Relatively Dead (3 page)

Morning? Of course. It was three hours earlier in California. “Hello. This is Carol Golden. May I speak to Kyle?” I hoped my name would register.

“Let me see if he’s available.”

Meaning she would see if he wanted to talk to me. I drummed my fingers impatiently on my desk while I was on hold. At least they should play some bouncy music like the airlines did when customers were waiting on the phone.

“Carol.” It was Kyle’s energetic voice.

“Hi, Kyle, how are you?”

“Great, now that I’m speaking to you. I thought you’d dropped off the end of the earth.”

I laughed. “Not quite. But I did recover my identity.”

“I heard. Actually, I know more than I’m letting on. I called Tina Ramirez when you were in England because Mr. Ault wanted to see you. Then I read about a firefight with you, your brother, and an attorney, if I recall correctly, somewhere on the East Coast. And that you found out who you are.”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“Attorneys. They have their feet in everything. If I sound bitter, it’s because I’m working on the boss’s income tax. His empire is so big it involves both accountants and attorneys. I’m neither an accountant nor an attorney, although I’ve had classes in both accounting and law, but my primary job is to make sure they don’t suck him dry.”

Kyle had an MBA from UCLA. I laughed again and then repented. “Sorry. I guess that’s not funny.”
The headaches of being a billionaire.
I was glad I was merely a multi-millionaire.

Kyle spoke again. “But enough about my problems. Where are you? Should I be calling you by a different name? I can’t remember your real name.”

“Cynthia. But I’m still Carol in California. I’m in North Carolina at the moment. However, I have only one close relative, my grandmother. My parents and my brother are dead.”

“I read all the stories. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I have very little memory of my parents, and my brother was trying to kill me, so he’s no loss. But I’m sort of clinging to my grandmother. I’m worried about her. There were some incidents I won’t bore you with, but, for example, she doesn’t always remember my name or that of her caretaker. I went to the doctor with her. He thinks she may have Alzheimer’s. I’d like to ask you about Mr. Ault. His mind seemed to be…slipping last time I saw him.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother. You’re right about Mr. Ault. He has dementia. It was caused by several strokes he had a few years ago. It isn’t Alzheimer’s, but the symptoms are very similar. He forgets names and his short-term memory is shot. If he goes out into the yard in his electric wheelchair, we have to have someone watch him to make sure he finds his way back inside and doesn’t run into trees. He does remember some things. One of them is you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Or at least his perception of you. He loves to watch the video I made of you twirling a baton. Sometimes he knows it’s you and other times he thinks you’re his first wife. She was a majorette, as I assume you were.”

“I remember him talking about her. I…that’s very sad. From what he told me, he really loved her. She died so young. I’m glad the video is doing him some good, but it wasn’t my finest hour.” I’d fallen on my butt trying to catch a baton. “May I pick your brain about financial stuff for a minute?”

“Pick away. Just don’t take it all.”

“I’ve been told I should get a financial power of attorney for my grandmother. I have a lawyer—not the one who tried to kill me—”

“That’s very discriminating of you—”

“He says that’s what I should do, but because of my recent history I don’t have a lot of trust in lawyers. I was wondering how you have it set up with Mr. Ault—if I’m not prying.”

“Not at all. His case is more complex because he’s involved in several corporations, among other things. But for his personal estate, yes, I have financial power of attorney. You should get one for your grandmother. It’s not difficult to do. It will relieve her of the responsibility of paying her bills and worrying about investments. The sooner the better, because you want to get it done while she still understands what’s going on. You should probably get a healthcare power of attorney, too.”

“Thanks. I’ll look into both of them. I owe you one.”

“I’ll be sure to collect.”

We chatted for a few minutes about the symptoms of dementia. As I feared, they became progressively worse over time. I was going to lose the one relative I’d found.

Before we ended the call, Kyle said, “Next time you’re in California please come and visit us. Mr. Ault would love to see you. So would I.”

I promised. I felt guilty about not having contacted Kyle the only time I’d been in California since I recovered my identity. I wouldn’t let that happen again.

CHAPTER 4

Grandma was lucid. She was reminiscing about when I was young. We were sitting on the couch in the family room. I riveted my attention on Grandma’s voice, soaking up every word. I had to appropriate Grandma’s memory for my own, because I remembered almost nothing about my childhood. I had to do it before she lost
her
memory.

I’d found some photo albums while I was cleaning out my parents’ house, in preparation for selling it. Some of them depicted me as a majorette in various uniforms. Because I could twirl a baton I was sure I’d been a majorette. Grandma confirmed this.

I was turning the pages of one of the albums, hoping they would jog Grandma’s memory some more. Here was a shot of a very young Cynthia wearing a uniform, complete with a fancy hat, and holding a baton. Grandma smiled when she saw it.

“You started taking baton lessons when you were seven. I bought you your first uniforms because your parents were still struggling, financially. You were a majorette for about fifteen years.”

Here was a photo of me in a prom dress, looking young and gorgeous, as only a seventeen-year-old can. I wished I still looked like that. I was on the arm of a boy dressed in a tux, who was handsome but appeared to be somewhat awkward and uncomfortable. The caption read “Cynthia and Ted at the Senior Prom.” I wondered whether I’d liked him. I pointed to the picture.

“Do you remember this boy?”

Grandma laughed. “Oh, Lord, I couldn’t keep track of all your boyfriends. You were a holy terror in high school. They were attracted to you because of your looks but put off by your brains. You played them like a banjo.”

