Forget Me Not

by Lee Boschen

  "Uh-oh,” she said, “Alex?"

  "Who else?” Leslie asked. “It was certainly his car in our drive."

  "This is big trouble. This is what we've been afraid of."

  "Not any longer,” Leslie said, “I've got someone now."

  "Oh?” June Carson surveyed Richard at some length. “What's so special about him,” she asked Leslie.

  Leslie sighed. “I'm not sure."

  "I guess you know what you're risking,” June said. “And Coleen. She's at risk too, you know."

  Leslie pointed at Richard with her head. “So is he."

  June Carson's eyes rested on Richard for a brief moment. “Yes. Still, it's about time you found somebody to—"

  "Mom! Richard doesn't need to hear about how it's time. As far as that goes, I don't need to hear it either."

  Richard began to feel like a side of beef they were discussing. Finally he asked, “Would you two like me to go for a walk?"

  June's eyes coolly met his. “No need, Richard. There isn't anything we'll say behind your back that we won't say to your face.” Her gaze moved back to Leslie. “Does he understand the risk,” she asked.

  "I should think he does by now,” Leslie said. “Certainly well enough to know that I don't come free of risk. After all, he was standing right beside me on the porch."

  "How much of this do you understand, Richard,” June asked.

  "Leslie has told me that her ex-husband is going to try to kill her and Coleen. And, uh ... me. After which he'll plead temporary insanity, or uncontrollable impulse, or something like that, and with the kind of money he has, he'll walk."

  June looked at Leslie. “So you told him everything."

  "Of course."

  June's eyes turned back to Richard. “And that doesn't scare you?"

  "Sort of.” He waggled a hand. “More of an agitation, actually. At least, so far. But then,” he mused aloud, “maybe it just hasn't soaked in yet.” He turned to Leslie. “Does Coleen know she's in danger from her father? I mean, does she have to live with this all the time?"

  Leslie shook her head. “No. For two reasons. First, there wasn't any active danger until you came along."

  "Oh,” Richard said. “Swell."

  "No.” Leslie emphatically shook her head. “You're not to blame. You didn't create the problem, you only brought it front and center. Besides, if I had really wanted it any other way, you wouldn't have gotten anywhere."

  "Oh, I don't know—"

  "I would have left you at the hospital yesterday and it would have ended right there."

  "You can say that again,” June said. “When I think how many times I've tried to get her

  to—"

  "Mom!” Leslie glared at her mother, then moved a softer look to Richard. “The real reason it's not a problem for Coleen is because she doesn't know her father."

  "Oh, come on, Leslie, even I know about visitation rights. She's bound to know what he looks like."

  The two women shared a glance. “Well...” Leslie said.

  "The son of a bitch was using visitation to terrorize Coleen and harass Leslie,” June rasped. “So we got rid of visitation when she was still a toddler. And maybe you think getting evidence for that wasn't a picnic—hidden cameras and microphones, the whole bit. Damned circus is what it was. But as far as we know, Coleen wouldn't know Alex if he walked through this room. And that's the way we want to keep it."

  "Yeah, I can see that, all right.” Richard shook his head. “The guy's a real fruitcake."

  June jumped up and started pacing the carpet, her hands clenching and unclenching. “He'd be in an institution somewhere if he didn't have so much money."

  "What's the matter with him, anyway?” Richard asked.

  "He gets his pleasure from inflicting pain,” Leslie said. “To have someone cower before him—I didn't give him a lot of joy,” she added.

  Rich's gaze held hers, and he marveled at the feeling of protectiveness that came over him. “I'll bet that's right."

  Coleen came slamming into the house then. “Hi, Mom.” Then, seeing June's wince at the noise, she said cheerily, “Sorry, Grams.” Then she noticed Richard and stopped, staring at him.

  A man in her grandmother's house, Richard thought. Must be a surprise.

  "Coleen, this is Richard,” Leslie said. “He's a good friend of mine."

  A tall, blue-eyed brunette, even at nine, Coleen was surprisingly attractive. Oh, what a heartbreaker she'll be in a few years, Richard thought. “Hello,” he said.

