Deadly Memories Read online

  REMEMBER . . . AND DIE

  “It was a setup, Maura,” Steve said. “The tax records you needed were right next to the section of the floor that collapsed. And I’m willing to bet that those floor joists suffered a lot more than simple earthquake damage.”

  “But . . . why would someone want to kill me?” Maura asked.

  “For something you knew. Or something they thought you were about to remember. Someone knew your memory was coming back. Who did you tell?”

  “No one. Just you, and Jan, and Nita. And Nita told Hank.”

  “Then one of them told someone. Or someone noticed. How about Liz?”

  “It’s possible. She was wearing a necklace and I commented on how beautiful it was. I’m sure Liz mentioned it to Keith, and that means Keith would have known that my memory was coming back.”

  “How about Jan?”

  “She told me that David guessed.”

  “This is getting us nowhere, Maura. Too many people are involved already. I think we’d better approach it from another angle.”

  “What other angle?”

  “It’s time for you to remember everything. Think back, Maura. There’s a reason someone’s trying to kill you. Think back and try to remember that reason for me . . .”

  Books by Joanne Fluke

  Hannah Swensen Mysteries

  CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE MURDER

  STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MURDER

  BLUEBERRY MUFFIN MURDER

  LEMON MERINGUE PIE MURDER

  FUDGE CUPCAKE MURDER

  SUGAR COOKIE MURDER

  PEACH COBBLER MURDER

  CHERRY CHEESECAKE MURDER

  KEY LIME PIE MURDER

  CANDY CANE MURDER

  CARROT CAKE MURDER

  CREAM PUFF MURDER

  PLUM PUDDING MURDER

  APPLE TURNOVER MURDER

  DEVIL’S FOOD CAKE MURDER

  GINGERBREAD COOKIE MURDER

  CINNAMON ROLL MURDER

  RED VELVET CUPCAKE MURDER

  BLACKBERRY PIE MURDER

  DOUBLE FUDGE BROWNIE MURDER

  WEDDING CAKE MURDER

  BANANA CREAM PIE MURDER

  JOANNE FLUKE’S LAKE EDEN COOKBOOK

  Suspense Novels

  VIDEO KILL

  WINTER CHILL

  DEAD GIVEAWAY

  THE OTHER CHILD

  COLD JUDGMENT

  FATAL IDENTITY

  FINAL APPEAL

  VENGEANCE IS MINE

  EYES

  WICKED

  DEADLY MEMORIES

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  DEADLY MEMORIES

  JOANNE FLUKE

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  REMEMBER . . . AND DIE

  Books by Joanne Fluke

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHRISTMAS CARAMEL MURDER

  PROLOGUE

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 1995 by Joanne Fluke

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-7582-9108-0

  ISBN-10: 0-7582-9108-6

  First Kensington Mass Market Edition: December 2016

  eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-9109-7

  eISBN-10: 0-7582-9109-4

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: December 2016

  PROLOGUE

  Hank Jensen smiled as he drove the white stretch limousine up the Sunset Boulevard on-ramp, and merged smoothly with the existing freeway traffic. It was a good hour for a trip to the airport, shortly past eight on a Thursday night. Rush hour was over, movies and plays had already begun, and the drunks were still in the bars. He signaled a lane change and eased over to the fast lane, dropping in behind the brown Mercedes he’d been following.

  A champagne cork popped in the back of the limo, the second in less than ten miles. It was a damn good thing they were riding instead of driving! They’d already been stoned when he’d picked them up at the hotel, and now they were adding booze to the mix.

  Hank glanced down at his clipboard. According to his call sheet, his passengers were called the Speed Streeters. They were dressed in identical silver jumpsuits, three skinny guys and a girl with kinky red hair who didn’t look more than sixteen. At least rock groups were usually good tippers, unless they got so bent out of shape they forgot.

  It was a hot summer night in Los Angeles, and Hank rolled down his window. The Speed Streeters had the air-conditioning cranked up so high, he was beginning to shiver. He preferred to drive with the window open anyway, a throwback to his teenage years in rural Texas. The family pickup truck hadn’t been equipped with anything as fancy as air-conditioning, and he’d gotten used to driving around with the wind in his face.

  Hank figured he would have been stuck in Texas forever, if his uncle hadn’t moved to L.A. to start the LoneStar Limo Service. It had taken some fast talking on his mother’s part, but finally Uncle Jimmy had caved in and put him on the payroll.

  There were times when Hank missed the wide-open spaces of Texas, but L.A. was an exciting city. He’d been working for Uncle Jimmy almost five years now, and he’d met his share of celebrities. Most of them were nice, and some of them had been very generous, like the Academy Award–winning actress and her husband he’d driven last month.