“I wish I could remember those days.” I liked the idea of being a holy terror. A few times my lack of memory had embarrassed me. Since I was living in the city where I’d gone to high school, I was occasionally accosted on the street by former classmates, although of course I didn’t remember them. After giving a stumbling explanation of my problem, we’d reunited and chatted about the good old days that never happened as far as I was concerned.

Grandma was looking at a picture of my parents. “I must tell you that I opposed the marriage between your mother and your father. They were from different worlds. A white girl and a Jap—excuse me, Japanese boy. We can’t say Jap anymore. But in your case it turned out very well. You got the best of both of them.”

“Thank you.” Grandma was doing so well, mentally, I decided to ask her a question that had been bothering me. “Did Michael—I mean the man who was impersonating Michael—call you at all before he asked for money?”

Grandma looked confused. Perhaps the question was too difficult for her. I tried again. “After Michael was killed, when was the first time someone called claiming to be Michael?”

Grandma was silent so long I thought she didn’t understand the question. Finally, she started to speak, hesitantly. “It was…a couple of weeks ago. At first he didn’t give a name. I was about to hang up when he said he’d met my first cousin, Jason Boyd. Jason and I knew each other when we were young, and we’ve stayed in touch ever since. It was a strange conversation. At one point I think he said Jason’s descendants were the only surviving male relatives of my grandfather. I said…”

She stopped talking and seemed to be in a daze. I remained silent, hoping she’d remember what she was going to say. An agonizing thirty seconds passed. Then another. I was about to break the silence when Grandma did.

“I said, ‘My grandson, Michael, is alive.’” She looked horrified. “How could I have said that?”

I put my arm around her. She spoke again.

“That’s when he said, ‘Grandma, I’m Michael.’ I believed him. How could I have been so stupid?”

“He told you not to tell anybody?”

“Yes. Especially you. He said you’d had enough shocks, already, without knowing he was still alive.”

“And the next time he called—”

“He asked for money. Oh what an idiot I am.”

She burst into tears. I held her, wanting to say everything was okay, but everything wasn’t okay.

***

I waited until noon to make the call. It was 9 a.m. in California on a Tuesday morning. All Californians should be out of bed. The phone was answered almost immediately. The man who said hello sounded loud and confident. I couldn’t tell his age from his voice.

“Hello, I’d like to speak to Jason Boyd.”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Cynthia Sakai. I’m Elizabeth Horton’s granddaughter.”

Grandma had mentioned Jason Boyd once or twice during the months since we were reunited. I hadn’t picked up on it, having other things to think about. Her speaking of Jason last night impelled me to action. It was suddenly important I connect with another living relative.

“Well, hello, Cynthia. I know all about you. How is Elizabeth?”

“She’s fine.” I spoke automatically. Of course, she wasn’t fine but before I could think of how to amend that statement, Boyd continued.

“That’s good. When you get a call about us old folks, you never know when it might be bad news. So you’re the missing granddaughter. The one with amnesia.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been avidly following your story. I’m glad you’re back in the fold.”

“I am too. It’s nice to speak to a cousin. Grandma—Elizabeth—is the only relative I’ve seen since I recovered my identity.” Other than Michael—dead Michael.

“Let’s see. Elizabeth and I are first cousins. That would make you and me first cousins, twice removed.”

“I’ll take your word for it. The reason I’m calling is, Grandma recently lost some money to a scam artist in California—”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“I’m trying to piece together what happened. He called her several times. He was impersonating my brother, Michael.”

“But Michael’s dead.”

“Yes.” I hadn’t wanted to talk about Grandma’s mental failings, but there was no way to avoid it. “Grandma has had some memory lapses, and…well, she believed she was talking to Michael.”

“I see.”

“During one call he said he’d met you.”

“I haven’t met anyone recently who was impersonating Michael.”

“He wouldn’t have used the name Michael, I’m sure. He seemed to take an interest in the fact that you have the only surviving male descendants from your grandfather.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. I live in the mountains, and we’re somewhat isolated from the rest of the world. Like Elizabeth, my short-term memory is sometimes suspect, but I’m positive I’d remember anyone who talked to me about my genealogy. My grandfather was a Boyd. My grandson is the last remaining Boyd, unless he has a son, which I hope he does. The Boyds have a long heritage. He’s currently living the carefree life of a young single male, and I don’t know when that’s going to change—if ever.”

Jason’s tone wasn’t totally approving.

“I’m sure some girl will snag him. Well, my call was a long shot. Thanks for your time, Mr. Boyd.”

“Please—Jason. After all, we’re cousins. Elizabeth and I had a lot of fun together when we were young. Tell me more about what happened to her.”

Jason Boyd didn’t want to end the call. He sounded lonely. I told him the details about the grandparent scam. Then we chatted about how I had lost and recovered my identity and he asked about my life since. He told me he lived alone in Idyllwild, a village in the San Jacinto Mountains “over the mountain from Palm Springs.” His wife was dead and his children were scattered. His geographically closest relative was his only grandson, also named Jason, who was living in Los Angeles. He made me promise to visit him the next time I was in California. I said I would.

I enjoyed talking to him, because he was interesting and because he was a cousin. After conversing with Jason for a while I carried the phone to Grandma so she could speak to him. Jason and Grandma carried on a lively conversation for fifteen minutes. I was glad of that. Grandma was depressed because of her mental problems.

I asked Grandma where the name Jason came from. She chuckled and said she thought one of her ancestors had been enamored of the Greek myth that told about Jason and the quest for the Golden Fleece.

***

I went to the police station in response to Detective Johansson’s message, anxious to find out any news she might have about the scammer. Johansson met me in the lobby, shook my hand, and guided me to a small conference room. She laid a folder on the table, opened it, and pulled out a drawing of a man’s face. He was wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap.