by Lee Boschen
"Yes, the store has another number. Would you like—"
"No, thank you. I'll call back.” Leslie hung up the phone. “Jackpot,” she breathed.
"Yeah, jackpot.” His face was pale. He took her by the hand, and his grip was hard. “Now let's go see what we've won."
* * * *
His office reflects the man, Leslie thought. The furnishings were almost sybaritic, and it had been all she could do to keep from grinning as she had settled into a sensuously comfortable chair. Earth colors predominated, but her eye welcomed the restful green of English ivy, and the splashes of blue in the pair of spectacular skyscapes on the wall. The room seemed to welcome her, and bade her relax. He's like that, she thought. Easy to be around.
The office was quiet. It had been quiet ever since she and Richard had come in, Richard inviting his secretary to accompany them. The two had watched as Richard went through each drawer of his desk, examining each piece of paper intently, almost as if it were written in a foreign language. Finally he sighed, his eyes rising to meet Leslie's, then his secretary's, and he stood and went to stare out the window at the city below.
His secretary sat on a long couch along one wall. Janine Waters was a voluptuous, dark-eyed blonde in her middle forties. Immaculately dressed, she gave the immediate impression of smooth, unflappable competence. She's as gorgeous as she sounded over the phone, Leslie thought. But then she should have known that would be so. Richard liked his women ... lush. Was that what he thought she was? She felt her cheeks burning. Lush? Me?
Richard turned away from the window and broke the silence. “How long have you been with me, Jan?"
"How long? Ever since the beginning. That would be nine years now.” She arched an inquiring eyebrow. “You don't remember?"
Richard studied her carefully. “Would you say that I trust you?"
If Janine Waters was disturbed by the direction of the conversation, she didn't show it. “Yes,” she said. “At least, I've always thought so."
"Good,” Richard's gaze moved to Leslie, then back to Waters. “I'm about to trust you some more. There's a story you need to hear, part of it from me, and part of it from Leslie, um, Ms. Carson. Then I'll have questions to ask, and Leslie—Ms. Carson, may have more. Answer our questions freely, Jan, Leslie is someone I trust absolutely. Do you understand?"
The two women stared at each other, and Leslie smiled. “Does that trouble you, Ms. Waters?"
"I think the operative word is confused, Ms. Carson."
Leslie nodded. “I'll buy that. Let me start the story."
She told Waters everything: about Alex, even though perhaps she didn't really need to know, about the attempt on Richard's life, about his loss of memory. Waters's eyes were wide when she had finished.
"Really? You don't remember anything?"
"Not about this business. Those papers in my desk—” He shook his head. “Meaningless. And that's where you come in. Do I have a number two man?"
Waters nodded, her face sad. “How could you have forgotten the three of us? The three wise men, you'd say. You and me and George Nelson. And I never, ever, thought of it as being sexist.” She sighed, gesturing toward the dark office across the hallway. “That's his office, but I haven't seen much of him this last week or so that you've been gone. He's been—the two of us have been covering for you."
"Why didn't you report me missing?"
Waters took a deep breath, then she shook her head wonderingly. “You look so ... so darned normal. It's really hard to understand that you don't remember this, but ... you've gone off before, you know, and you've always—"
"Gone off?"
"Disappeared. No notice. No warning. Then, three or four days, maybe a week later, you'd show up again. The first time we did notify the police."
Richard's eyes sought Leslie's for a moment. His question to Waters was hesitant. “When I was gone, what did I have to say for myself when I came back?"
"You'd lay a proposal for a new store on my desk, the three wise men would work out a time frame, and it was back to business as usual."
"So this time...?"
Waters shrugged. “I was expecting that any day now you'd come in with a plan for a new store."
"And you and George were covering for me till that happened.” He nodded slowly. “This time I'm afraid it's going to have to be different. Will you locate George and tell him I've surfaced, and that he's to come here. You and George are going to have to run the business without me."
