Читать книгу A Season To Believe - Elane Osborn - Страница 10

The security guard told Detective Wilcox to lock the door when they were finished speaking, then left the room. Neither Matt nor Wilcox had moved during all this. They stood on either side of the door, silently glaring at each other.

“You haven’t done a thing on Jane’s case, have you?” Matt asked the moment the door was shut.

“There hasn’t been a thing to do,” Wilcox replied. “I told her to call me if she remembered anything. Until today, I haven’t heard a word from her.”

The man turned to Jane. “You say you became confused downstairs because you suddenly recalled standing on a beach in the middle of May. Is that right?”

Jane nodded.

“Well, you could have been remembering a day from this past May, right?”

Jane was tempted to lie. It would make things far more simple. But the truth mattered more than convenience.

“No.”

Wilcox’s square features registered skepticism. “You sound rather certain of that.”

Jane shrugged. “I didn’t go to the beach this past May.”

“Okay. What, exactly, did you recall today, standing in front of the scarves?”

“Just what I told Mr. Jessup. I heard the Christmas music playing, and for one second, I could remember standing on the beach and thinking how warm it was for May. Then I became irritated that a store would play Christmas tunes so early.”

“Nothing more?”

Jane shook her head.

“Well, that’s not enough to relaunch any investigation.”

That was fine with Jane. She was releasing a slow breath of relief, when Matt spoke up.

“You have never believed that someone tried to murder her, have you. You still think she tried to kill herself.”

Wilcox met Matt’s accusation with one of his own. “You and Mendosa never put together a shred of real evidence to convince me otherwise.”

“Oh, come on. Are you forgetting that the seat belt broke? It would hardly make sense to buckle up if one were intent on suicide. And do you really think Jane would know how to rig a car to explode?”

“That evidence was inconclusive.”

“Wilcox, none of the evidence in this case, taken a piece at a time, is conclusive. But when you put together the fact that Forensics found scuff marks indicating that the car had been pushed off the cliff, that the air bag had been disabled, and that the steering wheel revealed only Jane’s fingerprints—not even one belonging to the owner of the car—any cop with two brain cells to rub together could make a case for attempted homicide.”

Jane tensed as Wilcox took a step toward Matt. Matt was a couple of inches taller, but the police detective’s muscular form carried a silent, credible threat.

“If someone tried to kill her, why haven’t they made another attempt? Her whereabouts and the fact that she hadn’t died in that accident were well publicized.”

“Exactly,” Matt replied. “As was the fact that she had no memory and that several of her doctors believed the amnesia might have been caused by the trauma to her head, and thus be permanent. Why risk getting caught while making another attempt to kill her, when the media made it clear that there were no clues to her past, meaning the authorities had no idea who would have a motive to murder her?”

Wilcox shook his head. “Look, Lone Ranger. I know that you and your partner enjoyed tilting at windmills, solving the impossible cases. Me, I have enough to do pursuing criminals I have half a chance of catching.”

He turned to Jane. “You should go see that therapist person who was working with you, the one who hypnotizes people. If she manages to help you recall a fact I can follow up on, then call me.”

With that, Wilcox turned and left the room.

Jane drew a deep breath, then let it slide quietly through her barely parted lips. She reached for the purse Jessup had placed on the desk, then turned to Matt.

“Well, I think that was enough excitement for one day. I’d better be getting home.”

Matt turned to her, effectively blocking the path to the door. “First, we need to talk. I understand there’s a coffee shop in the basement.”

Jane frowned as she placed her cup next to a small plate that was almost completely covered by an enormous chocolate chip cookie, then lowered herself into the chair Matt had pulled out for her. We need to talk, he’d said. It hadn’t been a request. And what a good girl she was being, responding to the man’s understated demand like a sheep stepping back into formation at the direction of a border collie.

Not that she didn’t want to talk to Matt. She had a million questions to ask him—over a year’s worth, in fact. But something about the way his eyes had narrowed when he’d uttered those words suggested strongly that he wasn’t going to be the subject of their discussion. Unless, that is, she moved quickly.

