Forget to Remember (27 page)

“Good morning, Grandma.”

“Are you sure it was Michael who attacked
you last night?”

“He had red hair, but his face was like the
pictures I’ve seen. He was a little taller than I am, and he had a
wild look in his eyes. He had Michael’s odor. We’re not telling the
rest of the world this, but who else could it be?”

“It was him, all right. What is the world
coming to? You’re my only remaining descendants, and you’re trying
to kill each other.”

“I’m not trying to kill
him
.”
Although if an opportunity had presented itself last night…

Mrs. Horton
was
unhappy about the
guard situation. She saw it as an invasion of her privacy. Carol
tried to convince her it was for the best. Audrey had put Carol in
the downstairs bedroom. She moved her few belongings into it and
unpacked, hanging up clothes in the closet.

Mrs. Horton still slept in the master
bedroom upstairs. Audrey told Carol it took her a while to
negotiate the steps with the help of her cane and the banister, but
Carol wasn’t going to try to convince her to move downstairs as
long as Michael was about.

***

Paul arrived at noon. Carol gave him a hug.
He’d been a big help last night, and she was glad he’d hired the
security service, even though the money was coming out of the
estate. Mrs. Horton complained about the guards, but he managed to
calm her down—more successfully than Carol had, she noted. Perhaps
it was because he was a man.

As they sat down to lunch, Paul became
solemn. “You were right about Rose, Carol. I was up half the night
looking for evidence, but I found it. I fired her. She didn’t know
Michael was alive; she was dealing with Katherine Simpson at
Weatherford. That’s circumstantial evidence of a tie-in between
Weatherford and Michael. I hired a private investigator I know in
Virginia to find out exactly how Michael is involved with the
foundation.”

Paul spent a few minutes explaining to Mrs.
Horton what he was talking about. Then he turned to Carol. “We have
another problem. Weatherford’s attorneys have challenged your
identity, claiming you’re not Cynthia. The timing is strange,
because I haven’t taken action to establish you as the heir yet,
but Rose told Katherine you were back. I was afraid they would do
this, just not so quickly.”

Mrs. Horton put down her fork and glared at
Paul. “Can’t you accuse this blasted foundation of shady
practices?”

“That’s a side issue, not really worth
pursuing. It won’t help our cause. What we need to do is establish
Carol’s identity beyond a doubt. One problem, Elizabeth, is they
can claim you denied Carol was your granddaughter.”

Carol said, “I mailed Grandma’s DNA test
last night. I’ll call Frances and tell her it’s on the way. With
her connections to the lab, she can probably speed up
processing.”

“That’s good, but they can claim there’s no
proof the DNA really belongs to Elizabeth. In fact, they can claim
the same thing with Carol’s. You’ll both have to take additional
DNA tests under the supervision of the probate court. That’s one
reason we have to keep you alive.”

The joke fell flat, but it started Carol
thinking. As they ate apple pie, she called Frances in California.
Fortunately, Frances was home. Carol quickly brought her up to date
on the situation. Frances was glad to hear from Carol and she was
pleased her identity had been established. Carol told her about the
DNA test, and then mentioned Paul and Mrs. Horton were present. She
turned on the speakerphone and asked a question. She wanted Paul
and Mrs. Horton to hear the answer that would confirm what she had
already told Mrs. Horton.

“Assuming we can prove the DNA belongs to
us, will it prove I’m Mrs. Horton’s granddaughter?”

“Your mitochondrial DNA, the DNA passed by
women to all their children, should be the same as Mrs. Horton’s.
It will show you’re related but won’t prove exactly how. That, in
addition to other evidence such as Mrs. Horton testifying that you
are her granddaughter, should be sufficient to establish your
identity. Your autosomal DNA, the DNA that isn’t sex-linked, will
also help, if necessary. You have inherited approximately a quarter
of Mrs. Horton’s autosomal DNA, perhaps in blocks, and it can be
used to establish with a high probability that you’re closely
related.”

“Hi, Frances, Paul Vigiano here. Would you
be willing to testify as an expert witness if we need you? Of
course, we’ll pay your expenses and a fee for your time.”

