Owen's Touch Page 7

  “The short answer is...yes,” Hemphill. reluctantly admitted. “But I’ll try to discuss this with the nephew’s attorney. We still may be able to come to some sort of mutually acceptable understanding without dragging this to trial”

  “Good. I hate trials.”

  Hemphill sighed.

  “As a matter of fact, so do I,” he conceded. “I much prefer mediation. Especially when it comes to family matters.”

  “I suppose you’ll need a retainer to work on this?”

  “Yes.” Hemphill mentioned the amount needed.

  “Consider the check in the mail,” Blackhart said.

  “By the way, I read in the paper that the mystery lady is awake and talking.”

  “Yes.”

  “Has her family come to see her?”

  “Not yes”

  “Hmm. That’s odd. She has family, I assume.”

  “Most of us do.”

  “I’m sorry...I thought you were, uh, sort of involved with her recovery. Am I poking my nose in where I shouldn’t?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a moment of silence while Hemphill waited to see if Owen might offer any more enlightenment on the condition of the formerly comatose lady.

  When Owen did not, Hemphill continued. “Well, tell her we’re all glad she’s recovering. By the way, what’s her name? I haven’t seen any more in the paper about her except that she’s recovering.”

  “I don’t believe I got her name,” Owen said. The finality of his tone was clear.

  “Uh, yes. Well, I’ll be getting on with that other matter. And I’ll let you know when we have some progress to report.”

  “Good.”

  “Goodbye then.”

  “Goodbye.” Owen hung up the telephone and shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.

  Great. A lawsuit from a disinherited, greedy relative. Just what he needed, Owen thought in irritation.

  Well, who would have thought Portia would have forgotten the one living relative she had on the face of the earth?

  Owen swore under his breath and went back to work on the leaking pipe under the kitchen sink. That had to be fixed before he left to see Green Eyes, or he and the unexpected, litigious nephew would be squabbling over a pond where once a lovely old home had stood.

  Owen arrived at Cleary Hospital the following day around noon. He checked in at the motel, agilely evading Madge’s steady flow of questions about the “mystery lady,” as everyone in town was beginning to refer to her. He dropped his one piece of luggage inside the door of his room, closed and locked the door and firmly strode back to his car.

  “Well, nice talking to you,” Madge said with a shrug. “Maybe next time you’ll talk to me,” she suggested with a hopeful twinkle in her pale eyes.

  Owen grunted noncommittally and got back into his car. Madge stared at him as he drove away, and he had the distinct feeling that she was plotting new ways to dig out information about the mystery lady.

  At least Madge was a warmhearted curiosity seeker, he thought. He just hoped some of the more callous and self-serving ones kept away from Green Eyes until they could figure out where she was from and who her loved ones were. On the long drive back to the mountains, a disturbing idea had come to him. What if someone decided to take advantage of her loss of memory? They could manipulate her for their own purposes, telling her she was someone that she was not, or deceiving her into believing things that were not true. Green Eyes would be very vulnerable to that kind of deviant. She’d have no way of knowing she was being lied to...unless someone did a very thorough background check on anyone claiming to know her.

  Owen’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he pulled into the hospital parking lot and took a parking ticket from the automatic dispenser at the gate.

  The police could help her, he told himself. He could already hear Buddy Lefcourt pointing out how limited everybody’s time was to do something like that...especially in other jurisdictions, where they had their own problems and probably rarely needed to trade favors with the tiny hamlet where Lefcourt and Morrison Hayes took care of most of the police work that needed doing.

  So she could hire a private detective, he argued as he locked up his car and walked into the hospital, resisting the obvious solution to Green Eyes’s problem with every stride he took. She could if she had money. Which, at the moment, she certainly didn’t. She was as broke as a person gets. Not a dime to her name. Not even a name, he reminded himself grimly. No credit rating. No assets, except the bloodied and torn clothes that had been on her back the night of the accident.

