Forget to Remember (25 page)

Carol greeted Paul with a firm handshake. He
didn’t look bad in a tan suit—he might even have lost a few
pounds—but now that she was the heir to the Sakai estate she wasn’t
going to do anything to besmirch her reputation in the eyes of her
grandmother. Paul acted equally distant. Mrs. Horton wanted to
clear her conscience and dropped the bombshell as soon as they sat
down.

Mrs. Horton explained she had rejected Carol
because of the phone call from Michael. Paul had a hard time
believing Michael was still alive. Mrs. Horton persisted. Paul took
copies of the wills of Richard and Helen out of his briefcase and
looked at them.

“Michael isn’t mentioned in the wills at
all, so from the point of view of the estate, it doesn’t matter
whether he’s alive or dead. Carol, or should I say Cynthia, you’re
the sole beneficiary if you’re alive and available. My memory of
discussions with Richard and Helen when they revised their wills a
year ago is that Michael didn’t want to be a beneficiary. I didn’t
think much of it at the time, except that Michael must be an odd
duck. I don’t remember ever meeting him. The contingent beneficiary
is the Weatherford Foundation.”

Carol took a swallow of wine. “What do you
know about the Weatherford Foundation?”

“Your parents seemed to be very keen on it.
As executor, I felt it was my duty to do some research. It’s a
foundation based in Fairfax, Virginia, that donates money to worthy
causes, whatever that means. I have their brochure and I’ve talked
to the Executive Director, a woman named Katherine Simpson, on the
phone. She seems competent enough. I gather from talking to her the
foundation doesn’t have a lot of money. The inheritance from the
estate would be a huge bonanza for it.”

Mrs. Horton asked, “Do you have a list of
the board of directors or anybody else connected with the
foundation?”

“I have the names of the board members.”

“Is Michael among them?”

“No, he isn’t, but remember, Michael is
officially dead. If he’s connected with this foundation in some
way, which is what I think you’re implying, he’s using an assumed
name.”

Carol smiled grimly. “I’m afraid that runs
in the family.”

It took Paul a while before he understood
everything. Then he did a summation, as if he were speaking to a
jury. “Elizabeth, you didn’t acknowledge Carol as your
granddaughter at first because you were afraid of Michael.
Carol—I’m going to continue to call you Carol for the time
being—you went to England and ran into a woman you’ve worked with
for two years who filled you in on as much of your history as she
knew. Michael was supposed to be on the plane that crashed but
wasn’t, and in fact, he sabotaged it, causing it to crash, killing
his parents. He’s tried to kill Carol three times. His motivation,
at least for the last two times, apparently is that he controls the
foundation that receives the money from the estate if she’s
dead.”

At this point they moved into the dining
room to eat a fancy chicken dinner served by Audrey, who could hear
everything they said. Mrs. Horton had told her some of it that
afternoon.

Paul continued. “I found a newspaper
clipping in my Sakai file this afternoon about the knife attack
against Carol. I had forgotten about it. Michael isn’t mentioned as
a suspect. I believe it says he called nine-one-one. That doesn’t
sound like the act of a murderer.”

“That’s one memory I’ve recovered.” Carol
didn’t want her opinions to be dismissed so lightly. “I remember
the smell of Michael’s aftershave. There’s no doubt in my mind he
did it. My parents must have talked me out of making an accusation
against him. Janet, my English friend, says I told her I went to
England to get away from him.”

“All right, we’ll accept that for the
moment. The second attempt was the Dumpster in California. There
were no witnesses. The third attempt was a shooting in
California.”

“My friend Rigo saw the man.”

“Could he identify him in a lineup?”

“No. It was dark. I saw him for a second but
only as a silhouette.”

“I’ve done some defense work, and I can tell
you this is one case I’d gladly take. I wouldn’t have any trouble
getting an acquittal on all three counts.”

Carol felt upset because the way Paul said
it made it sound as if her testimony wouldn’t be believed. “How are
we going to protect Grandma—Mrs. Horton?”

“We have to go to the police.”