"What?"
"Yes,” he said at her look of surprise. “Until I get my memory back you're bound to do a better job than I could. We'll need to make it official, of course, so as soon as you find George and get him started on the way back here, will you work up a letter to all the stores telling them that George Nelson has been appointed general manager, and that you're the new assistant general manager."
Waters’ jaw dropped. “I'm—"
"Your job will be to help George run this place. You'll need to get yourselves a secretary, you know what you need. Don't be afraid to spend some money, Jan, because—” He paused. “Are we making any money?"
Waters grinned. “I hate to say ‘by the bucketful,’ but really, that's the way it is."
"Great. Give yourself and George a raise. You're sure going to earn it.” He stared around the room. “I can't truthfully say that I remember this—it's more of a feeling than a memory—but didn't I spend an awful lot of my waking hours here?"
Waters's dark eyes rested for a moment on his. She patted the cushion of the couch. “I couldn't count the number of times I've come into this office in the morning and had to wake you up off this couch. For a couple of years after Barbara and Timmy were killed, I used to wonder if you ever went home. Every day you'd go down to Hofmeister's gym and slug away at a punching bag. After while George would go get you and you'd come back to work.” She shook her head slowly. “Sometimes you'd mix it up with some of the pros in training down there. We could always tell when you did that, because you'd come back all bruised. Then maybe work all night again."
Richard shook his head. “No more. You and George will have to do it now, at least till I get my memory back."
"All right, but when do you think that will be? I mean, how long are we talking about?"
"You'd better think of it as forever, Jan. It may be."
* * * *
It would be hard to find someone less like Richard than George Nelson, Leslie mused. Tall and thin, with sharp features and dark, wavy hair—there's no resemblance between them at all. No, I'm wrong, she thought, they have the same laid-back attitude. They could be brothers under their skins, except George fidgets, like mom.
Richard reached out and took the pencil George had been tapping rhythmically against the base of the telephone. “You're going to drive me nuts with that racket."
Leslie smiled. How many times had she seen her dad do that with Mom. Those exact words.
"Tell me,” Richard said, “which one of our stores has a wall that's made of red brick?"
"Uh ... red brick?” George shook his head at the abrupt change of subject. They had been working out the wording for the bulletin notifying Camera Shop employees that he and Janine were going to be running the Camera Store chain. “None. What's a red brick wall got to do with—"
"When we were at police headquarters, one of the detectives told us about a woman who had been murdered for some pictures. When he said this, I had a sudden image of two people standing in front of a red brick wall. I can't figure out where I saw that. Do we take pictures of people in Camera Stores?"
"No."
"Not any of them?"
"No. We've never gotten into that line. At least not yet. Are you going to suggest that we start a new—"
"Do we have a store with red brick wall paper? Or do we sell photographer's back drops? And if we do, could one of them be red brick?"
"No.” More head shaking. “We don't sell back drops, and none of the stores have that
kind of wall paper. I'm sorry, Richard."
"Then, damn it, George, tell me where the hell could I have seen—” Richard propped his chin on his hand, staring down at the carpet, finally shrugging. “Let me tell you, guys, don't ever lose your memory."
He took a deep breath. “Okay, where were we?"
* * * *
That evening, back at Leslie's house, Richard had been going through the papers again. “It's not a secret any more,” he said.
Leslie looked up from her reading and grimaced at the sight of the Star-News in Richard's hand. “It was bound to happen. Okay, let's hear it."
Richard began reading from the paper. “'Police Officer Killed, Another Hospitalized. Prominent Local Businessman Claims Attack.'” He lowered the paper enough to peer over it at Leslie. “That's the caption over my picture. The article goes on to say, ‘Richard Webb appeared with attorney Leslie Carson at police headquarters this morning to report an attempt on his life last Friday. Webb, 35, owner of the Camera Store chain of photo equipment and film processing stores, also asked the police to check his residence to see if his attackers were lying in wait for him to return home. It was during this check that one police officer was gunned down and his partner hospitalized in critical condition. In an unusual explanation for the delay between his alleged attack and his appearance at police headquarters this morning, Webb told police that as a result of injuries sustained in his attack he had lost his memory.’”
