"That's okay. I'm not picky."
Katherine's eyes widened. "Since when?" Paul had the urge to thump himself on the side of his head. Of course, Matthew had always been a picky eater. Instead of the thump, Paul reached toward the "bump" on his head and drew his expression into a grimace.
Katherine dropped her questions, forgetting the line of conversation. "I shouldn't be making you talk. It probably makes your head hurt worse."
"Yes," he admitted, watching her through eyes scrunched up as though in pain. "The doctor said I'd have difficulty processing thoughts. Some things might seem unfamiliar."
"Like amnesia?" she asked in a horrified tone.
"Yes," he agreed, already having considered using amnesia as an excuse. "The doctor said I'd probably forget a lot of things – some minor, some possibly major."
One hand flew to her lips. "Oh!" Then Katherine's voice quieted, growing very small. "Do you remember me?"
In that instant Paul realized he was poised to set himself up well or break the act. "Somewhat."
"Somewhat?" she echoed in a disbelieving whisper.
"I know who you are," Paul improvised. "But there are big blocks I'm missing."
"Like … what we mean to each other?" she asked, her hands clutching the sides of the table until her knuckles whitened.
Again Paul wondered if this was an act. Had it occurred to Katherine that her husband might suspect she'd had some part in the accident?
Not certain he wanted her thinking in that direction, Paul decided to stall. He touched the top of his head a third time and grimaced.
She was all concern. "It's okay. Don't get stressed about anything else." She leaned forward, gently stroking his face. "I don't want you to worry. Everything will work out."
One way or another Paul was sure it would.
* * *
Paul quickly checked out the interior of the small café, immediately spotting John Lewis, his contact. The natives were easily recognizable with their suntanned skin, casual clothing and easygoing manners. John, despite his efforts to blend in, still managed to stand out.
Sliding into the booth opposite his associate and longtime friend, Paul could see that the location for their meeting had been chosen wisely. The café was nearly deserted and the booth he'd selected was located at the far end of the room against the rear wall. John had already ordered coffee and pie for both of them.
"Elliott," John greeted him. "How's it going?" Paul shrugged as he picked up his coffee. "I don't know much on this end." His fingers tightened on the thick ceramic mug, needing but dreading more news. "How about yours?"
"Not a lot." John's sympathetic gaze met his. "No more on Matthew, I'm sorry to report. We're still combing the coast, but nothing yet. Don't worry, the chief says we'll continue searching." John paused. "But we do have more information on the possible cause of the crash."
Paul cataloged the information about Matthew, steeling himself not to react. "And?"
"Looks like sabotage – just as you suspected. Wilkinson thought it could be engine failure, but now he's convinced it wasn't accidental."
Paul nodded, wondering if his mercurial brother could have possibly escaped a saboteur's bomb. "Wilkinson is the expert."
"Any new theories?" John asked him.
Paul shook his head, then dug his fork into the pie. "No one besides his wife had anything to gain from Matthew's death, as far as I can tell."
"Except you," John replied quietly.
Paul's head shot up and he had to refrain from letting his body follow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Cool down. I want you to consider the whole picture in case you're thinking of confronting the wife right away."
Since that was exactly what he'd been thinking of doing, Paul just said, "Such as?"
"Such as, who else would benefit? Didn't you and Matthew share the trust your parents left you?"
Paul nodded.
"Which positions you to inherit the entire thing." Paul studied his associate. "The only way you would know that is if you'd seen a copy of the trust."
John lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "And you know how easily we obtained that."
"So I'm a suspect now?"
"No, we were just doing our homework. But if you throw this thing in the wife's face, she's liable to throw it right back."
Paul exhaled deeply. "Point taken."
"If you really think this woman is capable of cold-blooded first-degree murder, I'd say the element of surprise is crucial."
Paul pushed his dessert plate to the outer edge of the table and stood. "Agreed."
"In case you're right…" John's sober gaze didn't waver "…well, I'd watch my back if I were you."
