-----------------------------------
Trust in Love
by Sarah Winn
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Romance
Copyright ©2007 by Sarah Winn
First published in 2007, 2007
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
CONTENTS
* * * *
Prologue
Texas, 1867
AS SHE LEANED over Samuel Parker, checking the letters on his slate, Eliza heard a single pistol shot. Before she could fully straighten her back, Willie Johnson dashed to the front window.
“Indians,” he shouted. “They're chasing old man Taylor."
Eliza clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry of horror.
Little Annie Higgins's high-pitched whine called her back to duty.
“Hush, Annie,” she commanded. “Remember how we practiced. You know what to do."
Wide-eyed with fear, the children sprang from their seats and began pairing up, younger children with older ones, just as they had been taught. Johnny Wilson, the largest boy in the class, raced to swing open the trap door in the floor behind Eliza's desk.
Taking a position next to the opening, Eliza motioned the first pair forward. Mary White went first, falling to her knees in the narrow space under the one room schoolhouse. Johnny lifted Annie down to her.
“Crawl to the back. Be sure the way is clear. Then run to the woods and hide. Don't come out until help comes,” Eliza called after them.
In two's and three's the children disappeared under the floor. Finally only Johnny remained. Eliza put her hand on his arm and pushed him forward.
“What about you, Miss Scoggins?” he asked.
For a second, she tightened her grip on his strong young arm, absorbing some of his strength to help her through the trial ahead of her. “I'll come. Now go and make sure the little ones reach the woods.” She pushed him toward the opening.
He looked doubtful but dropped into the hole. As soon as he lowered his head, Eliza slammed the trap door
-----------------------------------
Trust in Love
by Sarah Winn
-----------------------------------
Romance
Copyright ©2007 by Sarah Winn
First published in 2007, 2007
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
CONTENTS
* * * *
Prologue
Texas, 1867
AS SHE LEANED over Samuel Parker, checking the letters on his slate, Eliza heard a single pistol shot. Before she could fully straighten her back, Willie Johnson dashed to the front window.
“Indians,” he shouted. “They're chasing old man Taylor."
Eliza clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry of horror.
Little Annie Higgins's high-pitched whine called her back to duty.
“Hush, Annie,” she commanded. “Remember how we practiced. You know what to do."
Wide-eyed with fear, the children sprang from their seats and began pairing up, younger children with older ones, just as they had been taught. Johnny Wilson, the largest boy in the class, raced to swing open the trap door in the floor behind Eliza's desk.
Taking a position next to the opening, Eliza motioned the first pair forward. Mary White went first, falling to her knees in the narrow space under the one room schoolhouse. Johnny lifted Annie down to her.
“Crawl to the back. Be sure the way is clear. Then run to the woods and hide. Don't come out until help comes,” Eliza called after them.
In two's and three's the children disappeared under the floor. Finally only Johnny remained. Eliza put her hand on his arm and pushed him forward.
“What about you, Miss Scoggins?” he asked.
For a second, she tightened her grip on his strong young arm, absorbing some of his strength to help her through the trial ahead of her. “I'll come. Now go and make sure the little ones reach the woods.” She pushed him toward the opening.
He looked doubtful but dropped into the hole. As soon as he lowered his head, Eliza slammed the trap door is now firmly settled in her adopted native state of North Carolina. After a thirty-year career in scientific research, she became a full-time writer, but endeavors to make writing more fun than work. While working on Trust in Love, she found looking at the world around her and trying to imagine what a traveler from another time would see an eye-opening experience. You can visit her at her website at www.Sarahwinn.com
Eliza dropped to her knees behind her desk, yanked the bottom drawer open, and pulled her father's old pistol from its hiding place in the back. Willing herself to take deep, calming breaths, she methodically loaded the gun. After pouring the powder and ramming in the ball, she hurried to the front window and peeked out.
For a moment she saw nothing and prayed the Indians had passed them by. Then three horsemen, with feathers sticking up from their long hair, topped a rise and headed toward the school. They slowed their horses. One Indian dropped to the ground and ran toward the building in a crouched position. Eliza waited until he was an easy target but not too close to the shelter of the schoolhouse wall.
Gripping the pistol with both hands, she tapped the barrel against the window pane to break the glass. Pointing the barrel at the Indian, she squeezed the trigger. Her hands jerked as the powder exploded. Through a puff of smoke, she saw the man stare down at the red hole in his side, then crumble to the ground.
Instantly she turned to reload. Oh, God, she had left the powder behind her desk. She raced between rows of student desks. As she cleared them, a swishing sound came from the window. A sharp burning in her right thigh caused her leg to buckle. She crashed to the floor.
Raising herself with her arms, she looked over her shoulder. An arrow shaft stuck up from the back of her leg. Whimpering in pain, she tried to drag herself across the floor, but any movement intensified the burning in her leg. She had to get rid of the arrow. It didn't seem too deep. Her skirt and petticoats had lessened its impact. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to grab the shaft with both hands and pull up with all her might.
She cried out at the blinding flash of pain as the arrow came free. Throwing it aside, she pushed her pistol ahead of herself and inched across the floor.
Her head snapped back as a second arrow embedded itself just below her shoulder blade.
The third arrow stuck lower in her back. It caused the breath to swoosh from her body as she toppled facedown into blackness.
* * * *
THE ANGEL, MORTIMER, hovered above the one room schoolhouse, waiting to receive her soul. He sighed over the grisly scene. What a brave thing the twenty-three-year-old Eliza had done, risking her life to save her young charges. She'd had so little in life, no children of her own, no husband. Just keeping house for her gruff father and two brothers. And now this ultimate sacrifice.
How did she keep breathing? Even though she was uncommonly tall for a woman, her body was still frail.
Stop struggling, Eliza. Come to me. Accept the peace of eternal rest.
An Indian crawled through a window. After scanning the room, he ran toward the body. He pulled at the bun of hair at the base of Eliza's head. Pins fell away as the silver-blonde hair came free. With a triumphant cry, the Indian wrapped the hair around his fist and pulled it to its full length.
Eliza's head came away from the floor. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at the Indian as he reached for his scalping knife. Horror dawned on her face.
Mortimer knew Eliza's hair was her one vanity. This last indignity was too much, entirely too much. He just couldn't let it happen. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
His eyes flew open. Mortimer stared in shock at the limp body now lying in his arms. He'd not only pulled up Eliza's soul but her body as well. Life still flickered in that body.
Oh, dear. This is definitely against the rules. What am I going to do now?
Chapter One
“OPEN YOUR EYES. You should be awake by now."
Eliza didn't recognize the voice. What was a strange woman doing in her bedroom? Wait. She wasn't in her bedroom. She was in the schoolhouse and the Indians were ... Eliza opened her eyes, saw two, long tubes of white light over her head, and snapped her eyes closed again.
“I saw you open those eyes. Come on, do it again,” the voice coaxed.
Eliza looked to see who was talking. She didn't know the woman looking down at her, a woman dressed in formless clothes that were a soft shade of green. Although Eliza's vision was somewhat blurred, she could see other women in similar clothing walking among narrow beds.
“Do you know where you are?” the woman above her asked.
Eliza again looked at the strange non-flickering light in the ceiling. She'd never seen such bright light. Surely such a thing could only occur in heaven.
Somebody on a nearby bed moaned. At the same time Eliza became aware of the burning sensations in her back and thigh. She'd always thought there would be no pain in heaven. Perhaps it took time to recover from whatever killed you.
“Look at me.” The woman gently placed her hand on Eliza's cheek and turned her head until their gazes met. “What is your name?"
Her mouth was so dry that she found it hard to speak. “Eliza."
The woman looked at a piece of board with papers attached to one side of it. “This is no help. You're entered as a ‘Jane Doe',” she muttered.
“Look at the clock.” The woman pointed to a large clock face mounted on the wall across the room. “Can you tell me what time it is?"
Eliza stared at the clock. The numbers and the hour and minute hands looked like an ordinary clock, but there was a third, narrow hand making rapid circles around the face. “It has three hands,” she murmured.
The woman glanced back at the clock and nodded. “Yes, it does. I guess you're awake enough.” She called over her shoulder, “Manuel, this one's ready to go to her room."
A young man with coal black hair came toward her with a rhythmic gait. He took the board with papers from the woman, looked at it for a moment, and then slid it under the pad beneath Eliza's head. “Okay, Janie baby, let's go for a ride,” he said and started pushing her bed.
“Watch the IV,” the woman called after them.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.
Eliza noticed a dark red bag hanging from a metal rod attached to the side of her bed. A little tube came out of the bottom of the bag and ran down to her arm. She tried to get a better look but found it impossible to raise her head or her arm.
Double doors miraculously swished open by themselves and the bed picked up speed as it moved down a long hallway. More of those strange lights flashed over her head and other strangely dressed people passed by.
This wasn't what Eliza had expected heaven to be like. The angels should have wings.
More doors opened and they entered a small, windowless room. People crowded around Eliza. Some of them stared at her, a plump woman smiled. The room began to move; it was falling downward. Eliza gasped.
The young man touched her shoulder. “It's okay. We're just going downstairs."
Why were they going down? She had been good.
The room stopped moving and the doors opened. “Coming out,” the young man called.
They moved down another hallway. Eliza saw rooms on either side with people lying in beds. Were all these people sick like her?
They stopped in front of a long counter. A woman came and pulled the board from under Eliza's head.
“She goes in 306. I'll help you move her."
“You better get somebody else,” the young man said. “She's a long one."
He pushed her into a room and beside a wider bed than the one she was lying on. Two women grabbed the edges of the bedclothes under Eliza. Realizing they meant to move her to the other bed, she tried to edge herself in that direction.
“Be still,” one of the women commanded. “We can move you."
“Yeah, Janie baby, you're all legs,” the young man added and chuckled.
They moved her to the new bed with ease then rolled her from one side to the other, removing the extra sheets from beneath her body. When they pushed her onto her right side, Eliza cried out from the sharp burst of pain in her thigh.
“She's got a wound in her leg, too,” the young man said. “Some dude did a real number on her."
One of the women frowned at him.
“Okay,” he said, “I'm gone.” He rolled the narrow bed out with him.
The woman who had frowned adjusted the covers over Eliza. “What position will be the most comfortable for you?” she asked.
Eliza tried to roll onto her left side as she muttered, “My back hurts, too."
The woman helped her roll and propped her right leg on extra pillows.
“Be careful of her arm,” the other woman said. “Leave it on the board until she's more awake."
Eliza could now get a good look at her arm. The red bag had been transferred to a pole above a gray box mounted on a rolling stand. The tube from the bag connected with a shiny, thin piece of metal that had been inserted into the back of her hand. Strange strips of plaster held the piece of metal in place. Her forearm was strapped to a board that made it difficult for her to move that arm.
“Can you handle it from here?” the woman by her bedside asked.
“Sure,” the other one said.
As the first woman left the room, Eliza noticed her short skirt displayed the lower half of her legs. Eliza looked at the woman who was bending over the gray box; she was wearing pants. Come to think of it, the women in the room where Eliza woke up had also worn them. Didn't the rules of modesty apply in heaven?
The woman in the room with her seemed to be putting the tube that ran to her hand through the gray box. In a little glass bottle above the box, Eliza saw red liquid begin to drip.
Suddenly red numbers flashed on the front of the box, and it made a humming noise punctuated by clicks. The woman picked up the board with papers and came to Eliza's bedside. When she touched a button on the wall a spot of white light flooded the paper.
“Since you were unconscious when admitted, I've got to get your records up to date.” She took a pen shaped object from her pocket, pushed one end of it with her thumb, and a point popped out of the other end. Holding the object over the paper, she said, “What's your name?"
Eliza was terribly confused. “Don't you angels know who I am?"
The woman looked at her; a small frown creased her brow. “I may be an angel of mercy, but I'm not a mind reader. Now what's your name?"
“Eliza Scoggins."
“Address?"
“What difference does that make now?"
“You want to go home when you get well, don't you?"
Eliza's mouth fell open; it was several seconds before she could respond. “Can I do that?"
“Why not?"
“Aren't I dead?"
The woman's mouth gaped then pulled to one side in a grin. “You've got some bad wounds, but you're still alive."
“Well, where am I?” Eliza asked.
“Memorial Hospital in Fort Worth, Texas,” the woman replied in a patient voice.
“How did I get to Fort Worth?"
“Don't you remember?"
“No."
The woman's frown deepened. “Where do you remember being?"
“At my school in Young County."
“Do you remember how you were injured?"
“Yes. The Indians attacked."
“Indians?” The woman's voice had gone up an octave. “What kind of Indians?"
“Comanche."
The woman took a backward step. “Oh boy, I better get the doctor."
Eliza watched the nurse hurry out of the room and wondered why she was so upset. She shouldn't be surprised that Comanches were responsible for Eliza's wounds, not after all the raiding they'd done in recent years.
Trying to make herself more comfortable, Eliza slightly shifted her shoulders and one leg. As she grew less sleepy, the pains grew sharper. Perhaps if she closed her eyes the sleepiness would come back.
“Miss Scoggins?” A dark male face hovered over her.
“Who are you?” Eliza asked in alarm.
“I'm Dr. James your—"
“You can't be a doctor. You're a colored man."
A sour expression covered the man's face. “I don't have time for this kind of foolishness,” he muttered. “You were brought in as an emergency patient and assigned to me. I'll be happy to turn you over to your personal physician if you'll tell the nurse his name.” He turned away.
“Doctor, wait just a minute, please.” The nurse who had been questioning Eliza stepped up to the bedside. “Miss Scoggins, this is Dr. James. He's a highly qualified surgeon and saved your life in the OR. Will you please tell him how you received your injuries?"
Eliza looked back and forth between the two people. She found it hard to believe a colored man could really be a doctor. The war that freed the slaves had only been over for a couple of years. How could the man have become a doctor so quickly? Perhaps he'd been a freeman up North. They let colored people go to school up there, but Eliza didn't know they could become doctors. The nurse was white. Surely, she wouldn't work with the doctor if he wasn't real.
“Comanches attacked my schoolhouse. I was hit by three arrows. One in my leg and two in my back."
“Hmmm.” The doctor again leaned over her. “I see what you mean,” he said in a soft aside to the nurse.
Two of his dark fingers clamped down on Eliza's wrist. She stared at them in surprise, realizing this was the first time she'd ever been touched by a colored man.
After staring at a small clock strapped to his wrist, he asked, “Are you in pain, Miss Scoggins?"
“Yes."
“How about your head, any pain there?"
Eliza didn't know how to answer that question. Her head didn't hurt like her back or leg, but it did feel odd.
“Do you think you might have struck it when you fell?” the doctor asked.
“I don't know."
He reached toward her. “Can I examine your head?"
Eliza nodded weakly.
* * * *
DETECTIVE JEFF PALMER walked up to the admitting desk in the emergency room. A young woman sat staring at a computer screen with a bored expression. She glanced at him. “Can I help you?"
He flashed his badge and identification card. That woke her up. “You filed a report on a Jane Doe stabbing victim admitted yesterday."
She glanced at her computer screen. “Yes, a police officer has already been here about that."
“A uniformed officer took the report. I'm the investigating detective. Where's the victim now?"
“She was transferred to surgery shortly after being brought in."
“Did she make it?"
“I don't know. Do you want me to check?"
“Yeah.” This clerk was a real ditz.
She rattled some computer keys and stared at the screen for a moment. “She's listed in guarded condition and is in room 306."
He recorded the room number. “The report said she was left near the emergency room door. Can I speak to the person who found her?"
“That was one of the interns. There he is now. Dr. Leonard.” She waved to a lanky, young man with a stethoscope sticking from the pocket of his white coat. He came over.
Jeff introduced himself and explained his mission.
“I just looked out the glass doors and saw her lying on the pavement,” Leonard said.
“Did you see anybody else around?” Jeff asked.
The doctor shook his head.
“What about a car? Did you see or hear one?"
Another shake.
“What caused you to look out?"
“I'd ordered a pizza some time before and was wondering where it was."
“Any chance she walked up by herself?"
“No way. She'd suffered massive trauma including a collapsed lung. Another ten minutes and she'd have been D.O.A."
“You still have her personal effects?"
“She didn't have any, except her clothing, and that was weird."
Jeff frowned. “What do you mean?"
“They were old-fashioned, you know, long skirt and petticoat, even funny looking underwear. She might be an actress. Are they making any movies around town?"
“I don't know,” Jeff muttered. When he finished scribbling in his notebook, he looked back at the doctor. “You still got the clothes here? We'll need them as evidence."
“We put them in a bio-hazard bag because of the blood, but we saved them,” Dr. Leonard said. He waved down a passing nurse and instructed her to show the detective the clothing.
She led Jeff to a storage room and found the correct bag. After giving him a metal tray, latex gloves, and tweezers, she stood and watched as he gingerly examined the heavily stained clothing. The cotton print dress contained no labels. The undergarments, which evidently had been cut off the patient, were confusing.
“What is this?” he asked the nurse, holding up a formless piece of cotton.
“The underpants. They came down to her knees and fastened at the waist with a drawstring."
“How'd you cut them off?” Jeff asked.
“Down the outside of each leg. The crotch area was already open."
“Hmm. I wonder what line of work she's in?” Jeff said, really talking to himself.
“She's tall and thin enough to be a model,” the nurse said. “Maybe she works at one of the historical sites."
Jeff continued to examine the clothing. Aside from the fact that it was old-fashioned, there was something else wrong with it, but he couldn't decide exactly what.
Finally he held up a seam in the skirt so the nurse could see it. “Does this look strange to you?"
She looked for a second. “The stitches are uneven. No machine made those. It's hand sewn. That's really authentic."
Damn, Jeff thought. Why couldn't this be a simple domestic dispute? I've already got a full caseload.
* * * *
A NO VISITORS SIGN hung on the door of room 306. Jeff went to the nurses’ station.
“Excuse me,” he said to a good-looking brunette behind the desk. “I'm Detective Palmer. I've been assigned to investigate the stabbing victim in room 306. Is she able to talk?"
“I'll have to ask Dr. James,” she said.
“Is the woman conscious?” he asked more insistently.
“She's, ah, being keep sedated. The surgeon called in another specialist. We're waiting for him."
Jeff glanced at his watch. He hadn't planned to spend the whole afternoon here. “Could you ask the doc—"
“Here they come now."
Looking up, he saw two men walking toward him. The black guy wore green scrubs and a stethoscope, the white one a sports jacket and slacks. It wasn't hard to guess which one was the surgeon. Jeff stepped in front of them and displayed his shield to the guy in green. When he asked if he could speak to the patient, the doctor gave the other man a what-do-you-think look.
“I don't want to do anything to endanger the woman's health,” Jeff said, “but a crime has been committed and the sooner I talk to the victim the better chance I'll have of catching the assailant."
“The thing is,” the surgeon said, “when the patient regained consciousness, she was irrational. I've asked Doctor Ferris to examine her to see if this is a reaction to trauma or medication or a pre-existing condition. Until he can make a determination, it's important not to upset her."
“Say, Bob,” the doctor named Ferris said, “why not let the detective ask his questions while I observe? If the patient becomes upset, I'll end the interview."
The two doctors debated back and forth, ignoring Jeff. He jammed a hand into his pocket and rattled his keys. Finally, the doctors agreed to let him speak with the victim.
“Anything I should or shouldn't do?” Jeff asked.
“Just ask your questions as you normally would but don't put any pressure on her and don't challenge any of her answers,” Ferris said.
“Has she given her name yet?"
The surgeon gestured toward the nurse behind the desk; she handed him a patient chart. “Eliza Scoggins,” he read from the chart.
Jeff wrote that in his notebook then followed the doctors into 306. The room was so dimly lit that he could barely make out the victim. Dr. James pressed a button on the console over the bed.
Light flooded a pool of silvery blonde hair surrounding a face so pale that it seemed otherworldly. Blue eyes flicked open. He felt a strong need to reassure and protect. What kind of scumbag would hurt a woman like this?
“Miss Scoggins.” Dr. James gestured toward the other doctor. “This is Dr. Ferris. He's going to be consulting on your case."
The nearly bald shrink smiled at her.
Dr. James continued. “And this is Detective Palmer. He's investigating your attack. Can you answer some questions for him?"
Holding his pen and notebook ready, Jeff stepped up to the bedside. “I'll try to keep this short, Miss Scoggins. Can you tell me who stabbed you?"
“I wasn't stabbed. I was shot with arrows."
Her voice was smooth and soft. It flowed over Jeff like honey, until the meaning of her words dawned on him. He glanced over at Dr. James who gave his head a slight shake.
Jeff didn't know what to do except continue. “Do you know who shot you?"
“They were Comanches, but I didn't actually see which one shot me."
“I see.” He toyed with his pen. It had been more than a hundred years since Comanches had raided in Texas. He tried to keep his expression blank. “How many Indians took part in the attack?"
“Three, but I shot one of them with a pistol. The others shot me while I was trying to reload."
“You shot one?” He watched her carefully. She seemed to believe what she was saying. Could she be confused from all the anesthesia and trauma? He had to make sure grains of truth weren't embedded in her story.
“Yes, I wanted to give the children time to get to the woods."
“Children?"
“The children in my school. I sent them out the trapdoor in the floor, but I stayed behind to keep the Indians from looking for them.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I'm really very worried about them. Is there some way I can find out what happened?"
“What's the name of the school?” he asked.
“Western Young County Day School."
This might be a real lead. He jotted it down in his book. “What grade do you teach?"
“All of them."
He stopped writing and stared at her for a moment. She was either nutty as a fruitcake or pulling his chain. “Someone brought you to the hospital. Do you have any idea who that might have been?"
“No, unless it was my father."
The detective looked at Dr. James who shrugged.
“Wouldn't your father have stayed here with you?” Jeff asked.
“Yes, I suppose he would.” Her forehead wrinkled.
“Was your father with you when the, ah, Indians attacked?"
“No, he was at home. I wonder if he knows where I am. He'll be terribly upset if he doesn't.” Tears suddenly rimmed her eyes.
Hoping to get more information before the doctors chased him out, Jeff said. “I can contact him for you. What's his name?"
“Rufus Scoggins. We live on the Circle S Ranch in Young County. Please try to get word to him.” Tears seeped from her soulful blue eyes; Dr. Ferris made a cutting motion with his hand.
Jeff closed his notebook. “Don't worry, ma'am, I'll get in touch with your father. You rest now. I'll come back to see you soon."
As he left the room, he hoped he could find Rufus Scoggins, and the man could explain what had happened to his daughter. It would be a shame if such a beautiful young woman was a mental case. Maybe she was still confused from the anesthesia like his father had been after his surgery. Jeff decided to check on her again tomorrow. Hopefully she'd be thinking straight by then.
* * * *
WHEN THAT STRANGE Dr. Ferris finally left her room, Eliza closed her eyes and sighed. She didn't understand why the doctors were so determined to examine her head. It was perfectly obvious that her injuries were in her back and leg. Growing pain in those areas made her wish the nurse would come soon and stick another needle into the tube that was attached to Eliza's hand. Then she'd become warm and sleepy. They had wonderful medicines in this hospital.
In fact, they had a lot of wonderful things, things she had never dreamed of. But how did she get here? Fort Worth was at least a two day wagon ride from home. And who had brought her if her father hadn't?
Detective Palmer would find out. He seemed like a highly competent lawman, not as citified as the other men here. His broad shoulders and easy way of moving made him seem more like the working men she was familiar with back home. His squared jaw bespoke of moral strength. That impression was softened a bit by the cleft in his chin and his wavy brown hair.
As a matter of fact, Detective Palmer was probably the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Not that a man's looks were important. His character was what really mattered.
She wished she'd asked if he were a sheriff or a marshal. Marshals traveled about more. If he were a marshal, Detective Palmer might even get to Young County occasionally. Of course, such a man wouldn't be interested in courting a plain woman like her.
A nurse entered the room carrying a tray with a needle on it. Good, Eliza thought. Now she could sleep again and perhaps dream of the handsome lawman.
Chapter Two
THE NEXT DAY, as Eliza drifted toward sleep she realized someone was standing beside her bed. Her father had come at last. His mouth opened and closed, but she couldn't hear what he said. Perhaps if she opened her eyes. Oh, no, he was gone.
Why did she keep seeing people who weren't there? Everything in this hospital was strange. Even when real people spoke to her, she had trouble understanding what they said. They spoke English, she recognized most of the words, but their meaning escaped her. Maybe she should stop letting them give her so much medication. If she were wide-awake, she might understand better.
The nurse entered her room. “Time for another little walk."
She wasn't the same nurse who had made Eliza get out of bed that morning. It seemed as though a different woman came every time. Thank goodness this one wore a little sign with her name on it. Eliza had to concentrate to read it.
“I really don't feel like getting up now, Miss Weaver,” Eliza said.
“The doctor says you're making an amazing recovery. Walking will speed that up."
“I still hurt.” Eliza didn't like to complain, but she didn't think it was right to make someone as sick as she was get out of bed. Back home they let sick people stay in bed until they got well.
“The more you move around, the faster the pain will go away.” The nurse lowered the railing on the side of the bed. She pressed one of the buttons on the box resting on the bedside table. The bed hummed as it raised Eliza's head.
Since she'd already asked three different nurses how they made the bed move and had failed to understand their answers, Eliza didn't bother to ask again. She'd known city people had conveniences people living on the frontier didn't, but she'd never dreamed of the kind of things they had in this hospital. They pushed buttons to do almost everything. Water gushed from the tap with a flick of the wrist, and they had so much ice that they let pitchers of it sit around and melt.
As the upper end of the bed raised Eliza to a sitting position, Miss Weaver pulled aside the cover and helped Eliza swing her legs downward. With her bare feet firmly planted on the floor, Eliza slowly stood. The movement caused pain, but not as much as she'd had that morning.
Miss Weaver gripped her right arm so Eliza wouldn't have to put her full weight on her injured leg. Then the nurse focused her attention on positioning the rolling stand that was attached to Eliza's hand by the narrow tubing. Yesterday they had changed the red bag for a clear one, saying Eliza still needed fluids. She couldn't understand why they didn't just let her drink it.
After the nurse made sure the tubing hung free, she lightly touched Eliza's arm in a signal for her to walk. After several hobbling steps, Eliza stopped to catch her breath. Then she took several more steps. This was much easier than it had been that morning. Perhaps she could go all the way to the wall.
* * * *
JEFF PAUSED IN the open doorway, pleasantly surprised by the sight of Miss Scoggins in the short hospital gown. Despite the bulky bandage on one of them, he could see her legs were quite shapely and went on forever. He fought the urge to whistle.
“Hi, remember me?"
Miss Scoggins's head jerked toward him, her eyes wide.
He smiled. “Sorry if I startled you. I couldn't find a nurse, and I saw your door open—"
One of her hands thrashed toward the privacy curtain that hung between her bed and the doorway, the other grabbed for the back of her hospital gown. He guessed she was alarmed to be beyond the curtain's protection.
“I'll wait down the hall until you're—"
Before he could finish the sentence, she grabbed the curtain, which began to move in its overhead track. She turned awkwardly and apparently came down too hard on her injured leg. She winced and began to teeter. The nurse struggled to keep the IV stand from tipping over, so Jeff darted forward, getting an arm around Miss Scoggins's waist before she fell.
“Careful,” he said.
“Whew,” the nurse said. “Good thing you were here. Let's get her back in bed."
Miss Scoggins looked up at him with an expression he could only describe as horror-stricken. Then she lowered her lashes and a fiery blush flooded her face. He realized that despite pain and the potential damage a fall would have caused, she was more concerned about her modesty. He couldn't release her; he could still feel her slender body swaying against his arm. Instead, he turned his head and even closed his eyes.
“Don't worry. I won't look. Just lean against me until you're back in bed."
She hesitated for a long moment before beginning to move. As he adjusted the position of his arm so she could turn her back toward the bed, she again wobbled dangerously. He offered his free hand, and she grabbed it with surprising strength.
