Forget to Remember, page 6
He switched on the light and saw a piece of paper lying on the bed. He picked it up and read, “Rigo, Tina and Ernie, Thanks so much for everything you’ve done for me. It’s time I struck out on my own. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Carol”
Rigo’s heart sank. His worst fears were being realized. Where was she going? She was acting crazy. Why didn’t she talk to them? Was she taking the train to North Carolina? Where would she get the money? When he’d calmed down a little, he remembered he’d written down the telephone number of the attorney, Paul Vigiano. If Carol was headed east, he might know.
He called Vigiano’s number. A woman’s voice answered, “Law offices.”
“May I speak to Paul Vigiano, please?”
“Mr. Vigiano is in court today. Who’s calling?”
“Rigo Ramirez. I’m a…friend of Carol Golden.”
“Let me have your number, and I’ll have Mr. Vigiano call you.”
“Maybe you can help me.” How could he phrase this without sounding stupid? “Do you know whether Carol—Ms. Golden—is…going to North Carolina to speak to Mr. Vigiano?”
“I’m sorry. Information about Mr. Vigiano’s clients is confidential, Mr. Ramirez. I’ll give Mr. Vigiano your message, however.”
Rigo wanted to shout at her, but that wouldn’t do any good. He hung up the phone. What was the name of the woman who might be Carol’s grandmother? He couldn’t remember. He had time for one more phone call. He called Frances Moran and got her answering machine. He left a brief message and then headed off for his interview, trying to compose himself. Carol would be all right. She was smart and could take care of herself. He hoped that was true.
***
Carol had no memories of ever flying First Class, although she was positive she had flown before. Perhaps a lot. Paul was spending a ton of money to get her to North Carolina. The seats were roomy, and the flight attendants fed them, something they no longer did in Economy. On the first leg, to Washington Dulles Airport, they even gave her champagne. It felt funny to be drinking so early in the morning.
Her seatmate on the United Airlines wide-body was a prosperous looking businessman. They exchanged hellos when she squeezed past him to get to the window seat. She wouldn’t have minded chatting with him, but he read a newspaper before the plane took off. As soon as permission to use electronic devices was given after they cleared the coastline, he buried himself in his laptop computer and never came up for air.
Carol amused herself by reading the in-flight magazine, doing the crossword and a couple of Sudoku puzzles, all of which she found quite easy. She had a storehouse of knowledge. It just didn’t happen to be knowledge about herself. When she became bored with the puzzles, she watched the landscape below whenever it wasn’t covered with clouds, wondering whether she had a connection to any of the deserts, mountains, plains, and forested areas they flew over.
As the small plane she had transferred to at Dulles landed at the Raleigh-Durham Airport, flying in over trees and water, she began to feel nervous. She could see a highway that was probably Interstate 40. She had studied maps of the area online. When the plane taxied up to the gate and the door opened, she followed the other passengers into the terminal.
She stopped in a restroom to attempt to make herself look presentable. She peered in a mirror and fluffed her short hair with her fingers so that it covered her bald spots. She had gotten it trimmed yesterday and was no longer wearing the beret. The marks on her face were going away. She looked pretty good, if she did say so herself.
She hadn’t checked her small suitcase, so she looked for whoever was meeting her near the baggage carousel. A middle-aged woman stood there with a sign that read “Cynthia Sakai.” She almost walked right by, but she suddenly realized she was Cynthia Sakai. She had better get used to traveling under an assumed name. Just like a spy. She had a memory of reading spy stories. Now she was living like one.
She stopped and said hello to the woman. The woman’s eyes flashed recognition, and she smiled. “Hi, Cynthia, I’m Rose Guthrie. Let me carry your bag.”
Carol smiled. She was certain she had never been used to this kind of treatment. “It’s light. I think I can handle it. Please call me Carol.”
Rose, who was wearing slacks and a light jacket, led the way out of the building and across several lanes of traffic to the parking structure. They chatted about how Carol’s flight had been (fine) and the weather (warm). The lights of a late-model car flashed in response to Rose’s remote. Carol put her suitcase in the trunk, and they exited the parking structure and the airport, heading west on I-40.
