Silencing Memories

by Desiree Holt

  Lindsey’s head was reeling, and she felt dizzy. How was all this possible? “You mean I have an uncle out there somewhere? One I’ve never even heard of, let alone met?”

  “So it seems. I have people checking to see if he’s still alive and, if so, where he lives.”

  She took a swallow of her drink, hoping the alcohol would steady her, grateful now for Nick’s insistence on the whiskey.

  “What on earth could have happened to make them change their lives so drastically and hide away in Texas?” She shook her head in bewilderment. “Why did they feel the need to start their lives over using new identities? They left family behind and everything.”

  Nick took one of her hands in his and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. “That’s as much as the office has been able to piece together so far. I’m hoping we’ll find more in the library tomorrow.”

  Sparks raced through Lindsey at the physical contact with him. She looked at Nick, realized he’d felt the same thing, and pulled her hand back. Surely that wasn’t hurt on his face? Probably just wounded pride.

  “This is all so…mind-boggling.” She wasn’t sure how much shocking news she could take. “Nick, if this is all true, then what happened to those two children—my sister and brother—and why did my parents change their names?” She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “I don’t understand anything.”

  “I want to ask you to do something.” He started to reach for her hand again, then stopped and instead fiddled with his drink. “You may not want to, but I think it’s very necessary, and now is the time for it.”

  “What do you want that’s so awful? Wait. If it’s that bad, maybe I should finish my drink first.” She swallowed a large gulp and sputtered, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “Easy,” Nick cautioned. “Sip, remember?”

  She quickly drank some water. “I forgot this is bourbon.” She set her water glass down carefully. “Okay. Let’s have it.”

  “I want you to call Mary and tell her Reno would like to come out and talk to her and Ruben. Tell her what you’ve found out so far. Give her permission to tell him whatever it is that you and I both know they aren’t telling you.”

  “Oh, Nick.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if they’ll do it. I can hardly get them to talk to me. And Reno would go himself? What’s that all about?”

  “This is too sensitive to send one of our agents,” he explained. “It’s obvious they know at least pieces of the story. I want whatever information they have before we go to Indian Island, if possible. Will you do it?”

  Lindsey chewed on her thumbnail. “I guess so. But my asking doesn’t mean they’ll say yes.”

  “I know, but at least it will open the door.”

  “All right.” She took another drink of water. “I’ll do it when we get back to the motel.”

  They ordered their dinner, although Lindsey wasn’t sure if she’d be able to keep anything in her stomach. Everything she’d learned was too unsettling. She could hardly get her mind around the fact that her whole life had been a lie.

  Back in her room, she tamped down her reservations and put the call through to the ranch. Nick stood beside her, waiting. When she told Mary what they had found so far and what she wanted her and Ruben to do, there was a long silence on the other end.

  Then Ruben came on the line. “When we suggested you look in those boxes, we didn’t think you’d carry it quite this far, little one.” His voice was somber. “But I guess it’s your right to know. You finish what you’re doing and come back here. Then we’ll talk. Only to you, though. And maybe that guy you’re playing footsie with. I guess he should know, too.”

  Only there’s no more footsie.

  “They won’t do it.” She sighed, hanging up. “Ruben said only to me, after we get back.” She raked her hands through her hair, then pushed her glasses back up on her nose. “But we aren’t going to get anything out of them until we get back to the ranch, so we might just as well keep plunging ahead.”

  “Then I think we should go to sleep,” Nick said. “I want us to be fresh for the morning.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you then.”

  Lindsey thought about locking the connecting door, except what if she needed him in the middle of the night? What if, God forbid, she had another nightmare? She shuddered but left the inner door unlocked. She suddenly realized how tired she was. Sleep sounded very good. She showered quickly and climbed into in the unfamiliar bed, closing her eyes.

  Help me! Help me!

  Her lungs were starved for air, but she kept pushing through the water. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids felt glued shut.

  Hurry! Help me!

  She was so tired she didn’t think she could take one more stroke, but the tiny voice kept ringing in her ears.

  Hurry! Hurry!

  “Lindsey. Wake up, sugar. Come on, Lindsey, snap out of it.”

  There was a hand over her mouth, and she tried to pull away from it. A scream tried to push its way out of her throat.

  “Lindsey, it’s me, Nick. Open your eyes for me.” The voice was insistent, penetrating the fog.

  As if she was pushing boulders from her eyelids, she opened them very slowly. Nick’s face swam into her blurred vision.

  “Nick?” she mumbled against the fingers on her lips.

  “It’s me.” His eyes were heavy with concern. “Are you okay? Can I take my hand away?”

  She nodded and opened her mouth to draw air into her lungs. When her racing heart slowed, she looked at him. “What happened?”

  “You screamed so loud I expected someone to call the police. It’s a good thing you left your side of the door unlocked.”

  “I screamed?” she repeated.

  “I thought I’d have to suffocate you to keep you from waking up the entire motel.”

  “I had the nightmare again.” She shuddered.