  Hank had picked them up at their home in Beverly Hills and taken them to Rex, L.A.’s most expensive restaurant. Then he’d settled down in the parking lot to wait for them to finish their supper, which was called dinner out here. He’d just kicked off his shoes, tuned in his favorite jazz station on the radio, and cracked open a book, when a waiter had tapped on the window. The actress and her husband had sent out a complete meal for him: appetizer, salad, entrée, and dessert, along with a silver carafe of coffee.

  It still made Hank grin to think of that night. It had been a real treat to taste all those expensive things he couldn’t afford, like caviar and lobster and he
arts of palm. And to top matters off, at the end of the evening, the actress and her husband had slipped him an envelope with a crisp hundred-dollar bill inside!

  Hank took a big gulp of the air rushing past his open window, and smiled. The highway department had planted some night-blooming jasmine by the side of the Overland Avenue off-ramp, and the air smelled fresh and sweet. It was quite a change from the exhaust fumes that usually clogged the air. California had beautiful landscaping by its freeways. He was always seeing something unusual like a hill covered with pink oleanders, or a whole section of tall plants that looked like plumes.

  The airport exit was about a mile ahead, and Hank changed lanes in tandem with the driver of the brown Mercedes. Now that he was following more closely, he could read its license plate, DPRESHE8.

  “Depreciate.” Hank grinned to acknowledge the clever plate. Someone had a good sense of humor. And then he pulled forward to pace the brown Mercedes. Just as he’d expected, the driver was a middle-aged man with neatly styled silver hair who looked like an accountant, but he wasn’t adding up columns of figures right now. Mr. Accountant was very busy talking to his female passenger.

  Just as Hank was about to ease up on his accelerator, the woman pulled down her visor to use the lighted make-up mirror. She was holding a carry-on airline bag in her lap, and she would have been beautiful if she hadn’t been crying. A second look and Hank changed his mind. The tears made no difference; she was still a knockout with her shining red hair and bright green eyes. As Hank watched, she slipped on a pair of dark glasses and brushed back her hair with long, slender fingers. It was a totally feminine gesture, and Hank felt a tug of sympathy. He wished he could magically transport her to the front seat of his limo where he could dry her tears, and find out why she was so sad.

  The airport exit was just ahead, and Hank slowed down to drop in behind them. He was careful to leave plenty of room as he followed the Mercedes off the freeway. They were doing some new construction at the airport, and traffic had been rerouted up a steep ramp and then down in a series of dangerously sharp turns.

  Flashing lights and caution signs flanked both sides of the ramp, and Hank dropped back another car length. This section of temporary roadway was extremely dangerous. He watched as the brown Mercedes crested the top of the hill and its brake lights flashed brightly. Mr. Accountant was a cautious driver. But instead of slowing as the brake lights indicated, the brown Mercedes seemed to leap forward into the curves, picking up speed and swerving dangerously.

  Tires squealed as the Mercedes fishtailed down the steep grade, and Hank hit his own brakes. Mr. Accountant was going to wipe out right in front of him!

  Hank stomped hard on the brakes, and steered to a screeching halt. There were muffled curses from the back of the limo, but he didn’t have time to worry about spilled champagne. He jumped out and watched as Mr. Accountant sideswiped the guardrail on the right side of the ramp.

  Miraculously, the wooden barrier held. But the glancing impact sent the Mercedes careening across the full width of the ramp, heading straight for the opposite rail.

  The beautiful woman screamed in terror. Hank could hear her clearly. And a split second later, the brown Mercedes plowed through the left barrier and tumbled end over end down the steep embankment.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Maura woke up to the sound of a voice. Someone was calling her name. Her head felt huge and fuzzy, as if someone had emptied out everything inside and filled it with fluffy cotton batting. If this was a hangover, she’d never drink again!

  It took her a moment to remember the events of the preceding day. She’d taken her dreaded chemistry final and nailed it cold. Her roommate’s tutoring had really paid off. Maura had been so grateful, she’d taken her roommate out to dinner, and they’d ended up at the campus pub. If her pounding headache was any indication, she must have had much more than her customary mug of beer.

  The voice was still calling her, and Maura groaned. She’d told everyone that she was sleeping late this morning, and there was a DO NOT DISTURB sign on her door. Why wouldn’t the voice leave her alone?

  Maura groaned again and tried to shake her head, but it was just too heavy to move. If the voice would only go away, she could go back to sleep. Even ten minutes more might help to clear her head.

  “Maura? Wake up, Maura. I want you to open your eyes.”

  It was no use. The voice was too persistent. She’d have to see what it wanted. But it was a man’s voice, and men weren’t allowed in the dorm unless they were family. What a lousy time for her father to drop in for a surprise visit!