Carol saw this ride as a chance to get some information. “Rose, do you work for Mr. Vigiano?”
“Yes, I’m a paralegal. I do all his grunt work.” She laughed. She had a ready laugh. “I’m the one who answered the phone when you talked to Mr. Vigiano.”
“Now I remember your voice. How long have you worked for him?”
“Almost ten years. Almost forever. No, he’s a good boss, and it’s a good job.”
“You must be familiar with the Sakai estate.”
“Oh yes. I prepare all the legal forms that have to be filled out for any probate. Of course, Paul approves them before they’re filed, but he trusts me. It was a tragedy, their plane crashing like that. They were prominent people here in Chapel Hill. There was a big story about them in the newspaper.”
Carol had read the story. “Have you met Mrs. Horton?”
“Mrs. Sakai’s mother? No, I haven’t met her, but I’m about to—we’re about to. She’s anxious to meet you. I’m taking you to her home now for a late dinner. Although it’s not so late for you, coming from the West Coast. Are you hungry?”
“I can always eat. Will Mr. Vigiano be there?”
“He’ll meet us there. He had a court appearance this afternoon. Mrs. Horton has lived here in Chapel Hill for over fifty years. She has forty acres at the end of an unpaved road. Are you good at reading maps and following directions?”
“I can read a map.”
“Good, because I’m a bit shaky. Take a look at these directions…” Rose handed Carol a piece of paper “…and get the map out of the glove box.” She turned on the dome light.
Carol directed Rose to the proper exit from I-40. She had additional questions. “Does Mrs. Horton live alone?”
“She doesn’t want to leave her house, even though it’s in the middle of nowhere and she’s showing some of the signs of old age, apparently. Mr. Vigiano said she has live-in help.”
“Is she his client?”
“Information about clients is confidential.” Rose laughed. “No, she isn’t a client. Paul needs her to identify Cynthia.” Rose looked at Carol. “The wills stipulate Mrs. Horton has to make a positive identification of anybody claiming to be Cynthia.”
“Has anybody else claimed to be Cynthia?”
“There haven’t been any serious pretenders to the throne. You’re the first. For one thing, very few people have her looks, her background, and her coloring.” Another glance at Carol. “I met Cynthia many years ago, and I would say, from what I remember about her, if you aren’t her, you could pass for her.”
“I don’t know my background. I’m not claiming to be Cynthia.”
“Don’t be shy. Fifteen million dollars isn’t something to turn up your nose at.”
CHAPTER 10
Rose drove slowly along the gravel road by the light of the setting sun. They passed tall trees, grassy fields, and a sprinkling of houses. Three deer nonchalantly walked across in front of them. It was hard for Carol to believe they were within the city limits of Chapel Hill, as Rose had told her. She had no memory of ever having been here before.
She turned to Rose. “Is the Sakai house in this area?”
“No. They built themselves a big house in a more, uh, populated part of town eight or nine years ago. One of the decisions you’ll have to make—assuming you’re Cynthia—is whether you want to live in that house.”
They came to a closed wire gate in a cross-hatched wire fence. They saw a button on a post. Rose opened her window and pushed it. The gate slowly swung open. They drove through it. A short distance later, the driveway curved slightly to the left and they passed an old wooden house, unpainted and in a state of disrepair.
Rose nodded toward it. “That must be the original house on the property.”
The new house loomed ahead, much larger, a two-story affair, made of wood and painted brown with lots of glass. They parked in a wide area in front of the two-car garage beside two other cars. Rose indicated one of them. “That’s Mr. Vigiano’s car.”
Carol started to feel anxious for the first time today. She hadn’t expected to meet Mrs. Horton so soon. Her fate might be decided in the next few minutes. She was suffering from the effects of flying all day in an enclosed cabin that was probably oxygen deprived. Events took on an unreal quality, something she’d felt a number of times since awakening from her coma. She wasn’t ready for this, but what choice did she have?