When he could tell she was safely sitting on the bed, he pulled his hands away but kept his eyes closed and his face toward the wall. He felt foolish as hell standing like that but didn't want to do anything that might upset Miss Scoggins and make it impossible to question her.
The sheets rustled. “She's covered up now,” the nurse said.
He opened his eyes. “Guess I came at a bad time."
“I shouldn't have left the door open,” the nurse said. She patted Miss Scoggins's shoulder, “but I didn't think you'd walk so far."
When the woman on the bed finally met his gaze, he asked, “Do you feel up to answering a few more questions for me?"
She nodded.
“Have you remembered anything different about your attack?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Jeff inwardly groaned. “I've had trouble getting in touch with your father. I wonder if you could give me more information about him."
The mention of her father brought a somber expression to Miss Scoggins’ face. “Anyone in Young County can tell you where the Circle S Ranch is."
“I tried to call, but I couldn't find a listing."
She wrinkled her nose. “Call? Perhaps you can find someone going that way and send a message?"
“Doesn't your father have a phone?"
She shook her head and looked at him through narrowed eyes.
Apparently, her mind was no clearer than it had been yesterday. He had to do something to get this case moving. “I wonder if I could take your fingerprints. They could help me get more information."
“How would you print my fingers?"
She must be pulling his chain?
“It's very simple. I can do it right here.” He pulled an ink pad from his pocket. “I'll just touch your fingertips to this pad and then to a piece of paper."
“Will that help you find my father?"
“The more information I collect the better chance I'll have."
The nurse, who had moved to the opposite side of the bed to straighten the covers, paused and looked at him with a slight frown. “Have you asked the doctor about this?"
He had no intention of being delayed further. Putting on his face-of-authority and making he voice stern, his said, “This is a police matter. I only need Miss Scoggins’ permission.” He softened his expression as he looked down at the patient.
“I'll do anything that will help you get in touch with my father,” she said.
He smiled. “Great.” Then he again looked at the nurse. “Can we move the bed table over here? I'll get this done and get out of your way."
Miss Weaver adjusted the table so it extended across the bed near Eliza's waist. Jeff flipped open the ink pad and put it on the table in front of her. Then he placed the fingerprint form he'd brought beside it. “Can I have your hand, please?"
She held her hand up hesitantly. As he began to gently roll one finger after another on the pad and then on the form, he noticed that her long lashes had again descended over cheeks stained with a fresh blush. He found it hard to believe that a babe with legs like hers could be so shy, but people couldn't fake blushing, could they?
When he finished, Miss Scoggins held out her smudged fingers in a helpless gesture.
He grabbed a tissue from a box on the bedside table to wipe away some of the black. “You'll need to wash with soap to get it all off,” he told her.
“I can help with that,” the nurse said.
Her voice jolted him back to reality. He'd gotten the fingerprints. It was time to leave, but he didn't want to let go of Miss Scoggins's soft hand. She was looking up at him with a shy smile that made him wish the nurse would leave the two of them alone.
What was the matter with him? This was work. She was just another victim and a weird one at that. He let go of her hand and dropped the soiled tissue into the waste can.
After gathering up his supplies, he tried to sound businesslike as he said, “Thanks for your cooperation, both of you.” Then he allowed himself to smile at Miss Scoggins. “I'll get back to you as soon as I hear something."
* * * *
AFTER THE DETECTIVE and Nurse Weaver had left her room, Eliza relaxed against her pillows. She no longer felt the least bit sleepy, but that was all right. She wanted to relive the startling experience she'd just had. Detective Palmer had seen her bare legs. The way her short gown hung loose in the back, he may have seen even more. That was too terrible to even think about. Yet she wasn't as mortified as she should be. She kept remembering the feel of his strong arm around her back and the warmth of his hands. And he was taller than her. Few men were.
No man had ever seen so much of her, but it had been accidental, and he'd acted as a true gentleman should, placing her safety first, but still respecting her modesty. She looked down at her hands in wonder. When he held them, his skin had felt so warm she'd thought it must be branding her. She was almost disappointed to see no marks on the backs of her hands. Why had his touch been so different? Of course, men other than close relatives never touched her bare flesh, but the doctors had touched her quite intimately since she'd been in the hospital and she'd felt nothing unusual then.
Eliza suddenly realized how foolish she was being. Detective Palmer was a man like any other. There was nothing special about his touch. She'd just been horribly embarrassed over him seeing her almost naked. It had made her imagine things. She better not start mooning over him. He'd surely prefer someone like the buxom Miss Weaver rather than a skinny woman like herself. Her own brothers called her “String Bean” and she'd overheard her students laughing over the name “Miss Scarecrow."
Detective Palmer's attempts to find her father were just part of his job, although he did seem genuinely concerned about her. Why shouldn't she dream of loving and being loved by a tall, handsome man like him? It wouldn't hurt anything as long as she remembered it could only be a dream.
She heard that strange crying noise again. This must be the third or fourth time she'd heard it, a wail like a hungry bobcat might make, but longer and stronger than any she'd ever heard before. It definitely came from outside the building as did those purring noises she'd been hearing all day. Was the town of Fort Worth full of wild animals? That didn't seem possible.
* * * *
IN HIS NEW assignment as Eliza's guardian angel, Mortimer heard her confused thoughts over the sound of an ambulance. He told himself it was time for her to discover her exact whereabouts. He wished there was some way he could avoid putting her through the trauma this revelation would undoubtedly cause. He could alter brain cells, wipe away her memory, but he'd already meddled in her future far more than he should have.
Removing her from the world before her time had expired had been a mistake. Transporting her to the nearest modern medical facility had been pure impulse. Somehow, she had to regain control of her own life. The first step toward that goal could only be the realization of what had happened to her.
Mortimer braced himself and directed his thoughts. Why don't you look out the window, Eliza? See for yourself what's making those strange noises.
Eliza glanced toward the window. Her thoughts told Mortimer she wanted to see outside but was puzzled about how the strange blind worked. The ambulance's siren suddenly stopped, but the traffic noises continued to purr.
Get up and go over to the window.
She wondered if she could get out of bed by herself.
The nurse said walking will help you get well.
Eliza eased past the rail Miss Weaver had raised, and edged her feet down to the floor. She held onto the pole the bag of fluid hung from and moved the rolling stand with her as she limped toward the window.
Finally, she stood staring at the blind. Praying she'd have the strength to bear the shock she was about to suffer, Mortimer reminded her that the nurses raised the blind by pulling the thin double cord hanging down one side of it.
* * * *
THE SLATS STARTED to rise. Looking down, way down, Eliza saw a splash of grass and several tree trunks. As she continued to pull the cord, the blinds rose, and she saw a smooth black road. A carriage came humming down the road, but there was no horse pulling it.
Eliza yanked the blinds all the way up and stared out at a forest of the tallest buildings she had ever seen. In the distance, a giant road curved up into the sky with hundreds of those strange carriages moving on it at incredible speed.
This wasn't right. It couldn't be! She released the cord and the slats fell with a crash. Eliza staggered backwards and bumped into the stand. It rolled, pulling on the tube attached to her hand. She winced from the pain. Maybe the strange fluids going into her body were causing her to see things.
Ignoring the pain her actions caused, she clawed at the plasters until they loosened and she could yank the needle out. A thin stream of blood flowed from the hole in her hand. The gray box began to buzz insistently, as though accusing her of a misdeed. Why was it buzzing? What was it, anyway? There were so many things in this hospital she didn't understand, things that didn't seem possible.
She wrapped her arms around her body and leaned heavily against the wall. Tears blurred her vision and a low moan rose from her throat. Miss Weaver ran into the room. Through her misty eyes, Eliza saw the woman clearly for the first time. Her short fluffy hair, strangely colored face, indecently short skirt, and impossibly thin stockings were all wrong.
The nurse moved toward her. “What are you doing out of bed?"
Eliza shrank away from her. She had thought Miss Weaver an angel of mercy, but now she seemed like a demon sent to torment Eliza in this purgatory of confusion.
The nurse reached for her arm. “What happened to your IV?"
Eliza held up her hands to ward the demon off. “Stay away. I don't want anymore of your medicine."
After staring for a moment with her mouth agape, Nurse Weaver rushed to the head of the bed, pushed a button, and spoke into the little holes in the wall. “I need assistance in 306, stat."
* * * *
JEFF COASTED HIS motorcycle to a stop in his parent's driveway. Wednesday night was the night his mother had set aside as family dinner night. Since his father had become disabled, Jeff made every effort to attend. Removing his helmet, he walked to the back door. Through the screen, he saw his mother's slender form standing in front of the sink. He entered without knocking.
Grinning, he walked over and lightly kissed her cheek. “How's my best girl?"
She stopped washing a head of lettuce. “I'm fine. Aren't you a little early?” She craned her neck to see the wall clock.
“I didn't realize I couldn't come and visit with my parents before dinner."
“Visiting with your parents is wonderful. I just thought I might be running late.” She scraped a carrot with a paring knife.
“You never run late. Will Margaret be joining us tonight?” He picked up a carrot and took a bite.
“She had other plans, and please try to remember she wants to be called Marge now."
A flash of anger toward his younger sister ran through him. This was the third week in a row she'd missed the Wednesday night dinner. “So who's the guy this week?"
“Actually it's the same guy. His name is Ken."
“Three weeks with the same guy? They must be living together by now."
She paused in her scraping long enough to give him one of her shame-on-you frowns. “I don't think so. She's still trying to find a roommate to help her with expenses."
His mother wore blinders where his wild younger sister was concerned. “If she lived at home, she wouldn't have money problems."
“If living at home's so great, why don't you?"
“Don't you know what my fellow officers would say about a twenty-eight-year-old cop who still lives with his parents?"
“What do they say about a twenty-eight-year-old cop that's never been married?"
Jeff sighed. “Let's not get started on that tonight. Jackie's given you two grandkids to spoil. Isn't that enough? By the way, have you heard from her?"
“She and Phil are still separated, but they're having ‘a dialogue'.” The way his mother stressed the last two words told him they were a direct quote from his older sister.
He couldn't understand why neither of his sisters had turned out like his mom. “Maybe if she stayed home and took care of her family, she wouldn't need ‘a dialogue'."
“Jackie's career is important to her."
“Why can't she make a career out of raising her kids, like you did?"
His mother laid down her knife, she looked directly into his eyes. “The world has changed, Jeffery. You'd be much happier if you could accept that fact."
He took a deep breath, expecting another one of her stop-being-a-caveman lectures. Instead, she said, “Get a couple of beers and go pester your father or I'll never get this meal ready."
Relieved, Jeff opened the refrigerator and got out two cans. “The old man in the den?"
“Where else?” she said, her attention already back on the carrots.
In the den, he stood for a moment watching his father stare at a glowing computer screen and then tap out a message on the keys. Who'd have thought the toughest street cop Fort Worth had ever known would turn into a computer nerd?
He cleared his throat. “Got time for a beer?"
His father glanced around and smiled. “Sure, just give me a minute to sign off.” The keys rattled and the screen went dark. His father spun the large office chair Jeff had given him for Christmas around. “I'm ready for a cold one."
“Hope I didn't interrupt anything important,” Jeff said as he passed the can of beer.
“No, just chatting with a retired policeman in Washington State. It's amazing how many ex-cops I've met since I started surfing the net."
Jeff couldn't suppress a smile. “When I suggested you get one of those things, I just thought you'd play games on it."
With a pop and a hiss, his father pulled the tab from his beer can. “On the force, I always felt connected to an information network. I get some of that back from the computer. Maybe that's why there're so many retired cops on the net."
Jeff nodded and took a long swallow of beer. One of these days, he'd have to get a computer.
“So how are things in the real world?” his father asked.
“I'm staying busy."
“Had any interesting cases this week?"
“Got a weird one. A female stabbing victim in an old-fashioned costume was left at the emergency room entrance of Memorial Hospital."
“DOA?"
“No. I interviewed her the day after she'd had surgery. She said Comanches shot her with arrows."
His father choked on his beer. After several coughs, he said, “Been a while since we had Indian raids around Fort Worth."
“She said the attack took place at a school in Young County, but that's impossible. The doctor said her injuries were so serious she wouldn't have lived to reach here. She gave me her father's name and asked me to contact him, but the name isn't listed in the phone or tax records for Young County. Nothing in this case makes sense.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping to release some of the tension there.
“Maybe she was full of drugs. You know how I was right after my surgery."
Jeff nodded. “I thought about that, but she told the same story the next day."
His father shrugged. “She might be lying to protect a husband or boyfriend."
He knew his father was probably right, but he hated to think the tears in her pretty blue eyes hadn't been real. “Yeah. I'll never understand why a good looking woman will protect some jerk who tries to kill her."
His mother came into the room just then. “What's this about a good looking woman?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Jeff's telling me about a case he's investigating. Woman says she was attacked by Comanches,” his father said.
His mother leaned against a chair back. “Is that some new gang?"
Jeff smiled. “Gang members today use guns, not bows and arrows."
“Your mother may have a point, though,” his father said. “Some of these survivalist groups use all kinds of weapons."
Jeff shook his head. “The doc said the wounds looked like punctures from a large knife. He didn't see the kind of damage pulling an arrow out would cause."
He looked toward his mother. “When you and Dad took part in Frontier Days, where'd you get the costumes you wore?"
“I made ours. Why?"
“The woman was wearing clothes like that. Did you sew yours by hand?"
“Indeed not. That would have taken forever."
“All of this woman's clothing had been hand stitched."
“My goodness, you'd have to be a real history buff to do that,” she said.
“You'd think so, but then the underwear was made like something a hooker might wear."
“What do you mean?"
Realizing he'd stumbled into an area he'd normally never discuss with his mother, the back of Jeff's neck grew uncomfortably warm. “Ah, well, the legs came down to the knees, but the, ah, crotch wasn't sewn together."
“Oh, that's historically authentic,” his mother said without a trace of embarrassment.
“What?"
“Think how difficult it would have been for ladies with long skirts and two or three petticoats to get to a drawstring around their waist every time they had to tinkle."
Jeff laughed. “I hadn't thought of that."
She started back toward the kitchen. “Dinner will be on the table by the time you two get washed up."
“Aren't I a little old for you to be telling me to wash my hands?” Jeff called after her.
“What about me?” his father muttered as he reached for his cane. It slipped from his fingers and fell with a clatter.
Jeff forced himself not to go for it, knowing his father wouldn't appreciate help. “Guess I can assume Eliza Scoggins isn't a historical hooker,” he said to cover the soft grunts his father made as he maneuvered his immobilized hip, so he could reach the cane.
Scooping up the cane, his father leaned on it heavily as he levered himself to his feet. He took a deep breath before asking, “What did you say her name was?"
“Scoggins, Eliza Scoggins."
“Huh, somehow that name sounds familiar."
Chapter Three
JEFF THUMBED THROUGH the stack of messages waiting on his desk. He stopped when he saw, “Call your father at home.” Dad never called him at work unless it was important. Jeff hoped nothing was wrong as he dialed his parents’ number.
Relief eased through him when his father answered the phone on the second ring. “What's up, Pop?"
“You remember the other night when you were here for dinner and I told you the name Eliza Scoggins sounded vaguely familiar?"
“Yeah."
“I asked some of my net buddies about it. One of them, who's a bigger Texas history buff than me, found the name in a book about Indian attacks that occurred in this state after the Civil War. There was an Eliza Scoggins who taught in a one-room schoolhouse in Young County in 1867. Comanches did attack the school. She got all the children out through a trap door, but she didn't go with them and was never heard from again."
Jeff mulled over this peculiar piece of information in stunned silence.
“You still there, son?"
“What happened to the woman?” he asked.
“Indians must have carried her off. A lot of the captives were never heard of. Probably died out in the wilderness."
“What in the devil is that woman in the hospital trying to pull? I wonder if this is some kind of publicity stunt."
“Doubt she'd let herself be stabbed for publicity. Maybe she's a mental case. You know how some people think they're Napoleon? She may really think she is Eliza Scoggins."
“Yeah, you're probably right. I better give her doctor a call. See what he thinks. Thanks for the tip."
“Hope it helps. Let me know what happens."
“I will."
Jeff called the hospital and a nurse informed him that Eliza Scoggins had been transferred to Dr. Ferris's service. He hoped that didn't mean she'd gotten crazier.
When the doctor came on the line, Jeff asked how she was doing.
“Physically she's made remarkable progress,” Dr. Ferris said, “however, she's still terribly confused. That's why we decided to transfer her to the psychiatric ward."
Jeff felt a little foolish telling him the story about the other Eliza Scoggins, but Ferris responded enthusiastically.
“This is very interesting, Detective. The patient has undoubtedly read about this woman at some time and is fixating on her."
“So you think Eliza Scoggins isn't her real name?” Jeff asked.
“Not coupled with the story she told about being shot by Indians in a schoolhouse. The name must be part of her delusion. Now that I know where it's coming from, I'll be better able to treat her."
“So she really doesn't know who stabbed her?"
“The information is probably there but buried in her subconscious. I'll have to persuade her to let go of the delusion and come back to reality."
“Will you give me a call when that happens? I've still got an unsolved assault case on my book."
“I will. And thanks for this information. If you turn up anything else, I'd appreciate hearing about it."
“I sent her fingerprints to the state and federal labs. Maybe we'll get lucky.” Jeff hung up the phone. What a shame those shapely legs and that beautiful blonde hair were on a looney-toon.
* * * *
SCRUNCHED DOWN IN her wheel chair, Eliza pulled her blanket as high up on her chest as she could without uncovering her bare legs. Why wouldn't they allow her to stay in her room? She didn't have the proper clothing to be among strangers. The robe that social lady had given her was scandalously short. The slippers left her toes and heels fully exposed to all the people in this room.
Of course, some of the people in this room wouldn't have noticed if she'd been stark naked. The thin woman leaning her head against the wall seemed so lost in misery that Eliza doubted she knew other people were about. The old woman sitting in a wheel chair next to Eliza's talked so continuously it was obvious she had nothing on her mind but her own thoughts.
But then there was Mr. Gilbert. The way he leered at Eliza made her skin crawl, and he seemed the sanest one among her fellow patients. The doctors had put her in with crazy people because they believed she was crazy. Was she?
Pointing her finger at the talking box, the gray haired Mrs. Murray talked back. “Fool, fool, don't tell everything you know. That's the trouble with this world. Nobody has any modesty, any pride."
Eliza had to admit the woman was right about that.
“In my day,” Mrs. Murray continued, “we fucked around just as much, but we kept our mouths shut about it. Sure as hell didn't go on television and brag."
Eliza tried to keep her shock over Mrs. Murray's words from showing on her face. The nurses were giving her pills that made her feel listless, if they saw her get upset they might give her those shots again that made her sleepy all the time. She needed a clear mind in order to figure out what had happened to her.
“I wish you'd keep your mouth shut now.” Rick, the young man idly turning the pages of a magazine, said angrily.
Eliza couldn't believe a man who seemed reasonably well educated would speak so disrespectfully to a woman old enough to be his grandmother. Of course, Mrs. Murray didn't act like any grandmother Eliza had ever known. But had any of those women been real?
“What's the matter, junkie? You getting strung out?” Mrs. Murray said with a cackle.
He threw his magazine down on a table. “You don't know what you're talking about, you old hag.” Then he limped out of the room as quickly as his injured ankle would allow.
Mrs. Murray cackled again.
“If you're not interested in that program, can't we watch something else?” Mr. Gilbert asked.
“I'm watching this,” the old lady said. “They're gonna bring the sister out next. You wait and see if they don't."
Eliza looked at Mrs. Murray with pity. She really was crazy. The woman in the talking box had accused the sister of committing adultery with her husband and he had shamefacedly admitted it was so. No woman would be brazen enough to face a sister she had so grievously betrayed, especially not in front of a room full of people.
A burst of applause from the box drew Eliza's attention. She saw another woman walking into view in the little window. The man talking into the funny looking stick said she was, indeed, the sluttish sister. Some of the people in the audience began questioning her.
When asked if she didn't think what she had done was wrong, the sister shrugged and said, “We fell in love."
Forgetting her resolve to remain silent whenever in the company of her fellow patients, Eliza turned to Mr. Gilbert. “Are those real people or actors?"
He smiled at her. “They claim to be real people, but they get paid to come on these shows. I suspect they work hard making up the stories they sell."
“Oh.” Eliza returned her attention to the box. She had hoped watching it would help her understand this strange new world she had miraculously awakened in. So far, she couldn't determine the real from the make believe.
She became aware of movement beside her. Mr. Gilbert had moved to the nearest empty chair and pulled it even closer to Eliza. “You have any other questions?"
He looked old enough to be her father, but his smile didn't seem at all fatherly. She leaned away from him as she muttered, “Not right now, thank you."
“Watch out for him, girlie,” Mrs. Murray called. “He's drunk so much whiskey it's made him crazy."
Mr. Gilbert shot Mrs. Murray a hostile glare. Then he instantly resumed smiling at Eliza. “I've noticed how ill at ease you seem in these surroundings. Obviously, like me, you're not one of these,” he dipped his head disparagingly toward the silent woman leaning against the wall. “I'll only be here a few days. I could be of great help to you when you're released."
“He'll help you right into his bed, girlie. Then he'll drink so much liquor he'll see giant bugs crawling on you and try to squash ‘em."
Mr. Gilbert's nostrils flared as he looked at Mrs. Murray.
Miss Rogers, one of the day nurses, came into the room. “Bessie, are you arguing again? Don't pay her any attention, Mr. Gilbert. There's nothing she likes better than to make people angry."
Mr. Gilbert regained his composure and turned his charming smile on the young nurse.
“I got the old goat's goat,” Mrs. Murray called out.
Miss Rogers released the brake on Eliza's chair. “Time for your session with Dr. Ferris, Eliza."
While Eliza was relieved to be getting away from Mrs. Murray and Mr. Gilbert, she didn't relish going to see Dr. Ferris. He had caused her to be transferred to this locked hall because he did not believe her story about being shot by Indians and wanted her to admit it was not true. He had shown her newspapers and calendars and books all proving they were now in the twenty-first century, well past the time of Indian attacks. But her memories of the past were too vivid to be dreams, the differences between then and now too great to be imagined.
Somehow she had been transported forward in time. She couldn't imagine such a miracle had occurred just so she would be locked up with crazy people. But the only way she could get out of this prison and into the strange new world was to convince Dr. Ferris the unbelievable had occurred. How could she do that?
She became aware of her hands clenched so tightly in her lap that the fingers had begun to hurt. No matter what else she did, she had to remain calm. Hysteria would only convince the doctor he was right. She forced her hands apart and took deep breaths.
Miss Rogers pushed her rolling chair out into the hall. She stopped in front of a closed door. The top half of the door had glass with heavy wire embedded in it. Eliza supposed it kept the patients from breaking out.
“Going to Dr. Ferris's office,” Miss Rogers said to the nurse sitting at a nearby desk. After a buzz, the door lock popped.
* * * *
PERCHED ON A file cabinet in Dr. Ferris's office, Mortimer watched Eliza fidget as she struggled with the psychiatrist's endless questions. Although the pills she'd been receiving during the four days she'd been in this section of the hospital tended to muddle her thoughts, she was still sharp enough to realize this doctor controlled the keys that kept her behind locked doors. He'd carefully refuted all her claims of being a victim of an Indian attack and left poor Eliza desperate to come up with another explanation that would free her of the onus of madness. If Mortimer still had feet, he would have kicked himself for not remembering how the people of this age demanded logical explanations for everything. A little old fashioned faith in miracles would certainly make his task easier.
“Are you thinking about what I just told you?” the doctor asked.
“You think I read about Eliza Scoggins? That I'm not really her?” Eliza replied in a hesitant voice.
“Considering that the real Eliza Scoggins disappeared during an Indian attack in 1867, doesn't that seem the only answer?
What possible story could Eliza tell the doctor? After reading newspapers and watching television, the dear girl had realized that she'd somehow jumped more than a hundred and thirty years ahead of her own time. Being constantly pressured by this doctor was just making her confusion worse. Mortimer could feel panic building in her. Deciding he had to break the non-interference rule again, he focused his thoughts toward her.
Pretend you don't remember, Eliza. Pretend you don't remember anything.
Eliza bit her lip. “Ah, Doctor, if I'm not Eliza, who am I?"
Good girl.
“You have no other memories?"
She shook her head.
“What about your father? You asked for him when you were first admitted."
She shrugged. “I asked for Rufus Scoggins, Eliza's father."
“Do you have any mental pictures of that man?"
Mortimer saw the weather-tanned face of Eliza's father forming in her mind. No. No.
She shook her head.
“All right,” the doctor said in a soothing voice. “Lean back in your chair. Rest your head, close your eyes and relax. Let your mind drift. Now think about people, people you know."
A kaleidoscope of faces swirled before her mind's eye ... her brothers, her students, neighbors, and even her dead mother. Mortimer felt the horrified wrench that gripped her as she realized all those people were now dead. Seeking a distraction before sorrow overwhelmed her, Mortimer sent a picture of Detective Palmer's handsome features. Eliza calmed, her thoughts took over, twisting a corner of the detective's mouth up in a little smile.
“Who are you seeing?” the doctor asked.
“Just the people I've met since I came to this hospital,” she answered, keeping her eyes closed.
The interruption allowed her sorrow to return. Mortimer felt her struggle to stem the tears that burned her eyes.
It's all right to cry, Eliza. In fact, it might help.
Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “What am I going to do?"
Dr. Ferris leaned over to pat her hand. “There, there, Eli—” his professional detachment returned. “I don't want to keep calling you a name that isn't yours. Can't you tell me your real name?"
“I don't have a name,” she jerked the words out, letting her true feelings guide her performance. “I have nothing, nothing."
The doctor placed a tissue in her hand. “We'll go on calling you Eliza for the time being."
Realizing her crying was truly getting out of control, Mortimer ordered the doctor to take action.
“Don't be alarmed,” Dr. Ferris soothed. “Your condition is undoubtedly temporary. Your memory will come back and everything will be all right."
Eliza sniffed and wiped away her tears.
Even though he knew many difficulties lay ahead of her, Mortimer began to have confidence in Eliza's ability, with his help, of course, to make her place in this modern world.
* * * *
JEFF SPENT MOST of the day checking known companions of a suspected convenience store robber. Although his partner, Paul, had returned from vacation, they were working separately today to catch up on the caseload. When Jeff got back to the office, his partner was already sitting at his desk.
“Have any luck?” Paul asked as he glanced up from some papers.
“A couple of people I talked to said Patterson has a girlfriend in Dallas. Thought I'd ask the DPD to check it out before we waste time on a trip over there."
Paul nodded. “By the way, a Doctor Ferris called you. I left his number there.” He pointed to a yellow note stuck on Jeff's desk lamp.
“Good. Maybe they've gotten that female stabbing victim to admit who she really is."
Jeff tapped a pencil against his desk as he waited to be connected with the doctor.
Ferris finally came on the line and asked, “Have you had any success in determining Eliza Scoggins's real identity?"
“No, her fingerprints didn't match anything we have on file. I haven't heard from the FBI yet, but they won't have a record of her unless she's been arrested or given a security check. Have you found out anything?"
“We've made some progress. Thanks to the information you gave me. She now admits she isn't Eliza Scoggins, but she can't remember who she really is."
“Do you believe that?"
“It seems to be a genuine case of trauma induced amnesia."
Jeff didn't believe in amnesia except in cases of head injury. “So why did she remember the Eliza Scoggins story?"
“Most amnesia victims cling to some memories. It is, after all, terrifying not to know who you are."
“Where do we go from here?"
“I was hoping you might suggest something. While I'm sure her memory will come back eventually, knowing who she really is could speed things along."
“The only thing I can suggest is going to the newspapers. She must have relatives or friends who'd recognize her picture."
“Could the police department handle that? We aren't equipped to determine if a response call is genuine or not."
The last thing Jeff wanted to get involved with was the media, but he knew it was part of the job. “Yeah. I'll call a reporter I know and set it up."