“I’d be more than happy to testify if it
will help Carol. One more thing, Carol. Remember Victoria Brody? We
got the results back for her full genome mtDNA test. You aren’t a
match. She isn’t your mother.”

Carol sighed. “That’s good. We don’t need
any more complications right now.”

***

Carol walked Paul out to his car. She wanted
to speak to him out of earshot of Mrs. Horton. “How long before
you’ll need me for some kind of testing or court appearance?”

“It’ll be a week or more. You know how the
law works. It grinds slowly.”

“I can’t just sit here and wait for Michael
to strike again. I’m sick and tired of being the victim. I’m
convinced that in my former life I was an action kind of girl. I’m
going looking for Michael. The hunted is going to become the
hunter.”

Paul was upset. “Don’t do it. You’re safe
here. I’ve got a detective working on locating Michael. If we can
find out where he is, we’ll have him arrested. If he can’t find
Michael in a reasonable time, we’ll go back to our original plan
and talk to the authorities.”

He couldn’t dissuade her. He offered to give
her a gun, but she refused. “I don’t know enough about guns, and I
can get into trouble if I’m caught with one crossing state lines or
whatever. Even you might not be able to get me off the hook. I’ve
watched some martial arts movies recently, and I’ve come to the
conclusion I probably studied karate or something similar. I
verified that with Grandma. It’s coming back to me. I can take care
of myself.”

“Karate isn’t very effective against a
gun.”

“He won’t have a chance to use it.”

Paul gave her a hug and showed concern for
her that went beyond sex. That pleased Carol until she remembered
she was worth several million dollars to him.

CHAPTER 34

Audrey drove Carol back to the farm after
Carol turned in her rental car. They talked about safety. Audrey
slept in the upstairs spare bedroom where she could hear Mrs.
Horton if the older lady needed help during the night. Audrey had a
phone beside her bed with the number of the security service on
speed dial. If she heard noises she could be connected to the guard
on duty within seconds. Audrey assured Carol she was a light
sleeper.

Their best defense other than the guard was
Butch. He stayed downstairs at night and sometimes barked at noises
he heard outside. This resulted in false alarms, but Audrey said
she could tell the seriousness of the situation by the intensity of
his barking. Carol was satisfied that with the guard service,
Audrey, and Butch, Mrs. Horton would be safe. Safe from a sane
person, that is. Michael’s actions had shown he was a few bricks
shy of a full load. She would worry about her grandmother until
Michael was behind bars.

***

Carol drove to Virginia on Sunday in Mrs.
Horton’s Toyota Camry. In spite of being fifteen years old, the car
had only eighty thousand miles on it. Mrs. Horton hadn’t driven it
in several years, but Audrey told Carol she drove it for shopping
trips and to take Mrs. Horton to the doctor, and had it serviced on
a regular basis.

The trees in the countryside Carol passed
through on her drive north had started to change color in a few
places but were still predominantly green. The traffic became
heavier and slower as she approached the Washington, D.C., area on
I-95. Families were returning home after weekend trips.

The weather was warm and dry, and the drive
was easy for Carol, who, according to her English friend, Janet,
had driven under far worse conditions when she was teaching there.
Carol, or Aiko as she had been known in England, had a reputation
for clicking outside mirrors with parked cars on the narrow
roads.

Carol went over the same territory for the
umpteenth time, trying to determine whether they were doing the
right thing. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Michael
was dead. That should give her an advantage in looking for him. He
would feel secure in his anonymity. Perhaps he’d even convinced
himself she hadn’t recognized him with his red hair. After all, she
had amnesia.

If they wanted to talk to the police, who
would they talk to? The Chapel Hill police? It was almost certain
Michael wasn’t in Chapel Hill. The FBI, because multiple states
were involved? Wouldn’t someone leak word to the media, alerting
Michael to the fact he’d been outed? The situation could get very
complicated and take an enormous amount of her time, and there
would be no assurance any law enforcement group could find Michael,
even if Carol’s story were believed.