As they got out of the car a beautiful yellow dog came bounding up, barking. It seemed friendly enough, however. Carol let it sniff her hand and gave it a tentative pat on the head. The dog picked up a tennis ball that was lying on the ground and dropped it at her feet. Realizing what it wanted, she picked up the ball and threw it. The dog went running after it. She looked at her hand in disgust; it was covered with the slime of the dog’s saliva.
She forced herself to follow Rose along the narrow sidewalk that fronted the house, to a flagstone patio and glass-covered front door. A dark-skinned woman with her hair in a bun and a beaming smile opened the door as they approached. “You’re just in time. Dinner’s almost ready. Mr. Vigiano’s already here. I’m Audrey.”
They said hello to Audrey. The dog had followed them. “That’s Butch. He just wants to play ball. Not now, Butch.” She shooed him away and escorted them into the next room.
A man and a woman were sitting at a table beside the kitchen counter. The man must be Paul Vigiano. He rose from his chair and reached out his hand to Carol. “Hi, Carol. I’m glad you got here okay.”
Carol muttered an apology for having a slimy hand and fumbled for a tissue in her small purse to wipe it off, trying to hide her embarrassment. Then she shook his hand and murmured something about being glad to meet him. He was in his forties, dressed in an expensive blue suit with a nice looking red tie. His nose and ears were too large, and his light brown hair was thinning in front, but aside from being slightly overweight he wasn’t in bad shape.
He moved out of the way so Carol could see Elizabeth Horton. She sat with her back ramrod straight, appraising Carol through rimless glasses with eyes that probably didn’t miss anything. Her hair was short and gray but well cared for; the clothes she wore were neat and had been stylish once.
“Excuse me for not getting up. I don’t get around quite as fast as I used to.” Mrs. Horton indicated a cane leaning against the chair beside her. “I see you met Butch, my Labrador Retriever. He’s just a pup. If he wanted to play ball with you, that means he likes you. Let me look at you.” She continued to appraise Carol.
Carol needed to say something. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Horton. Thank you for inviting me here.” Mrs. Horton didn’t offer to shake hands, so Carol kept hers at her side. She felt self-conscious, having Mrs. Horton stare at her, but she found she didn’t mind it. She was glad she had worn slacks for the plane ride rather than a short skirt. Mrs. Horton was of a generation that didn’t always approve of the clothing choices of young women.
“Well, Elizabeth, what would you like to call her? Carol or Cynthia?”
Paul’s question was meant to diffuse what he probably considered to be an awkward situation. Perhaps it was meant to push Mrs. Horton to a decision about her. But Carol didn’t feel awkward, and she suspected Mrs. Horton always kept her poise and couldn’t be pushed. Carol had an instant liking for her.
“I’m going to stick to Carol for the moment. Audrey, how’s dinner coming? I’m famished.” Audrey said dinner was ready. “Good. Let’s adjourn to the dining room. Audrey and I usually eat our dinner here, but this is a special occasion. It’s not every day my long-lost granddaughter—or her doppelganger—returns. No, I don’t need help. I’m not so decrepit that I can’t get around by myself.”
She said the last to Paul who was attempting to help her up. Rose said good-bye to them and went home. The long table of dark wood was already covered with a linen tablecloth, china plates, and silverware Carol suspected was real silver and not just stainless steel masquerading under the name. The large and comfortable chairs matched the table.
Once she had gotten to her feet, Mrs. Horton walked steadily into the dining room. She sat at one end, with Paul and Carol on either side of her. Audrey, who had apparently eaten earlier, served them, starting with a bottle of red wine Carol, who was certain she wasn’t a connoisseur, suspected was quite expensive. Paul commented favorably on it. Carol limited herself to two glasses.
Carol half expected Mrs. Horton to quiz her, but she didn’t. Instead, she played the perfect hostess, making sure they had plenty to eat and drink, including apple pie Audrey baked from apples grown on the property. She told Carol Paul had filled her in on the circumstances of how Carol was found and mentioned her amnesia briefly. She didn’t ask whether Carol remembered anything and said she looked good, considering what she had gone through.