  She tried to open her eyes, but they felt as if they were glued shut. Then someone dabbed at her eyelids with something cold and wet. It felt good and she managed to gasp out a word, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” It was the man’s voice again, but he no longer sounded like her father. “Try to open your eyes, Maura.”

  Maura tried, but nothing happened. Her eyelids were as heavy as the lead sinkers her father used on his fishing line.

  “You can do it. Come on, Maura. Open your eyes.”

  Maura concentrated, and her eyelids lifted slightly. She doubled her efforts and they opened, slowly. She’d done it. Maybe he’d give her an “A” in EyeOpening 101.

  But the sight that greeted her was completely foreign! She was in a bed in a room with pale green walls. It was a sterile room, no paintings on the walls, no rugs on the floors. It certainly looked nothing like the dorm room she’d taken such pains to decorate.

  Light flickered on the far wall, and Maura’s eyes were drawn to a television set which was perched on a high ledge facing the bed. The volume was inaudible, but the picture was on. And it was in color!

  For a moment Maura was sure that she was dreaming. Color television sets were terribly expensive. None of her friends could afford one. The set in her parents’ living room was black and white, and so was the one in the rec room at the dorm.

  Maura was so startled to see Dan Rather in color, she almost didn’t notice how awful he looked. It hadn’t been in the papers, but he must have been terribly ill. He’d aged dreadfully since the last time she’d switched on the news.

  As she watched, Dan Rather’s face was replaced by a commercial for something called Diet Coke. It must be a new product, since she’d never seen it in the stores. But the next commercial, for Ivory Soap, was comfortably familiar. She tore her eyes away from the novelty of actually seeing the blue and white wrapper on a television screen, and began to look around the room again.

  Three green plastic chairs were pushed against the wall beneath the television set. And there was a door which was slightly ajar, leading to a small, institutional-looking bathroom.

  Where was she? Even though it was difficult, Maura turned her head slightly. The blinds on the window were open, but all she could see beyond the glass was the top of a palm tree. That was no help. Palm trees were common in Southern California.

  A table-type cart sat under the window, and it held a massive bouquet of beautiful flowers. There was a small white card attached to a leaf, but it was difficult to read at this distance. She squinted and made out the words, WE LOVE YOU, and then the man’s voice spoke again.

  “Could you look at me, please?”

  Maura tried to turn her head toward the voice, but it was impossible. Something tight was clamped around her neck, restricting her movement. “I can’t. My neck won’t turn.”

  “Hold on a minute. I’ll take off your brace. You don’t need it, now that you’re conscious.”

  She could hear his footsteps behind her. His fingers touched the side of her neck and something ripped. She must have winced, because he held a long, white cuff up in front of her eyes.

  “I’m sorry if I scared you. It’s just a neck brace with a Velcro fastener.”

  Maura watched as he lapped one end of the cuff over the other. Something made them stick together. Then he pulled them apart and she heard that awful ripping sound again.


  “Look this way, please.”

  It was definitely a command, and Maura turned to look at the voice. It belonged to a handsome man in a white lab coat who seemed vaguely familiar, but that could be explained by the fact that he looked exactly like Paul Newman. She was wild about Paul Newman, and she’d gone to see The Sting just last week.

  This Paul Newman look-alike was wearing a doctor’s stethoscope around his neck, and suddenly everything was clear. She was in a hospital. That explained the bouquet of flowers. And it must be a very expensive hospital if they had color television sets in every room. It was a good thing she’d remembered to send off the premium for her student health insurance!

  “What’s my name?”

  Maura stared at him for a moment and then she began to smile. He was wearing a white plastic identification badge on the front of his lab coat. It read DR. S. BENNETT, NEUROLOGY. And above his name in small red letters was the name of the hospital, Cedars-Sinai. If this was some kind of test, they should flunk the doctor for failing to take off his name tag.

  “You’re Dr. Bennett, Neurologist. And I’m in Cedars-Sinai Hospital.”

  Her answer seemed to startle him. He stared at her and blinked several times. Then he recovered enough to ask, “How did you know they took you to Cedars’ after the accident?”

  “I didn’t know”—Maura grinned up at him—“but that’s what it says on your badge.”

  Dr. Bennett glanced down at the front of his lab coat and raised his eyebrows. Then he gave her a sheepish smile. “Okay, my mistake. I forgot I was wearing it. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Of course I can.” Maura thought about stopping there, but she’d heard that most doctors lacked a sense of humor. He was only asking her a standard set of questions, and it would be smart to cooperate. “It’s Maura. I know who I am. But I don’t remember why I’m here. You said something about an accident?”