* * * *
JEFF GLANCED AT his watch again. Why had he gotten to the hospital a full ten minutes early? Was he eager to see the Scoggins woman again? Maybe he was curious to see how five days in a psyche ward had affected her. He might get a better reading of her, decide for himself if she had amnesia.
He caught sight of Walt Benson, a reporter for the Fort Worth Eagle, entering the lobby. A lanky, young man with one shoulder hitched up against the weight of a carrying case came behind the reporter.
“Are we late?” Walt asked as he approached.
“No. I just got here myself,” Jeff lied.
Walt gestured toward the younger man. “This is Ken Martin, one of our staff photographers."
Jeff directed them toward the elevator. “They're supposed to be set up for this interview at three, so we better go straight to the fifth floor."
As the elevator doors closed behind them, the photographer made eye contact with Jeff. “I believe I know your sister, Marge Palmer?"
“Are you that Ken?” Jeff asked, studying the man more closely.
A boyish grin spread across the photographer's face. “I certainly hope so."
“How did you know I'm her brother?"
“She mentioned you were a detective on the police force."
“I'm surprised she'd admit it."
“Actually, she sounded rather proud of the fact."
Jeff raised his eyebrows. “No point in buttering me up, Ken. I have no influence with my sister."
The photographer shrugged.
“What's this amnesia victim like?” Walt asked.
“The last time I saw her she was still hooked up to an I.V. after having surgery to repair three stab wounds. She looked pretty good then. She oughta look terrific now."
“Why do they have her in with the crazies?"
“I guess waking up and not knowing who you are can be upsetting.” Jeff hoped they didn't find her drooling and talking gibberish, or Walt would never do him another favor.
The elevator doors opened on the fifth floor. They approached the door with a panel of wire reinforced glass in the top half and a red buzzer beside it.
A nurse opened the door. “She's waiting in Dr. Ferris's office. It's room 507 at the other end of the hall."
Jeff thanked her and led the others down to the appropriate door. He saw Eliza as soon as they entered the comfortably furnished office. She sat in a wheelchair, wearing a thin seersucker robe with a blanket covering her legs. Her expression brightened when she saw him.
He smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease. Then he introduced the reporter and photographer to Dr. Ferris. Walt immediately began asking the doctor questions about amnesia victims in general and Eliza in particular. Ken set his camera case on the floor and walked around Eliza, tilting his head from one side to the other as he studied her. She watched him with saucer-sized eyes.
Jeff moved closer, wanting to reassure her. “He's a photographer. Dr. Ferris told you we were going to take your picture, didn't he?"
She nodded as she looked directly into his eyes. “I thought you'd forgotten about me."
He suddenly felt like a rookie on his first assignment. “Oh, no, I've been working on your case, but I didn't have any good news for you."
“I'm sure you did your best,” she said in her velvety voice.
“This picture will get results. Somebody will recognize you."
Her smile faded. “I hope so."
Eliza looked away, embarrassed. Agreeing with Dr. Ferris's theory about amnesia had seemed her only choice. She hadn't considered how it would start a long line of deceptions that would involve policemen and newspapers.
The photographer rummaged through a small valise, finally removing a contraption with a circular opening on the front. Holding it in one hand, he walked toward Eliza. She noticed that he was also tall. Many people were in this time. The photographer was leaner than Detective Palmer, and moved with the loose grace of a younger man.
“What do I call you,” he said with an easy smile.
Detective Palmer hadn't bothered to introduce her. Had he done that because she was a woman or because he thought her a crazy person? “Eliza,” she answered softly.
“Okay, Eliza. Can I move your chair over near the wall? It'll make a better background."
She looked where he pointed and nodded.
He grabbed one of the handles in back of the chair, but the chair didn't move.
“You have to pull up the little brake,” she said as she felt for the lever. Her hand came down on top of a large masculine one. Eliza jerked her hand away.
“I've got it.” Detective Palmer had reached across Eliza for the brake putting his cheek an inch from her nose. A fresh, slightly spicy aroma engulfed her. Her brothers had sometimes come from the barbershop reeking of bay rum, but Detective Palmer smelled ... intriguing.
He moved behind her chair. “You can't move one of these very well with one hand, Ken. Where do you want it?” He repositioned the chair as Ken directed.
After pushing a shock of sandy hair out of the way, Ken looked at Eliza through the strange box.
“Is that his camera?” she asked Detective Palmer who stood nearby.
“Yes."
“It's so small,” she said in amazement.
The two men exchanged puzzled looks. Eliza realized she'd said something stupid, but the only camera she'd ever seen had been a large box that stood on three legs. The photographer had stuck his head under a black cloth attached to the back of it when he took a picture.
Ken came closer. “Could you undo your hair?"
Eliza's hand fluttered up to the awkward bow at the back of her neck. “The nurse did this for me. I didn't have anything to tie it back with, so she used a strip of gauze."
“It looks very neat,” Ken said, “but your hair's so pretty that I'd like to show more of it. Anybody who's seen it will surely remember you."
Eliza smiled. She knew it was wrong, but she'd always been proud of her unusually pale blonde hair. She'd seen so many blondes since she'd been here, however, that she'd begun to think her hair ordinary. The photographer obviously didn't find it so. She reached back, pulled the bow apart, and fluffed her hair on either side.
Ken looked into her face. “Can I bring it forward?” Before she could reply, he scooped a thick hank of her hair over one shoulder. “Yeah, that looks better."
Eliza didn't know whether to be pleased by his compliment or shocked by his familiarity. A quick glance at Detective Palmer's frown told her he didn't approve.
Ken moved back and held the camera up to his face again. “Can you not lean so far to the left?"
“Her right leg's injured,” Detective Palmer said shortly.
“I can sit straighter,” Eliza said. The new position brought pressure against her sore right thigh, but she endured it.
Using his free hand to guide her, Ken said, “Tilt you head this way. You have great cheekbones. But I guess you've heard that before."
Eliza had trouble not laughing. Why would anyone say something about her cheekbones? The camera clicked and then made a whirring noise.
The man who had been talking to Dr. Ferris came over to Eliza. As Ken moved to another position, the reporter began talking to her.
“The doctor tells me you didn't have anything but the clothes you were wearing when you arrived at the hospital. Is that correct?"
Eliza shrugged. “I don't even have those now,” she said. “A nice lady, she called herself a social worker, got me this robe and slippers and a few personal articles. That's all I have."
The reporter wrote on a little pad that was held together by a wire spring. “Do you remember the clothes you were wearing when you got to the hospital?"
She paused, knowing those clothes were nothing like people wore today. She had to be careful. After all, Detective Palmer was a policeman. He might arrest her if he found out she was lying. “I don't remember arriving at the hospital."
“Why do you think you chose the name Eliza Scoggins?"
“I don't know. Dr. Ferris thinks I must have read about her and remembered what I read even though I forgot everything else."
“How does it feel having no memory of family and friends?"
The question reminded her of how alone she was. “Lost."
Ken snapped another picture.
“Where will you go from here, Eliza?” the reporter asked.
“I don't know. The doctor said I can leave the hospital as soon as I have somewhere to go. Mrs. Blanchard, the social worker, is looking into that for me."
“Where would you like to go?"
“I don't know.” Without family or friends, where could she go? A shiver of uncertainty ran through her.
“I guess you're hoping someone will see your picture in the newspaper and recognize you?” the reporter suggested.
“That would be wonderful.” These people were all going out of their way to help her. Knowing their efforts were meaningless saddled her with guilt. Detective Palmer smiled down at her reassuringly. He was obviously a very nice man. She hated to deceive him.
Jeff wondered why Eliza looked at him so often. Maybe to a person with no memory even a casual acquaintance seemed important. If she really had no memory. Something about her behavior made the back of his neck tingle, and that alarm had served him well in other investigations. He better keep his guard up against those sad, blue eyes, no matter how appealing they were.
Walt stepped out of Ken's way and the photographer snapped several more pictures, asking Eliza to turn her head from one side to the other. Finally he thanked her and started repacking his equipment.
Walt turned to thank the doctor.
Jeff crouched beside Eliza's chair so she wouldn't have to strain her neck looking up at him. “We'll be handling all the calls about the picture. I'll get back to you as soon as we have any positive information."
“Thank you."
She looked so sad he couldn't leave without reassuring her. “Don't worry. I'm sure we'll get results from this story.” He resisted a strong urge to reach out and pat her hand. That wasn't something a hard-boiled policeman would do.
She managed a small smile. “You're very kind."
The others were moving toward the door. Jeff knew he should get up ... leave, but he didn't want to. “I'll keep you informed,” he said and lightly touched her hand. Then he hurried to catch up with the newspaper guys.
As they waited for the elevator, Walt said, “You don't suppose they still have her dress down in the ER, do you?"
“That's police evidence,” Jeff replied.
“Any chance I could see it?"
Jeff shook his head. “Do you think it's a good idea to mention how she was dressed?"
“Are you kidding? I can see the headlines now, Beautiful Blonde Journeys from the Past. I owe you one, Jeff. The wires are sure to pick up this story."
“Do you think they'll use one of my pictures?” Ken asked, showing a sudden interest in their conversation.
“If you got a halfway decent shot of that babe, they will."
Jeff's gut tightened. He knew the more exposure this story got the better his chances would be to identify Eliza, but he didn't want to bring a media circus down on the poor girl.
Chapter Four
THE NEXT MORNING Eliza's picture appeared on the front page of the Fort Worth Eagle. The caption read, “Do you know this woman?” Jeff had to admit Ken Martin had done a good job. The hair over the shoulder gave her a sultry look while her wide-eyed expression spoke of innocent vulnerability.
The story beneath the picture stressed the plight of a young woman who was totally alone in the world with nothing of her own but a skimpy robe supplied by a social worker. The strange clothes she wore when she arrived at the hospital were mentioned, along with the suggestion that Eliza might be connected to a historical reenactment of some kind. Apparently, the Eagle's editor had vetoed Walt's desire to sensationalize the story. Jeff hoped someone would see the picture and come forward to identify her.
By the time he reached his office, phone calls were backing up on the switchboard. Paul pitched in to help, but soon another detective and the unit secretary had to be recruited to take down information from the callers. Captain Pittman kept marching out of his office and glaring at all the personnel tied up on one case.
Walt had been right about the wire services picking up the story. As morning papers were delivered around the country, long distance calls began to pour in. Teary voiced parents hoping to find a missing daughter called, along with men who swore Eliza resembled their missing wives.
Jeff started keeping a tally of the number of men who called with proposals of marriage. He lost his professional demeanor with several guys who had the nerve to make indecent proposals. No matter how far-fetched a caller might sound, however, information had to be recorded for later investigation.
By two that afternoon the calls had dwindled to a trickle. A frantic Dr. Ferris managed to get through to Jeff, complaining that the hospital was under siege by television news crews.
Ferris asked, “Would it be all right with the police department if the hospital holds a news conference?"
“Would Miss Scoggins be involved?"
“I asked her, and she wants to know what Detective Palmer wants her to do.” The doctor's tone made it clear that he resented Jeff's influence with his patient.
“I'll come talk to her,” Jeff said.
The captain wasn't happy about Jeff leaving the office. “Don't expect the rest of the squad to clean up after you, Palmer. We're supposed to be catching bad guys here not running a lonely hearts club. I want this damn Scoggins case cleaned up in a hurry."
“I'm trying, Captain. I'm trying,” Jeff called as he hurried out of the office. This case was one giant headache.
* * * *
MARGE COULDN'T HELP laughing at Ken. He was bouncing around like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Photo by Ken Martin was seen all over the country.” He threw his arms open. “Maybe all over the world.” He plopped down on the sofa beside her. “And Russ called me. He saw the picture and called me.” Ken placed a hand on either side of Marge's face and gave her a quick, hard kiss.
“What did he say?” she asked, finding his excitement contagious. “Has he found something for you?"
Ken leaned back, resting his head on the puffy cushion. “No, but he said credits like that would open a lot of doors. And he was really curious about Eliza. He was as blown away by her cheekbones as I was. God, I wish I could get more shots of her."
“I might be able to arrange that,” Marge said with a teasing smile.
He sat up and gave her his full attention. “You? How?"
“Today at Halbots, everyone was talking about the picture. When I said my boyfriend took it and my brother was the cop on the case, Mrs. Herman got very interested. She thinks giving that amnesia victim a free wardrobe would be a great publicity stunt for the store, provided the paper would give free coverage."
Ken leaped to his feet and pumped his fists in a victory salute. “Yes! We had a lot of people call about the story today. They want to give money to help her. The paper's gonna set up a fund.” He paced in front of Marge, raking his fingers through his shaggy, sand colored hair. “They'll want follow-up stories. A shopping trip might even get a whole page in the Sunday paper.” A frown drew his brows together. “But can we get Eliza out of the hospital? She's still in a wheelchair."
“How did she act when you saw her? Does she, like, have good sense?” Marge had no idea how someone with amnesia behaved.
“She's okay, real shy. She didn't know what my camera was. I guess it would be scary to have people pointing strange objects at you."
“But she does remember how to talk and stuff?"
“Yeah. She's kinda childlike and pitiful. She doesn't remember any family or have any place to go when she gets out of the hospital. But she has those killer cheekbones and natural, silver blonde hair that hangs half-way down her back. Put some make-up on her and she'd be a knockout."
A twinge of regret stabbed Marge. Ken never made comments about her cheekbones or the color of her brown hair.
“I wouldn't be surprised,” Ken continued, “if she doesn't turn out to be some kind of model or actress. We'll have to put this picture deal together quick before somebody claims her. Do you think your brother could help us?"
“Maybe, if we approach him just right. Wednesday is family dinner night. It'll be a good idea to talk to him in front of the folks. He's less likely to start an argument there."
“Is something wrong between you two?"
“What makes you think that?"
“He wasn't exactly friendly at the hospital when I told him I was dating you."
Marge shrugged. She didn't want to get into the long running feud between her and Jeff and dampen Ken's spirits. “He's just a protective older brother. Doesn't approve of me dating, or living away from home ... or breathing.” She moved toward the phone. “I'll call Mom now."
Ken caught her hand. His eyelids lowered to give him a sleepy look. “You're one great girlfriend to do all this for me, babe.” Leaning close, he teased the corner of her mouth with light kisses.
She pulled her head back. “I want to go to New York, too. Don't forget that."
“We're a team. If I go, you go.” He moved toward her mouth again.
This time Marge wrapped an arm around his neck. Their kiss became deep and searching. When they paused to breathe, he gave her a little shove. “Better call you mom before we forget all about it."
She grinned as she strode toward the phone. “After I call, I want you to tell me more about this fund the newspaper is collecting."
* * * *
JEFF SAW TWO vans bearing the logos of different television stations parked near the front entrance of the hospital. He turned his head and quickened his pace, hoping no one would recognize him.
A side door of one of the vans rumbled open. A woman wearing a Channel Five blazer, jeans, and tennis shoes jumped out and ran toward him. “Palmer? Aren't you Detective Palmer?"
Jeff swallowed a curse and stopped. No point in getting involved in a foot race with the press. “That's right.” He smiled with phony friendliness.
A guy jumped out of the van with a camera balanced on his shoulder and a battery pack strapped around his waist. He ran over and handed the woman a microphone.
“You're working on the Scoggins case, aren't you?” She stuck the microphone under Jeff's nose.
“Yes, I am, but I don't have any comments on the case at this time."
“Why isn't the press being allowed to see the woman?” the reporter fired at him.
Jeff was getting tired of having to defend himself on every side. “She's a patient in a hospital not an animal in a zoo."
“The newspaper was allowed to interview her, why can't we?"
This little bulldog just wouldn't let up, would she?
“The newspaper merely cooperated with the police department's efforts to identify an amnesia victim. The woman is, after all, recovering from a serious attempt on her life."
“We hear she's in the psychiatric ward. Is that why we can't see her?” the reporter demanded.
Jeff took a deep breath. “Psychiatrists are treating her amnesia, that's why she's in their ward. I'm on my way to see the victim now. Let me talk to her and the doctors, and I'll get back to you."
As he walked away, the woman called after him, “Set it up so we can make the six o'clock news, will ya?"
“I'll do the best I can,” he said, wondering how he'd turned into a media consultant in the middle of a stabbing investigation.
* * * *
ELIZA LOOKED AROUND her room in wonder. Bouquets of flowers filled the windowsill and her bedside table. Boxes covered her bed and the chair. All of this had come from strangers. The nurses had said it was in response to her picture in the newspaper. She couldn't imagine why a picture of a woman they didn't know would inspire people to send gifts. This world must be filled with generous people.
Someone rapped on her door. She turned eagerly, hoping for more gifts. Detective Palmer entered instead. He was even better than gifts.
He looked around the room. “Looks like a flower shop in here."
“Isn't it amazing? And these aren't all. Some of the bouquets were so large that the nurses had to put them in the lounge. And I've received other things.” Unable to stem her excitement, she held up her arm and rubbed the sleeve of her new royal blue robe. “This feels like velvet, only the nurse said it's called something else. And I got several beautiful nightdresses."
She reached for the box containing her new gowns, but remembered just in time that it would be terribly improper to show such transparent garments to the detective. Instead, she limped over to the bed table and opened another box. “Here's a comb and brush set and creams and lotions that I don't even know how to use, and strangers sent it all. Some of them didn't even sign their names. They just wished me good luck. Isn't it wonderful that people are so kind?"
She realized the detective was staring at her with a surprised look on his face. He must be shocked by her outburst. She had to remember that people thought her crazy so she must control her emotions at all times least she confirm their suspicions. “Ah, I'm sorry to go on so. I'm just a bit excited by all these gifts."
He blinked as though he'd just come out of a trance. “Don't apologize. It's good to see you looking so ... so healthy."
That almost sounded like a compliment. “Oh, thank you. I am feeling much better."
He pointed at the stack of boxes on her bed. “Is someone keeping a record of who sent these?"
“I don't know. They bring the opened packages to me. Many of them have name cards in them, but I didn't see any addresses. I do need to thank everyone, don't I?"
“I wasn't thinking about thank-you notes. One of these people may know who you are, might even be the person who stabbed you."
Disappointment surged through Eliza as she realized Detective Palmer was being a policeman again. For a moment it had felt as though they were friends.
“Do any of the names seem familiar to you?"
“No.” She busied herself closing and stacking the boxes. It wouldn't do to think of the detective as a friend. He was just another potential danger she had to find her way around.
Dr. Ferris burst into the room. “The nurse told me you were here, Palmer. What should we do with all these television people?"
Eliza stared at him. Why was he so excited about the people in the little box? Could they get out?
The detective shrugged. “I got jumped by one of them on my way into the building. Looks like having a press conference is the only thing that will satisfy them."
The doctor sighed as though saddled by a great burden. He looked at Eliza. “How do you feel about appearing on television?"
What in the world was he talking about? “Do you mean the picture box in the lounge?"
“Yes,” Dr. Ferris answered.
“How would I get in it?"
Detective Palmer chuckled. “You don't have to get into the box. Those are just small movies."
Apparently he realized by her expression that his words didn't make sense. He waved his hand in little circles as he searched for better words. “People have cameras, like the photographer had yesterday, only they take moving pictures that also record sound. Then they put the little movies in the boxes."
She nodded although she found it hard to imagine such things.
Dr. Ferris, who had calmed down, said, “There would be a number of people present and bright lights. You would be expected to talk."
She didn't like the sound of that. The more she talked, the more likely she was to say something that would get her into trouble. “What would I say?"
“How about thanking all the people who've sent you gifts?” Detective Palmer suggested.
Now she felt a great weight on her shoulders. She did owe many thanks to all the kind people who had sent her flowers and gifts and messages of good cheer. And since she didn't have their addresses, she couldn't write to them. She supposed she had no choice but to do the television. She nodded reluctantly.
Detective Palmer turned to the doctor. “Would you be willing to field questions about Eliza's condition?"
“Why, yes, I could do that."
Doctor Ferris acted as though he wanted to do it. Perhaps being on television wouldn't be so bad after all.
The two men ignored Eliza as they talked about the arrangements that would be necessary for the television conference. They even walked out of her room without saying goodbye. She wasn't alone long, however. An excited nurse soon arrived wanting to fix Eliza's hair. Another nurse popped in to suggest a little makeup. Finally, Dr. Ferris returned with a man he introduced as the hospital press officer.
Mr. Manly told her not to worry about a thing. He'd handle all questions from the press. She only needed to make a short statement. Dr. Ferris also told her not to worry. Eliza's past experiences had taught her that when everyone tells you not to worry, there's usually something worth worrying about. As the press officer pushed her wheel chair down the hall she fervently wished she'd never agreed to do television.
After an elevator ride, they pushed her chair into a little room that opened into a much larger one. A stage-like area with a table and some chairs on it was directly in front of her. Off to one side, she could just glimpse more chairs and people milling in front of them. Eliza hunched down in her wheel chair, wondering if it were too late to say no.
Detective Palmer joined them from the outer room. “The reporters are ready. Why don't you two start and then bring Miss Scoggins out after they're through with you."
“That's what I was going to suggest,” Mr. Manly said. He ushered Dr. Ferris out onto the stage.
As the two men took seats at the table, a light so bright that it made the top of Dr. Ferris's bald head shine, was turned on them. Mr. Manly began to talk, saying that Dr. Ferris had been treating the patient and would answer any questions they had about her. Disembodied voices called from behind the bright light. Dr. Ferris didn't look so happy now. Eliza began to feel queasy. How could she possibly go out there?
Movement distracted her; she saw Detective Palmer squatting beside her chair. “I talked to the reporters,” he said in a whispery voice. “Told them you couldn't answer any questions. You don't have to do anything but make your little statement."
“About what?” she whispered back.
“Just thank the people who sent you gifts."
Thank the people. Yes, she had to do that.
“The reporters will be taking pictures so smile a lot."
Eliza stroked the hank of hair she'd combed over her shoulder. It should look nice against the blue robe.
“If anybody asks a question you don't want to answer, ignore it,” the detective said.
Dr. Ferris had stopped talking and Mr. Manly was walking toward her.
As he stood, Detective Palmer said. “Dr. Ferris will be right beside you. If you get stuck, let him take over."
Mr. Manly pushed Eliza's chair out into the bright lights. She resisted the strong impulse to put her hand up to shield her eyes. When she dared to glance out at the audience, she couldn't see anything through the glare but lower legs and feet.
Cameras started to click. She remembered what Detective Palmer had said about smiling and tried, but her lips quavered so she quit trying.
The press officer positioned her chair beside a table containing one of those sticks people talked into. He bent it toward her and softly said, “Just speak into the microphone, Eliza."
The room grew quiet. She leaned as close to the microphone as she could get. “I—” An earsplitting screech filled the room. Eliza lurched away from the microphone.
The press officer leaned over her shoulder. “Not that close. Speak normally,” he whispered.
She took a deep breath and reminded herself why she had to do this. “I want to thank all of the people who have sent me gifts and good wishes ... and all of the people here at the hospital who have taken such good care of me. Your kindness,” her voice trembled. She paused to take a deep breath, “makes me think that I will somehow find a place for myself in this world.” Sitting back in her chair, Eliza managed a small smile of relief.
Cameras began to click and people started shouting.
“Have you remembered anything yet?"
“What kind of gifts did you get?"
“Look this way, Eliza."
“This way,” another voice insisted.
She blinked, not knowing which way to look or what to say. Mr. Manly, standing beside her, gestured for quiet, but the voices continued. She felt tears forming. If she started crying, would the reporters stop shouting or think her crazy? She covered her face with her hands.
A harsh voice broke though the babble. “That's enough."
Her chair started to move. The bright light faded. She looked up and saw Detective Palmer pushing her into the safety of the alcove. Her hero had rescued her.
* * * *
AS JEFF SLOWLY drove toward his parent's home he mulled over the perplexing Scoggins case. He still had a stack of reports to check out, but he'd expected the woman to be identified by now. She wasn't somebody you could forget. When he'd walked into her room today and seen her standing there with her cheeks glowing and her eyes sparkling he'd been stunned. And he was beginning to think she really did have amnesia.
The poor woman had obviously been scared to death at the press conference and what would be more frightening than having no memory of who you were or where you belonged? He hoped the answer to all her problems lay hidden among the reports on his desk.
She was a brave young woman and he wanted to help her ... and that was all he wanted. Jeff had a stern rule against mixing business with his personal life. He'd seen good cops mess up their careers that way; he didn't intend for that to happen to him. After all, he was John Palmer's son. He had a lot to live up to.
He tried to push the case out of his mind. Good thing it was Wednesday. He needed a peaceful evening with his parents. A rundown Plymouth stood in the driveway where Jeff usually parked. He left his car next to the curb in front of the house and walked around to the back door. As usual, he found his mother in the kitchen.
“Hi, Mom.” He walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Whose car is that in the driveway?"
“It belongs to the young man Marge is dating."
Jeff made a face of exaggerated surprise. “Is Marge here tonight?"
His mother smiled. “They both are. The young man came, too. Isn't that nice?"
“The photographer?” He felt a little tickle on the back of his neck.
“Ken Martin. He said he met you recently.” She lowered her voice. “Marge hasn't brought a young man home since she was in high school. This must be getting serious."
“How'd you come to invite him?"
“She called this afternoon and asked if she could bring him. They're in the den with your father. Why don't you join them?"
Jeff turned toward the den.
“Get yourself a beer. The others already have theirs."
Jeff opened his beer can and took a long swallow before entering the den. He'd bet next month's paycheck that his sister was up to something, probably duping the folks out of more money. Well, not if he could stop her.
* * * *
MARGE SAT ON the couch making little designs with one finger in the condensed moisture on the sides of her beer can. Ken sat on the ottoman beside John Palmer's chair, dutifully holding the album containing the clippings and pictures from her father's career.
“That's when I got the Mayor's Award for Outstanding Service,” her father said with pride in his voice.
Marge had seen the pictures and heard the stories many times before. She didn't see any reason to pretend interest now.
“Well, what a surprise,” Jeff's voice boomed from the doorway.
She jumped. In a quick glance, she saw the determined set of his jaw and a suspicious glint in his eyes. Hoping a show of sisterly devotion would get him to let down his guard, Marge bounded to him, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “You remember Ken, don't you?"
Ken set the album aside, stood, and extended his hand. “Good to see you again, Palmer. Did you get much response to the story on Eliza Scoggins?"
“The phone was hot all morning.” Jeff shook Ken's hand. “Guess you were happy with the play your picture got?"
Ken's lean face widened into a broad grin. “A photographer can wait years for that kind of exposure. I was lucky to get the assignment."
“It wasn't all luck. Your picture was good,” Jeff said.
His compliment and the fact that he followed her back to the couch and sat beside her surprised Marge. Maybe she'd misjudged him.
“Thanks,” Ken said. “But to tell the truth, every shot I took came out well. She's incredibly photogenic."
Marge was getting a little sick of Ken's ravings about that damn woman.
“Did you get any more shots at today's press conference?” Jeff asked.
“No, I was out of the office when the call for that came in,” Ken replied with a slight frown. “One of the other guys went."
Jeff looked at his Dad. “Was she on the six o'clock news tonight?"
His father nodded. “Now I understand why you're so intrigued by this case. The girl's a real looker."
Now Dad was impressed by the girl's looks.
“Any leads on her identity yet?” her father asked.
“It's too soon to tell. Be at least a week before I get through all the paperwork on my desk."
“What'll happen to her in the meantime?” Ken asked.
“She'll stay in the hospital, I guess."
“She said a social worker was looking for a place for her to stay. Sounded to me like the hospital is ready to discharge her."
Jeff shrugged. Marge wondered if he was really that unconcerned. If so, he was the only man in the room not enamored with the mystery woman. “Ken was telling me that she might have to go to some kind of mental hospital,” she commented.
“Oh, I don't think it'll come to that,” Jeff said. “She's obviously not crazy."
“Well, where can she go?” Marge asked. “She has no family or friends to help her."