She kept the conversation going by telling stories about her family, including Cynthia, always referring to her in the third person—she, not you. Carol got the impression Mrs. Horton was telling her this family history so that Carol would be able to answer questions about it. Or maybe she was watching to see how Carol responded. However, she never acted as though she thought Carol were Cynthia.
Paul also told some stories about the Sakais, but he deferred to Mrs. Horton and let her do most of the talking. He did ask her if Cynthia had a scar on her abdomen. Mrs. Horton said she didn’t know about any scar.
While they were sipping Cognac and drinking coffee, Audrey brought Mrs. Horton a photo album, containing pictures of the Sakai family up to the time when Cynthia was about ten years old. Several pictures appeared to be missing. They must have fallen out or been used for another purpose.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have any recent pictures of Cynthia. After she disappeared two years ago, I gave Helen the albums and pictures I had from when she was older so she and Richard could use them to help with the search.”
None of the shots of Cynthia or Michael or her parents registered with Carol. The young Cynthia must have been a cute girl, but Carol couldn’t relate to her. She saw Paul was watching her expressions carefully.
“Elizabeth, I was hoping you’d still have some photos of Cynthia when she was older. I’m about to go through their house. I’m sure I’ll turn up some photos that are more current.” He took a sip of Cognac from a miniature silver-covered glass.
Mrs. Horton closed the album. “I’m an early-to-bed, early-to-rise person these days, so I’m going to kick you two out.”
Paul pushed back his chair. “I’ll take Carol to her hotel. Tomorrow we’ll go to the Sakai house and around Chapel Hill, to see if that jogs her memory. We’ll meet you here for lunch, as we planned, so you can see her in the daylight.”
Mrs. Horton looked at Carol. “Yes, my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be. What hotel are you staying at, dear?”
“I don’t know.”
Paul quickly answered. “The Carolina Inn.”
Mrs. Horton nodded. “Good. It’s a nice place. You should be comfortable there.”
She had risen from the table and walked with them the short distance to the front door, using her cane. “Paul, be careful driving out of here. I hope you didn’t drink too much wine. Take good care of Carol.”
“I’m fine. I will.”
“Carol, give me a hug. It’s nice to see a young person here again.”
Carol hugged her gingerly, afraid she might break, and said how much she had enjoyed the evening, just as if Mrs. Horton were a casual friend. She and Paul walked out to his car, which was a large SUV. Rose had previously transferred her suitcase to it. They drove the mile-and-a-half back to the paved road with Carol wondering exactly what had happened.
Paul spoke first. “She likes you.”
“Do you think so? I don’t remember anything about her.”
“Don’t worry about that. By the way, I found a fairly recent picture of you with your parents. It’s in my attaché case. I’ll give it to you when we get to the hotel.”
Her parents? “Why didn’t you get it out while we were there?” He talked as if there were no question about her identity.
“I forgot. Rose got it copied and stuck it in my case this morning. Long day. But I think we may be in business.”
What did he mean by that?
“Aren’t you exited about this?”
“I’m puzzled, more than anything. I wish I could remember.”
“As I said, don’t worry. Maybe you picked the name Carol because of memories of North Carolina. This is a great opportunity for you, if you play your cards right. You’re a smart girl, and I’m sure you will.” He squeezed her knee. “Just remember Mrs. Horton is the key to this.”
He chatted on about Mrs. Horton and the Sakais, rehashing some of what they’d talked about at dinner. It sounded like a sales pitch to Carol. When they arrived at the hotel, Paul came inside with her and gave the registration clerk his American Express card with which to pay the room bill.
After Carol received her room information, she turned to Paul. “Thank you very much for all you’ve done, Paul. What time will you pick me up tomorrow?”
“About ten. I’ll go to the room with you and make sure it’s okay.”
“No thanks. I’ll be fine.”
She was certain she didn’t want Paul to go with her. She stood in the middle of the lobby, not moving, and said good night to him. After a few seconds of hesitation, he reached into the attaché case he had brought in with him and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Carol, turned, and walked toward the exit. She watched him until he disappeared.
