Remembering That Night. Stephanie Doyle
should be watched by someone. If you’re not, then you’re a fascinating case I would like to explore some more.”
“I’ll bet.” Chuck snorted.
Greg slapped him upside the head.
She looked between the two men. “You’re asking me to trust you when you don’t trust I’m telling the truth. That doesn’t make sense. To go back to your place with you...”
“Both of us,” Chuck interrupted. “We live together.”
Her lips firmed and she shook her head. “I forgot my name. It doesn’t make me an idiot. Going to your home is different than getting in a car when the sheriff knew I was with you.”
“I’ll call the sheriff again. Do you have any choice?”
“Maybe you could drive me around. Back along the highway to Atlantic City. Maybe I’ll see something or remember something.”
“I’m not going to Atlantic City,” Greg told her. He’d pushed it enough as it was. Not that he was fighting any serious urge to gamble. She had become enough of a distraction to take his mind off that. But he was definitely feeling on edge. With her, with the situation. Even with what he was offering.
He could tell himself she was just a lost person he was trying to help out. A nice gesture. Something anyone might do for a fellow human being in need.
It was a lie. He wanted to know if she was telling the truth. He wanted to know where the blood came from. He wanted to know what type of horrible event might have overcome her to the point of erasing her mind. Her memories.
If that was the case, he wanted to cure her and he hadn’t cured anyone in a really long time. Intellectually, he told himself he should resist the temptation. He didn’t cure people anymore. Instinctively, he couldn’t help himself.
“Do either of you know a woman you could call?”
Chuck snorted. “Babe, there are plenty of women I could call. Like on a dime. Drop of a hat. I hit some digits and bam, next thing you know my doorbell is ringing.”
She looked at him skeptically, and then turned to Greg. “Someone you know well. Someone I could ask about what kind of people you are. I have nothing to go on but my gut here. So if I could talk to another woman, have her tell me what kind of men you are, then it would ease my mind.”
Chuck was shaking his head but Greg nodded. He took out his cell and went to his favorites page. Mark’s wife, JoJo, was his first choice. While Mark might be a thorn in his side, his wife had become one of Greg’s favorite people. He hit her number and waited.
“Yo, what’s up?” she answered.
“You in the middle of something?”
“No, Mark and Sophie and I were about to put on a movie and gorge ourselves on popcorn. Why?”
“Who is that?”
Greg could hear Mark asking in the background.
“Tell him it’s your lover,” Greg said wanting to do anything that might push Mark’s buttons.
“You want to get shot? You do remember he’s former CIA.”
Greg knew. It was a risk he was willing to take. “Tell him anyway.”
“I will not. I like you too much,” she teased.
“Listen, I have someone here. A woman. She’s in trouble and I’ve offered to help her out. But she obviously doesn’t know me or trust me. She would like to talk to someone I know.”
“Oh, this sounds promising. Put her on.”
Greg handed over his cell phone. “Her name is JoJo. She and her husband are people I’ve worked with.”
She took the phone and said hello. “Mostly I want to know if I can trust him and his friend Chuck.”
It sounded to him as if JoJo was doing a lot of explaining. He could hear her talking on the other end of the phone but couldn’t distinguish exactly what she was saying. Greg figured it would be a yes-or-no answer, but apparently JoJo felt she had to say more.
“And his friend Chuck?”
Greg watched her frown and could only imagine JoJo’s take on Chuck. They had a met a few times through different events at Ben’s house. No doubt Chuck would have introduced himself by hitting on JoJo before realizing she was married. Hopefully, JoJo would have seen through it and concluded that Chuck was all talk and a decent guy at heart.
Which was mostly true.
Finally, she said thank-you and handed the phone back to him.
“Did you tell her what a knight in shining armor I am?” Greg asked JoJo.
He was teasing but there was a pause for a second and then he heard a small hiccup. JoJo had turned into such a sap since she and Mark had married. “Yeah. I did. Because you are. You try not to be, I know. But I’ll never forget what you did for me. So yeah, I told her she could trust you.”
What he did for her? A few conversations. A few walks in the park. It wasn’t as if he’d given her therapy to help her overcome the tragic death of her sister and her subsequent split with her family. He didn’t do therapy anymore. All he’d really done was listen.
Not long after that though, she was ready to move on in her life with Mark. Who, beyond all reason, made her ridiculously happy. Go figure. Sometimes there was no accounting for taste.
“Thanks.”
“You’re going to call me or Mark tomorrow and tell us what’s going on, right?”
Mark and JoJo worked as private investigators. Mostly they specialized in criminal cold cases but he imagined they would be tempted to take on something a little more current if it meant giving him a hand.
First he had to know if a crime had occurred. Second, he needed to find out who she was.
“I’ll let you know when I know something. I promise.”
Greg shoved the phone in his pocket. “Satisfied?”
She nodded. “She said I could trust you.”
“And me, too,” Chuck chimed in, “right?”
The woman smiled shyly. “She said you were a bullshit artist and I shouldn’t believe half of what comes out of your mouth.”
Chuck’s jaw dropped. “I thought JoJo liked me.”
“She also said beyond the bullshit was a sweet guy.”
“Sweet?” Chuck groaned. “I hate being sweet!”
Greg laughed. “But you are sweet. Okay, let’s ditch the hospital. I’ll call the sheriff and let him know you’re staying with me.”
Greg started to turn but she reached out and grabbed his arm. “Why are you doing this? Really?”
“Really? I have no flipping idea. But it’s not like I had anything better to do on a Sunday.”
* * *
SHE LOOKED IN THE STEAMED-UP mirror. “Amanda. Amy. Alice. Alison.”
The names triggered nothing. She tried again. “Beth. Betty. Barbara. Bonnie.”
Maybe if she had one of those baby books. She could go through it alphabetically and wait until something jumped out at her. Then, once she remembered that one critical piece of information, everything else would fall into place.
She took a step back from the mirror and looked at her body. Despite her lack of memory it didn’t feel foreign to her. The three oddly placed moles on her chest actually looked familiar. She touched them and drew a line between the one in the center, the one that hovered over her right breast and the one that hovered over her left. As she made the triangle, it was something she felt