Jeff looked down his nose at her. “That's why we put her picture in the paper, to find her family."
“What if you don't?"
His eyes narrowed. “I'm just a policeman, Marge. That's not my province."
“I thought you'd be concerned. Ken said the woman seemed to like you.” She hadn't meant for the conversation to move so quickly, but this opening was too good to pass up. “It occurred to me that she could move in with me, since I need a roommate anyway."
Jeff raised his eyebrows. “You? I thought you needed a paying roommate to keep that fancy apartment."
“Ken said his paper is going to start a fund for her."
Jeff shifted his attention to Ken.
Marge hadn't told Ken about the roommate idea. He looked almost as surprised as Jeff.
Ken recovered quickly. “It'll be in tomorrow's paper. Lots of people called today wanting to help."
Jeff's gaze snapped back to Marge. “And you think they'll turn that money over to you?"
“I won't ask for anything but her fair share of expenses,” she answered, trying to keep the indignation out of her voice. Even if he was a policeman, he shouldn't suspect his own sister of having criminal intentions.
“They're gonna have the Department of Social Services supervise the fund,” Ken added.
Jeff's gaze raked over her and Ken before he noticed his mother in the doorway, listening intently. Marge breathed a sigh of relief. Jeff would hesitate to start an argument in front of Mom.
He took a deep breath and spoke calmly. “Why would the Department of Social Services pick a twenty-year-old, unmarried female living in a single's playground as a companion for Eliza?"
Marge smiled. She could play to her mom just as well as he could. “Of course, they wouldn't just pick me. But if you, the investigating officer, recommended me and volunteered to oversee—"
“Hold on, little sister. The Captain's already ticked over all the time I'm spending on this case—"
“It wouldn't take much time, just a few phone calls. I could help her get back into the swing of things a lot better than some fuddy-duddy social worker. Wouldn't she be more comfortable living with your sister than total strangers?"
Marge could almost see the wheels turning in Jeff's head. He was thinking about her suggestion seriously. Now was the time to bring out her big gun. “I've already found a way to get her a new wardrobe."
“How?"
“I'm modeling at Halbots now. When I told everybody that my boyfriend took the picture in the newspaper and my brother was working on the case, the fashion coordinator said the store would donate a wardrobe if Ken could take pictures of Eliza in the clothes and get the paper to run them."
Jeff leaned back. “She really needs some clothes."
Marge tried to hide her sense of triumph. With Jeff's help, she might be able to pull this off. Ken had been grateful for her help before. If she got him unlimited access to this photogenic wonder he should be more appreciative.
A tingle of doubt touched her. Would his gratitude toward Marge outweigh his admiration for Eliza?
* * * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Jeff started the tiresome check and double check of the leads that had come in on the Scoggins woman. He'd promised Marge he'd make inquiries about her proposals, but he had to be careful. He didn't want the Captain to overhear him getting more heavily involved in a victim's personal life.
Keeping his voice down, he called the Psychiatric Evaluation Ward and asked about the possibility of Eliza leaving for a short time. The head nurse said the doctor would have to authorize that and he wouldn't be in until after ten. She suggested he talk with Mrs. Blanchard, the hospital social worker who had been placed in charge of making future arrangements for Eliza.
After Jeff hung up, Paul raised his gaze from the papers in front of him. “Did you go over these medical reports?"
Jeff shrugged. “I glanced through ‘em."
“Did you see this?” Pointing to a line, he extended a page toward Jeff.
It was one of the forms doctors fill out for assault victims. Jeff had to lean forward to read it. Under the question, Is there evidence of sexual assault?” someone had scrawled, No, hymen intact.
“I'll be damned.” Jeff muttered. Then he grinned. “Guess that means we can ditch all these missing wife reports."
“Unless she disappeared on her wedding day.” Paul nodded.
Still smiling, Jeff said, “Good work, partner. Times like these make me glad I keep you around."
Paul didn't return his smile. “Since I'm doing such a good job, how about letting me in on what these secret phone calls are about."
Jeff glanced around to be sure the Captain was still in his office. “I don't want Captain Pittman to think I'm getting into anything that isn't strictly police work,” he said softly.
“Are you?"
Jeff told him of Marge's plan to get Eliza a free wardrobe and take her in as a roommate. “This isn't necessary for the investigation, but if I can help both the victim and my sister, what's wrong with that?"
“Not a thing, unless you're getting personally involved with the victim."
“No chance. She doesn't even know her own name."
Paul's eyes narrowed. “If she looks as good in person as she did in that picture, I doubt you'll wait for a formal introduction."
Jeff hunched his shoulders. “What do you know about anything? You've been happily married since you started shaving."
One corner of Paul's mouth slid upward. “And you're overdue, buddy. So watch yourself."
Jeff shrugged off the warning and reached for the phone again. The hospital social worker, Mrs. Blanchard, welcomed the idea of getting a free wardrobe for Eliza. She volunteered to ask the doctor when Eliza would be physically able to make a trip to the department store.
“Of course, as long as she's in the hospital's custody, we have to ensure her safety,” Mrs. Blanchard said. “Halbots is a very nice store, but are the people arranging this promotion reputable?"
Jeff paused, wondering if he dared vouch for Marge and Ken's reputations. “My sister does fashion modeling here and in Dallas. She's working at Halbots right now and will definitely be involved in the shoot. I'll go along, too, since we don't know why Miss Scoggins was attacked or if she's still in danger.” The protection angle had just occurred to him. He'd have to remember to use it on the Captain.
“Oh, good. Everything should be perfectly safe with a police officer present."
Jeff was glad Paul didn't hear Mrs. Blanchard's statement. He'd probably think Jeff a potential danger to Eliza. “By the way, the doctor mentioned you're looking for a place to send Miss Scoggins when she leaves the hospital."
“I've been looking into rehabilitation centers, but this is a difficult case. There aren't any facilities tailored to her needs. It would be better if we could release her to her family. Are you having any luck locating them?"
“Not so far. What if somebody other than family were willing to take her in?"
“We'd have to be very sure. What do you have in mind?"
“Did you see the story in this morning's paper about the fund The Eagle is establishing?"
“Yes."
“Can those funds be used for Miss Scoggins's living expenses?"
“The state will be controlling the money. I suppose it's possible. Do you know someone who...?"
“My sister mentioned that she's looking for a roommate and wondered if Miss Scoggins could move in with her. I got the idea the hospital wants to find another place for Miss Scoggins as soon as possible. It could take some time for us to establish her true identity. Of course, my sister has never met Miss Scoggins. This would all depend on them being compatible."
Mrs. Blanchard's reply came slowly. “Well, long hospital stays are cost prohibitive, especially for indigent patients, but we must do what is best for the patient. Of course, she might respond more quickly in a natural setting than in an institutional one. I'll mention your sister's offer to the Social Services people."
“I haven't encouraged my sister because I didn't know what the possibilities were. But if you think Social Services might go along with it, I'll tell her."
“How soon could your sister take Miss Scoggins if things work out?"
Jeff could hear eagerness in her voice. Ken's suggestion that the hospital was ready to discharge Eliza had been right on the money. With Mrs. Blanchard behind it, this roommate thing might work, and he could see Eliza anytime ... to follow up new clues.
Chapter Five
ELIZA STARED AT the door anxiously. Mrs. Blanchard had said Detective Palmer would come for her at nine o'clock. Then Eliza would go outside for her first chance to see how closely this new world she'd been miraculously transported to corresponded with the world she'd been seeing on the television.
She didn't know what excited her the most, where she was going or who her escort would be. Mrs. Blanchard's explanation of how this expedition came about had been less than clear to Eliza. Somebody was going to give her clothing if she let them take her picture. Detective Palmer's sister was somehow involved, but since Eliza had never met the sister, she could only conclude that the detective was once again helping her.
He was so kind. She hoped she didn't embarrass him in front of his sister by saying or doing the wrong things. She knew she often made mistakes that caused people to laugh at her. That didn't make a lot of difference here, where all the patients were weird, but in the normal world she would stick out like a sore thumb.
Perhaps she should have delayed the trip until she learned more about this time. No. Dr. Ferris had told her the history books said Eliza Scoggins disappeared after the Indian attack and was never heard from again. That could only mean she was not going to return to her own time. She had to make a place for herself in this new world; she couldn't do that from the safety of the hospital.
She'd just have to blame any mistakes she made on amnesia. Detective Palmer would help her, protect her.
Her door partially opened and Mrs. Blanchard stuck her head into the room. “All ready I see.” Her broad smile made her round cheeks even rounder. “I brought two handsome men to escort you."
Two? Eliza's heart pounded as she waited for Mrs. Blanchard to push an empty wheel chair through the doorway. Then she saw Detective Palmer and took a relieved breath.
He gestured toward the second man. “This is my partner, Detective Hale. He's also working on your case, so I wanted you to meet him."
Eliza smiled at the man. His fair hair was cut very short all over his head, but he had a pleasant face. Of course, not as pleasant as Detective Palmer's. Eliza reached for the cane the nurse had left for her and stood.
Detective Palmer stepped closer. “Can I help you?"
She felt herself flush. “No, I can manage. This cane they gave me is made of metal, but it's very light weight."
“It's aluminum,” he said.
“What?"
“The cane is made of aluminum."
“Oh.” She laughed nervously. The other detective was staring at her the way men often did when they first saw how tall she was. Of course, he could be staring at her clothing. She had the royal blue robe on over garments the nurse called pajamas. Although the nurse said pajamas were to sleep in, Eliza thought they looked a lot like the pants many of the nurses wore. At least, she was properly covered. Besides, she didn't have anything else to wear.
“You sit in this chair and we'll wheel you downstairs,” Mrs. Blanchard said.
“I can walk,” Eliza insisted.
“It's regulations.” Mrs. Blanchard wheeled the chair close to Eliza, who had little choice but to sit in it.
Detective Palmer flipped the footrests down and put her slipper covered feet on the little platforms. Eliza gasped as his fingers touched the bare flesh of her ankles.
He glanced up at her surprised face. “My dad was in a wheel chair for awhile. I got used to doing this for him."
Eliza didn't know what to say. Obviously he'd only meant to help, but touching her in such a manner was improper. Evidently, the rules of contact between men and women were quite different in these times.
In her confusion, she looked away from Detective Palmer. Her gaze fell on Detective Hale. He winked at her. What did that mean? She hadn't even left her room and was already thoroughly confused by the customs of this world.
Fortunately, Mrs. Blanchard accompanied them down in the elevator and through the lobby. Her cheerful chatter gave Eliza a chance to stare at the lights and people and even the small trees growing inside the building. Then they passed through a glass wall and into a blast of hot air and the glare of morning sunshine. The heat surprised Eliza.
As they came onto a wide slab of smooth stone under a high porch, Detective Hale said, “I'll get the car.” He strode away from them.
“Thanks, buddy,” Detective Palmer called after him.
“You have a lovely day for your outing, Eliza,” Mrs. Blanchard said.
“It's warmer than I thought it would be,” Eliza said.
“This is the second week in June. It's often quite warm this time of year.” Mrs. Blanchard replied.
“But it was so cool inside."
“Well, of course, it's air conditioned."
Eliza looked from Mrs. Blanchard to Detective Palmer. He looked back at her with one of his half grins. She wanted to know what air conditioning was and if it could be controlled; her room was often uncomfortably chilly. She didn't want Detective Palmer to think her stupid, however, so she remained silent.
A sleek, brown, horseless carriage with Detective Hale at the steering wheel, stopped in front of them. Though she knew what it was from watching the television, Eliza stared at the huge purring beast. Could she actually get inside the thing?
“Can you lift your feet?"
Tearing her eyes away from the carriage, she saw that Detective Palmer knelt beside her chair, his hands near the footrests. Preoccupied with thoughts of the mechanical carriage, she didn't move.
Mrs. Blanchard's hand touched her shoulder. “Eliza, are you all right?"
Surprised by the touch, Eliza nodded her head. She lifted her feet so Detective Palmer could raise the footrests. Apparently everyone in this world traveled in those beasts. If they could do it, she could, too.
As she stood, Detective Palmer leaped to open the back door. “We'll sit in the back and let Paul be our chauffeur. Sorry the police department doesn't furnish limos. We could pull up to Halbots in style, then."
She didn't know what he was talking about, but it didn't matter. All she could think about was placing one foot in front of the other as she moved closer and closer to the terrifying vehicle. She bent over to get her head inside. Detective Palmer took hold of her arm. She hoped he couldn't feel the tremors running through it. As her body doubled over, a sharp pain shot through the healing wound in her thigh. She stiffened, unable to go any farther.
He tugged on her arm. “I think it's easier to back in."
She looked at him in total confusion. He gently turned and positioned her so that her rear end aimed toward the seat. Detective Palmer's hand touched the top of her head and guided it safely inside. Suddenly she was sitting. He waited for her to pull in her feet, watching carefully before closing the door. She slid back on the padded seat, finding it quite comfortable.
Mrs. Blanchard, standing behind the empty wheel chair, waved at her with another beaming smile.
Detective Palmer got in on the other side and leaned toward her. “I'll get the seat belt for you.” He reached across; his hand brushed her hip before coming up with a shiny piece of metal attached to a strap. He fastened another strap to it. The binding gripped her lower abdomen.
“Is that too tight?” he asked.
She shook her head, unable to speak. No man had ever taken such liberties with her body before. And why did she have to be tied down to ride in this car? She noticed Detective Palmer also strapping himself down. Obviously riding in this contraption, whatever you called it, was extremely dangerous.
She glimpsed Detective Hale watching them in a little mirror. “You two buckled up back there?"
“Let's go,” Detective Palmer answered.
Eliza had to remind herself to breathe as the vehicle slowly moved away from the building. It stopped and then turned onto another street. She braced herself against the sway, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. A rhythmical roar came from the front of the vehicle. She began to think riding in a car was almost fun.
After several more turns the car began to move faster. It went up a hill and came onto a wide road with many cars all going in the same direction. Looking past Detective Palmer, Eliza saw a car very close to theirs and moving so fast that the driver's face was a blur. Suddenly that car pulled in front of them. Eliza squealed in terror and threw her hands over her eyes. Surely, there would be a collision.
A series of loud honks split the air; Detective Hale called the other driver some very bad names. Keeping her eyes screwed closed, she moved her hands over her ears. What would happen if these heavy machines crashed into each other? Would these cloth straps save her from being seriously injured?
A hand closed on her shoulder. “What's the matter?"
She looked at Detective Palmer's concerned face, but couldn't speak.
“What are you frightened of?"
“The ... the cars. They're so close."
“This is Saturday. It's not as crowded as it is on a weekday."
“We're going too fast."
His hand rubbed lightly across the back of her neck. “No, no, this is the freeway. Everybody goes fast here."
“We're going to crash!” She closed her eyes, but the roaring of the cars all around them droned in her ears.
“We're all right, Eliza. Paul's a good driver, even if he is short-tempered with the guys who aren't."
His arm slipped around her and Eliza buried her head against his shoulder trying to block out the noises.
“Keep your eyes closed and try to relax,” he murmured in her ear. “Everything's going to be all right."
His calm voice and the solid warmth of his body reassured her. She told herself she was being foolish. The detectives evidently thought nothing of riding at such speeds on these crowded roads. If she didn't control herself, they'd think her peculiar.
Suddenly, she forgot the speeding cars, the danger, everything but the warm strength of Detective Palmer's arm and the spicy aroma that radiated from him. They were sitting in a near embrace, almost as if they were lovers. She had never been so attracted to any man before. Was this what it felt like to fall in love?
The car slowed. Detective Palmer pulled his arm away from her. She forced her head away from his shoulder and looked out the window. They were no longer traveling on the wide roadway. Now the car moved slowly though city streets.
“I'm sorry I behaved so foolishly,” she said softly. “But I can't remember ever riding in a car before."
He leaned closer. “No problem. You should have told me you were afraid. After all, I'm a policeman. It's my job to protect people."
Of course, he'd just been doing his job. Eliza sighed and fastened her attention on the area they were passing through. Most of the buildings were made of brick or stone. She guessed they housed businesses. Strange wooden posts with metal ropes strung between them bordered the streets. The posts were too far apart and the ropes too high off the ground to be any sort of fence.
“What are those posts for?” she asked.
Detective Palmer leaned closer, trying to see what she was looking at. “What posts?"
“Those.” She pointed at a post on the corner that had crossbars near its top with heavy lines attached to them.
“Oh, those carry power lines."
“Power?"
“Those wires carry electricity or telephone messages."
“Oh.” So that's where the strange force came from that ran all the wondrous contraptions in the hospital. Now it didn't seem quite so magical.
“Does anything look familiar to you?” he asked.
She shook her head. This was nothing like the dusty cattle town she had known.
“The doctor said you might get bits of memory back at anytime. If something seems even vaguely familiar let me know. Might help us find out who you are."
She nodded, but didn't look at him. Eliza had never been dishonest. Now she was living a lie and hated it.
The car turned into a large lot with spaces for many cars that surrounded a group of buildings. They slowed near a building with broad glass windows facing the street, but no windows in the upper stories.
“Marge said to come around to the service entrance.” Detective Palmer directed his voice to the front seat.
Detective Hale drove the car around to an alleyway. After he stopped the car, Detective Palmer got out and banged his fist against the metal door. It flew open and a young woman stepped out.
“It's about time you got here, Jeff. We want to get her upstairs before the store opens. It's already nine thirty."
Detective Palmer's first name was Jeff.
“Good morning to you, too, little sister.” Jeff turned away from her and came around to open Eliza's door.
After helping her out of the car, he said, “Eliza, this is my sister, Marge Palmer."
The woman stuck her hand out. She didn't look at all like the nurses Eliza had become accustomed to in the hospital. She was tall, although not as tall as Eliza. Her bright pink dress hugged her hips and stopped well above her knees. The rest of her legs were bare. Even her shoes were nothing more than tiny straps. Her features were vividly painted like a saloon girl's. Floppy curls nestled around her face while a curtain of russet hair fell down her back.
Marge dropped her hand. Eliza realized she was staring rudely. Then she saw that Marge also stared at Eliza's clothing.
“Wow. You really don't have anything to wear, do you?” She moved to take Eliza's arm, edging Jeff out of the way. “We'll see if we can take Halbots for a bundle. They're getting plenty of free publicity out of this."
Eliza didn't know what she meant, but had no time to ask questions. Ken Martin burst through the doorway and started snapping pictures. Marge hovered closer, smiling brightly. Jeff moved farther away, as if he were abandoning her to these people.
Inside, she was introduced to Mrs. Herman, the fashion coordinator, a man named Chaz, the art director, and Jennie who didn't have a title.
As they hurried Eliza toward a large elevator with metal mesh walls, Marge explained over her shoulder to Jeff, “We're going to be fitting and trying on upstairs, so you might want to wait down here."
“I could be working. How about I come back for her? Think this will take as long as an hour?"
Marge opened her eyes widely. “At least. We're picking out a wardrobe here."
Everyone except Jeff got onto the elevator. Eliza felt a moment of panic as Chaz pulled the doors shut, separating her from her champion.
“Remember that she's not used to being on her feet for long periods,” Jeff called after them.
When the elevator opened Mrs. Herman led the way into a storage area filled with boxes, racks of clothing, a few tables, and large, freestanding mirrors. Chaz pulled a tape measure out of his pocket and reached toward Eliza's chest. She stepped away from him so fast that her right leg buckled. Marge grabbed Eliza's arm and steadied her.
Mrs. Herman snatched the tape from his hands. “Give me that. You're not dealing with a professional model here.” She gave Eliza a tight smile. “We need your measurements, dear. So your new clothes will fit properly."
Eliza's cheeks burned as the brusque woman wrapped the tape around her chest, waist, and hips, calling out numbers to Chaz who wrote them down. Being measured in front of the men embarrassed Eliza almost as much as if one of them were doing the measuring. Fortunately, the photographer busied himself with his equipment and Chaz seemed only interested in the numbers.
He surprised her, however, when all the measurements were written down, by smirking at Marge and saying, “She's a perfect eight, unlike some people I could name who tend to get a bit hippy."
Marge huffed at him angrily. “Women are supposed to have hips, turkey."
“Not if they want to make it in big-time modeling,” he sneered.
Marge's face sagged. She shot a quick glance at Ken who continued to rummage through his camera bag.
“Why don't you and Jennie gather up some outfits, Chaz?” Mrs. Herman said in her husky voice. “You know what we talked about earlier. Eliza's not a society girl, so let's keep it simple."
“Ah, Ken?” Marge said. “Eliza's going to be trying on clothes for a while. Why don't you case the store for backgrounds?"
He nodded and left along with Chaz and Jennie.
Mrs. Herman and Marge began to search through bits of shiny material in boxes on a nearby table. Marge looked at Eliza. “Don't suppose you're wearing anything under those p.j.s?"
Eliza shook her head.
“We've got a selection of undies here. Get those things off and we'll see what works."
Eliza looked around the large room in horror. Even though the men were gone, someone could walk into the area at any moment. She didn't intend to undress here.
Mrs. Herman turned around with a small, filmy piece of material in her hand. “This ought to fit.” She looked at Eliza impatiently. “Come on, honey, get it off."
Marge came over with a strange strap like garments dangling from her hand. “What's the matter?"
Eliza's throat tightened. With a shaky hand, she gestured at the wide-open room.
Marge looked puzzled until a small smile pulled at her lips. “You don't want to undress out in the open? Why don't you step over behind those mirrors, then if anybody comes in they can't see you."
She walked with Eliza into the more concealed area. “We're so used to changing in a hurry for shows that we drop our panties anywhere.” She pulled the robe's sash apart and stood with her hand extended, waiting for the robe.
Eliza didn't see that she had any choice but to remove it. Apparently these people had no modesty. She didn't want them to think her odd, but she hadn't undressed in front of anyone since her mother had passed away. She fumbled with the buttons on the front of the pajamas.
Mrs. Herman walked around the mirror, dropped the flimsy cloth onto a chair, and began to rummage in a pocket. She pulled out an already rolled cigarette, put it in her mouth, and lit it with a metal match.
A woman smoking a cigarette like a man.
Marge took over the unbuttoning as Eliza stared at Mrs. Herman. Before she had recovered from the shock of seeing a woman smoke, Marge introduced her to the bra. She strapped the thing around Eliza's chest and made her bend over and shake her shoulders. When she straightened, her breasts were sticking straight out and forming round mounds above the white satin cups.
Eliza was so amazed that she stepped in front of the mirror. Suddenly she had breasts. They didn't look as big as Marge's but were certainly larger than Eliza had ever before seen on herself.
Her excitement blunted her modesty. Soon she was outfitted in clinging, lace-bedecked undergarments. Nobody said anything about a corset. Was it possible that women no longer wore them? Wonderful.
She had just gotten her robe back on when Jennie and Chaz returned carrying armloads of clothing. The trying on began. Eliza soon stopped struggling in and out of the robe and hiding behind the mirrors as they brought her one marvel after another.
She touched materials of textures she'd never felt before, saw colors brighter than those created by mother nature, and caught glimpses in the mirror of a strange airy creature with bared arms and legs who was a “perfect eight."
Mrs. Herman stated that skirts and slacks would be more practical. Chaz said she must have a mini-sheath to display her heavenly legs. Marge pointed out that those legs hadn't been shaved recently.
Mrs. Herman ran her hand up Eliza's calf. “That's not stubble,” she exclaimed. “She's never shaved those legs."
Everyone stared at Eliza with such amazed expressions that she realized shaving one's legs must be very important.
As the others worked to put together ensembles, Eliza, wearing only a slip, limped over to a chair and sat down. She leaned to the left to take as much of her weight as possible off her right leg and lightly rubbed the top of her thigh.
Marge held an orange blouse up to her. “Is your leg hurting?"
“Some. The doctor said he left a little piece of loose bone in my leg so he wouldn't have to enlarge the cut to get it out. It'll eventually...” Eliza thought a minute to be sure she got the word right. “Absorb. Until it does, it hurts if I stand too long or move wrong."
“Good thing he considered the scars.” Marge leaned over Eliza's shoulder to better examine the ones on her back. “These will get less red in time but this upper one will keep you from wearing backless dresses."
Eliza giggled. “Why would I ever wear a dress without a back?"
Marge rolled her eyes in a way that made Eliza feel she had again said something stupid.
Ken returned, saying he'd found several places where he'd like to photograph Eliza. Seeing her sitting, he walked toward her. She hurriedly pulled her robe over her body. For some reason it hadn't bothered her to be in front of Chaz in this state of undress, but she felt shy in Ken's presence.
He stopped a few feet away. “Are you all right?"
She nodded.
“Have you found any clothes you like?"
Eliza grinned. “I especially like the blue one with the big white dots."
“I'll be sure to get your picture in it, then.” His attention shifted to her head. “Marge, can you do something with her hair?"
Marge and Mrs. Herman turned toward Eliza. Pulling apart the little ribbon at the base of Eliza's neck, Marge used her fingers to lift and fluff the tresses. “I don't know what I can do. It's all cut the same length."
“How about a pony tail?” Mrs. Herman suggested. “We've got some faux pearl holders in accessories that would look nice."
Marge agreed and Jennie was dispatched. Eliza had already begun to feel sorry for that lady. She was the smallest person in the group but seemed to be doing the most work.
“You are going to put make-up on her, aren't you?” Chaz asked.
Marge began pulling odd sized containers from a large, floppy leather bag. Eliza had noticed that all the women here, even nurses, painted their lips, so she watched with great interest.
“My foundation is too dark for her coloring,” Marge said.
“She'll need different lipstick, too,” Mrs. Herman added. She stepped over to a telephone on a nearby the wall. Speaking into it, she ordered somebody named Martha to catch Jennie in accessories and give her a selection of cosmetics suitable for blondes.
When poor Jennie returned, she was quite red in the face and out of breath.
Marge brushed and pulled Eliza's hair up to the crown of her head. The pearl encrusted clip was clamped in place and did, in fact, cause her hair to resemble a horse's tail. Under Mrs. Herman's close observation, Marge applied make up to Eliza's face with a small sponge.
Then Marge marked along Eliza's eyebrows with a pencil. “Close your eyes,” she ordered and edged the eyelids as well.
“Don't put too much of that stuff on,” Ken said. “I want her to look natural."
“I know what I'm doing,” Marge replied. “Eliza, now I want you to open your mouth and make your lips tight. Don't pucker them. Pull them back like you're trying to cover your teeth. That's right. Now don't move."
Eliza found it hard not to laugh as feathery strokes of a small brush touched her lips. She opened her eyes and saw Marge, Mrs. Herman, and Chaz all peering at her mouth. It was ludicrous that so many people would be concerned about paint being applied to her lips. She giggled, the others started laughing. Marge had to order them away before she could finish.
Finally, wearing the blue polka-dot dress, Eliza joined the parade into the customer part of the store. Ken wanted it to appear that they were selecting Eliza's clothes from the merchandise on display. He instructed her to hold dresses on hangers in front of herself.
They moved to the shoe department. A salesman sat on a little stool in front of her. Ken told her to spread the skirt of the blue dress out. As the salesman placed a pair of matching blue slippers on her feet, Eliza remembered the comments that had been made about her hairy legs. She hoped the funny pants-stockings they'd made her put on concealed the undesirable hair. Before they left the shoe section, Marge insisted Eliza needed a pair of sandals as well as the slippers.
They stopped in front of a rack with many small purses hanging from long straps. Marge coached her to pick out a blue one as Ken moved about snapping pictures. The store was now open for business and customers gathered around, taking an interest in their activities. Eliza overheard Chaz tell one of them she was the amnesia victim who had been in the papers.
Eliza picked a purse from the rack and touched the clip on top of it. The purse popped open. It was filled with crushed white paper. Holding it out so the others could see, she laughed.
A gray haired gentleman stepped out of the crowd and handed her a small piece of green paper. “Here, darlin', put this in your pocketbook."
Eliza smiled uncertainly and thanked him. She held the paper that had 50 written in each corner, up to Marge. “What is this?” she asked.