He tossed the newspaper on Leslie's lap. “There's no way the guys who put me in your ditch will miss that. Complete with picture."
Leslie read the article completely, then looked up. “Yes, you're right. And another nice touch here too, that bit about your having lost your memory. That'll bring the jackals out after you quick enough."
"Jackals?"
"'Mister Webb, the custom family Bible you ordered is ready now, only ninety-seven fifty plus tax.’”
Richard stared at her. “I ordered a family Bible?"
"It's a scam, darling. And with your memory gone, you'd be in no position to deny having ordered—"
"I just love it when you call me darling.” He smiled at her expression. “Seriously, Leslie, it goes straight into my heart, like one of Cupid's arrows. And not so seriously speaking of Cupid, did you know your lips were the ones Cupid's bow was patterned after?"
A pleasant little tremor jolted Leslie's middle. Maybe it's just because it's been so long since I've been able to play loving games with a man.
"I just love it when you say nice things like that,” she said. Smiling, she waggled a finger at him. “But I'm serious about scams. I want you to promise me that you'll tell me about anyone who says you owe him or her anything.” She frowned. “Or anyone who says you've done something, or are responsible for something, and who wants money from you."
"Will that happen, do you think?"
She brandished the newspaper, sorrowfully shaking her head. “Richard, you might as well be a bull's eye at the target range. Every con artist who reads this article will be trying to draw a bead on you. You're wealthy, unmarried, and you can't defend yourself because your memory is gone."
"But I'm not alone,” he said. “I've got you, and I'd be a plain damn fool not to listen to you. So I promise."
"Oh, darling.” Leslie shook her head. “If you knew what a surprise you are sometimes. My mother will never understand you. You're completely different from the big man in her life, my dad. Her idea of a real man would growl and beat his chest and yell that he didn't need any help from some damn woman."
"I'm doing everything wrong, huh."
A mock sigh gusted from her. “And you have hardly any hair on your chest either."
"I don't know what you see in me."
The newspaper went flying as she hurled herself into his arms. “A lot more than mom does,” she said, “that's for sure."
* * * *
Next morning Leslie called police headquarters to talk to Detective Fahrquar. “This is Leslie Carson. Presumably you've checked with the telephone company office, and you know the time telephone service was interrupted for God knows how many residents of Boone County. So you know that Richard Webb could not have killed the Kimberlys. Is that true?"
"I can't discuss an ongoing police investigation."
Leslie's lips thinned angrily. “Oh, right. Okay, have you located the pictures that the woman in the ambulance mentioned?"
"Yes."
Leslie waited, but Fahrquar said nothing. She got to her feet and began pacing back and forth. “Is this the way it's going to be with you, Fahrquar?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You're not going to give Webb any help at all as he tries to rebuild his past?"
"So what do you want?"
"How many pictures were there?"
"Couple dozen."
Leslie waited again. After a while she said, “Fahrquar, I didn't really think you were a stupid jackass, but nothing else quite explains the way you're acting. Now listen to me. So far, nobody else knows what you and Honey know about the bent cop. How would you like to explain that leak to the press?"
"You wouldn't dare."
"Wouldn't dare?” Leslie's voice began to rise. “Fahrquar, I love Richard Webb. He's my guy. Right now my guy is trying to work out who wants him dead. I want him to stay alive, and you think I wouldn't dare? I'll tell you what—you take the thumb and middle finger on your right hand and you press them together until the middle finger slides off. You hear that snap? That's how long I'm going to wait to tell the Star if you don't start helping right this minute."
Two beats. “There were a couple of dozen pictures, all the same, all made into Christmas cards. There could have been more, they may have mailed some."