  Owen Blackhart swore to himself and punched the elevator button.

  Well, he could help in a limited way, he begrudgingly conceded to himself. Just so long as she didn’t get overly dependent on him. He wasn’t taking that kind of responsibility for a woman, not again. He was done with that. Absolutely, positively, forever done with that.

  Grim faced from his dark thoughts, Owen stepped out of the elevator and into the hospital corridor leading to Green Eyes’s room. A woman in a hospital gown was walking away from him. She appeared to have been walking around, getting some exercise. A nurse followed along, chatting amiably and looking pleased at her patient’s progress.

  Owen recognized her immediately. And this time, there was lots of that beautiful, dark red hair showing. The bandages were off. He couldn’t see her face, because she had her back to him. He walked toward her, and as his footsteps approached, she stopped and turned.

  Their eyes met.

  “So they are green,” he said softly, stopping a couple of feet away from her. He scanned her pale face and throat and looked her over slowly. Finally, his gaze returned to the dark green eyes that had never looked away from his face. It was the little streaks of chestnut that made the green so dark, he decided. Unusual color, those green eyes. Like the lush forest at the end of spring and the beginning of summer.

  She walked toward him and held out her hand uncertainly.

  “I didn’t know how to picture you before,” she said, still a little stunned at the first sight of him. She smiled wryly as he took her hand and gently squeezed it in greeting. She wanted to hug him, but she didn’t know him. He might take it the wrong way. So she just shook his hand, aching to be thanking him with her whole heart for what he had done for her. What he was still doing for her. Even though he was a total stranger. And yet...when she was with him, she didn’t feel that they were exactly total strangers. She blinked. Maybe it was the head injury she’d had. It was making her fanciful, excessively romantic or something.

  She smiled and looked him up and down, as he had done to her. They released each other’s hand and stepped back a little, as if thinking along the same lines: not too intimate...keep things businesslike...this is a peculiar situation...ignore the feelings. This isn’t exactly normal.

  “The nurses tried to describe you to me,” she confessed, turning to walk slowly back to her room. Owen walked alongside. She tilted her head and looked at him askance. “They said you had a face filled with character.”

  Owen laughed and lifted an eyebrow.

  “Is that so?” he said, casting an amused glance at the nurse discreetly trailing along on the other side of the patient. “Is that a polite way of describing a broken nose, an eyebrow cut by a scar and a face that’s wiped up its share of floors in bar fights?”

  “Oh, no! I’m sure they were trying to say you were a handsome man but not pretty like some male models,” she explained, laughing.

  When she reached her bed, she sat down and stared at him for a long moment, as if she would memorize his features.

  “They’re right,” she mused. “Your face does have character.”

  “Be careful, Green Eyes,” he said softly. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anyone right now. Keep your defenses up.”

  “That’s good advice,” said a voice from the doorway.

  They turned to see Sergeant Lefcourt, and with him, another man.


  Chapter 5

  “Uh, ma’am,” Sergeant Lefcourt began, “this here’s a gentleman who might know you. Could we come on in so’s he can see you, see if you’re the lady he thought you might be?”

  She stared at the man standing beside the sergeant. Nothing about him seemed familiar. He was gaunt. About fifty. Thinning hair, streaked with gray. He was staring at her, frowning a little, as if he wasn’t sure who she was, either. He seemed nervous, too, rubbing his hand slowly against his brown suit jacket. Back and forth. As if to dry a sweating palm.

  She swallowed and glanced at Owen.

  Owen met her gaze and began to frown. She was afraid of being left alone with the man who claimed to know her when she didn’t know him from squat, Owen thought. She was totally vulnerable. She wouldn’t know if he was telling the truth about her or not.

  “Ma’am?” Sergeant Lefcourt prompted her courteously. “Could we come in and talk to you?”