“No one ever told me why you left the force,” she said.

Matt paused in the act of scooting his chair closer to the table and looked up sharply. His eyes met hers, a dusky shade of sea green, slightly wide with surprise. When he frowned, that color turned murky. Jane felt a tremor in her chest, but held his gaze as she continued.

“I tried to come see you at the hospital after you were shot,” she said quietly. “But you were in intensive care for a long time, and I was told you weren’t allowed visitors. Then it was time for Zoe and I to—”

“Leave for Maine,” Matt said. “I know. I was the one who set that up, remember?”

Remember? How she hated that word.

“Of course I do. I remember everything that has happened to me since I woke in the hospital. For example, I recall the fact that I never got a chance to thank you for all you did for me. You, and Manny.”

Her voice deepened as her throat tightened over the name. She swallowed as she gazed across at Matt, saw his expression go bleak, watched him glance away briefly before meeting her eyes once more.

“There wasn’t anything to thank us for,” he said softly. “We were doing our job. I just wish we could have finished it.”

Jane shook her head. “You went far beyond just doing a job. Despite my lack of memory, which gave you a lack of motive, you and Manny stuck with me, did everything you could…”

Her words trailed off as she thought about all the times one or both of the men had sat in her room, explaining things she found confusing, making her laugh when the darkness closed around her. She drew a deep breath.

“You were needed elsewhere. And it was hardly part of your job to arrange for me to get a new identity. In fact, I realize now that you two spent a lot of time with me, in a case that was going nowhere. That could have gotten you into a lot of trouble.”

With Matt’s eyes gazing into hers, Jane felt an embarrassed flush heat her cheeks. The word trouble, when used with respect to Matt Sullivan and Manny Mendosa, was a woefully inadequate one. It would serve her right if Matt reminded her then and there just how inadequately.

A year ago August, the two detectives had been told to put her investigation on a back burner while they worked another case. Two weeks later, Manny had been killed by an unknown assailant. That was more than “trouble.” That was tragic. And, until now, she’d been robbed of the opportunity to express her sorrow over Manny’s passing to the man in front of her.

“I wanted to call you, after I heard about Manny,” she said softly. “But—”

“I know,” Matt interrupted. “I was undercover. In fact, I heard about Manny’s death while driving up the coast, carrying some marked bills as the final step in flushing out the head of a money-laundering scheme. We got the guy, but not before he shot me.”

He paused and glanced away again. Jane saw a frown drop over his eyes. It disappeared in a flash as he returned his attention to her.

“I got your card when I finally regained consciousness. It was good to hear from you. You know how it is when you’re tied to a hospital bed—not much to do but read your cards and letters and catch up on your soaps.”

He grinned as he finished speaking. Jane was quite familiar with the way Matt Sullivan used humor to deflect pain. It was a trait she’d adopted herself, finding it easier to laugh at life as she tried to dodge its slings and arrows than to let herself be swallowed up in the shadows lurking in the darkness of her unknown past.

“Soaps?” she said, taking the bait offered. “Aren’t you the fellow who sat by my bed, telling me what a waste of time they were? How they distort reality?”

“Yep. Same fellow. Turns out that sometimes reality begs to be distorted, or at least ignored for a bit.” Again he paused. Leaning forward, he looked meaningfully into her eyes. “Only for a while, of course. Then it’s time to deal with whatever you’ve been handed.”

Jane fought the temptation to look away. “It appears you’ve done that admirably. You mentioned that you’re a private detective now. Do you like working on your own?”

“I work with my cousin, Jack. Also an ex-cop.”

“Still trying to put the bad guys away?”

Jane recalled Matt and Manny trading jokes and insults about past cases, arguing over who had found what evidence, who had missed seeing something. It had been a comfort listening to them, not just because they made her laugh, but because she learned that the emptiness she found in her mind each time she tried to recall the past hadn’t affected her ability to follow a conversation, to make the connections necessary to find things funny, sad, amusing or frightening.