Carol exchanged looks with Mrs. Horton.
She’d been afraid of this.

Paul continued. “It’s their job to protect
you. Carol, since you think Michael’s tried to kill you three times
already, not going to the police isn’t going to help you. He’ll
keep trying until he succeeds or until the police catch him.
Remember I have a vested interest in your safety. I wouldn’t
recommend this if it weren’t the best thing to do.”

Mrs. Horton nodded. “Paul’s absolutely
right. When I agreed not to tell anybody, I hoped it would protect
you, but now I see it hasn’t—and won’t. I always thought there was
something odd about Michael. He’s mentally unbalanced. As long as
he’s free, Cynthia isn’t safe.”

Mrs. Horton had adapted to her being Cynthia
faster than she, herself, had. They agreed the three of them would
talk to the police together in the morning. Carol and Paul left at
the same time. Mrs. Horton offered to let Carol stay with her, but
she had already paid for the night at the motel and her belongings
were there. She said she’d move in with Mrs. Horton tomorrow.

Paul and Carol walked along the narrow
sidewalk single file to their cars. Carol clicked her remote and
received an answering flash from her car’s headlights. As she
opened her car door Paul said, “I’m glad you’re Cynthia.”

“So am I. It’s nice to know who I am, even
if I can’t remember much.”

Paul hesitated. “I missed you.”

“Don’t go there. You’re going to have to be
satisfied with the millions you’re going to receive from the
estate. I’m sure you can get a lot of girls with that kind of
money.”

“But not like you.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but it’s not
going to change anything. Good night.”

Paul didn’t speak, a habit he had exhibited
before when he was rebuffed.

CHAPTER 32

Carol was staying at a motel in
Hillsborough, a few miles north of the farm. She crossed I-40 and
I-85 on the two-lane road and then drove up a short hill on a side
street. The three-story building was part of a chain of economy
motels, not luxurious like the Carolina Inn, but comfortable for
someone like Carol who was on a budget. She might not have to be on
a budget much longer—if the problem of Michael could be
resolved.

She found a parking place at the corner of
the building, locked the car, and went in the front door. She waved
to the female night clerk who was on the phone and walked through
the lobby to the lift—elevator. She was back in the States now and
had to use American terminology. Two couples with too many
suitcases denoting infrequent travelers were waiting for it. The
small elevator might not hold all of them and their luggage.

Carol decided to take the stairs at the end
of the corridor to the third floor rather than wait. How many times
had she taken the steep and narrow stairway to Sean’s loft when she
was posing? These stairs were a snap in comparison. She knew from
walking down them this morning that the stairway entrance was close
to her room, closer than the elevator. That gave her some
comfort.

She had requested an upper-story room for
security purposes, so if Michael somehow found out where she was
staying he wouldn’t be able to climb in her window. That was silly;
there was no way he could know where she was. Still, she’d sleep
better knowing that unless he rappelled down from the roof, he
wouldn’t be able to get to her from the outside.

The metal stairs to each floor were in two
flights, with the second flight switching back so the stairway
doors on each floor were in the same relative position. She made it
to the second floor landing and started up the first flight to the
third floor when something almost directly above her came into her
peripheral vision. Or perhaps it was a slight noise, but in any
case, she looked up.

Carol had seen pictures of Michael, and she
knew immediately the man on the third floor landing was him, even
though he’d dyed his hair red and it was long and shaggy. It might
have been the “oriental cast” to his features, to quote Sean when
he’d been talking about
her
.

While her brain was processing this
information, her body, thankfully, was already initiating action.
She turned and ran back down the stairs, taking them two at a time,
hoping she wouldn’t trip. She listened for the clang of Michael’s
footsteps on the steps above, hoping against hope he hadn’t
recognized her

She hesitated long enough to turn the handle
of the door exiting the stairway and then yanked it open and burst
through the doorway into a corridor with rooms on either side. Now
she heard Michael’s footsteps. He was coming after her. She ran the
length of the corridor, past the elevator in which the startled
guests were just now loading their suitcases, and turned the corner
into the spacious lobby.