"What's the picture show?"
"The Kimberlys standing against a red brick wall."
Anger boiled up in Leslie's breast, and she struggled to shove it down, to keep her cool. “What a great guy you are, Fahrquar. You know that somehow that's important to us, and you weren't going to tell us.” She drew a deep breath. “All right, we need one of those cards."
"No way. They're police evidence, and I can't—"
"Twenty-four identical cards? Come on, Fahrquar, we'll sign for it, we're not trying to steal it. Have one put in a sealed envelope and leave it at the desk with your father. We'll come in and pick it up.” She slammed the phone back on its cradle and stood staring down at it.
"Did you mean that?” Richard asked.
"You're damned right I meant it. I'll go to the Star so fast he'll—"
"No, no. I meant about my being your guy."
She turned to look at him, the tension draining to be replaced by something warmer. “Yes."
"It didn't take you very long to decide."
She shook her head. “No."
"I'm glad,” he said. “Makes it a lot easier to ask you what I wanted to ask you."
She gazed at him warily. “And what's that?"
"Leslie, will you marry me?"
Chapter Fifteen
At first she thought he was joking, teasing her, but as her gaze locked with his, dark and sober, she realized he wasn't. She felt suddenly weak, as if she had melted inside, and her legs wouldn't hold her up any longer. She sank into a chair.
"Marry you?” The room seemed to ring with the words. Leslie swallowed the knot that had appeared in her throat. “It didn't take you very long to decide either, did it,” she managed finally.
"No. Will you?"
"Why, Richard?"
"Because I love you, and I don't want to let you slip away from me because I never asked."
She felt giddy, as if she had drunk too much. “When?"
"Today?"
"Today? But—"
"Will you?"
She put her hand to her breast, staring at him. “Richard, I have the strangest feeling.” She gave a little, gasping laugh. “It's as though I were in a play, an old play, a hundred years old. Yes, in the 1890's.
And you're in it too. And dad is there, and mom, and all these men are crowded into our parlor. They're there to decide which of them is to be allowed to court me."
She put her hands to her cheeks, staring up at him.
"Each of the men is there to explain to dad and mom why he should be the one. Dad is standing there, all stern and straight, his thumbs hooked in the armholes of his vest, and I'm sitting on the couch beside mom. Just as the first man starts his speech you come in, and you're all I can see. Dad scowls at the interruption and starts to tell you that you won't be allowed to speak, but mom has looked you up and down, and then at me, and she clears her throat and dad quiets down. One after another the men make long speeches, and then you stand up and all you say is ‘I love you. Will you marry me?’”
Her voice shook as she continued. “And I say ‘yes’ before anyone can interrupt."
"Oh-h,” she said, her eyes round, “everything is pandemonium. Dad is all dark and angry, but mom smiles and dad's grumbles fade away and he shakes your hand and he hugs me and kisses me and mom kisses you and me and everybody leaves the parlor and the door is closed and I'm alone with the man I'm going to marry."
She drew a deep breath. Richard rose and walked to stand looking down at where she sat, tears streaming down her face.
"Yes,” she quavered. “I'll marry you. Tomorrow. And we'll live happily ever after.” Her voice climbed to a squeak and stopped.
Richard knelt until Leslie could see the stars shining in his eyes, his lips a scant inch from hers. A great wave of affection rolled over her, and she felt a desperate hunger for him. Slowly she closed that inch, heat building inside her, heat that burned but left no scar. “Oh,” she groaned. Trembling, she put her arms around his neck, wanting him ... wanting him so much she could scarcely breathe. “Please,” she gasped, “oh, darling, please...."
When their lips touched, the dam of restraint crumbled. Their lovemaking was fierce, almost savage. They rode their passion like a shooting star, growing ever brighter and hotter until it burst into a million gleaming pieces, filling the heavens with glory, then slowly fading.
They lay in each other's arms, drowsy and content.