Forget to Remember, page 7
She took the elevator to the second floor and found her room. She entered, using the card key, and turned on the lights. She suspected from a glance at the room that she was in Chapel Hill’s most luxurious hotel. No expense was being spared by Paul. Of course, he wasn’t paying for it.
The message light on the telephone was blinking red. Maybe it was a message welcoming her to the hotel and hoping her stay would be marvelous. She picked up the receiver. The message wasn’t from the hotel; it was from Audrey, Mrs. Horton’s aide, asking her to call Mrs. Horton, regardless of the time.
Strange. She punched in the number. Audrey answered after a couple of rings. “Good evening, Horton residence.”
“Hi, this is Carol.”
“Carol, please hold on for Mrs. Horton.”
“Hello, dear.” Mrs. Horton’s voice sounded alert, not sleepy. “What time is Paul picking you up tomorrow?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Audrey will pick you up at nine and bring you here.”
“What about Paul?”
“Don’t worry about Paul. As long as he gets what he wants, why should he care what the procedure is?”
Carol couldn’t stop herself from laughing.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Mrs. Horton’s voice had a smile in it. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Carol was still chuckling as she reached into the brown envelope Paul had given her and pulled out a five by seven inch photo. It was a shot of four people from about the waist up. At either end were Richard and Helen Sakai. She recognized them from pictures she had seen on the Internet and at dinner. The young man was Michael. She had seen his picture on the Internet also. The woman next to him was—her. At least it looked like her, without the scars. The girl’s hair was short, just like her hair. The only thing Carol didn’t recognize was the top she was wearing.
Carol stared at it for several minutes. Could it be possible? This was the best evidence yet. It was so good she didn’t trust herself. She needed a second opinion. She remembered Frances was an expert at identifying photos and had even written a book about it. How could she get a copy of this photo to Frances?
Carol had brought all the phone numbers and e-mail addresses she had with her. This was a ritzy hotel with an accent on customer service. Well, she needed some service. She took the stairs down to the first floor, not bothering to wait for the elevator, and went to the desk. She asked the clerk whether the hotel had a document scanner. Yes. Could he scan a picture for her—she showed it to him—and then e-mail it to someone. One more thing: he would have to use the hotel’s e-mail account because she didn’t have access to one here.
Five minutes later, she returned to her room, carrying a copy of the e-mail message she had sent: “Hi Frances, What do you think of this picture? Supposed to be me and my parents, Helen and Richard Sakai, and brother Michael, taken within the last 5 years. Call me at the Carolina Inn. Thanks, Carol.” She also gave the phone number of the hotel.
It still wasn’t late in her head, but she was suddenly tired. She undressed and got ready for bed. She had forgotten to pack the nightgown Tina had bought for her. That was all right; the sheets felt soft against her bare skin. She stared at the photo and wondered how this adventure was going to end. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t picture herself as Cynthia. Who was she? She became too sleepy to hold the picture and it slipped out of her grasp.
CHAPTER 11
The message light on Carol’s phone was blinking when she returned to her room after eating a Continental breakfast. Her head was fuzzy since she was still on Los Angeles time, but she wanted to adjust to the East Coast as fast as possible.
The message was from Frances who had returned her call from last night. Carol looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was eight fifteen, meaning five fifteen in Los Angeles. Frances was up early. Carol punched in her number.
“Hello, Frances Moran.”
“Good morning, Frances, it’s Carol. You’re up early.”
“Good. I wanted to catch you before you ran off someplace.”
“Thanks for calling back.”
“That’s my job. I need to talk to you about the picture you sent me.”
“Yes, what do you think about it?”
“It’s a fake.”
That was short and not very sweet. For some reason, Carol had been half expecting it, but the news still came as a shock to her. “Why do you say that?”
“Do you have the picture in front of you?”
“Just a second.” Carol took the picture out of the envelope. “Yes, I’ve got it.”
