Stephanie Doyle - Remembering That Night

Elaine’s head snapped toward Chuck. “Did you just compliment me?”

“Hell, no. I save compliments for two things. My mother’s cooking because I want more of it and sex because I want more of that, too. Telling Jane...Liza, I mean, that you’re a good attorney is a fact. You wouldn’t be part of the Tyler Group if you weren’t.”

“I’m taking it as a compliment, anyway. And reminding you that you’re talented enough that you could be working for the Tyler Group, too.”

“What and give up the squirrels?” Chuck shook his head, clearly exasperated. “That is so like you. First, I tell you it’s not a compliment but you can’t accept that because everything has to be your way. Second, you think it’s okay to tell me I’m wasting my talent on squirrels.”

“Because (a) you are wasting your talent on squirrels, and (b) my way more often than not is right.”

“Please,” Liza interjected. Their fighting was giving her a headache. “Thank you both. I’ll consider what you said, but I would really like to find someone who believes me. I understand why you all don’t, but I would rather be alone than have to look at another person who wonders if I’m just a talented actress.”

Elaine turned and studied her again. Liza turned her head away and stared out the window instead.

“I don’t think you’re an actress.”

Liza met her stare directly. “Thank you.”

“I do, however, think you know something about Hector D’Amato’s death.”

So did Liza. She knew she didn’t kill him. She trusted that much. But what if she’d somehow inadvertently caused his death?

Because as much as she didn’t want people looking at her and believing her to be an actress, she really didn’t want people thinking she was a murderer instead.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE SUN STARTING TO SET behind him, Greg stood at the end of the stone walkway and looked at where Eliza Dunning lived. The house seemed very normal. A ranch-style house, and probably the smallest one on the block of fairly large colonials, it should have stood out like a sore thumb, but there was a stately elegance to the brick house.

It looked solid, too. Like he could huff and puff and never blow it down.

Only he wasn’t the wolf. Greg never played the part of the wolf. He was the good guy in those stories. Or at least he used to be before he gave all that up and turned to a life of gambling instead.

Now that he’d given that up, too, he wasn’t sure what he was anymore. Neither hero, nor villain. Maybe interested observer?

That was as good a reason as any to be standing in front of Liza’s front door. He was merely curious about the woman who claimed to have no memory. A story that crazily enough was now even more credible after talking to Mark, who had dug up some interesting information about her.

Apparently, this wasn’t the first time Eliza Dunning had lost her memory.

He rang the doorbell and waited.

The door opened slowly, which meant she’d already identified who was on the other side of it. She had good reason to be cautious.

“What are you doing here?” Her suspicion was evident, but beyond that he sensed hurt. As though he’d disappointed her. Which was pretty much his specialty these days.

“I came to talk.”

“Not apologize?”

He looked down at his feet. “You hung up on me.”

“You didn’t tell me my name!”

Greg lifted his head. “Look, I know you’re upset with me but we are talking about murder. I was told by the sheriff not to tell you anything, so I didn’t.”

“I know what we’re talking about. I’m living it. Your part is done, isn’t it? I mean, the police hired you to consult and you did. So, like I said, what are you doing here?”

Curiosity. It had to be the only reason he was there. It couldn’t be because he wanted to help. Or offer her friendship. He’d purposefully made his world small and he wanted to keep it that way.

Since he didn’t think she would appreciate being the object of his curiosity, he decided to play his ace. “I have more information about your past. JoJo, who you spoke with yesterday, is a detective. She and her husband have their own firm. I hate to admit it, but Mark is a master when it comes to gathering information other people overlook.”

“Overlook?”

“Can’t find.”

She tilted her head. “You mean don’t have access to.”

Greg smiled. She was in the middle of a mental crisis, but it wasn’t impacting her acuity. “I don’t ask too many questions about how he comes across the information he does. He found quite a bit on you. You might want to hear about it unless you’ve remembered...”

A tight shake of her head told him all he needed to know. He imagined her walking through her front door, hoping it would trigger everything only to realize that it hadn’t. She would feel like a stranger standing in someone else’s space.

If she was telling the truth.

She stepped back from the door and let him inside. He was struck at once by the home’s aesthetic. The foyer opened up to a room filled with comfortable furniture in soft pastels covered with bright pillows and afghans. Nothing overtly cute or immature but certainly a room designed for a woman.

If she was Hector’s lover, which he had his suspicions about, then it was doubtful the man was living here with her. A man living in this house would feel like an alien creature on foreign soil. Not uncomfortable, necessarily, just out of his element.

“Can I get you something to drink? Despite not remembering, I was able to figure out where all my glasses and plates were. It’s the craziest thing, but I considered where I might want things in certain cabinets and that’s where I found them.”

“So you and your old self think alike.”

“I guess. I don’t remember this room, but I like it. It makes me feel...”

“Protected?”

“I was going to say snug. Why do you think I crave protection?”

“You knew Hector D’Amato and many people believed he was a dangerous guy.”

She closed her eyes as if struggling again to find some wisp of a memory. “I guess I did. I mean I had to. I worked for him. I hope I didn’t know he was into anything illegal. I don’t feel like that would be something I could turn my back on.”

Greg followed her through a dining room and into a large spacious kitchen. For a ranch house it was surprisingly large and spread out. The kitchen resembled the other room in that it was filled with colorful vases on top of all the cabinetry. The ceramic floor tile had pink and purple hues. Pretty. That’s the word that struck him. Everything in her home was pretty without feeling like he was standing in a bad version of a doll house.

“I have iced tea.”

“Sure.”

Greg sat down at a white circular table surrounded by what looked like antique wrought iron chairs. Liza put a glass filled with tea and ice and a slice of lemon in front of him. The perfect hostess. The lemon slice was even balanced on the rim of the glass.

She poured her own glass and sat down across from him. She was wearing denim capris and a blue T-shirt that made her look accessible in spite of her beauty. He hadn’t really let himself think about her in those terms, but in the afternoon sunlight with her hair falling down her back and her figure in clothes that actually fit her, she was stunning.

Do not get sucked in by this woman.

The order came from the practical side of his brain. He was fairly certain he had the wherewithal to make sure that side stayed in control. Fairly certain.

“So, no dog?”

She appeared confused for a moment, but then must have remembered their conversation earlier that morning. She shook her head. “Nope. I found a picture, though. In my bedroom, on my dressing table, there were several pictures. One was my arm around an old black Lab. I’m wondering...maybe he died. I felt sad looking at the picture. Then I felt this horrible guilt that I couldn’t remember his name.”