I hear, “Miss Armington?” I look up to see the firm’s security officer, standing in my door, a paper-filled clipboard in one hand.
The ex-CIA agent is trim and fit, but about as exciting as a wet mop. He gives me a dry, thin smile and says, “Do you have a minute?”
I motion him in, surprised and slightly annoyed that he’s barring my escape. “What can I do for you?”
He closes the door behind him and settles in a chair across from me. “I think the shoe is on the other foot, Miss Armington. It’s more like what I’ve already done for you.”
I push the contract to one side. “Pardon?”
He fishes in his jacket pocket and pulls out a small round metal disk. “Do you know what this is?”
“Looks like a battery of some sort, for a watch or a camera?” “But it isn’t.” He gives me a triumphant smirk.
“This is a small transmitter—a bug, if you will. I found it in the mouthpiece of your telephone Saturday.”
Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery Page 13