“Okay, first, notice the original picture was taken outdoors with a tree in the background.”
“Yes.”
“So that means we have outdoor lighting from the sun. You can tell that the sun was to the right of the picture because the left sides of the parents’ faces and Michael’s face are lit. The right sides are in shadow. Now look at your face. It’s lit evenly, probably as the result of a flash. So, the picture of you was taken indoors.”
Carol looked at the picture with new eyes. “Right. I see that now.”
“There’s more evidence. Both your eyes have catch lights from the flash. On the parents and Michael, only the left eyes have catch lights from the sun. In addition, your head is too small compared to the heads of Michael and the parents.”
“Too small? Children’s heads are smaller—”
“You’re not a child in the picture. It was supposed to have been taken within the last few years. Michael’s head is out of proportion with yours, and he’s only a couple of years older. Your head should be the same size as your mother’s. In addition, the picture of you is identical to one of the pictures Rigo took of you, except the marks on your face are gone. They’ve been airbrushed out.”
“Wow.”
“Look on the back of the photo. Is anything written on it?”
“It says ‘STAPLES.’”
“Staples sells photographic paper for computer printers. The photo of you was airbrushed and then added to the original photo, replacing Cynthia’s. That photo was scanned and printed from a computer printer. It was a decent scanner, but the quality isn’t quite as good as you’d get from a lab. I know if I’m right what you sent me is a scan of a scan, but see if you agree.”
“I think I do.” Frances had destroyed the veracity of the photo as effectively as a swordsman slicing up his victim. There was nothing left to say in its defense.
Frances spoke while Carol was still pondering this. “Tell me what you’re doing. Rigo’s worried sick about you.”
“I didn’t mean to worry anybody. Paul Vigiano gave me the picture. I met Mrs. Horton. She’s a nice lady.”
“But obviously not your grandmother. Otherwise, why would Vigiano have gone to the trouble of doctoring the photo? He’s trying to sell you on the fact that you’re Cynthia. Now I know why he didn’t send me any recent photos of Cynthia. All right, what will you do now?”
“I’m meeting Mrs. Horton in a little while. After that I’ll have to see.”
“You’d better come back to California. Your friends are here. You can only get into trouble if you stay there.”
“I don’t think the Ramirezes would want me back.”
“Give Rigo a call and see how much he wants you back. He’s ready to jump on a plane and come after you.”
“Tell him not to worry.”
After Carol hung up, she thought about calling Rigo. He would still be sleeping. Besides, she didn’t want to talk to him at the moment. He wouldn’t approve of what she was doing.
***
Mrs. Horton moved very well considering she used a cane, but she appeared to carry it mostly as a talisman, to give her confidence. She navigated the path made from flat stones and the uneven ground of the garden and spacious lawn without much difficulty, pointing out the plants and trees to Carol.
Butch went with them, periodically presenting Carol with the slimy tennis ball. She was his buddy because she was willing to throw it for him to chase. She carried a rag she had borrowed from Audrey and used it to wipe off her hand.
She was curious about the long fence that surrounded the house and yard. It made a wide circle, enclosing a number of acres of lawn and garden. Anybody coming along the road had to enter the grounds through the gate, but since there was a button, it obviously wasn’t to keep people out. She asked Mrs. Horton about it.
“It’s the damn deer, excuse my French. They would eat all my plants and flowers without the fence. They’re multiplying like crazy. Since they’re protected most of the year, they’re not afraid of humans. I let the hunters set up blinds on my property during hunting season. They also carry ticks that cause Lyme disease.”
The hunters or the deer? So much for the cute little deer. Mrs. Horton had called Vigiano and told him Carol was with her for the morning and he was welcome to join them for lunch, but not before. She seemed to be in complete control of the situation. Carol realized she couldn’t live her life fooling this woman. When they stopped for a moment at the small barn with the sit-down mower inside, Carol spoke to her.