* * *
Chapter 4
«^»
Katherine smiled nervously as Elliott entered the catering kitchens for the first time since his accident. As the chef of Combined Catering, Elliott was crucial to the operation. And this morning she'd told him just how crucial.
But once again he was acting strangely. He roamed the kitchen as though aboard a boat that listed. Worse, he looked as though he expected the galley to roll away at any moment. Instead of going straight to the menus as he always had, he watched the other employees: Carter, the sous-chef; cooks Alice, Ben and Frank; and the kitchen assistants.
Rather than watch her husband, Katherine tried to busy herself checking the day's orders. Yet her gaze continued straying toward him.
"Katherine?"
Taken off guard, she jumped before recovering. "I'm sorry, Ben. What is it?"
"What's up with Elliott?"
Katherine clutched her clipboard to her chest. "What do you mean?"
"He behaves as if he's never been in a kitchen before. You sure he's okay?"
Alice joined them. "He's acting really weird. I heard he took a pretty bad hit on the head."
Miserably Katherine agreed. "Yes, he did. To be honest, I'm not sure if he's completely well yet." She took a deep breath. "In fact, he has some amnesia."
"Some?" Ben questioned, sneaking a look at Elliott.
"Well, he remembers certain things, but he has big blocks that are missing," Katherine replied quietly, not wanting Elliott to notice they were talking about him.
"I thought amnesia victims forgot their names and people they know, not everyday stuff like reading or writing or cooking if you're a chef," Alice said.
Ben nodded. "That's what I thought, too."
Katherine frowned. "I don't really know. I guess it's different with every person. Besides, we don't know for sure that he's forgotten his skills in the kitchen."
Ben watched Elliott. "Sure looks like it." Silently Katherine was forced to agree. At the moment Elliott was attacking some scallions as though he expected them to strike back. Just then he glanced up, catching her gaze on him. And he didn't look particularly pleased.
Were Ben and Alice right? Was it abnormal for Elliott to have forgotten the basic skills of his profession? Then she shook her head. She guessed Ben and Alice had gotten their information from television and movie mysteries – hardly reliable sources. Choosing to ignore what they'd said, Katherine walked over to Elliott.
She slipped a casual arm around his waist, trying not to be hurt when he stiffened. "Hey there. Want to go over some menus with me?"
He glanced down at the mangled vegetables, a whisper of relief coming over his face. "Sure." Wiping his hands on a nearby towel, he readily deserted the mess he'd made.
Katherine managed to smile as she met the questioning looks from the other employees as she and Elliott wound through the kitchen and entered the tiny space they'd carved out for an office. By mutual agreement most of the space in the building had been dedicated to the kitchen and prep areas.
She pulled out the folder with the week's orders, noticing that Elliott's eyes hadn't left her for a moment. "We have the Anderson and Fuller weddings, and the Montgomerys' twenty-fifth wedding anniversary." Katherine thumbed through the papers, then pa
used. "Here's a note about a funeral tomorrow – the call must have come in late yesterday after I left."
"We're catering a funeral?" Elliott asked skeptically.
"I know they're not your favorite, but it generates income and clientele as you always say."
"Hmm."
Katherine looked over the top of the folder at her husband. She wondered if he'd forgotten about that, too. She couldn't stave off the worry that he'd forgotten far more than he was letting on.
Then he grinned in typical Elliott fashion. "Funerals don't create repeat clientele," he quipped.
She couldn't resist smiling back, glad to see a flicker of his former self. "You're delightfully awful."
Alice stuck her head through the open doorway, interrupting the moment. "Katherine, the paper vendor is here – some mix-up about your order."
Regretfully she replaced the folder, wishing Alice hadn't chosen just then to intrude. "I'll go check on the order. Do you want to start on the menus, Elliott?"
With only the barest hesitation, he nodded, his smile still in place.
Katherine tried to conceal her anxiety as she escaped. She glanced back briefly, the unanswered question bombarding her: Would he ever be the same again?
