Forget to Remember (8 page)

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.

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.”