  Coleen's eyes sought her mother's. “Isn't he the man from the restaurant?"

  Leslie nodded.

  "The Prince George?” Richard asked her.

  Another nod.

  "Just Richard?” Coleen asked.

  "For the moment,” he said. “There's a story that goes along with that. Do you want to hear it?"

  Coleen looked at her mother, then at her grandmother, and finally zeroed in on Richard. “Sure,” she said.

  Now it was Richard's turn to meet Leslie's eyes. “Tell her,” Leslie said.

  "You're going to have to do some serious growing up today, Coleen,” he said.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah.” Richard pulled off his cap and leaned forward so Coleen could see the wounds on his head. “See those?"

  Coleen recoiled, grimacing at the sight. “Yuck. Gross. What happened to you?"

  "Somebody tried to kill me, and your mother saved my life."

  Coleen's eyes darted to Leslie's.

  "Yes, honey, it's true."

  "Why?” Coleen asked.

  "I have no idea.” Seeing Coleen's quizzical look, he added, “I've lost my memory, you see."

  Coleen's eyes grew round. “Really?"

  "Yes, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to keep that secret ... from everyone."

  "Yeah.” Coleen nodded. “Sure, until you find out who tried to kill you."

  Richard's eyes lit up in undisguised admiration. “Your mother was right."

  Again Coleen's gaze went to her mother.

  Richard explained. “She said your mind was sharp as a razor."

  Coleen blushed brightly. “Uh..."

  "So what do you want to know?"

  Coleen's eyes opened in surprise. “You'll tell me?"

  "Anything I know. Unfortunately, it's not much.” Richard told her of his trip into the ditch, how he'd been rescued by her mother, how they had become friends.

  "This is like TV,” Coleen said.

  "Yeah, except you're involved."

  "Me?"

  "I'm not the only person who's in danger, Coleen. Your mom is too. And maybe you. We don't know who it is, you see, or what they want. So we have to warn you about something. Strangers. I know, it's something you've heard all your life, and this may sound like just one more time. But until we've got this all cleared up, be really careful around strangers. Whatever you do, don't get in a car driven by a stranger. Even if your friends do, you mustn't."

  "What makes you think mom's in danger?"

  Richard looked to Leslie for help.

  Leslie drew a deep breath. “Last night somebody shot at us while we were standing on the front porch,” she said.

  Coleen looked incredulous. “Shot at you?” The pitch of her voice rose. “With a gun?” And rose some more to squeak, “Really?"

  Leslie nodded. “Several shots. We were lucky."

  "But..."

  Leslie asked, “Will you promise not to get into a stranger's car, honey?"

  Her eyes big, Coleen nodded.

  "In the meantime, until they catch the man,” Leslie continued, “We'll take you to school and pick you up."

  "Aw, Mom,” Coleen complained, “all my friends will be on the bus."

  "I know, but I don't want to take any chances. When they catch the man, you can start riding the bus again."

  Later, as they were preparing to leave, walking together to her car, Richard said, “Coleen turned out to be less of a problem than I
'd anticipated."

  Leslie cast him a glance from the corners of her eyes. “You're really a devil with we Carson women,” she said.

  "How do you think I made out with your mother?"

  Leslie shrugged. “Now there you didn't do as well as you might have. Her idea of a real man would never have admitted to being ‘agitated’ by Alex's threat. She's used to men being more ... assertive. Acting hairy-chested. Wait till you meet dad and you'll know what I mean. They've been married thirty-five years and they still strike sparks from each other. But you, you seem so laid back. I think she thinks you're a lightweight. I think she's wondering how much help you're going to be in what's coming."

  "Ah-h,” he sighed. “And about you?"

  She smiled at him, her eyes dancing. “There'll be no problem with me, not since I learned that hair on the chest is really a pain in the backside."

  * * * *

  "No names. You know who this is?

  "Yeah. What do you want?"

  "Nothing in yesterday's or this morning's Star-News about a dead man in a Boone County ditch."