  “Sure seems that way.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “Lindsey, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I don’t think you should be alone for the rest of the night. Will you let me sleep here with you, hold you, if I don’t make any moves?”

  Certain she was making a mistake but knowing she’d be better off with him in here, she nodded and moved over to make room for him. The sight of his muscular body clad only in boxers almost made her change her mind about their relationship. But he was good as his word. He just wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him in a comforting embrace.

  “I hate this,” she said, her voice soft. “Hate it, hate it, hate it.”

  “I know.” He tightened his arms around her. “Do you want me to get you some hot tea or something? There’s a coffee maker here that I can heat water in.”

  “No.” She shook her head, burrowing against his chest. “Just hold me.”

  Despite the comfort of his big, warm body, Lindsey lay awake for a long time, her mind a jumble of thoughts. Who was she really? What would they find out tomorrow? And where did the nightmare fit into all of this?

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I think this building has been here since the colonies were founded,” Lindsey whispered as they climbed the broad steps of the Bangor Public Library. She was trying to ease the bad attack of nerves she’d woken up with.

  “So has the librarian,” Nick whispered back, pointing to the woman behind the checkout desk.

  Lindsey elbowed him to be quiet, then waited while he explained to the woman what they were looking for.

  “Oh, yes, we have those,” the woman assured him. “But they’re down in the basement. No one ever asks for them.” She made a slight tsking sound. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it’s very dusty down there.”

  “That’s all right. We’re dust proof,” Nick told her.

  Lindsey jabbed him again.

  “Follow me, then.” She marched down the stairs ahead of them, her soft rubber soles barely making a sound. Throwing open the door to a long, narrow room, she pointed out the boxes of news
papers on the shelves. “If you could get those down, sir, it would be a great help. You can spread them out on that table over there. Those chairs are none too comfortable, I guess, but it’s better than standing up.”

  “We’ll do just fine,” Nick assured her.

  “Well, all right. My name is Grace if you need any further help.”

  “Thank you.” He urged Grace back upstairs, then scanned the labels on the boxes. “Let’s see if we can make this a little easier,” he told Lindsey. “According to the letters, the baby must have been born in 1970. He looks to be at least a year old in those pictures, so they had to be taken the following year. Let’s start with 1971 and work forward.”

  He took down the appropriate boxes, pulled out the issues they wanted, and gave half to Lindsey. The process was tedious. The Beach Recorder may have only published weekly, but each issue was at least fifty pages.

  “Who would ever believe there was so much news in these teeny little communities,” Lindsey commented, stopping a moment to stretch her arms and rotate her head. “Of course, most of the paper is a bloated society column. I can’t believe some of the stuff that’s in here.”

  “Everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame.” Nick grinned. “And some people, it seems, want it more than once.”

  A picture of a crowd at a party caught her attention and she sat forward, excitement skittering through her veins. “Nick, look at this. Here’s a picture of my—the Dolmans at somebody’s event. See?” She pointed to a page. “They’re standing with a bunch of political bigwigs. I guess they really did move in high society.”

  “That means they spent some significant time around here.” He turned another page. “Let’s keep looking. Maybe there are more pictures of them.”

  They found six more shots of Brent and Marie at social functions with a group of the island’s elite. After that, they searched each page carefully, looking not only for the headline but for any mention of the couple or their family. A picture began to emerge of a wealthy, successful attorney, his socially important wife, and their place in island society.

  According to the newspaper write-ups, Brent Dolman practiced corporate law in Boston and sat on the boards of many of the corporations he represented. He may have come from old money, but he apparently hadn’t rested on the family’s reputation and fortunes. Lindsey was stunned by the picture of her parents that emerged from the articles and society columns.

  “I’ve got the article.”

  Her head jerked up at Nick’s words. She reached across to take the paper from him. “Let me see.”

  He held onto it firmly. “Let me read it to you, Lindsey. Please. Just listen to what it says.”

  “Why? Will I hate it?” Her pulse skipped, and her hands curled into fists.

  “No, but it will be a shock,” he said. “And it opens other doors we need to go through. Just sit and listen. Please.”

  In a calm, even voice, he read the story of the tragedy that hit a prominent young family summering on Indian Island. According to the newspaper, Brent and Marie Dolman and their two children, Barbara Ann, six years old, and the toddler, Charlie had gone out for an afternoon sail. Marie was pregnant with their third child, which made the trip even more curious. They were caught in a sudden storm, and everyone was washed overboard. The children’s nanny called the Coast Guard when they didn’t return. The boat was found floating several miles away on the ocean, but three days of searching had not turned up any survivors.

  She blinked. “That’s it? No other details?”

  “I haven’t read any further. But that’s all it says here.”

  “And Marie was pregnant?” Lindsey placed her hand over her own stomach. “B-But if that’s really them, they can’t be dead because they lived in Texas.” She was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “And this means I had a sister. And a brother.”

  “So it would seem.”

  “I don’t understand any of this, Nick. Not one bit.” Nausea crept up into her throat, and she forced it back. “Let’s keep reading. There’s bound to be some follow-up.”

