Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery (17 page)

I set my empty teacup on the bedside table, fluff my
pillows, and turn off the light. After thirty minutes trickle by, I
decide to practice deep breathing and counting backward from one
hundred.

I’m not sure if I’m dreaming, but I hear Paul’s
voice as if he were standing next to me. Say there’s a chance for
us. Tell me we can begin again. The moments at his hideaway replay
with sharp edges. Especially his shock at my refusal to sleep with
him while he was still married to Reena.

A chunk of my memory has just fallen into place.

I rummage through my purse and pull out the little
notebook. Note the time: 9:30p.m. I write that first, then what
happened, then Paul’s words.

For the first time in weeks, I fall asleep
alone.

I HAVE MADE PROGRESS with the memory loss, having
recalled most of my January visit to Anacacho. The strain between
Paul and Del, Susie’s suspicions that Reena and Del reconnected, as
well as the fact that Susie was just about to deliver a daughter
and name her after me.

The brown envelope remains with Gibbs because
Solomon advised me to leave it in the attorney’s hands until I
regain all my memory. I didn’t tell Gibbs about my problem, only
that I was involved in a large real estate transaction and was out
of the country.

Sad to say, now that my memory is returning, I have
found it increasingly difficult to be intimate with Duncan. I’m
able to handle the kisses, but the minute he becomes more familiar,
I tense up. The only way I can get through the rest of our
love-making is to clench my teeth and wait for the act to be over.
That bothers me enormously because, in the beginning, sex with
Duncan was the greatest.

When I told Dr. Solomon about my problem, he
suggested I blame my growing aversion to intercourse on that
particular stage of my therapy. This has helped dissipate some of
the tension between Duncan and me, but I sense a reluctance on his
part to have sex unless I take the initiative—and I don’t.

I must say, good old Dr. Solomon has tried every
psychiatric tool to get through that stone wall surrounding my
second trip to Uvalde, but so far, nothing has worked. And now,
it’s show time.

Today, he’s going to try to hypnotize me. It was my
suggestion. It had to be. That was the deal. And I am ready. By
that I mean I’m able to drop into the alpha state in only three
deep breaths while counting backward from one hundred to
ninety-six. It’s amazing how helpful this has been in connection
with my work. An issue arises—I spend a few relaxed minutes—the
issue seems easier to solve.

Since it’s Saturday, Dr. Solomon suggested I dress
comfortably, and I have chosen a jogging suit and running shoes. I
notice he’s done the same, probably relieved to get out of the iron
suit and hangman’s tie for a change.

Before the hypnosis begins we chat for about twenty
minutes, reviewing some of my memories of Uvalde. I know he’s
gunning for my second visit. Apparently, that’s where the trouble
lies.

Dr. Solomon’s next question is a jolt. “Is it
possible you met someone new while you were there?”

I feel the heat between my legs and redden with
embarrassment at my intense and rapid arousal as a fragment of the
past replays. I’m on the porch at Anacacho with a man. His body is
barely touching mine, but I don’t want to move away. I hope he’ll
kiss me. I try to see who it is, but I can’t look up.

“
Are you suggesting I fell in
love?” I meet Dr. Solomon’s penetrating stare and know he’s seen
the heat in my cheeks. “But, how could that be? You tell me I was
there for a little over three days.” “True.” He smiles and shakes a
friendly finger in my direction. “But love at first sight is very
real.” He motions to the crammed bookcase. “There have been a
number of conclusive studies done on the phenomenon, though I
prefer to think that the love is probably more a sexual attraction
than spiritual.”

“
Wouldn’t I remember such a strong
emotion?” “Did you not?”

I blush and nod.

“
Then, too, your reluctance to be
intimate with your fiancé indicates something or someone has
entered the picture. The closer we get to hurdling that wall you’ve
built, the more you seem to want Duncan out of the way.”

Why is he saying this? Why does he need to put me on
the defensive? “I’ve tried to—to be loving. But Duncan’s been busy
with his work and I’ve been just as swamped.”

“
So, no time to make whoopee. Is
that it?”