“As many as possible,” Matt replied. “Keeps us pretty busy. Not too busy, though, to take up old cases. Yours, for example.”

Jane was aware that her smile had frozen. “You heard what I told Wilcox, Matt. Nothing has changed. I still have no idea who I used to be. And, without knowing who I am, there’s no way of establishing who might have had a motive for trying to kill me. If that is, indeed, what happened.”

“If you’re referring to Wilcox’s suggestion that you tried to commit suicide, forget it. And something has changed. Today your memory started to return.”

“No.” Jane reached blindly for the chocolate chip cookie, brought it to her mouth and said, “It didn’t,” then took a bite.

“Really?” Matt lifted one eyebrow. “How would you describe the event that caused you to insist that it was the middle of May?”

Jane chewed slowly. She felt the combination of dough and chocolate soften in her mouth, but could taste nothing, as she thought back to the incident at the scarf counter. She shrugged as she swallowed.

“A moment of confusion. There was a lot of noise, and people and music…” She paused to fight a sudden chill. “It was my first real experience with Christmas crowds, actually. Last year, Zoe and I stayed with her family in a town that consisted of three square blocks surrounded by farms.”

“What’s that have to do with thinking you’d been standing on the beach yesterday?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I had a subconscious yearning for somewhere quiet and peaceful. You know, a daydream.”

“A daydream. Hmm. Tell me about this daydream.”

The speculative expression in Matt’s narrowed eyes made Jane uneasy. Or maybe it was remembering how she’d felt standing at the glass counter and discovering she had no idea what month it was, where she was, and worst of all who she was, that made her reluctant to discuss the fleeting but oh-so-real image that seemed to have thrown her into such confusion.

“It wasn’t really anything,” she said, then picked up her coffee cup.

Matt was aware that Jane was evading his question. He should know, being the self-acknowledged king of evasion himself. Remembering how transparent Jane had been when she first recovered from her three-week coma, he wondered if she’d learned this tactic from observing the way he and Manny joked around in an attempt to keep the particulars of her accident from her, hoping that she’d remember these things on her own.

Matt watched Jane take a drink, saw her mouth twist with distaste as she backed off from the cup.

“You don’t like eggnog-flavored coffee?”

Her eyes met his as she lifted her chin. “Certainly.”

Matt felt that her voice sounded a tad too defensive, but he wasn’t going to let this minor mystery deflect him from going after the larger story.

“You told Wilcox you weren’t at the beach this past May, right?”

Jane took another sip of coffee before placing the cup back on the table. She nodded, then picked up her cookie and began breaking it into tiny pieces.

“Okay. How about June?”

Matt watched as Jane turned her attention to the sliver of cookie between her fingers, then raised her eyes to his.

“No. And I didn’t go to the beach in July or August, either. I’ve been too busy.”

Matt couldn’t miss the fear shadowing those unusual smoky eyes of hers. How could he have forgotten that haunted look, or the fact that Jane had always responded better to teasing than to police-type inquisitions? Maybe he’d been taken with the fact that she seemed so much more…grown-up, courtesy of the businesslike red jacket she wore and the sophisticated way her hair had been cut to fall in soft, spiky layers around her face.

“Too busy for the beach?” Matt purposely exaggerated his surprise. “Didn’t you learn anything from me and Man—from that day we took you to Ocean Beach and demonstrated the fine art of surfing? I must say, whoever took over the job of educating you in the joy of living definitely fell down on the job.”

Jane’s smile was weak, but Matt took a great deal of satisfaction in having managed to get that much.

She said, “That would be Zoe. She’s going pretty strong for a woman in her seventies, but I think surfing is a little out of her range.”

“Okay. So you weren’t at the beach this past May.” He released an exaggerated sigh. “Well then, it seems clear to me that you must have flashed back to a day you spent at the beach a year ago May—before your accident.”

Matt watched the tiny curve of the edge of Jane’s mouth disappear. Her eyes seemed to darken as she stared at him, and her jaw visibly tightened before she said, “So?”