A collective gasp went up from the crowd.
The gentleman chuckled and patted her cheek. “Darlin', you're every man's dream; a beautiful blonde who doesn't know what money is."
“Money?” Eliza shook her head. “I can't take money from a stranger."
An elegantly dressed, older woman stepped up and took the gentleman's arm. “You can this time, dear,” she said and smiled at Eliza, “because he gave it to you in front of his wife."
People in the crowd nodded. The older couple strolled away contentedly chatting with one another. Marge pushed Eliza's hand so the bill fell into the purse.
* * * *
JEFF AND PAUL had been checking out a tip about a robbery suspect they'd been after for three months and bumped into the perp as he was leaving a cheap residency hotel. Of course, that meant arresting and booking him, which took a lot longer than Jeff had anticipated. About the twelfth time he looked at his watch, Paul told him he'd finish the paperwork so Jeff could go back for Eliza.
He entered the store through a customer entrance. Seeing a cluster of people off to one side and then several flashes of light, he walked in that direction.
He spotted Eliza standing in front of a display of phony cactus. She wore a denim skirt and a shirt trimmed to look like what Jeff called sissy cowboy. Ken was on one knee calling out instructions and snapping pictures. Marge stood to one side showing Eliza what to do by twisting and turning her own body.
The expression on Eliza's face said that she thought this was all a delightful game. She turned her head to better display her shimmering hair and swanlike neck. She held out one side of the skirt, and following Marge's example, twisted her shoulders and thrust her hips forward. The long lines of her body flowed in a stream of sensual curves and plains.
Jeff stared at her, his pulse quickened. She had always been pretty to him in a sweet, otherworldly sort of way. Now she was a gorgeous, flesh and blood woman. Her radiant smile and sparkling eyes, enhanced by make-up, mesmerized him. He tore his gaze away from her long enough to notice the people standing around him were as fascinated as he was. The women smiled at Eliza. The men looked bemused.
Following Ken's instructions, Eliza shifted her head again. Her gaze fell on Jeff. Her smile changed to one of delighted recognition. A wave of elation surged through him.
Ken announced he had enough pictures. Eliza relaxed and took several limping steps toward Jeff. Jeff elbowed his way between two women shoppers and rushed to take Eliza's arm.
“Where's your cane?” he barked.
Her smile faded. “I don't know."
“Here it is.” A sparrow like woman darted forward with the cane.
“Thank you, Jennie,” Eliza said. She took the cane and shifted her weight over it.
“Are you tired?” Jeff asked.
“There's a chair right over there,” a woman shopper said and pointed.
Jeff nodded his thanks and led Eliza over to the chair. She sat with a sigh of relief.
“I'm sorry I took so long, but you should have told them you were tired,” he said.
She leaned back in the chair and smiled up at him. “I was having so much fun that I hated to stop."
Marge came over and stared down at her. “Did we wear you out? Well, Ken says he has plenty of pictures, but Mrs. Herman insists he get one of you leaving the store with all your packages.” She leaned toward Eliza. “Wants the world to see how generous Halbots is. We're getting the packages ready."
Jeff shuffled impatiently.
“You won't have to wait long.” Marge knelt beside the chair. “I've wondered if you have any plans for when you leave the hospital, Eliza?"
A pensive expression came over Eliza's face, she shook her head.
“Have you thought about where you'd like to live?"
Eliza raised her shoulders.
Jeff leaned over her. “My sister is looking for a roommate."
A frown creased Eliza's forehead. “You want to share your bedroom?” she asked Marge.
Marge shook her head. “A whole apartment. You'd have your own bedroom and we'd share the living room and kitchen. There's also a nice patio and pool area, great for entertaining."
“Who else lives there?” Eliza asked.
“Right now I'm living alone. That's why I'm looking for a roommate."
Sympathy shone from Eliza's eyes. “Oh, are both of your parents gone?"
“They haven't gone anyplace, they live where they always have."
Eliza looked up at Jeff. “Do you live with them?"
Jeff drew back. “Certainly not. I have a place of my own."
Her face paled. “You, you have a family of your own?"
He grinned as he realized she was upset at the thought of him being married. “No. I live alone."
A little puff of air came through her teeth. Relief?
Marge intruded. “I thought you might like to go by and see my place on your way back to the hospital."
Eliza hesitated so Jeff took charge. “I think she's had about all the outing she can handle for one day. As soon as those packages are ready, I'm taking her back to the hospital. We can see the apartment later."
The corners of Marge's mouth turned down, but Eliza smiled up at him in obvious gratitude.
They tried to talk Jeff into carrying the packages for Eliza's last picture. He adamantly refused, knowing what Captain Pittman would say if he saw Jeff in a newspaper picture that was an obvious publicity stunt. Instead, he let Chaz have the honor. It took a while to arrange the shot, since Mrs. Herman wanted the store's name on the front of a shopping bag to show, but Jeff finally got Eliza out of the store.
Chapter Six
MARGE WATCHED THEM walk away. No doubt about it, big brother Jeff was smitten with Eliza. But why shouldn't he be, everybody else was. A stranger had walked up, handed her fifty dollars, and expected nothing in return. Ken had tried to appear cool while photographing her, but Marge had seen the excitement dancing in his eyes. She'd even checked the front of his trousers a few times to see how far his excitement went.
Taking Eliza into her apartment might not be such a hot idea after all. Ken's initial attraction to Marge had grown from the fact that he wanted to be a high fashion photographer and that Marge knew more about the business than he did. Many of their dates had been photography sessions in which she had served as his model and his critic. With Eliza around, he'd undoubtedly want to photograph her. Would he want anything else?
Not that Marge could blame him. Eliza had it all; large, widely spaced eyes, high cheekbones, stunning hair, and a long, lean body. Physically, she was everything Marge wanted to be. If Marge looked more like Eliza, she would have gone to New York at sixteen no matter what her parents said.
She jerked as an arm dropped around her shoulders.
“What're you thinking about, babe?” Ken whispered, his mouth against her ear.
“Oh, Eliza, of course."
“How about the way she posed so naturally? She must be a professional model."
Marge shook her head. “I don't think so. She doesn't shave her legs."
Ken shrugged. “She's been in the hospital. Nurses don't have time to do things like that for patients."
“I mean she's never shaved ‘em. The hairs are still soft and fuzzy."
He stared at her. “I wonder where she came from.” Then he frowned. “Maybe you ought not to take her into your apartment. But it's hard to believe she'd be dangerous. Did you see the way people reacted to her?"
“Yeah, I almost croaked when that old guy handed her the fifty,” Marge said.
“I almost croaked when she didn't know what it was.” He chuckled. “I saw how upset you got when she tried to give it back."
Marge shook her head. “That old guy giving her money just showed the effect she has on people. She may not be a model, but she could be one, a big one."
He nodded.
“But as dumb as she is, she'll need people to help her,” Marge added.
Ken quirked his mouth to one side and stared at her silently for a moment. Then he said, “She might be an entirely different person when she gets her memory back."
“She won't look any different."
His eyebrows conceded her point. “You'll be the one living with her and having to teach her everything she needs to know. Then she might get her memory back and take off."
She tried to make her voice casual. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” She actually thought, Eliza Scoggins may be my last real chance to get to New York.
Ken pulled her toward his camera equipment. “Can we get outta here now?"
* * * *
ELIZA SANK AGAINST the padded front seat of the car gratefully. Her leg ached and a general weakness gripped her body. Even so, excitement drummed through her veins. This new world was more incredible than she had imagined, but how could she possibly learn all the things she needed to know?
Jeff stretched the seat strap across her lap. She stayed his hand. “Let me do it."
He released the strap. She had to pull on it several times before the metal loop slipped into the little slot with a click. She nodded, pleased with her small accomplishment.
Jeff smiled at her. “Have a couple of hours with my sister turned you into an independent woman?"
“There are so many things I have to learn to do for myself."
“You could wake up any morning and remember it all,” he said.
“I'm afraid that won't happen.” Eliza cautioned herself to be careful.
“I like your new outfit. What else did you get?” He started the engine and eased out into the traffic.
“Oh, so many things. A blue dress with big white dots on it, and pants, Marge called them slacks, and four tops. Some of them are knit, but very lightweight. Shoes and sandals and this purse.” She held it up and popped the catch. Her new cosmetics rattled around inside. She picked up the fifty-dollar bill. “A man in the store gave me this, so I'd have some money in my new purse. At first I wasn't going to take it, but his wife said it was all right."
Jeff glanced over. “Wow, fifty bucks. How about taking me to lunch?"
“Oh, I'd like to, but when I said this was a lot of money, Marge said fifty dollars wasn't enough to buy a meal for two people in a nice restaurant."
Jeff chuckled. “I don't go to the same restaurants as my sister. But it's my fault you've missed lunch at the hospital, so I owe you this one."
“You've done so much for me. You certainly don't owe me anything. I'll be happy to buy your lunch if you think this is enough money."
He glanced over at her with a tight smile. “You don't remember anything about money?"
“I didn't even know what it was when the man handed it to me. Fifty sounded like a lot, but then I looked at the tag hanging from my dress and it read two hundred and twenty-eight dollars. I told Marge I couldn't take anything that cost that much, but she said not to worry, it didn't cost the store half that. But things are terribly expensive. How will I ever get enough money to live on?"
Eliza told herself to stop talking so much. This nice man didn't want to hear her chattering complaints. He turned the car into a lot where parked cars surrounded a glass fronted building. They drove past the building until they reached a large sign with words and pictures of food on it.
“Can I help you?” the sign said.
Startled, Eliza leaned down so she could look past Jeff and examine the sign more carefully. The voice came from an area covered with little holes. Eliza realized this was like some of the talking walls at the hospital. A person, somewhere, was really talking.
He leaned toward it. “Let me have two burgers, two regular fries, and two colas."
The sign repeated the order and told him an amount of money.
Jeff eased the car around the corner of the building and stopped at a window. A young woman reached out, took his money, gave him change, and started handing him paper bags.
“Oh, I had enough money to pay. You should have let me,” Eliza said, fearing Detective Palmer would think her stingy.
He smiled and handed her a paper bag. “Hold this for a minute. You can get it next time."
Next time.
Driving until he found a parking spot that didn't face the sun, he parked the car and divided the food between them.
“Do you like ketchup on your fries?” He held up a small packet with red lettering on it.
“We have those little packages at the hospital sometimes, but I don't know what to do with them."
Pulling a carton stuffed with strips of fried potatoes from the bag, he handed it to her, tore a corner from the small envelope, and squirted a dot of red sauce on one of the strips. “Taste that."
As she munched on the potato, she nodded in approval.
He squeezed the rest of the sauce over her potatoes. “There's more if you need it."
They ate silently for a few minutes. After taking a big bite of the hamburger, Eliza opened the bread and examined the contents.
“Is something wrong?” Jeff asked.
Eliza had to swallow before she could answer. “Oh, no. I've just never had ground up beef served between bread like this. It's very tasty."
“You must have had it before. The hamburger is America's favorite food."
“Really? With so many different things to eat, I wonder why this became the favorite?"
“Fast food for a fast world."
She nodded, slowly chewed another bite of the sandwich, and took a drink of the cola. “I hope I didn't hurt Marge's feelings by not going to see her apartment. She helped me so much this morning, but my leg is hurting."
“Don't worry about it,” he said with a frown. “She shouldn't have mentioned it until we find out if Social Services will allow it."
“Social who?"
“The welfare people, they're the ones who're managing the money the newspaper's raising for you. You know about that, don't you?"
“One of the nurses showed me an article in the paper. It said people had given over a thousand dollars, but I thought the money would go to the hospital."
“It's closer to three thousand now. The money is for you, but the welfare people will decide how it's spent until we find your family."
“Why will they do that?"
“It's their job to look after people who are ... who can't take care of themselves."
Even though Jeff had left the car running so cool air would blow on them, Eliza's cheeks suddenly felt very warm. All her life she'd fought to prove she could take care of herself. Now, in a world where independent women were perfectly acceptable, she was as helpless as a baby. She dropped the sandwich back into its paper wrapper.
Jeff set his drink on the shelf just under the wide window in the front of the car. “Hey, it's just until you get your memory back. The doctor said that could happen at any time."
She looked up at him. “What if I don't get it back? Will I always need people to look after me?"
He curled fingers around her arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You will get your memory back. But until that happens, you'll just have to relearn what you need to know. Look how much you learned today, all about money and ketchup.” He smiled. “Two of the most important things in life."
She tried to smile back, but knowing her memory wasn't the real problem made it hard to do. “I hope I can live with Marge. She's so smart I could learn a lot from her."
His smile changed to an uncertain frown.
* * * *
ELIZA LEANED AGAINST the window frame and stared out at her new world. Saturday had been the most exciting day of her life. She'd seen impossible things that others thought ordinary, and people had treated her as if she were special, even pretty. Most amazing of all, a wonderful man had taken her to lunch as if he were courting her.
Perhaps she could make a good life for herself in this time. She already had new clothes, money, and friends. They'd moved her to a room away from the locked hall. She could leave the hospital if she dared, but where would she go?
A wave of loneliness swept over her. She'd always been surrounded by family members who aided and protected her, sometimes more than she liked. But now she had no one. How could she face the challenges of such a complicated new world with no one to help her? She pressed her forehead against the window glass and closed her eyes, finding the sight of the cars and highways more intimidating than she could bear.
A short knock sounded at the door and snapped her from her gloomy reverie. Without waiting for and invitation, a stocky, middle-aged woman entered her room. “Miss Scoggins?"
“Yes."
The squarely built woman approached Eliza and extended her hand. “I'm Lena Ragsdale from the Department of Social Services."
Eliza had learned that women shook hands just like men in this world, so she took the woman's hand. “Are you the one who's going to look after my welfare?"
Mrs. Ragsdale gave her hand a jerk and released it. Pushing a pair of wire rimmed glasses up on her pudgy nose, she frowned at Eliza. “I've been placed in charge of your case. As you've probably heard, the newspaper has collected funds for you. Our office has accepted the responsibility of supervising that money until you regain your faculties or responsible relatives are located."
Eliza nodded. Jeff had told her about this.
“Have you regained any of your memory?"
Eliza shook her head. “Nothing about who I am."
“No one has come forward claiming to be a relative?"
Eliza adjusted the front of her robe. “Not that I know of."
“Since you're without health insurance, the hospital is anxious to discharge you. However, it isn't easy to find a public facility for someone in your condition.” Mrs. Ragsdale fished a notebook from her large purse. She read for a moment.
“I went to see Miss Marge Palmer this morning. Her apartment is upscale from what we normally chose for our clients."
Did that mean she couldn't live with Marge?
Mrs. Ragsdale continued, “Since you'll only have to pay half the rent and utilities, however, it will do as a temporary residence. Anyway, the money isn't coming from public funds so there shouldn't be any objections."
“Objections?” The woman talked so fast, that Eliza was having trouble following her.
“You can be sure some nosy reporter will be watching and hoping for any chance to criticize our office in the handling of your case.” Mrs. Ragsdale punctuated her words by stabbing a finger toward Eliza. “I want you to understand that you will not be allowed to spend the money from this fund frivolously. You'll have to live within an established budget. Requests for additional funds will not be honored except in emergencies. Is that clear?"
Eliza nodded. The woman sounded angry. Eliza couldn't imagine what she'd done to cause that anger. “I always spend money carefully,” she said.
“Humph. It's been my experience that pretty, young women have difficulty living within budgets. Miss Palmer doesn't even have one. I had to determine what your living expenses with her would be myself. I advised her that no matter what she spends during a month, your part will be strictly limited."
“Does that mean I can live with Marge?” Eliza asked hopefully.
“Do you want to live with her?"
“Oh, yes. She's very smart."
“Humph.” The corners of Mrs. Ragsdale's mouth turned down a little farther. “Can we sit down while we go over these figures? I've been on my feet all morning."
Eliza sat on the edge of the bed.
Mrs. Ragsdale plopped beside her and started pointing at figures written in her notebook. “This is the rent and these are the utilities. Of course, there will be seasonal variations in the utilities but you probably won't be there that long, anyway"
“What are utilities?” Eliza asked.
Mrs. Ragsdale sighed. “Electricity and water, of course."
Eliza knew electricity ran many modern wonders so it seemed reasonable that people would have to pay something for it, but water?
“I have to pay for water?” In the West that she knew, trying to restrict someone's use of water could lead to gunfire.
Mrs. Ragsdale looked over at her as though she didn't believe the question. “Well, of course. Nothing comes free in this world."
Eliza was beginning to believe that.
“Now I've set aside two hundred dollars a month for food."
“Will I need so much?"
“You'll have to plan meals very conservatively to get by on that. There'll be no trips to fancy restaurants. Do you know how to cook?"
Eliza had prepared meals for her family since she was sixteen, but foods were so different here. “I don't remember."
Mrs. Ragsdale looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “You do remember how to care for your own personal needs, don't you?"
“Personal needs?"
“You know how to dress yourself and use the bathroom?"
“Oh, yes.” Eliza nodded, glad that she could answer a question positively. “The nurses showed me how to flush and such. I still have a lot of trouble getting the shower water just right. I've almost burned myself several times."
A flicker of a smile showed on Mrs. Ragsdale's face. “We all have that problem. I've never understood why we can send people to the moon but can't devise a simple way to regulate the temperature of showers."
Eliza drew back from Mrs. Ragsdale in amazement. “People have gone to the moon?"
Now Mrs. Ragsdale looked amazed. “My goodness, you really don't remember much."
Eliza bowed her head, again overwhelmed by all the miraculous things she didn't know about in this modern world. “When I was in the locked ward, I watched TV a lot, trying to learn more, but I don't have a set here."
Mrs. Ragsdale's expression softened. “It'll take time, but I'm sure your memory will come back. With careful budgeting, you'll have enough money to live on for at least four months. By then, we'll surely know who you are."
Panic grew in Eliza's chest. Four months? Was that all the time she had to make a new life for herself? “What if I don't remember? What will I do then?"
“You'll just have to find a way to support yourself. Miss Palmer thinks, because of all the publicity you've had, you might be able to work as a model as she does. If that doesn't work out, there are job training programs I can refer you to."
“Could I become a teacher?"
“You'd have to have a college degree to do that."
“I would?” Eliza had taught school before without a college education.
Mrs. Ragsdale leaned over and patted Eliza's hand. “Don't worry. Even though you're leaving the hospital, you'll still have regular visits with Dr. Ferris. Your memory will come back soon enough. If you have any problems, I'll only be a phone call away. You do know how to use a phone, don't you?"
“I've seen people use them, but I—"
“See this number?” She pointed to another set of figures in her book. “That's Miss Palmer's phone number. Let's call her right now.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small phone. She showed Eliza how to push the buttons and hold it to her ear.
When Marge's voice suddenly said, “Hello,” Eliza almost dropped the phone.
“Hello. Marge?” Eliza's voice was shrill with excitement. “Is that you?"
“Who is this?"
“Eliza. I'm coming to live with you."
Chapter Seven
ELIZA FELT AS tense as the strings on a two dollar fiddle as she waited to leave the hospital. Marge had called last night and said she had to work this morning but would pick Eliza up by two o'clock. Then she called just after lunch to say she'd be a little late because Ken was tied up. Eliza didn't understand why the newspaper photographer was coming. She didn't like the idea of seeing her new home for the first time under the constant observation of a camera.
Finally, Marge appeared in the open doorway. “We're here. Are you ready to go?” She strode into the room with her long legs encased in tight blue trousers. Ken followed her, without his camera equipment.
Eliza nodded.
Marge surveyed the bundles lined up on the bed. “This all your stuff?” She handed two bulging shopping bags to Ken.
A nurse arrived with a wheel chair. “I brought the chair for you to go down in."
“Thank you, Mrs. Flint, but I don't need it. Mrs. Blanchard has arranged for me to take this cane with me,” Eliza said.
“You can take the cane, but you have to use the chair when you leave. Regulations,” Mrs. Flint said.
The chair turned out to be a good idea. They hung the shopping bags on the handles so Ken and Marge could carry the rest of Eliza's belongings. Mrs. Flint went down to the front of the hospital with them and waited for Ken to bring up the car.
“Is Mr. Martin going to take more pictures of me?” Eliza asked.
Marge looked at her with a puzzled frown. “He might, sometime. Why do you ask?"
“I just wondered why he's here."
“I asked him to come and help. His car is roomier than mine."
“Did you know him before the shopping trip at the big store?"
Marge grinned as though she at last understood Eliza. “Sure, we've been dating for a while."
“He's your beau."
Marge laughed. “I've called him a lot of things, but never that."
Mrs. Flint smiled and shook her head. Eliza realized she'd said something silly again, but Marge didn't seem offended.
Wanting to know more about how men and women got together in this modern world, Eliza dared to ask, “I meant, are you two seriously courting?"
Marge shrugged. “We're as serious as you can get without making any permanent commitments."
Eliza would have asked more, but Ken arrived in a noisy car peppered with spots of rust.
After loading Eliza and her bundles into the back seat and thanking Mrs. Flint, Marge sat beside Ken and told him which route to take as they drove away. Between looking back to talk to Eliza and ahead to check on and make comments about Ken's driving, Marge kept up a constant stream of chatter.
Eliza was surprised that Marge would openly criticize her beau, but Ken didn't seem to be bothered by it. In fact, he seemed to be ignoring her. Eliza's brothers wouldn't have tolerated a lady friend who told them what to do.
The car entered a parking lot. Marge announced, “This is it."
Eliza couldn't see anything except some second story windows above a wall and tall bushes. As they were getting out of the car, Marge pointed at a carriage that appeared to be a combination car and wagon. A piece of furniture stood in the wagon part.
“That must be Paul's truck,” Marge said. “Good thing I left the key for Jeff."
Eliza's pulse quickened at the mention of Jeff's name. She'd hoped living with his sister would afford her occasional opportunities to see him but hadn't expected an encounter this soon.
While Marge loaded herself and Ken down with bags and bundles, she explained to Eliza that the guys had brought some bedroom furniture her parents had in storage. With a nod from Marge, Eliza opened a gate that led into a large courtyard formed by three, two story buildings. As they approached a shimmering rectangle in the middle of the courtyard, Eliza pointed. “What is that?"
“The swimming pool,” Marge said.
Eliza could see it was a pool, but she'd never seen one with perfectly square sides. Marge herded her around it toward a staircase. Eliza let Marge and Ken go ahead of her so she could take her time going up the stairs.
She followed them through an open doorway and into a large room. Her feet scuffed against a thick carpet that covered the entire floor. Near one end of the room, cabinets hung from the ceiling over a counter that jutted out into the floor. Parlor furniture sparsely furnished the rest of the room. Two doorways opened in the opposite wall.
Marge made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “What do you think?"
Jeff entered the room through a doorway across from Eliza. He had on a pair of tight, blue pants very much like the ones Marge wore. A knit shirt hugged the firm curves of shoulders and chest. Eliza's breath caught in her throat.
He smiled at her. His partner, Paul, came behind him. Jeff introduced him to Ken and then turned to Marge. “We've got the bed set up. Just have to get the dresser."
“Can I give you a hand?” Ken asked.
“Yeah. You can bring the drawers. That'll save us a trip."
Ken set the bags and bundles on the sofa. All the men started for the doorway, but Eliza stood in their path. She tried to step aside just as Jeff stepped in the same direction.
For a moment they stood facing each other, their bodies weaving uncertainly from one side to the other. Then he reached for her arm. “You go this way,” he said and gently pulled her aside.
His touch made her stomach flutter.
When the men left, Marge showed Eliza the kitchen area. “We have a gas stove, a microwave, a dish washer, and of course, a refrigerator. Do you cook?"
Looking at the strange contraptions that furnished the area, Eliza shook her head. She certainly couldn't cook in this kitchen.
Marge shrugged. “We'll get by. I nuke stuff most of the time."
Eliza nodded, trying to hide her ignorance.
The men came back, carrying the chest. Marge followed them into a side room and called to Eliza. “Come tell us where you want it."
Eliza poked her head into the room. The men had already placed the chest against the wall across from a double bed. “That's fine,” she muttered and backed away from the crowded room.
Marge came after her. “Okay, let's get your things in there."
Ken followed Marge and started picking up the packages on the sofa.
As Jeff and Paul came out of the room, Paul said he had to leave as his wife was expecting him. Jeff thanked him for letting them use his truck. Eliza added her thanks.
After Paul left, Jeff said, “Unless you need something else, I'll be leaving, too."
Ken came back from carrying a load of bags into the bedroom. “Do you need a ride?"
“No, I followed the truck over on my motorcycle."
“You still riding around on that hog?” Marge asked.
Eliza stared at him in amazement. She couldn't imagine a big man like Jeff riding a hog. She'd seen her brothers do it, but only when they were boys.
“You got a Harley?” Ken asked.
Jeff nodded. “Yeah, a Heritage Softail."
Was that the breed, Eliza wondered?
“I've always wanted one of those,” Ken said earnestly.
“Don't even dream about it,” Marge replied.
Eliza was terribly confused. “Can you ride a hog on city streets?"
Everyone in the room stared at her. Jeff grinned. Marge and Ken started to laugh. They were laughing at her, but she didn't know why. Jeff was the one who rode hogs. Why weren't they laughing at him?
Jeff sobered enough to say, “It's not a real hog. ‘Hog’ is the nickname for a brand of motorcycle, the Harley Davidson. Do you know what a motorcycle is?"
She stared at him silently, not about to give him another reason to laugh at her.
“Motorcycles are big bicycles with motors added. They're a favorite boy-toy,” Marge said.
“Girls just don't appreciate having a powerful machine between their legs,” Ken said with a smirk.
Marge propped one hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows. “You don't know much about girls, sonny."
Eliza's back stiffened. Were they talking about something other than the motorcycle?
Jeff cleared his throat, frowned at Marge, and tipped his head toward Eliza.
Eliza looked down at the carpet, the thick carpet that was all one color, beige. She didn't understand what these people were talking about or laughing at or why they would want a rich carpet without colorful designs in it. Would she always feel so out of place?
“I'm going to put my things away.” She hobbled into her room.
“I think you embarrassed her,” Eliza heard Jeff say even though he spoke softly.
“Maybe our laughing hurt her feelings,” Ken added.
“If she's going to live with me, she's got to toughen up,” Marge said. She walked into Eliza's room.
“Let's do your bed.” Marge went into the adjoining bathroom and pulled open a cabinet. “Linens are in here."
She plopped sheets and pillow cases on the bed. “No reason you guys can't help,” she called out.
Ken eased into the room. “Yeah, I'm a good bed maker.” He picked up a sheet and waved it open.
Jeff strode into the room. “Let me show you how we did it at the Academy."
The men positioned themselves on either side of the bed and began to smooth and tuck sheets. Marge grabbed one of the shopping bags and started pulling articles out. “You decide what drawers you want to put stuff in and I'll hang things in the closet."
Eliza was too stunned to by the sight of men making her bed to object. She hurried to stuff underwear away before Jeff or Ken could see it. After several quick glances at them, she admitted they were doing a good job of making the bed. More importantly, she reminded herself, they were doing it to make her feel better.
When they finished, Jeff said, “Well, guess I'll be go—"
Marge interrupted him. “Why don't you stay for dinner? We can order pizza."
He looked surprised, then suspicious. “Why? You need somebody to pay for it?"
“I thought we'd all chip in.” She made a face at him.
Eliza held her breath waiting for Jeff's answer. She sensed an undercurrent of hostility between Jeff and Marge, but she hoped he would stay.
“What do you get on pizza, fruits and nuts?” he asked Marge.
Marge, Jeff and Ken went back into the living room arguing. Puzzled, Eliza followed. Jeff said a pizza wasn't pizza without pepperoni; Ken nodded. Eliza didn't know what pizza or pepperoni was. Marge finally agreed to order a large one with meat and a medium one with veggies only.
While she talked on the phone, Eliza wandered over and looked out the big windows. She rubbed her upper arms for warmth. The air was as conditioned here as it had been in the hospital.