“I need to tell you something.” Mrs. Horton waited for her to proceed. “I…I don’t think I’m your granddaughter.”
“Why do you say that?”
“A number of things. I don’t have any memories of this area or of you. I’d think something would stir my brain, but it hasn’t. In addition, Paul gave me a picture last night that’s supposed to be me with my parents, but the picture of me is a fake.”
“Oh…let’s see it.” Mrs. Horton looked at the envelope Carol was carrying as if she’d been expecting this.
Carol had been struggling with the question of whether she should show the picture to Mrs. Horton, which was why she was carrying it. She didn’t want to cause bad blood between Mrs. Horton and Paul. On the other hand, Paul deserved it. She pulled the photograph out of the envelope and handed it to her. Mrs. Horton studied it closely.
“I don’t think I’ve seen this picture before. Those are certainly my daughter and son-in-law. This is Michael. This is certainly you. Why do you say it’s a fake?”
Carol briefly told her why. Mrs. Horton listened attentively. Then she looked at Carol. “I would add one thing. Before she went to London, Cynthia wore her hair longer than that. But that’s really beside the point. I knew from the moment I saw you that you weren’t Cynthia.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I had my reasons. One is that I wanted to see how far Paul would go to prove you’re Cynthia. He stands to get a lot of money, you know. I also wanted to find out if you’re a fortune hunter. It appears you aren’t.”
“What tipped you off? Do I look that much different than Cynthia?”
“Actually, you could pass for Cynthia in a dim light. No, it was your earrings.”
“My studs? They’re the only thing I was wearing when I was found.”
“They’re not gold. They’re silver or perhaps an imitation. Cynthia could only wear gold earrings. She had an allergic reaction to any other kind. Fortunately, she could afford gold.”
“Well, what do we do now?”
“Come into the house, dear. I feel like a cup of tea.”
***
Paul was attempting to be charming. Carol suspected this didn’t come naturally to him. She saw sweat on his upper lip. He was trying to charm them into accepting Carol as Mrs. Horton’s granddaughter without actually saying so.
They were sitting at the kitchen table eating chicken salad prepared by Audrey. Mrs. Horton and Carol were seated at either end of the rectangle with Paul in the middle. Mrs. Horton had planned the seating arrangement. He had to turn his head from one of them to the other as he spoke.
“I’m glad you two are getting along so well. You know, I see a family resemblance between you.”
Mrs. Horton looked skeptical. “Surely not our coloring.”
Paul treated that as a joke and laughed briefly. “No, I was talking about the fact that you’re both quite tall and slim. And you have the same way of cocking your heads when you’re listening.”
“In my case, it’s so I can hear what you’re saying.” Mrs. Horton turned her head, revealing her hearing aids.
Carol was laughing inside. It was time to increase the stakes. “We need to talk about the picture you gave me.”
If Paul was concerned, he didn’t show it. “Yes, isn’t that a good shot? I found it among some papers belonging to the Sakais.” He looked at Mrs. Horton. “I’ll get a copy for you, too.”
“Don’t bother. I’ve already seen it. I’m sure you know that you can get disbarred for tampering with evidence.”
“Whaaa…? There’s nothing wrong with that picture.”
Carol took up the tale. “I know a forensic genealogist who will testify that the photo is a fake.” She didn’t need to elaborate any more than that. Paul knew who she was talking about.
Paul was sweating in a few other places now. He had taken off his suit coat when he arrived and his armpits were wet. “What’s going on here?”
Mrs. Horton smiled grimly. “Since you ask, you stand to get five million dollars for producing Cynthia. You produced a girl who looks like Cynthia but isn’t her. No, don’t say anything; I’m not through. You knew or suspected that from the start. You doctored the photo to help your case. You depended on the fact that my eyesight and hearing and perhaps my brain aren’t what they used to be to fool me. Since Carol has amnesia you figured you could feed her anything and she’d buy it. Or even if she had her doubts the chance of getting all that money would put her on your side.”
