Forget to Remember (9 page)

“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.