“So?” Matt’s voice softened as he prepared to do battle. “Sooo, I would say that you have had your first honest-to-goodness memory in over a year. A matter worth celebrating.”

With that he took a long drink of aromatic French roast. Savoring the rich, strong flavor, he placed his cup on the table, swallowed and grinned at her again.

“Matt, that brief image of sand and sea could hardly be considered a memory. And even if it was, I still don’t have any desire to know who I once was. I’ve moved forward, just like I said I wanted to, and I have no interest in looking back.”

Matt remembered the warm July day that Jane had made that particular declaration. She’d just returned to her hospital room, after meeting with a family who had come five hundred miles to see her, certain she would prove to be their lost loved one—only to discover they were wrong. He recalled the way Jane had dashed away the tears of disappointment, then declared she wanted nothing more to do with the past.

There was no sign of tears in her eyes now, but Matt recognized the same determination he’d seen on that day. The memory of that resolve had reassured him whenever he thought about Jane’s unsolved case while battling back from his own injuries, then working tirelessly with his cousin Jack to build the sort of detective agency they both needed.

He and Jack had been determined to continue their childhood dream of catching the bad guys. It had taken a long time, and a lot of legwork to prove themselves, but they’d built a reputation for solving cases that the police had given up on, or were forced to let lie fallow as they pursued matters with more promise.

Like the case of Jane Doe Number Thirteen.

This had been his investigation. It was his again. Now he had the time, the autonomy and the resources to find out who had sent this lovely young woman over the edge of a cliff in a car rigged to burst into flame. And, it seemed that Jane just might be ready to provide the most important item in the equation—the memories that would lead him to the person or persons with a motive strong enough to set that horror in motion.

If, that is, he could get Jane to cooperate.

Changing tactics, Matt relaxed back in his chair. “You mentioned Zoe. How is she?”

Jane seemed to study him a moment before answering. “She’s fine. I rent an apartment from her, and in case you’re wondering, she has accepted my decision to forget about the past, and never bugs me about it.”

Matt managed to keep his expression neutral at this news. Zoe Zeffarelli had come highly recommended by a couple of cops he and Manny knew. The therapist had used a combination of psychology and hypnotism to help crack several cases. Matt had found the woman to be a no-nonsense sort who had instantly gained Jane’s trust and his respect. He had assumed that when he and Manny went to work on the money-laundering scheme, Ms. Zeffarelli would help Jane recover her memory and build a life for herself. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, that hadn’t happened.

Maintaining his casual attitude, Matt said, “Okay, we’ll leave the distant past alone. Tell me what’s kept you too busy to go to the beach.”

“I started my own business.”

“Yeah? What kind of business?”

“I make elves and fairies.”

“Really? Would this be the one-wish sort, or three?”

As Matt watched Jane’s eyes crinkle at the corners, he found himself smiling easily and naturally in a way he hadn’t done since…

He let that thought go unfinished. Jane’s stance on not dwelling on the past was right, at least as it pertained to his past. Hers was another matter.

“No wishes, I’m afraid,” she said with a sad sigh. “They just sit around and look magical.”

“I see. How did you get into the business of magic?”

Jane grinned. “Zoe’s cousin got me started, last October in Maine. She makes dolls. I tried to copy hers, but all the faces I carved looked more elflike, so that’s what my creations became. I was looking for a way to support myself, so she suggested I put my things on consignment at the shop she owns, and they all sold. Somehow, almost magically, I’ve managed to build a thriving business.”

She grinned as she finished speaking, then lifted her cup to take a sip of coffee. The grin became a grimace as she swallowed, then choked on the liquid.

After her coughing fit ended, Matt said, “I’m not sure why you insist on drinking something you obviously don’t like, but for the moment, I’m more interested in another little mystery.”

“And that would be?”

Jane looked so wary that Matt almost regretted what he was about to do. “That question,” he said, “is why such an obviously intelligent and talented woman would be so determined to ignore the chance to look into her past, where she might discover the source of this magical ability of hers.”