* * *
Paul's grin faded as he watched Katherine's retreat. Then he dropped his gaze to the orders. Menus? His idea of a meal was whatever he could microwave. So what did you serve at a wedding? Cake, he assumed. But that left a few holes in the menu, such as the main course. And for a funeral? Nothing too perky, he guessed, pushing one hand through already disheveled hair.
Paul realized he was in way over his head. Once he and his twin had practically been inside each other's skins. It hadn't been a stretch to switch places when they were kids. Paul always believed he knew Matthew as well as he knew himself. It was unnerving to learn how much that had changed. It seemed their estrangement had severed part of their deep bond.
As he had since the plane had gone down, Paul thought again of why he and Matthew had become estranged – the woman who had come between them. Paul had loved Susan desperately. And he believed she'd loved him back, to the extent that she had agreed to marry him. Then she'd met his impulsive fun-loving twin. While Paul was on an extended assignment in South America, Matthew and Susan had begun dating.
Although Matthew later broke up with Susan and apologized to his twin, Paul never forgave him. He'd held him responsible for ruining his one true love. And despite Matthew's efforts to repair their relationship, Paul had stubbornly refused to bend. He had even accepted a transfer from Atlanta to Chicago to put more miles between them.
Only when Matthew called with the news of his marriage had Paul begun to yield. Still, he'd never said the words, never truly forgiven his brother. Paul's eyes flickered shut briefly. How much damage and time had he allowed to come between them? And why? Over a woman who had ultimately disappeared from both their lives. Paul didn't want Susan back – she had shown her true colors. However, despite the women Paul had dated since, he hadn't released the hurt, the feeling of betrayal. Instead, he had chosen to punish Matthew by staying aloof.
Now, amid Matthew's family and friends, Paul could see what he had lost, what he'd missed these past few years. Memories of their good times prior to the estrangement continued to assail him. Paul realized that he had no one to blame but himself. And as the days continued passing without word of Matthew, Paul was losing hope that there would be any new memories to create.
For the first time Paul was glad their parents had died when he and Matthew had been much younger. Parents shouldn't have to bury their child, and Paul was beginning to doubt there could be any other outcome.
Looking through the window, he could see that Katherine was still out of sight, so he decided to take a chance and search the desk. Pushing a pile of papers to the side, he spotted a small silver frame. The sight of his brother's grinning face unsettled him. With unsteady hands he reached out for the picture. Matthew's ready grin was something Paul needed to remember to do more often. No doubt everyone was wondering what had happened to it.
But it was agony to smile when he didn't know Matthew's fate. And it was equal torture to impersonate his brother, especially for Katherine's benefit. Part of him wanted to shake the truth out of her. Another part of him hoped she had made his brother happy in what could have been his last months.
Absently Paul smoothed his fingers over the picture. All three faces in the picture were smiling: Matthew, Katherine and little Dustin. To the casual observer it was the portrait of a perfect family.
"Elliott?" Katherine's soft voice was questioning as she poked her head into the office.
Looking up, Paul could see that her gaze had landed on the picture he still held.
"Are you thinking back on happier times?" she asked quietly. Moving closer, she leaned across the desk to lay her hand atop his. "Don't worry. We'll get there again."
Paul felt a stab of mixed emotions. "I'm not sure about that." He put down the frame and picked up the order folder. "I seem to have lost my ability here, as well."
"Oh." Katherine's voice was small, then she cleared her throat. "That's all right. We can put Carter in charge of the kitchen until you're … until you're better. He's been champing at the bit to prepare his own menus and do his own take on the cuisine, anyway." She hesitated only slightly. "Of course we'll need to increase his salary. Carter's been insisting he needs a raise for some time – since he's always broke." Her eyes met Paul's, searching, then she added, "But of course, his promotion will only be temporary, until you're ready to take over the helm again."
"Why don't you take charge?" Paul asked, watching her. Did she have a distaste for an honest day's work?
