Free FORGET ME NOT (Mark Kane Mysteries Book One) by John Hemmings Page A

of her birth certificate and other documents. In the
meantime let’s hope that the hair yields DNA. If it does then we
can dispense with the rest. I’ll say this though, if Susan isn’t
telling the truth she’s rehearsed her story very thoroughly and
knows what can and cannot be verified. After I’d talked with her I
had the distinct impression that she was mentally reviewing what
she had told me. That’s not something people ordinarily do when
they’re telling the truth.”
    “Well I’m grateful for your efforts. Let’s
hope the lab technicians can help us draw a line under this whole
thing.”
    “Even if it turns out that Susan is genuine
it still leaves the question of Gloria’s mental capacity at the
time the will was drawn up. Can you give me a copy?”
    “Yes, of course.” He took out his cell phone
from his shirt pocket and dialed a number. “Bill Saunders please.
Thank you. Bill, its Greg. Can you fax me another copy of the will
for Mr. Kane? Yes, he did. Not really, no; not yet anyway. Thanks,
I’ll be in touch.”
    “That was Gloria’s attorney. He’ll attach a
copy to an email and I should have it in a few minutes. Shall we
have another stroll in the garden while we wait?”
    “Perfect. I’ll have a few more questions for
you once I’ve seen the will.”
    Greg took me to see his vegetable garden and
a greenhouse. The greenhouse was at least twelve feet high and the
size of a modest family home. It abutted the house at one end and
there were wood-framed glass doors leading to a small family room.
It was hot and humid and bursting with color, the air thick with
the scent of bougainvillea, orchids and other flowering plants that
I was unable to name. The sun’s rays were beating against the
arched glass ceiling trying to find a way inside.
    “Those are African violets and over there
some Chinese hibiscus,” said Greg. “I should have planted them
outside by now but I’ve been a bit preoccupied what with one thing
and another.” Greg noticed me running my hand over the back of my
neck. “The air is kept moist in here with two humidifiers,
otherwise the plants would wilt. “Now,” said Greg, “these beauties
thrive on stress.” He was referring to a thick tangle of
bougainvillea which was growing alongside one side of the glass,
the highest of the tendrils perhaps ten feet from the ground. The
almost impenetrable thorny foliage was softened by the delicate
rich color of the numerous bracts. “They flower best when the soil
is dry and need very little water. They love the sun too.”
    “They’re beautiful,” I said. “You must have
green fingers.”
    “Perhaps you’d like one or two orchids to
take home with you. They make wonderful house plants, or if you’ve
got a yard you can graft them onto the trunk or branches of a tree.
Did you know that orchids were the first flowering plants on the
planet?”
    I didn’t know that and I briefly wondered how
anybody could know that, but I didn’t say anything.
    “They’re the most diverse flowering plants in
the world today, too” Greg paused and without looking in my
direction said, “They’d make a rather nice gift if you have a
special lady friend.” He stole a sideways glance at me to see my
reaction to this last remark. .
    “That’s very kind. I could do with a bit more
color in my life.”
    Greg selected half a dozen orchids of varying
colors and placed them in a wooden box. He carried the box back to
the wrought iron table on the deck and motioned me to sit. He
excused himself and disappeared for a minute or two, returning with
a chilled bottle of Chardonnay and some glasses. He acted the wine
waiter again to perfection.
    “I hope you’ll like this; it was one of
Gloria’s favorites.”
    I sensed his loneliness. This was probably
the highlight of his day. I couldn’t picture him alone at the bar
in the Boylston country club. I said so to him.
    “No, even when I used to go there regularly
with Gloria we pretty much kept