  "So? Maybe they haven't found him yet.” A snicker. “He's probably frozen under the ice."

  "And the crew who went out to replace the pole never noticed him there?

  "How do I know? Maybe he's in a morgue somewhere."

  "I took a gamble and checked with the Boone County Sheriff's office. No report of a dead man in a ditch. So I drove out there to have a look."

  "How nice. He must have been a pretty sight."

  "He's not there."

  "He's not ... Shit!"

  "Yeah. So now, not only is the film missing—"

  "No, it went up in the fire."

  "So you say. Like you told me the guy was dead. Except he's not. He's out there somewhere. Where? What's he doing?"

  Chapter Nine

  Next morning, after they returned from taking Colleen to school, Richard surrendered his washables to Leslie. Then, wrapped in a blanket against the morning chill, he sat down at the phone and finished the list in the Yellow Pages. “No missing Richard's,” he reported finally. “The ones who aren't working today are the ones who have Monday off because they worked Saturday or Sunday."

  After that they adjourned to the kitchen, where he sat staring moodily into his coffee cup while Leslie ironed his shirt. “Hell, maybe the thing to do is go to the police and get it over with."

  She made a small sound. She had just noticed holes in his shirt. Bullet holes, she thought. She turned her head frantically to look at him, her eyes wide. But there's no blood. Then she realized that the bullet had passed through the material where it had bloused out to the side. Her heart seemed to freeze for a moment. Oh, my God. So close. She turned away, realizing that he had never intended to mention it. Oh, Mom, she thought, he's no lightweight. She took a couple of deep breaths, then answered his remark.

  "No, no police. Not yet,” she said, “first we try the yearbook idea. If that fails, and we can't come up with anything else, then...” She handed him his shirt. “Here, take this and go get dressed."

  When he came back into the kitchen he was smiling, knotting his tie, “Maybe clothes don't make the man,” he said, “but for this male, clean, fresh clothes do wonders. Thank you very much."

  For a moment she was transfixed by the scene. This was the way it ought to be—her guy smiling at her as he came into her kitchen. She had to swallow hard to get rid of the lump that had come into her throat. Yeah, sure, she thought, there was no way a man as desirable as he could be unmarried.

  And I'm not into husband stealing, thank you.

  She looked down at the phone book where she had started listing high school addresses. “Look at all these,” she grumbled. “I've had to plan our route so we don't spend a lot of time back tracking. We have to be back here by three o'clock, so we're here when Coleen gets home from school. So today we'll start on the north side of Indianapolis, angle around to the west, then...” She shrugged. “And listen, I've worked out a way to approach the people in the schools so they'll keep our secret. I'm going to get dressed now so I can play my part. I'll tell you what I've got in mind on our way to Zionsville high school. That'll be the first one we try. For practice."

  It was a different Leslie who walked with Richard along the sidewalk toward the entrance of Zionsville high school. No more slacks and man's shirt. When she had come downstairs from dressing his heart had leaped into his throat at the sight of her. She had changed into a skirt and jacket, very smart. She looked cool and professional. But there was no way short of a muumuu that she could have concealed her lush figure. The gray pinstripe skirt flirted with her knees, and clung lovingly to smoothly curving hips. And the professional look had been further tempered by the white ruffled blouse she wore. While not actually décolleté, the blouse still left no doubt of the proud beauty beneath.

  The pony tail was gone too, replaced by a chignon worn low on the back of her head. Two-inch heels put her golden eyes disconcertingly level with his.

  She had posed for him, pirouetting gracefully. Feeling suddenly warm, Richard had run his finger around the collar of his shirt. She couldn't know how sexy she looked, he thought.

  She smiled, pleased at the expression on his face. “You like?"

  "Like? Oh, yes.” He took a deep breath. “You know, seems like every time you go upstairs, a different woman comes down, each more lovely than the other. How long are you going to be able to keep doing that?"