Jeff walked over to her. “Are you cold? You want to go out on the balcony and warm up?"
She stared at the large window in front of her. “How can I get out there?"
He reached for a bar on the side of the window and slid it open.
“Oh, it's a door, too.” She stepped out into the much warmer air. He followed her and closed the door.
Hearing a splash, Eliza looked over the railing and saw a nearly nude man swimming back and forth in the manmade pool. After curiosity overcame her embarrassment, she asked, “Why is he doing that?"
“For the exercise."
She asked him more questions about exercise, coming to understand that most people in this world did so little physical labor that they needed artificial ways to tone their muscles. Jeff said he jogged. That was running without really going anywhere.
Finally, a young man entered the courtyard carrying a large, flat bundle. “Hope that's our dinner,” Jeff said.
A few seconds later, a chiming noise sounded in the living room. Jeff excused himself and went to the door Ken had just opened. When Eliza saw them reaching for their wallets and taking out money, she wondered if she should contribute her share. But Marge ignored them, so Eliza did, too.
* * * *
MARGE TOOK CHARGE of serving the pizza. She had wanted Jeff to stay so Ken could tell him about the picture he had sold before it came out on the newsstands. Frankly, she didn't see why Jeff should care, but knowing how self-righteous he was, she expected he would. She just hoped he wouldn't start a big fight, not on Eliza's first night here.
When they were all gathered around the coffee table, Eliza on the sofa and the rest of them sitting on the floor, Marge noticed Eliza watching them carefully without touching her own food. Finally she gingerly picked up her pizza and nibbled on the pointed end.
Damn, Marge thought, she doesn't even know how to eat pizza. “How do you like it?"
Eliza nodded and took a bigger bite.
Marge sighed in relief. Pizza was the stuff of life for her. She couldn't have a roommate who didn't like it.
When Eliza took a sip from the can of beer they'd given her, however, she grimaced and made a small exclamation of disgust over the taste. As everyone turned to her, she said, “Er ... this cola isn't like the ones they had at the hospital."
“Oh, my God,” Marge muttered.
Jeff chuckled. “That's not cola, honey, it's beer."
Eliza blushed.
Thinking her feelings were hurt because Jeff had laughed at her again, Marge scrambled to her feet. “You don't have to drink it if you don't like it, Eliza. I'll get you a real cola."
When she was back at the table and everyone had started eating again, Marge tried to catch Ken's eye and prod him into action. Ken looked at everyone and everything but her. She cleared her throat. He rearranged the pepperoni circles on his second slice of pizza. Finally she nudged him with her elbow. When he looked at her, she dipped her head in Jeff's direction.
Ken looked over at Jeff, hesitated a moment, and then cleared his throat. “I heard today that the next issue of the National Expose will carry a story about Eliza."
Jeff dropped his half eaten piece of pizza onto his plate. “That tabloid? Nobody believes what they print."
Ken nodded. “That's what I thought. So I didn't see any harm in selling them a picture of her."
“What?” Jeff shifted his leg and bumped the table so hard that everyone had to grab their drink cans to keep them from tipping over.
Marge lost all hope of avoiding another confrontation with her brother.
“They'd already talked to people at the hospital. They knew more of the story than I did,” Ken went on. “If I hadn't sold the picture to ‘em, they'd have gotten one somewhere else. Besides, my car is about to fall apart."
Jeff sprang to his feet and glared at Ken. “They paid you enough money to buy a new car?” he shouted.
Ken shook his head. “Not a new one, another used one."
“I knew you two wanted to use Eliza, but I didn't think you'd do something this damn reckless.” Jeff's fury became more controlled but still menacing. “Don't you know that tabloid will make a circus freak out of this poor woman?” He pointed at Eliza.
Marge glanced over at her. Eliza held the cola can in midair as she stared at Jeff with a shocked expression. Marge jumped to her feet. She'd had all of his high and mightiness she could take.
“Wait a minute, Jeff. Her picture's already been all over the country. What harm can one more do?"
Jeff balled his fists. “What if they print that idiotic story about her being shot full of arrows by Comanches?"
Marge's mouth fell open. What in the hell was he talking about?
Jeff turned his wrath back to Ken. “You might see your big chance hauled off to the nut-house."
The cola can fell from Eliza's hand and clanked against the table. Fizzing liquid gurgled out of it. She stared up at Jeff with a stricken expression. “Are you talking about me?"
Marge dropped all the paper napkins on the table onto the spreading cola. Ken ran to the kitchen and came back with a towel to finish the mop up. Jeff stared down at Eliza's pale face as it dawned on him that his words had wounded her.
Eliza stood, and without her cane took several lurching steps toward her bedroom.
Jeff moved in front of her and caught her upper arms. “I don't think you're crazy. You were delirious from drugs and injuries. I understand that, but you don't know how these tabloids work. They like to sensationalize. They print anything, whether it's true or not."
As Ken finished cleaning the table, Marge stood openmouthed and watched the scene between Eliza and Jeff unfolding. Apparently, Eliza had been in the hospital psych ward for reasons other than amnesia. Now she was living in Marge's apartment.
Eliza blinked back tears and tried to pull free of Jeff's grasp. Instead of releasing her, he slipped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. “I'm just trying to help you, Eliza, protect you."
Eliza didn't respond.
Jeff kept one arm around her but stepped back so he could lift her chin and look into her eyes. “Come back to the table. Finish your supper,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “I'd like to lie down,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Are you sure?"
She nodded.
He led her to the doorway. She stepped inside and closed the door.
“Does she really believe she was shot by Indians?” Marge asked as Jeff turned away from the door.
“That's just something she said because of the amnesia. The doctors talked her out of it,” Jeff said.
Anger flashed through Marge. She braced her fists against her hips. “Did it occur to either of you that I had a right to know about this before I invited her to live with me?"
“I didn't know about the Indian story myself until the guy from the National mentioned it,” Ken said.
“That was just a delusion she had coming out of the anesthesia,” Jeff added. “Nothing you needed to worry about until your boyfriend decided to cash in on it."
“Didn't you hear what he just said?” Marge was almost beside herself with anger. “He didn't know about it. You're the one who didn't warn me the woman I was planning to bring into my home had psychotic delusions."
“Keep your voice down,” Jeff hissed. “She's over that now. I wouldn't have let her come here if I thought she was dangerous."
Eliza's door burst open. She glared at Marge as tears ran down her cheeks. “If you think I'm dangerous, I'll go somewhere else."
“Where would you go?” Marge asked, knowing the answer as she spoke. Until they learned her true identity, Eliza had nowhere else to go. The enormous responsibility she had taken on by bringing Eliza here, suddenly weighed on Marge.
Eliza's gaze faltered. She clasped her hands together tightly. Marge had only thought of Eliza in terms of what she might do for Marge. Now she truly grasped Eliza's predicament. Marge didn't think of herself as a caregiver, but she couldn't throw this helpless woman out into the streets.
She took a hesitant step toward Eliza. “Look, when I get angry, I say the first think that pops into my head. But I'm angry at Jeff, not you."
“We all need to calm down,” Ken said. He walked up to Eliza and caught hold of her hand. “If selling that photo causes you any embarrassment, I'm sorry. I never intended to hurt you."
Marge sighed. “And I'm sorry I told Ken it'd be all right to sell the picture. If I'd known the whole story, I wouldn't have."
Jeff grunted.
Marge whirled back to him as her hands knotted into fists.
“You two are fighting because I'm here,” Eliza said in an alarmed voice. “I can't come between a brother and sister,"
Jeff shrugged. “Aw, we always fight."
“Just because I'm the baby of the family, he refuses to treat me like an adult,” Marge explained.
“Maybe if you'd act like an adult—"
Ken interrupted Jeff with a burst of laughter. “It's known as sibling rivalry, Eliza. I'm sure they were fighting like this long before either of us came into their lives. Now come finish your pizza and don't pay these two any attention."
He gave her hand a small tug.
Eliza looked at Marge with an unspoken question. Marge nodded a welcome. Eliza wiped her eyes as Ken led her back to the table.
After she was seated, he brought her a fresh slice of pizza and another cola, snapping the tab from the can with a flourish. Sometimes Ken could act like a classy guy.
Marge returned to her place, gaining a little satisfaction from Jeff's guilty expression. At least, he showed remorse over hurting Eliza's feelings. That might make him easier to be around. Noticing how his gaze followed Eliza's every movement, Marge figured her big brother would be around a lot.
* * * *
ON HIS WAY TO work the next morning, Jeff stopped at the convenience mart near his apartment for a cup of coffee. He was stirring in the creamer when he heard, “Ain't that the gal from Fort Worth?"
Jeff turned and saw the cashier talking to a man who was loading copies of the National Expose into a rack.
Jeff approached the counter with dread. A picture of Eliza was on the front page, a doctored picture. A body with a large bosom that was barely covered by a low cut, period costume had been placed under Eliza's face. The headline over the picture read, Time Traveler in Texas.
Jeff gritted his teeth, picked up one of the papers, and paid the clerk. In his car, he read the story as he sipped the coffee. It recounted what Eliza had said when she first regained consciousness, citing interviews with unnamed doctors and nurses. It also gave the historical accounts of the real Eliza Scoggins. The last line of the story did say, “Disbelieving doctors claim the woman is suffering from amnesia."
When he reached the station, Jeff crammed the paper under the car seat. He knew someone was bound to see the story and give him a hard time about it, but hoped to delay the inevitable as long as possible. He hurried to the detective squad room, getting to his desk without making eye contact with any of his fellow officers. But the big room was quiet, unnaturally quiet. Captain Pittman came out of his office holding a folded paper down by his side. Jeff braced himself. The captain threw a copy of the National Expose on Jeff's desk. Eliza's face stared up at him.
Bracing his fists on the edge of the desk, Captain Pittman glared at Jeff. In a voice Jeff was sure could be heard throughout the building, he yelled, “Palmer, why in the hell didn't you form a posse and go after those Comanches?"
Hoots of laughter filled the room. Jeff forced a smile, knowing he had to take the kidding as long as the Captain was dishing it out. “The doctors assured me the Comanches were imaginary."
The Captain tapped his finger against the desk to give emphasis to his words. “If you'd find out what really happened to the woman, we could put a stop to all this damn silliness.
“We've got a lot of leads. I'm checking ‘em out."
The Captain jabbed the newspaper. “There was one good thing about this story."
“What's that, sir?"
“They didn't mention the Fort Worth Police Department. And you better see it stays that way,” the Captain grumbled before stalking back to his office.
“Yes, sir,” Jeff called after him.
His fellow officers shot him grins before returning to their work. When the normal buzz filled the room, Jeff called Marge. “Have you seen the picture?” he asked.
“Yeah, I went out and got a copy.” Marge sounded sheepish.
Good.
“How'd Eliza take it?"
“Okay, I guess."
“What do you mean, you guess?"
“She got upset, but she didn't start seeing Indians."
“Don't talk about her like that."
“She's in the other room."
“Is she still upset about what I said last night?"
“I don't know. Why don't you talk to her?"
“Okay.” He drummed his fingers while he waited for Eliza to come on the line.
“Detective Palmer?” Her voice had a higher pitch than usual and she'd stopped using his first name. She must be angry with him.
“Yes?"
“I've never worn a dress like that, never. Those people should not have changed my picture. Can you do something to them?"
“Don't worry about it, Eliza. Everyone knows they change pictures."
“People who don't know me won't know. Why, that's not even my ... my chest. Those people are dishonest. Can't you arrest them?"
Jeff smothered a chuckle. As irate as she was, he'd be in big trouble if she heard him laugh. “I'm afraid criminal law doesn't cover this sort of thing, Eliza. You'd have to take civil action, hire a lawyer, and sue them for libel. That's a pretty complicated procedure. Most people just don't bother. I guess that's why those papers get away with printing such things."
“Oh.” She sounded truly disappointed.
“Don't let it upset you. As soon as I saw the picture, I knew you hadn't posed for it. I'm sure everyone else will, too."
“Why?"
Was there an accusing tone in her voice? Jeff thought carefully before answering. “Because I knew you wouldn't wear a dress like that."
“Oh, thank you.” She sounded relieved. Apparently he'd dodged the bullet. Maybe she'd go back to calling him Jeff now.
Chapter Eight
ELIZA AWOKE TO a strange rhythmic beating that sounded like Indian drums. A moment of panic swept through her. A quick glance around the room assured her she was still in her bedroom in Marge's apartment. The afternoon sunlight peaking through the cracks in the blinds told her she hadn't been napping long. She got up and went to the door.
Opening it just a crack, she gasped at the sight of Marge performing a peculiar dance. She wore a wide bra and skintight pants that only came down to her mid-thighs. Eliza realized the noise came from that machine Marge called a stereo. Marge kicked her legs and waved her arms in time to the music, which had apparently been turned down out of consideration for Eliza.
Marge turned a bit, made eye contact, grinned, and went right on swinging her legs up and touching her toes with the opposing hand. After last night's blowup, Eliza had made a great effort to respect Marge's privacy, but she was very curious about what Marge was doing now. Since Marge didn't seem embarrassed over being seen behaving like this, Eliza edged over to the sofa to watch.
Occasionally Marge changed her movements but kept pumping her arms and legs in time to the music until sweat formed large semi-circles on her bra. Finally a strange looking little clock sitting on the bar dinged softly. Marge stopped dancing, took a deep breath, and picked up a towel to wipe her face and neck.
“So much for the aerobics,” she said. “Now a little toning.” She sat down on the carpet and stretched her legs out in front of her. She looked over at Eliza. “If you'll hold my ankles down, I can do sit-ups."
Eliza wasn't sure what to do. “What do you mean, hold your ankles?"
“You'd have to get down on your knees and hold them so they won't come off the floor. If it'll hurt your leg, don't bother."
“I don't think it will.” Eliza carefully knelt and placed her hands on the top of Marge's ankles. Marge put her hands behind her head and began to raise the upper half of her body from the floor. Eliza had to press down to keep Marge's ankles in place.
She watched, amazed, as Marge grunted and strained and raised and lowered her body repeatedly. Finally she collapsed back to the floor with a deep sigh.
“Why are you doing this?” Eliza asked.
“Got to keep the belly firm. Stop these damn hips from spreading. You keep socking away the pizza, and you'll have to do this, too."
Eliza moved back to the sofa as Marge got on her hands and knees and began to swing one leg up, looking somewhat like a dog about to relieve itself.
“I've always had a tendency to be too thin,” Eliza said.
“In this world, there's no such thing as too thin or too rich."
“But people who keep getting thinner will starve to death."
“Figuratively speaking,” Marge said between puffs of breath. “You take everything literally.” She lowered her elbows to the floor, pulled her knee in toward her chest and then pushed her leg straight out behind her. “Although in modeling, it almost is literal. We always have to watch our weight."
She got back on her feet and began stretching her legs in positions that brought grimaces to her face.
“Why do you want to be a model then?” Eliza asked.
“That's where the rich part comes in. A top New York model can make enough money in five years to retire."
“Are you going to New York?"
“I hope to, one day.” Marge sat on the floor, tucked her feet up under her legs, and began to roll her head from one side to the other.
“Why are you waiting?” Eliza asked. She hoped Marge wasn't planning to go right away.
“You can't just go to New York and break into the big time. You've gotta have connections and money to live on until you start working regularly. A guy Ken was in school with works up there now. He's on the lookout for something for Ken. Ken really wants to get into fashion photography. That's why taking your picture was such a break for him. If he goes, I can go with him."
“Oh, are you and Ken going to get married?"
Marge relaxed her legs and frowned. “Maybe, someday."
Eliza wanted to ask how Marge could possibly go to New York with Ken if they weren't married, but the phone rang and Marge rose to answer it.
When she hung up, Marge turned to Eliza and smiled. “That was our little buddy Chaz. Halbots has a big fashion show coming up, and he wants both of us to work it. You see? Publicity is good, no matter how bad it is."
“What do you do at a fashion show?"
Marge's pleased expression instantly changed to one of alarm. “Oh boy, I've only got two weeks to teach you how to do the runway walk."
* * * *
JEFF HAD TOLD himself he was merely doing a good deed when he invited Eliza to have supper with him. After all, it was Saturday night and Marge would undoubtedly go out and leave her all alone. He felt a swell of disappointment, however, when he arrived at her apartment, and Eliza announced Marge and Ken where considering going with them.
“Where are you guys going?” Ken asked.
Jeff hesitated, realizing how much he'd been looking forward to an evening alone with Eliza. “Ah, I thought I'd show Eliza the Stockyards. Eat at one of the places there.” Jeff hoped that wouldn't be fancy enough for Marge.
She appeared at that moment fluffing the front of her hair with a long toothed comb. “Where're they going?"
“Someplace in the Stockyards,” Ken replied.
Marge's eyebrows shot up. “Why go there and have to put up with all the tourists?"
“I thought Eliza might get a kick out of it."
“I haven't been down there in a long time myself,” Ken said. “It might be fun."
Marge shrugged.
“Okay if we go with you guys?” Ken asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Jeff said without enthusiasm. Was the boy photographer trying to become his buddy, or just keeping an eye on his model? He damn well better not be thinking about changing girlfriends.
Eliza beamed. Jeff reminded himself how upset she'd been over the fight he and Marge had the last time he was here. He'd have to keep his mouth shut tonight and pretend to get along with Marge to please Eliza.
Ken offered to drive his new car. He bragged that the blue Ford was only three years old. Jeff resisted the temptation to make a comment about the source of this new vehicle. Instead, he said it looked a lot better than the car Ken had been driving.
Ken left the freeway at University Drive and cut over to North Main so they missed most of the downtown traffic. Reassured that the kid knew his way around town, Jeff decided to relax and enjoy this opportunity to sit in the back seat with Eliza. He moved a little closer to her.
When he reached for her hand, she looked at him with a shy smile, but readily entwined her fingers with his. The car reached the edges of the historical district and bumped noisily over the special pavement.
“What's wrong with this street?” Eliza asked.
“It's paved with bricks, to make it look old."
Eliza leaned forward and looked intently out the window. “Why do they want it to look old?"
“Not just old, but like the old West, to honor our heritage, that sort of thing,” Jeff said.
Marge looked back from the front seat. “They did it to attract tourists to a part of the town that was dying."
After Ken found a parking place, Jeff helped her out of the car. Eliza held onto his arm so she could concentrate all her attention on the scenery. A large sign supported by white posts stretched over the street and proclaimed, Fort Worth Stock Yards. It was like no stockyards Eliza had ever seen.
One and two-story buildings lined the sidewalks. Some of them did look old-fashioned with rough wooden awnings extending out in front of them. But cars bumped along the streets and electric lights and the cables necessary to power them were everywhere. Aside from a model of a horse suspended from the front of one of the buildings, she didn't see any livestock.
People bustled along the cement sidewalks. Some of the men wore large hats and boots as though trying to look like cowboys. A woman walking in front of them had on the pants called jeans that hugged her rounded hips and cut sharply into the indentation in the middle of her body. She certainly didn't look old-fashioned.
They came to an area with two large buildings standing side-by-side. A bronze statue of a man trying to wrestle a long horned steer to the ground stood on a pedestal in front of one of them. Just beyond the statue, people disembarked from a bus. Eliza stared at them. Most of them had gray hair, were stoop-shouldered, and wore glasses. She'd never seen so many old people all at one time.
She heard Jeff ask, “Is something wrong?” and realized she'd stopped walking.
“Who are those people?” she whispered.
He shrugged, “Probably some golden-agers club coming to the rodeo."
“Club?"
“Retired people form groups to socialize and go on tours together."
She nodded although not entirely sure of his meaning. He led her across the street toward a tall pavilion bearing the sign, Stockyard Station. Railroad tracks ran through the center of the opening, but brightly lighted businesses flanked each side of the tracks and people casually strolled over them totally unconcerned about the arrival of a train.
Inside the tall structure, Eliza saw a profusion of colored electric lights. Loud music came from somewhere. Marge and Ken led the way into a shop that had a wall of shelves filled with stacks of large brimmed hats.
Marge put a white hat on Ken. “You should wear one of these, honey. Then everybody would know you're a good guy."
Jeff picked up a hat and tried to put it on Eliza. She evaded him. “Women don't wear hats like that."
“Sure they do,” he replied. “All the hats in this stack are for women."
He plopped the hat on her head and turned her toward a mirror. Her ponytail caused it to slant down over her forehead at a roguish angle. Eliza looked at herself and giggled. Women in these times wore men's pants and their hats. What next?
They strolled through several more shops, stopping to examine clothes, knickknacks, and foodstuffs. Finally, they stood in the middle of the pavilion and discussed which restaurant they should go to.
At first Eliza just listened. Then Ken said, “What about the seafood place?"
“Seafood? Do you mean fish from the ocean?” How could they have seafood so far inland?
He nodded.
“Do you like seafood?” Jeff asked.
Eliza had only tasted seafood once in her lifetime, during a family trip. “I think I like shrimp,” she said.
Jeff insisted they go to that restaurant.
When they were seated at a table and looking at menus, Marge started advising Eliza on the best dishes to order. “If you really want shrimp, you can get a small cocktail. Then order a piece of the broiled fish. I think I'll just have the fish and a salad."
“What would you like to have, Eliza?” Jeff asked.
Eliza stared at the menu. “I'm not sure. I don't remember much about seafood."
He pointed to an entry on her menu. “That's a combination plate. You'd get to try several different things, including shrimp. How about that?"
Eliza nodded just as Marge spoke up. “Everything on that plate's fried. You shouldn't eat that."
Jeff grimaced at his sister. “Let her enjoy herself.” He turned to the waiter who had just arrived at their table. “The lady and I will both have combination platters."
Marge sighed but didn't say anything more.
After they were served, Jeff got a kick out of the way Eliza savored the different items on her plate as though each taste was a new experience. He guessed having amnesia would make a person feel like they were experiencing everything for first time. As she wiped her lips with a napkin, he wondered if she remembered kisses.
“Did Marge tell you we're going to be in a fashion show?” Eliza asked.
“When did this come about?” Jeff asked.
“The little man named Chaz who works at Halbots called yesterday afternoon after seeing my picture in that terrible paper. Marge said that proves even bad publicity is good."
Jeff smirked at his sister. “Sounds like something you'd say."
Marge gave him a smug little grin.
“This morning I had my first lesson on walking like a model,” Eliza said.
“Oh, do they walk differently from us ordinary people?"
Eliza nodded. “Yes, it's very complicated."
“I'd like to see one of those lessons,” Ken said. “Might be a good photo-op."
“We can do it back at the apartment tonight, if you want to,” Marge said.
Jeff exhaled. It was beginning to look like he'd never be alone with Eliza.
As they walked to the car after dinner, Jeff asked why Eliza was no longer using her cane.
“The pain's almost gone,” she said. “Besides, the cane interferes with my walking lessons."
* * * *
BACK AT THE apartment, Ken opened the car trunk and got out a camera bag.
“Do you carry your camera everywhere you go?” Jeff asked.
“Photographers carry cameras just like cops carry guns,” Ken said while giving Jeff a level look.
Maybe the kid wasn't as wimpy as Jeff had thought.
Once upstairs, Jeff plopped down on the sofa and watched Ken fiddle with the camera equipment. Marge insisted she and Eliza touch up their makeup before any photographs were taken. When the girls came back, Jeff was relieved to see Eliza had only added lipstick and not all the glop Marge wore.
“Where do you want us?” Marge asked.
“Just move around. I'll take a shot when it looks good,” Ken replied.
“Come stand beside me,” Marge said to Eliza. “Remember to keep one foot slightly ahead of the other."
Marge struck a pose. Eliza tried to imitate her. She looked over at Jeff, blushed, and giggled.
Marge reached over and nudged her arm. “Stop that. This is serious business. Shoulders back, head up, think long lines."
Eliza straightened her back and neck. Jeff had never realized how much Eliza normally slumped. The new posture gave her long flowing lines.
“Follow me.” Marge moved fluidly across the room.
Eliza's steps were tentative. When Ken snapped a picture she threw her hand up against the blinding flash of light.
“I don't like to do this with people watching,” she said softly.
“Get over that,” Marge commanded. “You'll have to do it in front of a much larger audience than this. Now forget about them and watch me. Remember, walk the line, walk the line."
Eliza looked down and carefully placed one foot in front of the other.
“Don't drop your head, just glance down occasionally. In a show you have to look out at the audience."
Jeff began to feel sorry for her. Maybe she wasn't cut out to be a model. She held her head up and took several more steps.
“A little faster. Remember the line,” Marge coached in a softer voice.
Eliza began to put all the movements together. That business of walking a line caused a slight rotation of her pelvis with every step. It gave the impression of a writhing torso. Dammed sexy.
Ken began to snap pictures in earnest.
“Now you have to turn ... the other way. Always turn away from the front foot,” Marge called out.
Eliza got her feet tangled. Jeff thought she'd hurt her leg. He started to jump up, but she recovered and managed a clumsy turn.
“Try the turn again,” Marge said. “Keep your weight evenly distributed. Don't stop afterward."
Eliza turned more surely.
“That's good. Take a few more steps and turn again. Now follow me."
Eliza moved in Marge's wake like a young swan who lacked confidence but possessed more natural elegance than her teacher.
“Give me some poses, babe,” Ken called out.
Marge stopped in the middle of a turn and threw one hand up in an exaggerated pose. Eliza mimicked her.
Marge's dark hair contrasted sharply with Eliza's blonde fairness. The flashes of light from the camera made Eliza look incandescent. Jeff was mesmerized.
“Go back to back,” Ken said. “Put your heads together so I can get a shot showing the contrast in hair color."
Eliza tilted her head back until it touched Marge's. The graceful arch of her neck made Jeff again think of a swan, one with perky breasts. To his chagrin, he realized he'd become aroused. He sank into a corner of the sofa hoping no one would notice.
“That's the end of my film,” Ken said. He waited for the camera to stop rewinding then popped the back of it open.
“Good,” Marge said. “I'm ready for a cold drink. How about the rest of you?"
Eliza sat beside Jeff, a little too closely.
“You got anything besides diet soda?” Jeff asked.
“There're a couple of beers here."
“That sounds good,” Jeff said.
Ken put his camera in the case. “I'll give you a hand.” He went to the kitchen area.
Eliza looked at Jeff and her smile faded. “Did I look silly?"
“You looked...” Jeff took a breath and told himself to calm down. “You looked like a model. You've got the walk down pretty good."
“I still limp on the turns. It's taking my leg a long time to heal."
“Maybe you're doing too much."
“The doctor said walking would be good for me."
Marge and Ken returned to the living area with beers for the men and diet sodas for the women. Ken flipped on the TV and sat in the overstuffed chair beside the sofa. Marge perched on the chair's arm, leaning against Ken. Marge didn't have cable so there wasn't much to watch, no sports.
They finally selected some sitcom rerun. Jeff told himself he should go home. But he liked sitting inches from Eliza, feeling the warm glow from her body, seeing her everything-is-new expression as she stared at the TV.
Chapter Nine
ELIZA PRETENDED TO watch the TV but kept glancing over at Marge and Ken. She couldn't believe how Marge had taken the initiative by leaning against Ken and draping one arm around his neck. He didn't seem upset or enticed by her actions. They simply looked comfortable with each other.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if she could have such an easy relationship with Jeff? If she turned a little and moved a bit, her back would rest against his chest and her head could drop onto his shoulder. Would he be shocked or pleased if she did?
Marge nuzzled Ken's ear and whispered. He continued to stare at the TV but began to rub her thigh. Marge planted light kisses on his cheek. Ken turned his head and their lips meet. Apparently he didn't object to the woman being forward. Eliza told herself to stop watching these personal actions, but her gaze kept sliding back to the affectionate couple.
Ken shifted in his chair, no longer looking relaxed. “You know, I've seen this program before. Why don't we go sit out on balcony, Marge?"
She nodded and pulled Ken along after her. He closed the glass door behind them and plopped onto a lounge chair. Marge sat on his lap.