Again Katherine's eyes clouded. "Because I'm a pastry chef, Elliott. As good as they are, I doubt if one of my tortes could pass for the main course."
"Of course," he replied, wishing he knew more, actually knew anything about the catering business. "I seem to have forgotten more than I realized."
"It's all right. We'll deal with it." Yet she looked tense, scattered. "I think for now I'd better talk with Carter, get these menus together. You could take a break and head over to the gym."
"A break? I just got here."
"Um, yes, well…"
"I'm not a two-year-old. I can entertain myself, even do some work. I can check the books, get the office in order." The lazy Carolina life-style mystified him. How did these people get anything done?
Katherine glanced around the crowded space as though seeing it for the first time. Then she shrugged. "If you want to clean up the office, that's fine. It's always seemed okay to me. It's not as though we spend much time in here."
"Maybe someone should," Paul suggested.
Her brows drew together. "Meaning?"
Paul remembered and then strove for a natural-looking grin. "Just that if I'm not much help in the kitchen right now, I can at least pull my weight by working to get the accounts straightened out."
The line between her eyes disappeared. "If you'd enjoy doing that…"
"I sure don't want to sit here and gather moss," he replied, looking again at the paper mountain around him. Then he caught her quizzical glance. Of course. Matthew would have been very content to blow off work. "The accident made me realize I'm not a kid anymore, Katherine. It's time I acted like it."
Her mouth formed a surprised "Oh." Recovering, she smiled. "If that's what you want." She gestured at the piles of paper on the desk. "There's certainly enough to keep you busy." She moved away, then turned back. "I know this is all very confusing. I can't even imagine how it must feel to have holes in your memory, but everyone wants to make this … transition as easy as possible for you. They love you. I love you."
Paul watched her through steady eyes. He couldn't form the words she waited to hear. He wanted to convincingly portray Matthew, but he couldn't tell this woman he loved her. Instead, he rose from behind the desk, put his hands on her upper arms and pulled he
r close for a moment. An enticing aroma of honey and flowers assailed him, along with her yielding softness. He attempted to ignore both. "Thanks, Katherine." Briefly he closed his eyes, shutting out the truth. "Soon everything should be back to normal. You'll see."
* * *
Even though a few days had passed, Katherine still couldn't shake her concern. After checking the list of supplies, she shoved it aside. "I have to make sure this gets to the catering kitchens before morning."
"I can drop that off for you," Jessica offered. "I have an errand about a block away."
"No one's there. The place is locked."
"I can use the spare key you gave me," Jessica reminded her. "You don't need to be worrying about business right now."
"What should I worry about, instead? That I'm a stranger to my husband?"
"He didn't say that. He has some missing blocks and he's only been home a couple of days. Sounds to me like they could come back at any time."
Katherine smiled at her friend. "Is that your experience, Doctor?"
Jessica grinned. "Maybe I have seen too many episodes of 'Matlock' and 'Murder She Wrote.' But I still think you're making more of this than you should. I always heard that pressure to remember makes the amnesia even worse. What does the doctor say?"
Katherine frowned, remembering her conversation with Elliott. "I haven't actually talked to the doctor myself. Elliott doesn't seem to want me to."
Jessica tilted her head, studying her friend. "I know you want to make this all better, Katie, because that's who you are. You're a fixer. You want to fix your friends' problems and their friends' problems. Face it, you want to fix the world, but sometimes you have to let a man be a man."
"But he wasn't like this before!" Katherine blurted. "He liked it when I fixed things."
"Maybe almost dying made him want to take charge of his own life," Jessica replied sagely. "That's not a bad thing, you know."
"I know." Restless, Katherine stood up and began pacing the small office, pausing beside a window that boasted a glorious, if distant, view of the ocean. "He acts so differently, so grown up." She laughed at the ridiculousness of the words, then sobered. "Yes, I know how that sounds, but I don't care. I don't want to lose my carefree husband."
THE WRONG BROTHER Page 3