  “Can you stay?” she asked Owen. She tried to be levelheaded and to sound calm. She didn’t want to act like a child. But...why did she fear being alone with a stranger? A glimpse of a memory almost surfaced. Then it slid beneath her grasp and was lost. But the fear remained. Fear of a man. A man with an evil smile. A man whose features and appearance she couldn’t quite recall. She swallowed hard and looked deeply into Owen Blackhart’s eyes as he weighed her request of him.

  He nodded and walked around her bed to the far side, sitting down at the chair in the corner of the room. He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles, the picture of a thoroughly relaxed man. He smiled slightly at her.

  “Sure. I’ll stay,” he said softly.

  “Thanks,” she said, her voice brimming with gratitude. Something about Owen Blackhart gave her courage. She would have hugged him then, if she’d known him better.

  Owen slid his gaze back to the nervous man standing next to Lefcourt. Green Eyes turned her attention to them, too.

  “Come in,” she said, smiling as best she could. “Here,” she added, indicating the chair next to her bed, where Owen had sat for so many long, patient hours holding her hand. “Sit down, Mr....?”

  “Kelton.”

  “Mr. Kelton,” she said.

  He shook his head slowly.

  “No,” he said quietly. “My first name is Kelton.”

  He seemed to be waiting for her to respond, as if that should mean something to her. She couldn’t imagine what, though.

  “Oh. I’m sorry...Kelton.”

  The man leaned forward a little hesitantly, as if afraid to offend her by coming too close. He was studying her face, her hair, her general appearance. She was still wearing hospital clothes, but the gown and the thin cotton robe left him with a clear impression of her build.

  “Do you know me?” she blurted out, guessing from the sympathetic expression in his eyes what his answer was going to be.

  “In a way,” he replied. He searched for the right words. “We have met several times in the past six months. At a meeting.” He paused and watched her expectantly.

  “I don’t remember,” she said with a sigh. “What meeting? Where?”

  Kelton glanced at the other two men in the room.

  “I can’t really discuss this with her while you are in the room,” he said.

  Owen raised his eyebrows.

  Sergeant Lefcourt looked resigned and rolled his eyes heavenward.

  “Look, we already talked about this, Kelton,” Lefcourt argued. “This is a missing-person case. She’s missing and can’t remember where she belongs. We need to get her back to her own home, her own friends and relatives. This anonymity thing has to take a back seat to the police work.”

  “You already talked about what, Sergeant?” she asked, perplexed.

  “What anonymity thing?” Owen interjected, beginning to become suspicious.

  Kelton looked at her seriously. “What I know about you is private. We know each other from a place where everyone swears to honor the privacy of the other people there. I can’t talk about you in front of these two men unless you say it’s okay for them to hear about it.”

  “Good heavens,” she murmured. “I mean...” She gulped. “What kind of place was it?”

  Increasingly bizarre possibilities flew across her mind. Some sort of group therapy? Maybe a peculiar hobby group? A criminal fraternity of some sort? Parole counseling sessions? A kinky...? Well, her imagination was too energetic, she told herself.

  Sergeant Lefcourt held up his hand.

  “Just a minute,” he said firmly, a frown of authority settled on his face. “You’re here at my request, Kelton. You saw the photo of her in the newspaper and called my office. I made this appointment with you. You’re here seeing me.” He stared pointedly at Kelton. “Now...do you recognize this woman?”

  “Yes.” Kelton slumped a little in the chair and looked apologetically at Green Eyes.

  “What is her name?”

  “I only know her first name.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “We only give our first names at meetings,” he explained.

  “What meetings?” the lawman asked.

  Kelton looked at Green Eyes.

  “Look,” she said. “Whatever it is, I’ll have to face it. Right now, I just want to know who I am. So, tell us...what meetings. It’s okay. Sergeant Lefcourt and Mr. Blackhart have been doing everything they can to help me. They’ve...saved my life,” she said desperately, with a wave of her hand to underscore the fact. “So, what meeting did we attend?”

  “AA.”