Eliza dared a quick glance at Jeff. He stared at the TV, but from his scowling expression, she didn't think he was enjoying the program. Had the show of affection between Ken and Marge made him uncomfortable?
Perhaps it was the custom in these times for the woman to take the lead in displays of affection. That would relieve the man from having to take a chance on offending a woman who wasn't interested in his advances. Jeff might think her lack of action indicated a lack of interest. She didn't want him to think that.
Eliza shifted her body until her shoulder brushed against his. He didn't move. Pretending she was seeking a more comfortable position, she pulled one leg up on the sofa and twisted until she was looking directly at him.
Jeff continued to stare at the TV. Was he really interested in the program or merely waiting for her to make her wishes perfectly clear?
She propped her elbow on the back of the sofa, and moved her mouth close to his ear. “I don't believe I thanked you for dinner."
“That's okay,” he said but still didn't look her way.
She braced her forearm on the back of the sofa and examined his profile. He had a firm, squared jaw. She'd always thought that indicated strength in a man. A piece of his hair, a floppy curl, had fallen onto his forehead. Her fingers itched to touch it.
She'd never felt such attraction to a man before. Remembering Marge's behavior, Eliza decided it must be right and proper for her to let Jeff know how she felt. Taking a trembling breath, she lightly pressed her lips against his cheek.
He jerked his head away from the contact and scowled at her. “What are you doing, Eliza?"
She pulled away from him as shame flooded though her. “Why ... ah ... I..."
His expression hardened. “I know you admire Marge, but don't try to be too much like her. Especially when it comes to how she acts with men."
Eliza's cheeks burned; she found it hard to meet his angry gaze. She pulled her arm down from the back of the sofa.
“You have to be careful or guys will get the wrong idea about you, think you're easy. Do you know what I mean?"
Did easy mean wanton?
Jeff cleared his throat; his voice softened. “Marge, well, Marge and Ken have a relationship. That's why she acts the way she does. You and I are just friends. I'm sure in your present circumstance that's all you want us to be. So don't get confused about this."
He patted her hand like she was some idiot child. Eliza wanted to die. How could she have been stupid enough to believe Jeff would welcome her advances?
“Well, it's getting late.” He stood, and with his back to her, ran his hands down the front of his thighs. “I gotta go. You're probably tired.” He strode to the door. “Goodnight, Eliza."
Eliza blinked back tears. Now she knew. She wasn't anything special to Jeff, just another case he was investigating. The only men who'd ever come to court her had been a walleyed buffalo hunter and a widower with five hungry children. She'd been a fool to think a handsome, smart man like Jeff would be interested in her.
She'd better go to bed before she made a bigger fool out of herself by crying in front of Ken and Marge. Eliza went to her bedroom, knowing she wouldn't sleep well this night.
* * * *
HAVING GONE TO bed early the night before, Eliza awoke the next morning before the sun was fully up. She decided to get up rather than laying there thinking about Jeff's rejection. After dressing in her skirt and blouse, she tiptoed out to the balcony and stood looking at the silent courtyard of the apartment complex.
A breeze rippled the surface of the swimming pool. From beyond the hedge of tall oleanders that lined one side of the courtyard, she heard a single car passing. Otherwise, everything was silent and still. People were late risers in this world. Back home they started the day at the crack of dawn.
Thoughts of home caused her to slump into a lounge chair. What must her father be going through since her disappearance? She pressed her hand against her chest, trying to ease the pain she felt whenever she thought of home. Then she reminded herself that her father no longer existed. Everyone she'd ever known and loved was gone.
How had this happened? Dr. Ferris had said her name was in a history book. Did it say anything about her family? Did her brothers marry? Did they have children? She might have nieces and nephews. No. Even they would be dead by now. And if some relations did exist, how could she introduce herself to them?
She blinked back tears and gazed up at the blue sky and fleecy white clouds. At least the sky was the same. Then the sunlight reflected off the silver wings of one of those things called airplanes. Even the skies had changed.
But her life had never been easy. Her father hadn't wanted her to become a teacher. Only her mother's pleading had gotten her the education she needed. Then her father had insisted on moving the family to the Texas frontier. One of his reasons for doing that had been to find a husband for Eliza. He'd thought she'd have a better chance in a country where women were scarce.
Life had been further disrupted by the war, and then the Indians had started raiding again. She had lived through all that by simply doing the best she could one day at a time. She'd do the same now. And the first thing she needed to do was stop feeling sorry for herself. Then she'd learn as much about this world as she could.
Downstairs a door opened and closed. A man wearing very short pants and a sleeveless shirt came into view. He stood beside the pool twisting his body and bending his knees. Then he started to run at a very slow pace. He opened the gate and his bobbing head disappeared from view. That must be what Jeff meant when he said he jogged.
Don't think about Jeff, Eliza warned herself.
What else could she think about? There were no books in the apartment to read and turning on the television would disturb Marge. Maybe she could fix herself something for breakfast.
She wandered inside and over to the kitchen area. The brown flakes with the thin milk over them that Marge ate every morning wouldn't require Eliza to use the flame spouting stove. She got what she needed out of the cabinets and refrigerator and sat on one of the stools at the bar.
After pouring the milk, she read the side of the cereal box as she ate. She studied the little chart labeled Nutrition Facts. Marge was very concerned about calories, but Eliza didn't know what they were. For that matter, she didn't recognize most of the other words on the chart.
She heard slippers scuffing across the floor and turned to see a sleepy-eyed Marge coming into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Eliza said cheerfully.
“What are you doing?” Marge pushed reddish brown curls out of her eyes.
“I got hungry. You don't mind if I have some of your cereal, do you?"
“Nah. Why didn't you start the coffee?” Marge reached into the cabinet for the coffee container.
“I couldn't remember exactly how that maker works, besides I didn't want to disturb you."
Ken's sleep tousled head jutted into the doorway. “Hey, babe. Okay if I shower now?"
“Yeah, go ahead,” Marge said without even looking at him.
He nodded to Eliza and disappeared.
Eliza was so shocked that she couldn't speak for several minutes. “Did he spend the night?” she finally asked.
“Yeah."
“Where did he sleep?"
Marge paused in measuring out the coffee. “In my room, of course."
Eliza had to shut her gaping mouth before she could speak. “But you two aren't married."
“Oh, for crying out loud, nobody gets married these days without trying it out first.” Marge finished measuring the coffee and snapped the little basket into the coffee maker.
Eliza could see Marge was irritated with her, but she couldn't hide her shock. “They don't?"
“With half of all marriages ending in divorces, you'd be a fool not to find out if you're compatible in the bedroom before taking the big plunge,” Marge said as she filled the glass coffee pot with water.
“Oh.” Eliza nodded as though she understood, but she really didn't. “But aren't you afraid you'll get with child?"
“I'm not stupid. I use birth control pills."
“There are pills to control birth?"
Now Marge looked shocked. “Oh, my God. Don't you remember anything about birth control?"
Eliza shook her head.
Marge turned the water off and shuffled back to the coffee maker. She poured the water into the top of the machine with care. “Ah, what about sex?"
Eliza knew a little but shook her head anyway.
Marge mumbled a soft curse. “I didn't think I'd have to give a lecture like this until my own kids started growing up.” She sat down next to Eliza and tapped one of her long fingernails on the counter in an impatient rhythm. “Okay, it's like this. A man puts his penis in a woman's vagina and that can cause her to get pregnant."
“Pe—pe—penis?"
Marge sighed loudly. “Well, that's the proper name for it, but people mostly use slang like dick or cock or tool. It's the part that hangs between a man's legs."
Eliza grabbed the edge of the counter with both hands to keep herself from falling off her stool.
Marge continued. “But there are ways to keep from getting pregnant if you aren't married or even if you are and just don't want kids. You have to go to a doctor for a prescription to get the pills and you have to take one every day. There are other things a woman can use like foams that you just buy at the drug store. But even if you're on the pill, you have to make the guy use a condom. Unless, of course, you're in a totally monogamous relationship with a guy you've known for a long time."
“What is a con...?” Eliza couldn't go on.
Marge took a deep breath. “It's a ... a little rubber sack that a man puts over his cock to keep his fluids from going into the woman's body."
Eliza buried her face in her hands. She knew she needed to learn all she could, but this was too much.
“Don't get squeamish on me, Eliza. This is important. There are sexually transmitted diseases. One of them, AIDS, can be fatal."
Shock overcame her embarrassment. Eliza jerked her head up. “Sex can kill you?"
“That's right, you can die."
Eliza shook her head. “Then why does anyone ever have sex?"
Now Marge shook her head. “You really have forgotten all about it, haven't you? Well, remember what I've just told you. When some hunk rings your bell, make him put on a safety sleeve before you completely lose your head."
“I'll never have sex before I marry,” Eliza said with conviction.
“Oh, yeah? I saw how you looked at Jeff last night. You'd melt like a pat of butter if he came on to you."
“Jeff would never—"
“Honey, they all will. Unless they're like our little pal Chaz."
“Like Chaz?"
Marge rested her forehead against her hands. “I'll have to have some coffee before I get into that."
Before Marge had finished her first cup of coffee, Ken came out of the bathroom. His hair was still wet from his shower and neatly combed, but beard stubble darkened his cheeks. He rubbed his face “Guess I'll have to start bringing a razor with me."
“Just be sure you don't leave it,” Marge snapped.
Ken drew back. “What does that mean?"
“It means, I don't want my mother coming to visit someday and finding it."
Ken chuckled. “Oh, right."
So Marge didn't want her mother to know about Ken sleeping with her. Apparently, morals hadn't changed completely from Eliza's time.
Ken looked over Eliza's shoulder. “Is there anything here to eat besides cereal?"
“Toast,” Marge said.
“There's some of that eggs-in-a-box,” Eliza volunteered.
Ken made a face. “Toast will be all right.” He poured himself a cup of coffee. “By the way, how are you going to get a social security number for Eliza?"
Marge paused just as she was about to drop a piece of bread into the toaster. “I hadn't thought about that. I guess we'll just apply for a new one."
“How are you going to do that without a birth certificate?"
Marge wrinkled her nose. “I don't know. Maybe, I'll call that Mrs. Ragsdale. She'll know how to do it."
“What kind of number?” Eliza asked.
* * * *
ELIZA TWISTED SO she could look over her shoulder and see her backside in the bathroom mirror. This was the first time she'd worn these pants called jeans. Looking at the shameful way they hugged her bottom, she found it hard to believe that respectable women wore them. Of course, she'd seen a number of women on the streets in them.
Marge had given her these pants because she'd outgrown them. Noting how they clung to her, Eliza could see how Marge could have a problem with her hips spreading if she'd once been able to wear these.
Taking another look, Eliza wondered if Jeff would like her dressed like this. He occasionally wore pants very similar to these. Perhaps he would resent a woman wearing clothes like his.
Oh, what difference did it make? He already disapproved of her. Her clothes weren't going to win his admiration.
She'd been surprised when he called and said he wanted to come over. After the way she'd disgraced herself Saturday night, she hadn't expected he'd want to see her again any time soon. Perhaps this had something to do with his policeman's duties. She hoped he didn't start asking her more questions she couldn't answer.
Hearing the doorbell ring, she forced herself to go into the living room just as Marge opened the door to Jeff.
“Well, I'm seeing a lot more of you than I have in a long time,” Marge said in a teasing manner.
“I didn't come to see you,” he said, his expression surly.
Eliza hurried forward, hoping to prevent any more fighting between them. “How are you this evening, Jeff?"
His frown disappeared as he looked her up and down. He didn't seem to disapprove of her attire. “I'm fine. How are you?"
Marge picked up a large plastic basket filled with clothes. “I've got to run down to the laundry room. Can I trust you two kids up here alone?"
Eliza didn't know what to say to that, but Marge didn't wait for an answer. She left the apartment laughing.
Eliza turned back to Jeff. “Would you care to sit?” She gestured toward the sofa, but remembering the last time Jeff had sat there, hastily redirected her hand toward the padded chair.
He caught hold of her extended hand. “Come sit with me.” He pulled her toward the sofa.
She made sure she sat a respectable distance from him.
He studied her eyes for a moment. “I thought I might have embarrassed you the other night, and I can see now that I did."
Eliza dropped her gaze.
“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
“Oh, no, you did the right thing.” She dared to look up at him. “How else am I going to learn proper social intercourse?"
Jeff's face went blank. He threw his hand over his mouth and began to cough.
Eliza feared he was choking. “I'll get you some water."
She hurried back with a glass of water.
“Thanks,” he said. “Guess I swallowed wrong."
She wasn't eager to resume this embarrassing conversation. Perhaps she could change the subject. “Marge spent most of the day trying to get me a number so I can work."
“You mean a social security number?"
“I think that's it, but I don't understand why they call it social if it has to do with work."
A frown creased his forehead. “Did Marge get it?"
“No. Everyone kept saying I had to have a birth certificate, whatever that is. Marge finally called Ken and asked him to find someone who could make me one."
Jeff's frown became a squinty eyed stare. “Make you one?"
“She said there are people in that business. Ken has his contacts at the newspaper who could find one of them."
“I see,” Jeff muttered through clenched teeth.
The doorbell rang, but before Eliza could move, the door swung open and a smiling Marge walked in. “Just wanted to give you crazy kids a little warning."
Jeff stood, his face an angry thunder cloud. “Eliza's been telling me how you're helping her get a social security number."
A pained expression crossed Marge's face. “Oops."
“You do know forged birth certificates are illegal, don't you?” He braced his hands on his hips.
She shrugged. “I made a mistake."
“What do you mean by that?"
Eliza sighed as she saw Marge's lips thin with anger.
“I mean,” Marge said loudly, “that I forgot to tell Eliza not to tell you about it."
“If it's wrong—” Eliza began.
Marge waved her to silence. “Half the people in this state are illegals working on phony papers or no papers at all. It's no damn big deal and he knows it."
“I'm sure there's a proper way to do it,” Jeff said.
“The woman from the welfare office even called the Social Security Administration in Washington. I'm telling you, there's no way and the fashion show's in less than two weeks,” Marge insisted.
“There'll be other fashion shows."
“What's Eliza going to use for money in the meantime?” she shouted.
“The newspaper fund—"
“That bitchy Mrs. Ragsdale has Eliza on such a tight budget she doesn't even have the money for a decent haircut."
“I'm sure you find a budget a terrible hardship, but everybody else knows how to live on one,” he said with a sneer.
Eliza feared they would come to blows. “Please.” She held a placating hand out to them.
Jeff turned to her, his hunched shoulders relaxed a bit. “Look, I'll go to the Social Security Office myself. I'm sure this can be worked out."
Marge mumbled, “Oh, right, sure, the man will fix it,” and stalked from the room.
“I didn't realize a pho ... phony certificate was wrong,” Eliza said. “I don't want to break any laws."
He touched her arm. “Marge just didn't ask the right questions. I'll get this straightened out. I do need to know how old you are, though."
“Twenty-three,” she said without hesitation.
“Are you sure?"
Had she made a mistake telling him that? “Ah, yes, that's one of the few things I've remembered about myself."
“I'm glad you've remembered that. Maybe other things will start coming back now."
“I hope so.” Lying again. “Will my age be enough to get the number?"
“We'll probably have to get a temporary one until you've been definitely identified. I'll take care of it first thing in the morning. Don't worry."
He left shortly after that. Eliza sat on the sofa remembering his touch and the way he'd looked at her. Even though the visit had ended in another argument with Marge, Jeff had acted like he wanted to help her. Was his interest just part of his job? She wished it were something more.
Marge sauntered back into the living room. “Is Dudley Do-Right gone?"
“Marge, if it's wrong, maybe we—” Eliza began.
“Don't listen to what Jeff says.” Marge turned to Eliza with one hand firmly placed on her hip. “He's so hung up about being Supercop, that he refuses to see what it takes to get by in the real world."
“But he knows right from wrong."
“Eliza, people come into this country illegally everyday. They have to work and they have to have papers to do so. How do you think they get them? Is it fair to keep you from working because you can't remember where you were born?"
Eliza didn't know what to say. She had to be able to support herself in this world, but she didn't want to break laws.
Marge sat beside her and slipped her arm around Eliza's shoulders. “Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do. Jeff's hero worship of our father has him walking around with blinders on."
“Isn't it good for a son to respect his father?"
“Respect is one thing, but Jeff grew up thinking a policeman was the greatest thing a man could be and our father was the greatest policeman ever. Then Dad was crippled for the rest of his life in a shoot out with two armed robbers.
“Now Jeff's burning ambition is to be as good a cop as Dad. He made detective by the time he was twenty-six, something Dad never did, but that still isn't enough. I guess he won't be satisfied until he gets himself shot full of holes."
“Oh, I hope not,” Eliza said, horrified at the thought of Jeff's body riddled with bullets.
Marge patted her knee. “That's just a figure of speech, honey. What I'm trying to tell you is Jeff's standards are too high for the rest of us humans to live up to."
Eliza nodded. She didn't want to do anything Jeff would disapprove of, but she had to be able to earn money in this very expensive world.
Chapter Ten
MARGE AND ELIZA stepped into Halbots's workroom and the pandemonium of first fittings day. Willowy young women stood about in various stages of undress chatting with their neighbors. Assistants scurried around them with garments thrown over their arms. Mrs. Herman stood in front of a rack of clothing barking orders.
“There you are.” Chaz burst from the crowd and came toward Marge. “Always have to make a grand entrance, don't you?"
Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Eliza's hand and pulled her forward. “Here's our little celebrity,” he announced.
Marge smirked at his use of the word “little” since Eliza towered over the diminutive man.
Chaz didn't seem to notice. He led Eliza into the room as though he were showing off a thoroughbred racehorse. The last time Marge had modeled at Halbots, by dint of her experience, she had been the star of the show. Obviously that wouldn't be the case this time.
Maybe she'd just let “little” Miss Eliza fend for herself. Let the others see how helpless she was without Marge's guidance. Like it or not, Eliza was hot now and Marge had to do all she could to keep the fire going. If Eliza succeeded at modeling and wanted to stay in it, she'd need Marge's help. With her natural attributes and the publicity she'd gotten, Eliza could easily go all the way to the top. Maybe Marge and Ken could go with her. That's what Ken was hoping for, and he expected her help.
Sometimes, she couldn't help wondering if Ken wasn't more attracted to her knowledge of the modeling business than he was to her. They were a matched pair, each using the other to attain similar goals.
She noticed a blushing Eliza looking back at her with a desperate air. Damn, was she embarrassed over the little bit of attention Chaz had drawn to her? Marge hurried toward her nodding encouragement. She wasn't accustomed to playing nursemaid to anyone.
Mrs. Herman called out, “Bring her over here, Chaz."
He continued to hold Eliza's hand as he led her through the maze of people.
Mrs. Herman greeted them brusquely then turned to her shadowy assistant, Jennie, who clutched a clipboard with a pen poised over it. “First, see if the wedding dress will work for Eliza, then I'll decide what else to assign her."
“I want to do the wedding dress,” Lynn, one of the debutantes, said with a pout.
Mrs. Herman pointed a finger at her. “I've already assigned you sportswear, Lynn. Report to Gladys over there.” She changed the direction of her finger.
“If she wants the wedding dress...” Eliza started.
Marge hurried forward “Oh, no. The wedding dress is the highlight of the show. Everyone wants it.” This was just the sort of mistake she had to prevent Eliza from making.
Mrs. Herman pointed Eliza toward Jennie and then turned to Marge. “I want you to try the red sequined gown. It's the most sophisticated number in the show. I need somebody who can..."
Marge had to focus her attention on what Mrs. Herman was saying and hope Eliza could stay out of trouble for the next few minutes.
* * * *
ELIZA FOLLOWED JENNIE behind screens where a harried seamstress checked seams and hemlines as models stepped on a box in front of her.
Jennie paused in front of a large, black, plastic bag hanging on a metal rack. “Slip off your shirt and jeans, dear."
Eliza looked warily at all the strangers around her, but other women were slipping in and out of their clothing without hesitation. Some even stood and chatted in nothing but bras and panties. They would certainly think Eliza strange if she refused to undress. She slipped her shirt over her head, opened her jeans, and waited until Jennie held the mammoth white dress open for her. Eliza let it fall over her head before removing the jeans.
After the seamstress placed a few straight pins near her waistline, Jennie looped the train of Eliza's dress over her arm and hurried Eliza back to Mrs. Herman. “Just a little tucking in at the waist is all it needs,” she reported.
Mrs. Herman nodded with apparent satisfaction. Then she pursed her lips and stared at Eliza's head. “I can't decide which veil to use.” She reached around and fluffed Eliza's ponytail. “What had you planned to do with your hair, dear?"
Eliza shrugged.
“You really need a softer look. Could you get it cut?"
Eliza shook her head. “I'm sorry. The lady from welfare won't let me use the newspaper money for anything but essentials. Marge asked her if I could get a haircut, and she said, ‘No'."
Marge, who stood with a group just beyond Mrs. Herman, slipped her arm around Chaz's thin shoulders and turned him to face Mrs. Herman. “Chaz here is a very good friend of Valentino over at Fair Lady. Maybe he could persuade Valentino to donate his services."
Chaz looked as if he thought the idea preposterous. “Val's the top hair stylist in this city. Why would he do that?"
“The richest women in this part of the country come to Halbots's shows. If Eliza has a dazzling new hairdo, they'll all want to know who did it,” Marge said.
“If he donates his services, I would mention his name in the show,” Mrs. Herman said and gave Marge a quick smile.
“Well, I guess it won't hurt to ask,” Chaz said reluctantly. “But I'm not making any promises."
“Why don't you call now?” Marge suggested.
He moved away with Marge closely behind him.
Mrs. Herman assigned another costume for Eliza; Jennie led her back for another fitting. Eliza didn't worry about modesty this time.
As she waited her turn with the seamstress, a woman with ruby colored hair standing in front of her said, “So, your Marge's new roommate?"
“I share her apartment,” Eliza said. “We each have our own rooms."
The woman's mouth twisted into a lazy smile. “How do you like living with Palmer? She asked me to move in with her, but I need my privacy, if you know what I mean."
Eliza didn't know what she meant. “Marge has been very kind to me."
“I've heard her accused of a lot of things, but never that."
Indignation flooded through Eliza. “Marge took me in when I had no where else to go."
The woman shrugged. “You're paying rent, aren't you?” Just then it became the woman's turn with the seamstress.
Eliza watched her move away, bewildered.
A sultry voice behind her said, “Don't let Peggy's bad mouth bother you, honey. She likes Marge as much as she likes anybody."
The voice belonged to a tall, thin woman of color whose hair hung down past her shoulders in numerous thin braids. “Oh,” Eliza exclaimed. “Are you a model, too?"
“I hope you don't think I'd choose this ridiculous outfit for myself.” She gestured to her orange costume, a long, one piece, combination dress and pants.
Marge joined the line. “When I saw that orange jumpsuit on the rack I knew you'd get it, Dani.” She laughed.
“Hell, yes. They give me all the weird colors."
Peggy stepped down from the seamstress's box and stopped beside them. “They go with your complexion."
“With that funky hair color you've got now, they can't give you anything but black or white,” Dani retorted.
“Next,” the seamstress called out.
Eliza stepped up on the box, but continued to watch the bantering women. They traded insults but smiled and laughed in a friendly manner. Marge and Peggy treated Dani as an equal. Eliza still had trouble adjusting to the changed status of Neg ... no, she must remember not to use that word. Marge had told her not to call African Americans anything that started with the letter N.
* * * *
A STRANGE MAN WAS talking to Mrs. Herman when Eliza went back for another costume assignment. Thank goodness, she'd put all her clothes back on rather than going about partially undressed like the others were doing.
Not wanting to interrupt, Eliza patiently waited for the man to finish.
“You'll need candid shots of the show for publicity. I'll do a good job. And for you, I'll work cheap."
Mrs. Herman looked uncertain. “Let me check and see if Chaz has made other arrangements.” She glanced around the room. “Wait here.” She walked away.
The man turned. His belly caused the stripes of his knit shirt to curve outward. He saw Eliza and recognition covered his face along with a leering smile. She hadn't gotten used to men looking at her like that. It made her nervous.
Marge walked up just then wearing a lacy slip. If she was embarrassed by the way the man's eyes raked up and down her figure, she didn't show it. “Max Zale. When did you wash up on this beach?"
The man chuckled. “Hey, Margie. Feisty as ever, I see."
He gestured toward Eliza. “Is this sweet little blonde the lady I've been reading about?"
Marge smiled sweetly. “I didn't know you could read, Max."
The man still chuckled. “So, I only looked at the pictures. But if you and she would like to pose for me, I'd make it worth your while. Pay cash with nothing on the books."
Eliza wondered if that meant she wouldn't need the special number.
“No, thanks, Max. I'm happy modeling clothes.” Someone called her name just then and Marge moved away.
Max eyed Eliza. “How about you, honey? I'll take you without Marge. You could pick up a thousand dollars for an afternoon's work. Maybe more later."
Eliza stared at the man. Would he really pay her that much money for one afternoon. “What would I have to do?"
Grinning, he stepped closer. A heavy sweet aroma engulfed Eliza. “Just pose for some pictures.” He handed her a small card with the words, Max Zale, Photographer, neatly printed in the center and a phone number in one corner.
Eliza stared at the card. “Marge is teaching me about modeling. I do what she says."
“You get ready to go out on your own, give me a call."
“Max,” Mrs. Herman's voice rang out.
Max nodded at Eliza and walked away.
Eliza stuck the card in her jeans pocket just as Marge returned. “What did he say to you?” she asked.
“Just asked me to pose for pictures."
“He's a freelancer who does porn. We don't want to work with his kind."
Eliza was about to ask what porn pictures were, when Mrs. Herman came up. “The bookkeeper tells me she doesn't have Eliza's social security number."
“It hasn't come yet, but we'll have it before the show,” Marge said.
Eliza wondered how Marge could lie so convincingly, they still had no idea how Eliza could get the precious number.
Mrs. Herman nodded. “Just remember we can't pay her until we get that number.” Then she sent Eliza off for another fitting.
* * * *
JEFF EXPLAINED ELIZA'S situation to the woman at the Social Security Office twice before asking if there was someone else he could talk to.
The woman smiled pleasantly. “Of course, you can see our manager."
When Jeff stepped into the office he'd been directed to, he was relieved to see that the manager was a man, a friendly looking guy who stood up and stuck out his hand. Jeff shook the hand firmly, showed his badge, and sat down, confident he would get results with Frank Hadley.
Frank's friendly smile dimmed as he listened to Jeff describe Eliza's problem. When Jeff had finished, the man shook his head. “I'm sorry, Detective Palmer, but we have to know a person's age. The whole system is based on that."
“She's twenty-three."
“How does she know?"
“She remembers that."
“If she remembers her age, why doesn't she remember where she was born?"
“That's the way amnesia works. They remember some things but not others."
Frank leaned forward. “If she is twenty-three, it's most likely she already has a social security number. We can't issue her more than one number."
Jeff told himself to stay calm. “But she doesn't know what name that number was issued to."
“Aren't the police trying to identify her?"
“Of course, we're—"
“Well, I suggest you send her to see us after you learn her name. We'll be able to help her then.” The man stood and stuck his hand out again.
Jeff ignored the hand. “But the woman needs to work now."
The man continued to smile. “Oh, I'm sure you know that's against the rules, Detective."
“Thanks for nothing.” Jeff stalked out of the office.
Going through the large area filled with office cubicles, he muttered his disgust with all small-minded, government employees. By the time he reached the parking lot, he reminded himself that he was an employee of the local government. As he waited for the air conditioning to chase the stifling heat from the car, he began to see how the Social Security manager could be confused.
Why couldn't the police of a modern city, working with electronic connections to police departments all over the country, identify one woman? And why did that woman remember things like her age and how to walk and talk and dress herself and nothing else? Something was definitely wrong here. It was almost as though someone had erased all record of Eliza's existence.