Carol couldn’t resist adding her two cents. “In reality, Mrs. Horton’s mind is as sharp as the stiletto heel on a model’s shoe.”
“And Carol may have a memory problem, but she’s a young lady of principle. She won’t take money under false pretences.”
Paul wasn’t looking at either of them. He stared at his hands as he was twisting them together on the table. “I admit I was trying to cover all the bases. Sorry, bad joke. In the picture of Cynthia I covered she has long hair. But Carol still might be Cynthia.”
Mrs. Horton shook her head. “She’s not.”
Carol said, “I’m wearing the wrong kind of earrings.”
Paul looked incredulous. “Don’t give me that sh…”
Mrs. Horton explained about the allergic reaction.
Paul looked slowly from one of them to the other. “If you’re not related, why do I get the impression you’re working together? What do you want?”
Mrs. Horton gave a hint of a smile. “For starters, don’t try to con me again. You’re playing with the emotions of an old woman. I’m quite sure Cynthia’s dead, but go ahead and look for her. Earn your probate fee even if you don’t get the five million. Perhaps I’m wrong. I hope I’m wrong. Now let’s talk about Carol.”
Paul turned his head to look at Carol. With all this head swiveling, he was going to need a chiropractor. She felt emboldened since she had Mrs. Horton backing her.
“I want to continue to search for my identity. I need some help. I’d like five thousand dollars in a checking account with an ATM card. I need a passport in the name of Carol Golden. Also, I’d like a new driver’s license for Carol Golden. I’m not Cynthia Sakai.”
Paul whistled. “That’s all you want? How about the moon on a string? What makes you think I can do those things, including get the money?”
“The driver’s license you already made for Carol proves you have connections.” Mrs. Horton sniffed. “I don’t want to know what they are. I’m sure a passport is within your capability. Take the money out of the Sakai estate. It’s not enough to have a significant effect on the total. And it’s certainly no skin off your nose. When Carol goes to England, which she plans to do, she’ll look for Cynthia, so it’s search expense.”
Paul, who’d been acting like a caged beast, now had a crafty look on his face. “What if I just say no?”
“What if I just take my driver’s license to the authorities and tell them where I got it?” Carol had learned she could meet Paul’s best stare. She did so now.
“Using an invalid license can get you into a lot of trouble.”
“Not nearly as much as it can get you into. I have nothing to lose since I’m a non-person.”
Paul suddenly pushed his chair back hard so it fell over with a bang as he stood up. Carol was startled and wondered whether he would try to wrest the driver’s license and picture from her. She had placed them in another room for safekeeping.
Mrs. Horton had told Audrey to listen to their conversation from the next room after she served lunch, and to have a phone with her in case she needed to call for help. Mrs. Horton had said she didn’t think Paul would get violent, but she added, “It doesn’t hurt to take precautions.”
Paul backed up and leaned against the granite kitchen counter. He appeared to be thinking. “I need an address for the passport and driver’s license.”
This sounded like a concession to Carol.
Mrs. Horton said, “Use my address.”
“That could get you into trouble.” Carol didn’t want to endanger her. She was amazed Mrs. Horton would condone breaking the law, but she had said upon hearing Carol’s story that if laws didn’t protect you, they weren’t good laws.
“Paul will see to it I don’t get into trouble, because if I do, I’ll bring him down with me.”
Paul was consulting his Blackberry. “Give me three days.”
Watching him gave Carol an idea. “There’s one more thing. I want my own cell phone—paid for.”
“Come to my office on Friday afternoon at five thirty.”
Paul handed Carol one of his business cards, took his coat and attaché case, and left without another word.
CHAPTER 12
Since Paul hadn’t said anything to the contrary, Carol assumed she could keep her room at the Carolina Inn while she waited for him to produce the documents. When they kicked her out into the street, she would know she had overstayed her welcome.