  She blinked.

  “Alcoholics Anonymous?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m an alcoholic?” she asked, confused, waiting for that to ring true. She felt nothing. Not the ring of truth or the dissonance of a falsehood.

  “I...don’t actually know.” He looked unhappy. “I’m not supposed to share what you said with outsiders. I could tell you, while we’re alone, what you said at the meetings, and if you want to tell them, well, that’s up to you.”

  She stared into his eyes. He was looking back at her. He seemed tired and worried, but absolutely clear about what he was saying.

  “What’s my name?” she asked softly.

  “Mary Ann.”

  “Mariann...” She exclaimed. Her eyes brightened. “Yes...” Then a frown crossed her face. Maryann...Mariann...Mari...

  “Does that sound familiar?” Sergeant Lefcourt asked hopefully.

  “Yes.”

  “But?” Owen injected.

  “It sounds right and yet, not right,” she blurted out. She clasped her head in her hands and closed her eyes. “Why does it sound right and wrong at the same time?” she murmured in frustration. “I feel so near...and yet so far from the truth.”

  Owen turned to Kelton.

  “Do you have any proof of what you’re saying, Kelton?” Owen demanded bluntly.

  “Well,” the man said cautiously. “I could talk to some of the regulars at the next meeting. A couple of them could tell you the same thing. They saw Mary Ann there a few times.”

  “Is there any other proof?” Lefcourt asked.

  “Like photos or tape recordings or signed papers or something? Well, no. We don’t photograph our little meetings and we don’t tape-record them, either. I mean...the whole idea is to have someplace where you can be honest with other people and not worry about it coming back to bite you later on. So first names and anonymous get-togethers work pretty well for us. Course...sometimes people are friends outside the meeting....” He looked at her sympathetically. “You drove in from outside. I don’t think anyone in the group ever knew you outside of the meetings.”

  “When was the last meeting?” Owen asked.

  “Sunday evening.”

  “They’re held every Sunday evening?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where do you meet?” Owen pressed.

  “An old church vestry room in the next county over.”

  Owen look
ed at Lefcourt. The lawman was thinking the same thing that he was, Owen realized. They both looked at Green Eyes, newly anointed with the name of Mary Ann. She stared back at them blankly.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “You were heading in that direction on a Sunday evening when you had that accident,” Lefcourt said.

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened. Was that where she’d been going, then? she wondered. She struggled to find the memory of that trip. An incoherent collage of faces and sounds burst into her mind’s view. The mountain highway. The driving rain. The white lights of the huge truck. A woman’s silhouette. A pay phone in a narrow hallway...

  A pay phone? Inside a building? Now, why would that have surfaced? she wondered. Why could that sliver of recollection pierce the veil still covering her memories? And the woman? Was it her? No...someone else, she thought. But who?

  “Mary Ann?”

  She looked quickly at Owen. It was the first time he had called her by that name. It sounded tentative on his lips, as if he was unsure whether the name really belonged to her.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I was just lost in thought. Not any thoughts that will solve the riddle of my life, apparently,” she ruefully replied.

  He leaned back in the chair, but the frown on his face remained.

  “Take your time,” he suggested. “It’ll all come back to you. Eventually.”

  “So you keep telling me,” she said with a sigh.

  “Well...we’ve got a name for you,” he reminded, raising his eyebrows as if wondering if she’d overlooked that little fact.

  “Yes. I guess that is progress,” she conceded. She couldn’t hide the reluctance in her voice.

  Owen frowned. “Something bothers you about the name, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. It sounds right, and yet...” She ran her hands through her hair nervously. Then she shook her head. “Give me a day to get used to it, okay? Maybe I’m just a little rusty when it comes to my own name.” She half laughed and turned her green-eyed gaze on Kelton again. “So when did we first meet, Kelton? Tell me all the details...good, bad or unprintable. I want to hear it all. Okay?”

  Kelton smiled awkwardly.