Carol yelled, “Call nine-one-one,” at the
night clerk and, not hearing Michael right behind her, stopped for
a second to survey the situation. It would be suicidal for her to
go outside into the dark, alone with Michael. The lobby had a
number of round tables set up for guests to use when eating their
continental breakfasts. She ran among the tables until several were
between her and where Michael would enter the room. She picked up a
chair and held it with the metal legs pointing in front of her.
This was her weapon.

Michael came skidding around the corner into
the lobby and stopped. He was holding a small knife, like a Swiss
Army knife—small but deadly. Thankfully, he didn’t have a gun. He
spotted Carol and came at her, charging like a bull, banging into
one of the tables on the way.

Carol had been braced for his charge, but he
came so fast he almost overwhelmed her. Just as he ran around the
last table separating them and was about to sweep the chair she
held aside she lunged forward. One of her chair legs caught him in
the chest, knocking them both backward.

Carol backpedaled, hit the table behind her,
and went down on her knees. Michael grunted loudly and also fell,
landing on his butt. She got to her feet before he did, still
holding the chair. He appeared to be hurt. She went for him,
feeling a terrible rage, intending to stab him with the chair legs,
but he rolled away and she only hit him with a glancing blow on the
back.

He crawled under a table as she tried to hit
him with the chair again. Then he managed to get to his feet and
hobbled toward the outside door, obviously in pain. Carol followed
with the chair, but before she got to the door, one of the men who
had been getting on the elevator stepped in front of her.

“He’s still got the knife. Let him go.”

Carol dropped the chair. “I want to get his
license.”

She eluded the man, ran to the door, opened
it, and looked outside. She could see Michael running out of the
motel parking lot. His car apparently wasn’t in the lot. The man
came to the door. “We’ll follow him in my car.”

The man’s wife yelled at him to be careful.
His car was parked close to the door. Carol jumped into the
passenger seat when he activated the remote. He started the car,
backed out of the parking place, and drove to the exit from the
lot. As far as they could tell, Michael had run downhill toward the
main street through Hillsborough.

They drove down to the intersection and
looked in all directions, but he was nowhere to be seen. Carol
pointed to the right. “He’s probably going to get on I-85.”

The man turned right, and they went to where
the Interstate went over the road. No cars were in sight. They
parked within sight of both onramps. Damn it, Michael was going to
get away again. Carol had dropped her purse containing her cell
phone during the pursuit. She turned to the man who had a shaved
head and whose skin was darker than hers. “Do you have a cell
phone? I’ll call nine-one-one and get the police looking for
him.”

He produced a phone from his pocket, punched
in 911, and handed it to her. She told the dispatcher the attacker
from the previous 911 call was getting away. Since she was on a
cell phone, the dispatcher had no knowledge of the other call and
asked her location. When Carol got that straightened out, she had
to admit she didn’t have a description of the attacker’s car, but
she tried to give a description of Michael without mentioning his
name.

She handed the phone back to the man. “By
the time they get mobilized, he’ll be gone. Would you mind waiting
here five minutes before we go back to the motel, just in
case…?”

He said okay and asked her who this man with
the red hair was and why he was trying to kill her.

“Long story. I don’t mean to stonewall you,
but I’m going to have enough trouble explaining it to the
police.”

“You are one brave young lady.”

As they drove back toward the motel, a
police car pulled up behind them, lights flashing. They spent
valuable time explaining they were the ones who had issued the 911
call while Carol pictured Michael getting farther and farther
away.

After what seemed like an eternity, they
arrived at the motel. Another police car was parked by the front
door. Carol thanked her driver for his help, knowing she was
walking into a mess.

***

“Are you all right?” Paul gave Carol a
hug.

“I’m a little banged up; my back is sore
from hitting a table, but nothing serious. Thanks for coming.”

Carol had called Paul’s cell phone from her
own as soon as she arrived back at the motel and found her purse.
She had dropped it when she picked up the chair in the lobby. On
the phone they had a quick conversation in which they agreed what
to tell the police.