Whoopee? That’s straight out of the Dark Ages. I
want to leap out of my chair and poke him in the nose. Instead, the
lump in my chest grows heavy with the truth that lately Duncan’s
comforting arms seem more like vises and what he calls love seems
more like an imposition.

Dr. Solomon breaks into my thoughts. “Are you ready
to let me jiggle a few memories?”

This is it Allie. You have to give him control.
Instead of answering, I lie back, begin my deep breathing and
counting and in no time I’m limp as a noodle.

Solomon sounds like he’s in a well. “You feel very
heavy now. Arms and legs weigh a ton. Too heavy to lift, but try to
raise your right hand for me, just a little, will you please?”

I think I manage to slightly move my index finger,
but I don’t care. It’s very peaceful, wherever I am. Then I look
into the bright blue eyes of the man on the porch. He’s in a police
uniform. Sheriff.

I’m trembling, not because I’m afraid, but because
no man I’ve ever been with has aroused me so. We are in a musty
room. I hear him speak for the first time, though his voice is
almost a whisper. “Tomorrow?”

Yes, that’s his voice with the soft, lazy drawl. I
say something to him, but whatever it is doesn’t move him. I say it
again. Nine o’clock autopsy.

Finally, he edges by me and disappears into the
darkness.

I want to think about that moment. Feel the way I
felt. Delicious. Yes. Delicious.

Solomon’s voice cuts in. “What about the
autopsy?”

The scene shifts to a well-lighted office. I smell
stale coffee—hear the clacking keys of a typewriter. Yes. Yes. It’s
him. I see his lips move. “I’m Bill Cotton, the Sheriff. Welcome to
Uvalde.”

“
Come with me now, Allie,” Dr.
Solomon insists. “It’s nine o’clock and time for Reena’s
autopsy.”

“
No.” I blurt, shaking my head
hard.

“
Does it frighten you to see your
dead friend?”

“
I never saw her body. Pictures. I
saw pictures.” I try to turn my head as the gruesome black and
white images flash before me.

I hear myself say, “Don’t gag, ask questions. Good.
We’re leaving but I can’t stand up. Oh hell, I’m going to pass
out.”

“
Who’s with you? Is it
Paul?”

“
No, not Paul.” I smile. “Bill
Cotton.”

“
So,” Solomon says. “We finally
have a name.”

I nod and murmur, “Yes. The sheriff.”

Solomon brings me out of the trance by counting down
from ten. He waits until I sit up and face him. “And was it love at
first sight?”

I’m startled by his question. “Maybe so. Certainly a
strong sexual attraction, but there’s more to it than that, I’m
positive.”

“
I’m sure your first impulse is to
get in touch with this man, but I’m strongly advising you not to
because you don’t know the whole story yet.”

“
Okay, okay. I promise I won’t
call until all the pieces fall in place.”

I rise to go, but Solomon’s next words stop me in my
tracks. “What about Duncan?”

I slip back into my chair and sigh. “I don’t want to
think about Duncan right now.”

“
But maybe you should,” Solomon
says. “After all, you tell me you haven’t been able to be intimate
with him for the past few weeks. That should tell you
something.”

“
But, I do love him.”

“
Yes, I think you do, Allie, but
isn’t it plain this Bill Cotton is standing in the way of any
future the two of you might have? Wouldn’t it be better to let the
guy off the hook until all this is resolved?”

It’s like a large stone lifts. Tears come, but not
sad ones. Tears of relief. Later that day, I removed my engagement
ring and put it in the office safe.

Christmas in Lampasas turns out to be the best one
we’ve had since my grandparents were killed. Angela and I are able
to be just “the girls,” staying up late every night. Mother cooks
our favorite foods and Dad takes us skeet shooting. We even get
stockings stuffed with crazy gifts, just like we did when we were
little.

The table is once again filled with guests who watch
as Angela and I fight over who gets the pully-bone.

Duncan calls only once to wish me Merry Christmas.
It’s a short conversation, lots of noise in the background of both
homes. I hope he won’t say he loves me, and am relieved when the
conversation ends without it.