  Leslie stood still, letting the pleasure wash over her, flushing away bad memories, beginning to build new ones. The smile that came finally would have softened pavement at a thousand yards. “As long as you think that's the way it is,” she told him. “As long as you keep wanting me to."

  * * * *

  A Zionsville High student told them where to find the principal's office and once there, Leslie gave the receptionist her business card, the one that proclaimed her to be Leslie Carson, JD, of the law firm of Meriwether, Holcomb, Whitby, Pratt. “I wonder if I might see the principal, please."

  In a moment a balding, pink-faced man came out of an inner office. “I'm Paul Hargrave. How may I help you...” he glanced at her card, “Ms. Carson."

  Leslie began the attorney-client role she had proposed to Richard on the drive to Zionsville. “We need to see you privately for a moment, Mr. Hargrave. We won't take much of your time, so if you could see us now we would appreciate it."

  In Hargrave's office Leslie spelled out the situation for him. “What we are going to tell you must be kept confidential. My client, whom I know only as Richard, has been assaulted—hit on the head, to be plain—and as a result he's lost his memory."

  Hargrave's gaze strayed to Richard. Richard nodded. “It's true. My memory starts last Saturday morning. That's when I woke up after being pulled out of a ditch in Boone county."

  Leslie continued. “We have no idea who hit him, but for the moment, that's not our main concern. Right now we want to find out who he is."

  Hargrave looked a little confused. “I don't think I've ever seen you before,” he said to Richard. “How can I help you find out who you are?"

  "We want to look through your yearbooks for seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen years ago to see if we can find my picture ... and my name."

  "But what's so confidential about that,” Hargrave asked. “The receptionist would have been glad to help you with that."

  "Of course,” Leslie said, “but there'd have to be explanations. More people would know and ... Mister Hargrave, the blows on Richard's head were part of an attempt to kill him. We don't want to alert the people behind that attempt to the fact that he's alive."

  Hargrave's eyes narrowed. “Do the police know about this?"

  "No,” Richard said. “Only the doctor in Lebanon who sewed up my head."

  Hargrave fidgeted. “This is certainly unusual. You just want to look at the yearbooks? And I can't talk about it?"

  "Please,” Leslie said, “not until we've go
t the bad guys in jail.” She gave Hargrave a lopsided grin, making him a fellow co-conspirator. “If you're asked, tell them it was some hush-hush government agency running a security check on an old grad."

  Hargrave sighed, his answering smile faint. He picked up his phone. “Mrs. Ruth, will you bring the yearbooks for seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen years ago into my office, please.” Hanging up the phone, he looked at Richard. “What's it like to lose your memory?"

  Richard looked unhappily at him. “You really want to know, Mr. Hargrave? Try this. Ask yourself what's going to happen to you a week from today."

  Hargrave spread his hands. “But how could I know...” His voice trailed off as he saw what Richard was getting at. “You're not on the cutting edge of your life any more, are you? You're stuck in the middle, with no more idea of your past than you have of your future.” He shook his head in sympathy. “Is it all gone?"

  Richard shrugged. “I have glimpses. Tantalizing. Frustrating. Hints of memories I can't pull into the clear. Nothing else. Except, every once in a while, something just pops up. No rhyme or reason."

  Richard's picture wasn't in any of the yearbooks. Hargrave insisted on checking an extra year each side.

  Nothing.

  Nor was their luck any better at Brebeuf Prep, or Hebrew Academy, or Pike, or Northwest, or Cardinal Ritter. But each school had taken time, and it was nearing time for them to go home.

  In the end his name was thrust into their hands. They walked wearily into Speedway high school and stood looking around. Gearing up to start all over again, Leslie asked, “Recognize anything?"

  "Nah.” He shook his head. “I wouldn't expect to after so many years. It doesn't seem any different than the others. Let's find the principal's office and get started on—"

  "Richard! You made it after all."

  Startled, Richard turned to face the short, graying woman who had called out to him. “You know me?"

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Know you? Of course I know you. I've been wondering if you were going to make it here this year.” She looked Leslie up and down, finally nodding a smiling approval. “No wonder you haven't been here. It's about time."