  In the next week’s issue, the paper reported divers were no longer searching for the remains of the Dolman family. A memorial service was held, organized by their families, and memorial markers were set in the Dolman family plot in Boston. A tiny notice the following year announced the summer home previously owned by Brent and Marie Dolman had been sold to a family from New York.

  “What about the nanny?” Lindsey’s mouth was dry, and her heart thudded against her ribs. “Does it say anything about her? Who she was? Where she went to?”

  “Wait. This isn’t all. It’s continued.” Nick flipped through several pages. “Yes. Here. Now it talks about the estate. Boy, this paper really prints everything. The estate was probated by one of Dolman’s law partners. Most of it went to a judge who was a former law professor of Brent’s.”

  “A law professor? What a strange bequest.”

  “Norma and Howard Littman, the nanny and the caretaker, received a million dollars. Jesus, Lindsey.” He looked up from his reading. “That’s a lot of money to leave the household help. Something doesn’t add up here.”

  Her head was spinning. “Nick, we have to find out what happened. Someone must know. Maybe we’ll find someone on the island who does. Maybe the people who bought the house can put us in touch with Carrie and Renee, if they’re even still alive. Maybe someone can track down the Littmans.”

  “That’s a lot of maybes.”

  “Come on.” She was up and pulling at him. “Let’s go. I want to try and find out.”

  “Hold on.” He picked up the papers with the articles in them. “First let’s see if Grace can make copies of this stuff for us. They must have a machine here someplace. Then I’m going to call the office. They’re better equipped to search than we are here. Besides, Reno may have to use a little muscle to do some of the digging.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want to get a copy of the probate papers,” he explained, “and I want someone to talk to the partners at the law firm. At least one of them must still be practicing. Then we’ll go over to the island and reconnoiter. Slowly and casually.”

  Grace was happy to make copies for them, carefully collecting a quarter for each one. She insisted on giving them a receipt, taking what Lindsey thought was forever to write it out.

  Finally, they were back in the car and on the highway.

  “Do you really think—I’m not sure I even want to ask this—that my nightmares have anything to do with this?” Lindsey twisted her hands together in her lap.

  Nick stole a quick look at her. “I told you I have a grandmother who believes in things like this. She’d say someone is trying to send you a message about what happened. That their soul was wandering and can’t rest until the truth comes out. Or maybe someone else who died that night.”

  “God, Nick, it seems so…otherworldly.”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “But that would explain the water and the drowning voice, wouldn’t it?”

  He reached over and squeezed her hands. “You said the nightmares started when your father died. Then they disappeared and came back when your mother passed away. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So my grandmother would say, each time a soul went to heaven, someone was trying to get a message through to you.”

  Lindsey leaned her head back. “I feel like I’m in a nightmare again, only this time I’m awake.”

  “But now I’m right here with you.”

  Yes, you certainly are. And that’s good and bad. Damn.

  “Lindsey, don’t make yourself sick over this. We’re going to find all the answers, and then you’ll finally have some peace.”

  “Lord.” She rubbed her eyes. “I certainly hope so.”

  The drive from Bangor to Bar Harbor took less than an hour. Dan Gregory had given them good directions to the ferry they needed, and by early afterno
on they were chugging across the short distance to Indian Island.

  The first thing Lindsey noticed was the abundance of pine trees that covered much of the island. They obscured most of the homes, although rooftops peeked out here and there. Docks protruded from the beach like so many extended wooden fingers, with boats anchored at their moorings. Here and there, a sailboat lazily skimmed the waves. April weather in Maine was still on the chilly side, but a few hardy souls had opened their homes early.

  “It seems almost too cold for this now.” Lindsey shivered, pulling the edges of her coat together.

  “It is, although my guess is a few early birds always arrive on the island. But that’s why we’re able to use this cottage. The owner won’t be here for another month.”

  They drove along a road that wound into the interior of the island, past high brick walls and thick privacy barriers formed by the pines. Occasionally, a smaller, less protected house stood out, but Lindsey guessed even those people demanded their privacy. Trying to talk to anyone might be a real challenge.

  The road curved back on itself like a switchback, and soon she caught a faint glimpse of the water again through the trees. Eventually, Nick turned off the road and bumped down a gravel driveway that ended in a wide clearing. A garage big enough to hold four cars stood at an angle to the two-story white house. The dormer windows and glass-enclosed sun porches reflected the afternoon sunlight. A side view showed a wide expanse of green lawn dotted with flagstones stretching to a narrow strip of beach.

  “This is a cottage?” She stared, open-mouthed. “I wonder how big it has to be before they call it a house. Lord, Nick. I’d love to come here on a real vacation. Are you telling me we have this whole place to ourselves?”

  “You bet.” He fished a key ring from his pocket along with a folded piece of paper. “Let’s go in, turn on the heat, and scope the place out. Then I’ll get the luggage.”

  Every room was large, part of an open, spacious design. An open-hearth fireplace dominated the living room. A sun porch like the one they’d entered held a dining room table and chairs as well as comfortable lounge furniture. The master suite located just off the living room had the same magnificent view of the water as the living room.