The holiday is over before we know it. After
dropping Angela off at the Austin airport, I have almost two
hundred miles to consider a future with Duncan and am surprised to
discover I scarcely thought about him at all while I was away. That
I never once longed to be with him. That the ring is exactly where
it belongs. By the time I arrive in Houston, I know I have to end
the relationship.

The first evening Duncan is back, I suggest we meet
for dinner at a downtown restaurant not far from his office since I
have a meeting at the nearby Pennzoil Building. When he agrees, I
make a reservation, specifying a banquette in a side alcove usually
reserved by lovers.

Our greeting embrace is as brief as the kiss, but
then, we’re in a public place. We follow the maître d’ through the
crowded main room, slide into the banquette, then order martinis.
Though Duncan makes no move to take my hand, the mood we share is
relaxed and our conversation centers on family holiday anecdotes
for the first part of our meal, then what is happening in our
careers.

I drop it on him over dessert and coffee, then
extract the ring from my purse and place it on the table next to
his hand.

He looks at me, then down at the ring, then back at
me.

“
My therapy isn’t going well at
all. Solomon says it may take a year or even longer before my
memory is completely restored, and I can’t ask you to begin a
marriage based on the unknown. It isn’t fair after all the waiting
you’ve done already.”

I hear the words tumble from my mouth,
planned—practiced, but they sound rushed, false, and unfeeling.

I search his face to find no pain there, no look of
amazement, just speculation. Then he says, “I had a feeling about
us when we didn’t get the house in Tanglewood, didn’t you?”

The house in Tanglewood? Did I know we’d lost the
bid? I search my memory and come up empty.

Duncan picks up the ring, slides it in his pocket,
then gives me a thin smile. “I’ll miss you, Allie. We had something
pretty great going there for a while. Looks like fate’s just not on
our side. I think it’s best if we don’t see each other at all. They
say a clean break is always better.”

He signals for the check, walks me to the car, and
says goodbye.

I feel tears edge forward, surprised my emotions
could still be so raw. Everything was neatly planned. Just a
civilized dinner and a short goodbye. And now that it’s done,
where’s the relief? Why, instead, regret?

I HAVE JUST FLOWN IN FROM DALLAS. On the way to
Bammel Lane I take a slight detour down Kirby Drive to witness the
beginning of spring. The flowering quince and pink magnolias have
come and gone, but the azaleas are right on schedule: ready to pop
just in time for the last freeze of the year. Seeing the burgeoning
pale green trees and carpeted lawns dotted with tulips and
daffodils is somehow soothing.

My job at Perkins, Travis is going extremely well.
It seems real estate is my forte. My success with Dixon-Renchen
rolled me into an even bigger venture dealing with a major property
swap in Dallas, where I’ve been living in a hotel since January.
This has limited Dr. Solomon and me to one Saturday session a week
at best, and now that the deal is coming down to the wire, our
group has been working through the weekend.

Even with that, the timing on the trade couldn’t
have been better. Finding out about Bill Cotton and my attraction
to him certainly clarified my feelings for Duncan. When Dr. Solomon
brought me out of the trance that Saturday, I remembered everything
that happened in the Medical Examiner’s office, when I saw the
graphic pictures of Reena and almost passed out.

What happened after Bill and I left the ME’s office
is still a big zero. This lack of progress is extremely frustrating
for two reasons. The main one being my tremendous urge to get back
within kissing range of the sheriff. The second is my failure to
remember even one small detail after that nine o’clock appointment
at the ME’s office.

For the last three sessions, after I go under,
Solomon has me repeat the events while he tries to drive me over
those last few hurdles.

He reports that when I’m hypnotized, I relate
exactly the same events, and include exactly the same details.
Still, he won’t tell me anything. Part of the therapy is for me to
remember everything in a waking state.

After each session Solomon reminds me to keep hands
off on any contact with Uvalde until I can remember everything.
I’ve been tempted to call Susie more than once, but so far I’ve
been able to resist, since the closing in Dallas has taken up most
of my time.

My building has one great perk. A doorman who, if he
likes you, will retrieve and park your car. Elton is round and
middle-aged. He definitely has his pets and, happily, I’m one of
them.