Free Forget to Remember by Alan Cook Page B

might
break, and said how much she had enjoyed the evening, just as if
Mrs. Horton were a casual friend. She and Paul walked out to his
car, which was a large SUV. Rose had previously transferred her
suitcase to it. They drove the mile-and-a-half back to the paved
road with Carol wondering exactly what had happened.
    Paul spoke first. “She likes you.”
    “Do you think so? I don’t remember anything
about her.”
    “Don’t worry about that. By the way, I found
a fairly recent picture of you with your parents. It’s in my
attaché case. I’ll give it to you when we get to the hotel.”
    Her parents? “Why didn’t you get it out
while we were there?” He talked as if there were no question about
her identity.
    “I forgot. Rose got it copied and stuck it
in my case this morning. Long day. But I think we may be in
business.”
    What did he mean by that?
    “Aren’t you exited about this?”
    “I’m puzzled, more than anything. I wish I
could remember.”
    “As I said, don’t worry. Maybe you picked
the name Carol because of memories of North Carolina. This is a
great opportunity for you, if you play your cards right. You’re a
smart girl, and I’m sure you will.” He squeezed her knee. “Just
remember Mrs. Horton is the key to this.”
    He chatted on about Mrs. Horton and the
Sakais, rehashing some of what they’d talked about at dinner. It
sounded like a sales pitch to Carol. When they arrived at the
hotel, Paul came inside with her and gave the registration clerk
his American Express card with which to pay the room bill.
    After Carol received her room information,
she turned to Paul. “Thank you very much for all you’ve done, Paul.
What time will you pick me up tomorrow?”
    “About ten. I’ll go to the room with you and
make sure it’s okay.”
    “No thanks. I’ll be fine.”
    She was certain she didn’t want Paul to go
with her. She stood in the middle of the lobby, not moving, and
said good night to him. After a few seconds of hesitation, he
reached into the attaché case he had brought in with him and pulled
out an envelope. He handed it to Carol, turned, and walked toward
the exit. She watched him until he disappeared.
    She took the elevator to the second floor
and found her room. She entered, using the card key, and turned on
the lights. She suspected from a glance at the room that she was in
Chapel Hill’s most luxurious hotel. No expense was being spared by
Paul. Of course, he wasn’t paying for it.
    The message light on the telephone was
blinking red. Maybe it was a message welcoming her to the hotel and
hoping her stay would be marvelous. She picked up the receiver. The
message wasn’t from the hotel; it was from Audrey, Mrs. Horton’s
aide, asking her to call Mrs. Horton, regardless of the time.
    Strange. She punched in the number. Audrey
answered after a couple of rings. “Good evening, Horton
residence.”
    “Hi, this is Carol.”
    “Carol, please hold on for Mrs. Horton.”
    “Hello, dear.” Mrs. Horton’s voice sounded
alert, not sleepy. “What time is Paul picking you up tomorrow?”
    “Ten o’clock.”
    “Audrey will pick you up at nine and bring
you here.”
    “What about Paul?”
    “Don’t worry about Paul. As long as he gets
what he wants, why should he care what the procedure is?”
    Carol couldn’t stop herself from
laughing.
    “That’s what I wanted to hear.” Mrs.
Horton’s voice had a smile in it. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow
morning.”
    Carol was still chuckling as she reached
into the brown envelope Paul had given her and pulled out a five by
seven inch photo. It was a shot of four people from about the waist
up. At either end were Richard and Helen Sakai. She recognized them
from pictures she had seen on the Internet and at dinner. The young
man was Michael. She had seen his picture on the Internet also. The
woman next to him was—her. At least it looked like her, without the
scars. The girl’s hair was short, just like her hair. The