She checked into a motel in Fairfax County
where she’d reserved a room by phone. It was part of the economy
chain of the motel she’d stayed at in North Carolina and looked
like it. This gave her a moment of anxiety, but she rationalized
there was no way Michael could know she was here. The security leak
had been stopped, and she hadn’t told
anyone
where she was
going to stay, not even Mrs. Horton. Nevertheless, she asked for a
second floor room and took the stairs up and down, eschewing the
elevator.

Carol ate dinner in a small restaurant and
strolled through the large mall at Tysons Corner. She’d read
Fairfax was among the most affluent counties in the country on a
per capita basis, but she’d seen the same upscale stores in Los
Angeles. There must be a lot of government money here because of
its proximity to Washington. Where else would government employees
be likely to live? That meant taxes were paying for the affluence.
Since she was about to become wealthy, she’d have to start worrying
about things like taxes. She wondered if the money was worth the
stress.

She went back to the motel and walked up the
stairs, making sure nobody was on the landing above her. Once
inside her room she locked all the locks and watched a two-star
movie on HBO until she became sleepy.

CHAPTER 35

Carol drove to the Weatherford Foundation.
It was a suite in a small office building. She got there early and
parked in the parking lot with her car facing the entrance. Even
though the car was considerably older than the average model here,
it blended in well with the others and was not particularly
noticeable, although the North Carolina license plates might be.
That prompted her to change parking places, so there was a row of
cars between her and the entrance.

She could still see everyone who went into
and out of the building. She had a vague plan of watching to see if
Michael showed up. As the workday started, a number of people went
into the building and a few came out. No Michael. She was sure
she’d spot him, especially with his long red hair, unless he’d
changed it because she’d seen him. Her success in finding him
depended on him not having been alarmed.

She had no idea what Katherine Simpson
looked like. About nine fifteen she decided it was time she found
out. She locked the car and walked into the building. On Saturday
she’d purchased a knee-length blue business skirt and a compatible
white shirt. She could pass for an office worker.

Carol scanned the list of tenants on the
wall until she spotted the Weatherford Foundation. It was on the
second floor. She was still wary of elevators; she walked up the
open stairs. The door with Weatherford Foundation painted on it was
closed. Was it locked? She paused in front of it long enough to
take a breath and then tried the door handle. It turned. She opened
the door and walked in.

She was surprised at how small the office
was—just one room, containing two desks, file cabinets, and a few
chairs, but none of the kind usually found in a waiting room for
visitors. Maybe they didn’t have visitors.

The only person Carol saw was a woman
dressed in slacks and an unbuttoned sweater over a casual top. She
wasn’t young or old, but Carol was certain her hair, which was all
a single shade of brown, had been dyed. It didn’t look natural. She
was placing a folder in an open file drawer. She didn’t look up
when Carol entered.

Carol waited for the woman to notice her.
She glanced around, seeing the usual office gear: computers,
phones, and papers on the desks, with swivel chairs behind them.
Something was missing. She figured out what it was. The office had
no outside window. This must be the cheapest office in the
building, not befitting a soon-to-be-well-endowed foundation. Or at
least that was apparently Michael’s hope.

The woman rolled the metal file drawer
closed with a rumble and a clank and turned toward Carol.
“Morning.”

“Good morning.” Carol had a pitch planned.
“I’m Aiko Murakawa. I have a small nonprofit that works with
disadvantaged girls. Like any small nonprofit organization, we’re
always looking for money. I’ve heard your foundation makes
grants—”

“You need to talk to Katherine.” The woman
snapped a stick of gum she was chewing. “She’s the big cheese. She
usually wanders in about ten. I’m just the volunteer.”

“Katherine…?”

“Simpson. Young gal—beautiful—that is if you
like platinum blonds.” She laughed, harshly. “But she’s pretty
smart.”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t catch
your
name.”

“I’m Betty.”

“If you’re a volunteer, you must be
dedicated.”

“Yeah, well my kids are grown and I was
looking for something to do to help people. I heard about this
place. They do good, and the work’s easy—answering the phone,
writing letters, filing.”