Could she be in the witness protection program? He'd sent her prints to Washington and gotten a negative reply. For that matter her picture had been in papers all over the country. If anyone was looking for her with good or evil intentions, they should have shown up by now.
Had a pair of innocent looking blue eyes blinded his policeman's judgment? In the beginning, he'd been sure there was something phony about Eliza's story. If nothing else, he should be suspicious of all her damn sweetness. Look how she came on to him the other night. Maybe she hadn't been copying Marge. Maybe she was just reverting to type.
It was time he started thinking with his head and not the seat of his pants. And it was past time to subject Eliza to a real interrogation.
* * * *
UNDER THE SHADY overhang of the apartment's balcony, Eliza leaned back in the lounge chair and sipped from a glass of iced tea. From below she heard the raucous laughter of the swimmers at the pool. Soon after Marge had gone out in her small two-piece suit, a couple of male neighbors had emerged from their apartments. Now there were at least a dozen male and female revelers splashing in the pool or lounging in the sun.
Marge had offered to loan Eliza a swimsuit, but when Eliza saw how little that suit would cover, she'd pleaded fatigue and retired to the balcony. She'd been shocked that Marge dared appear in public with so much of her flesh bare, but some of the other women had worn even less.
Marge's voice rang out above the others, “What are you doing here?"
“Is Eliza upstairs?"
Hearing Jeff's deep voice made Eliza's heart beat faster. Perhaps he had news about the social security number. Thank goodness she didn't have on one of those daring bathing suits. She'd be too embarrassed to greet him in one of those.
“Eliza?” Marge had left the apartment door unlocked and Jeff entered without knocking.
“Out here,” she called and waved her hand so he'd be sure to see her.
Before she could shift her legs from the lounge, he was standing over her. “Aren't you feeling well?"
“I'm just a little tired. We had our fittings for the fashion show today."
He had left the glass door open. Marge fussed at Eliza for doing that, saying it wasted money. Before she could say anything to him about it, he sat sideways on the other lounge chair and fixed her with a stern gaze.
“I went to the Social Security Office today. The manager said they needed more information before they can issue you a number.” He continued to stare at her with the same hard expression.
“Oh.” She didn't know what else to say.
“The man didn't understand why you couldn't remember anything except your age. I have to agree with him."
Eliza looked away from his harsh glare and reached for her glass of tea. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked before taking a sip from the glass.
“No. Put the glass down and look at me."
Reluctantly, she set the glass down and turned toward him as she sat up. Their knees almost touched. Eliza looked into his face and wondered why he was angry with her.
“Tell me everything you remember about yourself."
“I, ah, just know I'm twenty-three."
“Why twenty-three? Marge is twenty. You don't look any older than her. In fact, at times you look younger."
“Well, I'm not. I'm twenty-three.” Eliza didn't like this side of Jeff.
He squinted at her. “When's your birthday?"
“I don't know."
“How do you know you haven't turned twenty-four?” he asked in a hard voice.
“I just know.” She began to fidget, feeling a strong urge to run. She didn't want to lie, but if she told the truth they'd lock her up with those strange people again.
He grabbed her chair on either side of her legs, making her feel as though she were already in a cage.
“What else do you know, Eliza? What about your family, your father. You were very worried about him after your surgery. Have you forgotten about your father?"
Her voice rose in panic. “No, I haven't.” She didn't like being hemmed in like this and tried to push one of his arms aside. The arm was a post of hard muscles.
His voice came through clenched teeth. “So what is his name, Eliza?"
“I don't remember."
“What's your favorite color?"
“Blue."
“What's your favorite food?"
“I like sweets.” Why was he asking these silly questions?
“Do you have any sisters?"
“No."
“How about brothers?"
“I—I—” She'd had three brothers, but Abner had died during the siege at Vicksburg. Of course, she couldn't tell Jeff that.
“What's the matter, Eliza. Can't you keep your stories straight?” He sneered at her.
Her lower lip trembled.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Marge stood at the balcony doorway with her fists planted on the hip bones that thrust out above the bottom of her suit.
“Stay out of this, Marge,” Jeff ordered.
She took several determined steps toward him. “This is my apartment. You don't tell me what to do in my apartment."
Jeff stood. His chin jutted out. “This is part of a police investigation. Stay out of it."
“Eliza is the victim, not the criminal. Why are you badgering her?"
They stood toe to toe, glaring at each other.
“There are a lot of questions here that need answering. I don't believe Eliza's being totally honest with me."
A sarcastic sneer covered Marge's face. “You struck out at the Social Security Office, didn't you?"
Jeff waved his hand.
“Flashing your badge didn't impress those bureaucrats, so you're power-tripping on poor Eliza."
“You don't know what the hell you're talking about."
Eliza moved between them. She feared touching Jeff, so turned her back to him and gripped Marge's shoulders. “Stop. You two mustn't fight like this.” Why didn't they realize how lucky they were to have each other? “I'm sure Jeff is just trying to help."
Marge shrugged herself free. “How can you defend him? Were you enjoying his storm-trooper tactics?"
“No I ... I...” Tears slid down her cheeks; Eliza made no attempt to stop them. She didn't know what to do or say anymore. She'd seen Jeff as her protector, but now he hated her. Marge had come to her defense, but was she merely using Eliza to continue this war with Jeff? Everything confused her.
Her face crumbled, but the uncontrollable tears made her angry. “Go ahead and fight. I don't care anymore.” Turning, she ran into her bedroom, slammed the door, and fell across the bed. She made no effort to stop the sobs that racked her body.
* * * *
HEARING ELIZA'S SOBS from the bedroom, Jeff braced against a threatening wave of guilt. He'd interrogated enough female suspects to know tears were a woman's ultimate weapon.
“I hope you're satisfied,” Marge muttered.
“There's something wrong here, Marge, and I'm trying to find out what it is."
“You're the one that's wrong,” Marge said in an angry but lower voice. “Eliza's having a damn hard time trying to relearn how to live, and you're making it harder for her with your stupid suspicions."
Jeff made himself relax. “Are they stupid? The doctors said she would begin to get her memory back. Why hasn't she remembered something more than her age? And she told me definitely that she didn't have sisters, but couldn't remember about brothers. Does that make sense?"
Marge shifted. “Why would she lie?"
“She wouldn't unless she's trying to hide something."
“Look, Jeff, I haven't had as much experience with liars as you have, but I can't believe anyone could fake the kind of innocence Eliza has. Why, she'd never shaved her legs until I showed her how. If she's running away from something, it must be some sort of religious cult."
Jeff remembered the notation on Eliza's medical report about her virginity. That certainly bespoke innocence. This case had frustrated him at every turn. Had his frustrations turned him against Eliza?
“I know I could be wrong, but I'm so damn stumped. There're no leads, no witnesses, no similar MO's. I don't know what else to think unless she really is from the 1860's."
He stared at Eliza's closed bedroom door. Her muffled sobs had faded. “Maybe I should go talk to her."
Marge placed her hand on his forearm. “It'll probably do her more good to cry it out. Considering all the pressure she's under, she deserves a good cry. I'll talk to her later, tell her you're just a jerk,” she added.
“Yeah, well.” Guilt won the day. “I'll call later tonight and see if she's all right."
* * * *
MORTIMER HEARD ELIZA crying. The poor girl was having far more trouble making a place for herself in this world than he'd imagined she would. He should have considered this era's insistence in documenting every little thing before sending Eliza to it. At the time, however, all he'd looked for was a nearby, modern, medical facility.
He wasn't surprised Eliza had built up her hopes about Jeff. Mortimer himself had been thinking Jeff might be the way to secure her future. The young man had been behaving like a real gentleman until this afternoon. Of course, he had his duties as a police officer. But as a trained observer, he should be able to see there was nothing but goodness in that young woman's heart.
A quick glance out to the parking lot, showed Mortimer the dejected slope of Jeff's shoulders as he walked to his car. He was definitely feeling guilty about the harsh way he'd talked to Eliza. Perhaps all wasn't lost on that front after all. Mortimer would have to find a way to get Eliza the documents she needed. Angel's were not supposed to directly intervene in human affairs. They should only offer directions. But since his earlier mistake had caused this terrible situation, he had to find a way to correct it.
* * * *
ELIZA LAY IN bed and stared at the ceiling until she got tired of sniffling. Then she went into the bathroom and blew her nose. Glancing in the mirror, she saw black smudges around her eyes. The tears had made a mess of the eye make-up Marge had put on her that morning.
She washed her face and applied pale pink lipstick to her mouth. She'd begun to like the soft feel the colored salve gave her lips, but she couldn't say the same about some of the other preparations Marge wanted her to apply to her face. Of course, she knew she needed to learn how to use them.
Appearances were as important in this world as they had been in her old one. Only styles had changed. Here, with the right make-up and clothes, she could be a woman people would admire, not a hopeless spinster. She might attract a husband she could truly care for. She had hoped Jeff might be the man, but that was out of the question now.
A light tap sounded on her bedroom door. “Hey, interested in something to eat?” Marge called.
Knowing she couldn't hide in her room forever, Eliza opened the door. “What are we having, more salad?"
Marge smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “I've got a real treat planned for tonight. Along with our salad we'll have nuked potatoes. They taste almost like the baked ones we had in the restaurant the other night."
Eliza brightened a little. “With sour cream?"
“I've got a non-fat substitute. It tastes almost like the real thing and has a lot fewer calories. You'll thank me for this when you're making megabucks as a supermodel."
Following Marge toward the kitchen, Eliza muttered, “I can't make any bucks without that number."
“Things will work out. They always do. Now sit down. I'll have dinner ready in a jiffy."
“Can I help? I used to do all the cook...” Eliza saw the way Marge shifted her eyes toward her. Realizing she'd made another slip, she stopped speaking and sat on one to the stools beside the bar.
“Did you like to cook, Eliza?” Marge asked softly.
“I ... I think so."
“What would you like to help with tonight?” Marge gestured toward the gas stove and microwave oven.
“I don't know how to use those things."
“How about washing the potatoes?” She held up the little brush that always lay on the back of the sink. “And you can cut up veggies for the salad."
Glad to have something useful to do, Eliza took the two large potatoes Marge handed her and scrubbed them under running water.
“Now we stab ‘em a couple of times,” Marge said and thrust a small knife deeply into the center of a potato.
“Why do you do that?"
“To make sure they're dead.” After saying this, Marge laughed heartily, so Eliza knew she must be joking. When she stopped laughing, Marge shook her head. “Actually, I'm not sure why we do it. Makes them taste better or keeps them from exploding, or both."
Now Eliza laughed. “Potatoes won't explode."
Marge popped the potatoes into the oven and rapidly touched little squares painted on the front of it. “You never know what might happen when you're dealing with microwaves."
“What are microwaves?” Eliza asked.
Marge shrugged. “I don't know. They cooks quick. That's all I care about.” Marge removed vegetables from the refrigerator and handed them to Eliza to wash.
“How can I learn how all these things work?” Eliza asked.
Marge looked up at the ceiling and back at Eliza.
“Eliza, nobody can learn everything. There's just too much. That's why this is the age of specialization."
The microwave dinged. Marge turned the potatoes and restarted the machine.
“What have you specialized in, modeling?” Eliza asked.
“Well, yeah, that and human relations.” Marge raised one eyebrow.
Eliza, however, nodded in serious agreement. “I've got a lot to learn about that, too."
Marge finished assembling the salad. “Don't let Jeff upset you with his macho outbursts."
Not wanting to think, let alone talk, about the way Jeff knew she'd lied, Eliza busied herself putting silverware on the bar.
“He's a good guy at heart,” Marge continued, “but his hang-up about being Supercop makes him a pain at times. But don't give up on him. There's more good there than bad."
Eliza was surprised by Marge's defense of her brother. “Why do you always fight with him?” she asked. “Is it just silly rivalry like Ken said?"
“Sibling, Eliza,” Marge corrected. “That means children from the same family. And there's more to our problems than sibling rivalry. Believe it or not, Jeff and I were once close. He was always a bit overprotective, but still he and I were closer than he and our older sister, Jackie."
“What happened?” Eliza asked.
The microwave dinged again. Marge used a mitt to transfer the steaming potatoes to plates.
“I started to grow-up, and he didn't like it.” She glanced at Eliza and smiled. “That's how it seemed to me. First he hated all the boys I dated. Then in my junior year of high school I started going with Barry. He was the star running back on our football team and always acted very respectful around Mom and Dad. Jeff had been on the football team, too. He thought Barry was great.
“Barry graduated the year before I did and went to Texas Tech on a football scholarship. It wasn't long before I got word he was dating right and left, even though we'd promised to be true to each other. When he finally came home for a weekend, we had a big fight and broke up.
“Later, Barry went out drinking with some of his former team mates and told them a bunch of lies about what a big party girl I was. Pretty soon the stories were all over school and half the football team was calling me for dates or riding by the house honking and yelling.
“Jeff jumped to the conclusion I was doing things to encourage their behavior. He was a rookie cop by then and all puffed up with self-righteousness. He told Mom I was running wild and should be restricted. Fortunately, she ignored him, but things have been sour between us ever since."
After a moment of thinking, Eliza asked, “What is football?"
Marge's shoulders slumped. “Why do I bother? You never understand what I'm talking about."
“I understand that Jeff believed the honking boys instead of trusting his sister."
Marge brightened. “You got that right, girlfriend. So how do you like faux sour cream?"
Surprised by the sudden change of subject, Eliza looked down at her plate. She'd been so engrossed in Marge's story that she'd eaten half a potato and a large helping of salad without being aware of it. “It tastes good."
“Looks like you're learning to like lettuce, too."
Eliza grinned shyly. “I have to if I'm going to live with you."
Marge laughed. “That's the way to look at life. Do what you want to do when you can, and what you have to do when you can't."
Eliza was delighted that she'd made Marge laugh, but she thought of Marge's story and grew serious again. While Eliza admired Jeff's high principles, she also saw that he could be rigidly judgmental. She'd better stop dreaming of winning his affections and concentrate on protecting herself from his suspicions.
Marge was showing her how to operate the dishwasher when the phone rang. “That's probably Jeff calling to apologize. You want to speak to him?"
Eliza shook her head. He wasn't the knight in shining armor she'd thought. The less she talked to him the better off she'd be.
Marge paused with her hand over the phone. “Good idea. Make him sweat a little."
Chapter Eleven
BY ELEVEN O'CLOCK, Eliza was bored. Marge had left earlier that morning to drive to Dallas for a photo shoot. Eliza had assured her she'd be fine on her own, and looked forward to having some time alone. After cleaning the kitchen, making beds, and dusting the entire apartment, however, she looked about aimlessly for something to do.
She leafed through a stack of magazines, the only reading material in the apartment. They all had something to do with fashion. She looked at the pictures of gaunt women in unnatural poses and marveled that they were now considered standards of beauty.
At a section on swimwear, she studied the pictures of women brazenly displaying most of their naked bodies. Could she learn to do that if she became a model? What choice did she have? She couldn't return to teaching. Mrs. Ragsdale had said she'd need four years of college.
Studying the picture of a model looking over her shoulder, Eliza noticed the firm roundness of the woman's buttocks. That must be what Marge meant when she talked about muscle tone. Perhaps Eliza should start exercising.
She lay on the floor and tried to remember some of the exercises Marge did. Raising her legs into the air and opening them to form a wide vee, she felt a sharp burst of pain in her right thigh. Silently cursing that bone chip, she lowered her legs.
The phone trilled. Marge had left it sitting on the low table the last time she used it. Eliza sat up and looked at the instrument in alarm. She'd talked on the phone several times but still hesitated to answer it. Of course, Marge might be calling to check on her and would worry if Eliza didn't answer.
She held the receiver up to her ear and spoke hesitantly into it. Silence. Then she remembered she must press a button to start the thing. She did and again said, “Hello."
“Hi, Eliza. This is Ken. Is Marge there?"
Always surprised at how clearly she could hear the voices of people over this instrument, it took her a moment to collect her thoughts and reply. “She had to go to Dallas to have some pictures taken."
“That's right. I forgot. Anyway, I called to let you know that I'm working on your problem. One of the reporters knows a lawyer who gets papers for aliens, but he charges three thousand dollars up front. I know you don't have that, so I'm still looking."
“You mean it would cost three thousand dollars to get a social security number?"
“Like I said, I'm still looking. All you really need is a forged birth certificate. There are bound to be people in Texas making those."
“Will that cost money, too?"
“Yeah, but not as much, I hope. I gotta go. I'll call Marge later. Don't worry."
Eliza thanked him and set the phone back on the table. How could she not worry? The entire fund the newspaper had collected for her was just a little more than three thousand dollars. According to Mrs. Ragsdale, that amount of money, strictly budgeted, would only cover four months living expenses here with Marge.
What would she do then? Mrs. Ragsdale believed the police would find her family, but Eliza knew that wasn't going to happen. She was on her own. Marge didn't have the money to help her, and there was no one else she could depend on. Certainly not Jeff, who seemed to know she was lying and despised her for it.
Eliza had to earn money, but she had to have that terrible number to do it. Wait. The man named Max had said he'd pay her “cash off the books.” He hadn't asked for any number and had offered her a thousand dollars.
She dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the wrinkled card. Smoothing it out on the surface of the low table, she stared at it trying to memorize the number.
* * * *
MORTIMER WAS DOZING when his Eliza alarm went off. A quick sweep of her mind told him what she was about to do and he concentrated all his thoughts toward her. Remember what Marge said about that man. Don't call him.
Eliza's hand hesitated over the phone. What had Marge said about Mr. Zale? Something about him doing poor pictures. Why should Eliza care if he was a good photographer? He said he'd pay her a thousand dollars for one afternoon and maybe more later. That might be enough money to pay for that dratted number.
As Mortimer shrieked, No, she picked up the phone and pushed the little buttons.
He watched in horror as Eliza reached the oily Mr. Zale who stated he was definitely still interested in photographing her. In fact, he could fit her into his schedule this very afternoon. He gave her the address of his studio.
You can't go, Eliza. You have no transportation.
“How can I get there, Mr. Zale?"
“Where are you coming from?” he asked.
She gave him the address of Marge's apartment.
“Well, take the freeway and get off at..."
“I don't have a car,” she said.
“Well, take a cab."
“How do I do that?"
Mortimer frantically tried to convince Mr. Zale that Eliza was too much trouble, but he was even more resistant to suggestion than Eliza.
“You call ‘em. They come pick you up, and you tell ‘em where you want to go. It'll probably cost fifteen bucks from where you are. Do you have that much?"
Unfortunately, she still had most of the fifty dollars the man had given her in the department store. “Yes, I have it. How do I get the phone number of a cab?"
“It's in the book. Wait a minute. I've got a number here."
She had to make him wait as she ran over to the pad and pen Marge kept by the phone's cradle. After carefully writing down the number, she asked, “What should I wear?"
“Don't worry about that. I got stuff here."
“Well, thank you, Mr. Zale. I'll be there at two o'clock."
Oh, dear. Mortimer wondered what he should do now. He feared Eliza would need more protection that he could supply.
* * * *
THE CAB LEFT the freeway and moved into the heart of the city. Eliza had only seen these very tall buildings from a distance. She nearly doubled over to look out the windows and up at the soaring structures. Some of them seemed to be made of mirrors and reflected the buildings across from them. How could such tall buildings be made out of glass?
The cab stopped in front of a dirty, red brick building on a side street. Eliza looked out from the back seat uncertainly. “Is this the place?"
The driver leaned across the seat and pointed at the numbers painted over the door. “That's the number you asked for, lady.” Then he pointed at a little machine in front of him. “The fare's fourteen twenty."
Eliza fumbled in her purse, selected a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the man. He gave her change, and she carefully counted the bills and coins and placed them in her purse. When she looked up, the driver glared at her as though she'd done something wrong. Not knowing what she might have done, she hurriedly opened the door and got out.
The cab roared away leaving Eliza standing in a cloud of exhaust fumes. She again looked up at the numbers and had to shake her head to get the hair out of her eyes. She'd shampooed while showering then used Marge's blowing dryer and left her hair hanging down. It felt wild and unruly like that, but people seemed to prefer it over the pony's tail she liked. Tightly gripping the handles of Marge's tote bag, which she'd borrowed in the hopes of looking more like a real model, Eliza squared her shoulders and entered the building.
After the bright sunlight, she had to blink a few times until her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the vestibule. Closed doors ran down a hallway; a flight of stairs rose in front of her. Mr. Zale had said his studio was on the second floor. The wooden stairs groaned under her feet.
At the top of the stairs, she saw an open doorway and heard Mr. Zale's voice. “...any minute now. I'm telling ya, Bert, this could be big."
Eliza paused in the doorway. He glanced up and waved her inside as he hurriedly said good-bye to the telephone. “Come in, honey. I've been looking for you. Didn't have any trouble getting here, did you?"
Eliza shook her head. She stepped into a large room that had been divided into smaller sections by partitions that did not reach the high ceiling. Mr. Zale closed the door behind her.
A flutter of uneasiness made Eliza's shoulders twitch. Then a young woman walked from behind a partition. She wore a robe that barely met in front and flapped about her naked legs. Nevertheless, Eliza breathed easier at the sight of her, she wouldn't be alone with this strange man.
Mr. Zale gestured toward the woman. “This is Valene. Since your friend Marge wasn't interested, I thought you and Valene would make a good team. Her red hair will contrast with your blonde."
Valene swept a fall of bright red hair over one shoulder as she nodded to Eliza. Then she leaned against the wall and began to work on her long fingernails with a file.
“I thought we'd start with some bathing suit shots. See what you like in there.” Mr. Zale gestured to a cardboard box sitting on a nearby table.
Eliza looked into a box filled with brightly colored patches of cloth. These suits looked even smaller that the ones Marge wore. Could she talk Mr. Zale out of making her wear one of them? “Ah ... I have some scars on my back and one leg."
Mr. Zale smiled. “No problem, I'm sure Valene has something that will cover ‘em. If necessary, I'll pose you so they won't show.” As Eliza continued to look doubtfully at the suits in the box, he said, “Why don't you take Eliza into the dressing room, Val, and help her pick out a suit?"
The woman paused with her file in midair and looked at Mr. Zale as though he were a great annoyance.
His smile disappeared as he picked up the box and shoved it toward her.
Valene shrugged, took the box, and led Eliza to a cubicle with a curtain covered doorway. Behind the curtain, she looked through the suits and held up two skimpy pieces of blue cloth. “How about this one?"
Eliza gawked at the single triangle of cloth attached to a long strap that formed the bottom of the suit. Maybe she'd made a mistake coming here. “There ... there's nothing in the back."
“You don't like thongs?” Valene rummaged through the box more seriously. “Most of these are thongs.” Finally she held up a bright red bottom that had a triangle of cloth for the front and the back. “This is about the best you're going to find in this box."
Eliza took the suit and waited for Valene to leave.
The woman slumped on a stool and began to file her nails again.
Eliza hesitated for just a moment and then reminded herself why she was here. Money. She had to have money to live in this world and there was no other way to get it. Turning her back on Valene, she quickly stripped off her jeans and shirt and put on the bright red patches of cloth.
Looking into a mirror mounted on the wall, she cringed at her pale flesh. She tugged on the bottom of the suit trying to make it cover more and even retied the little straps that held the bra in place. Still she looked practically naked.
Valene paused with her filing. “I got something that should cover those scars on your back. Don't know about the one on your leg, though. It's still kinda red.” She got off the stool, bent to look into a large bag standing on the floor, and came up with a tube.
Valene rubbed greasy make-up on Eliza's back. “Max said you got amnesia. Is that right?"
“Yes."
“What's that like?"
“I can't remember who I am."
Valene thought for a moment. “Sometimes, I wish I could forget who I am and start all over again."
Eliza didn't know what to say to that.
Valene finished applying the make-up and wiped her hands on a towel hanging on the wall. “Guess we're ready to go to work,” she said and stripped off her robe.
She was wearing a truly tiny bathing suit, or her figure made it look tiny. Her full breasts made Eliza feel like an orange in a bushel of grapefruits. Valene turned to check her hair in the mirror and displayed two firm mounds separated by a slender strap. Eliza wondered why Mr. Zale would possibly want her to model for him when he already had someone like Valene.
After applying additional lipstick to her lips, Valene moved to the doorway and looked back at Eliza who hadn't moved. “You coming?"
Eliza nodded, and then to forestall the inevitable, rolled her jeans and shirt up and stuffed them into her tote bag. Unable to think of any other excuses, she slowly followed Valene out of the dressing room.
In a nearby recessed area, Mr. Zale adjusted large lamps that stood on spindly metal stands. He looked up as they approached. His gaze roamed over Eliza's figure in a way that made her feel totally naked.
“Yes sir, you two are gonna look great together,” he said with a big smile.
* * * *
JEFF WHEELED HIS Harley into a space in the parking lot of Marge's apartment building. After turning off the engine, he sat for a moment, thinking himself three kinds of a fool for being there. Eliza wouldn't want to see him after the way he'd questioned her yesterday. And he couldn't apologize for what he'd done because he still believed she was hiding something.
He didn't get many afternoons off. He ought to be making the most of this one, but about an hour ago the back of his neck started to burn and itch, and he had gotten this crazy feeling that something was wrong with Eliza. This case was driving him nuts.
Fishing the extra helmet from a side compartment, he stared down at the two shiny spheres. The only excuse he could think of for coming over was to ask Eliza to go for a ride on his motorcycle. She'd probably tell him to go to hell, except Eliza didn't say things like that. She never said or did anything the least bit crude or offensive, so how could he think she was mixed up in something criminal?
She had lied to him yesterday. He was sure of that. But there could be another reason she was hiding her past. He'd been a cop so long that he suspected everybody. Maybe if he lightened up and showed Eliza she could trust him, she'd tell him the truth.
As he pushed open the gate to the courtyard of the apartment complex, Marge appeared. Her face was pale, her eyes wide, and she panted for breath as if she'd been running.
“What's the matter?” he asked.
“Eliza may be in trouble."
“What do you mean? Isn't she upstairs?"
“I came home from Dallas and she was gone. Max Zale's card was next to the phone. He talked to her at Halbots. I'm afraid she might have gone to pose for him. He's a real sleazebag."
Pins and needles jabbed into Jeff's neck. “Why would she do that?"
“Money, of course. He pays more than an honest photographer."
“You mean he does porn?"
“That's what I've heard. Never checked it out. But I know where his studio is. I'm going there now. Want to go with me?"
Jeff strapped his helmut on. “I can make it through the afternoon traffic faster on my cycle. Give me the address. I'll go alone."
* * * *
MR. ZALE TOOK a few pictures of Eliza by herself then posed her and Valene together. Eliza half sat and half lay on a padded bench while Valene got on her knees behind her and leaned forward. Mr. Zale kept telling them to pull their hair over their shoulders and let it hang freely. Eliza glanced back at Valene's hair and directly into the woman's breasts that seemed about to burst from the bra top. Eliza wondered if she should warn Valene.
Following Mr. Zale's directions, however, Valene kept leaning closer and closer, pushing Eliza forward until she was worried about her own cleavage. Then he had Valene come around and straddle Eliza's legs, and stare right into her face.
Why did he want such a pose? Eliza could understand that men might want to see pictures of scantily clad women, but Valene was on all fours like some sort of animal. Eliza had never been so shocked. If Valene hadn't been on top of her, she would have gotten up and left.
“Now lose the top, Val,” Mr. Zale said.
Without a moment's hesitation, Valene untied her bra and dropped it to one side. Without restraint her bosom seemed even larger. She leaned over Eliza again, the jiggling breasts coming perilously close to Eliza's body.
“That's good. Take yours off, Eliza,” he ordered.
Eliza was so rattled by Valene's display that it took a moment for his words to sink in. She turned toward him in horror as she pressed a hand protectively against her skimpy bra.
“I will not!"
Mr. Zale's eyes got hard and beady. “Give her a hand, Val."
Valene climbed off Eliza and stood beside the bench. “Naw, Max. This is between you and her."
Eliza swung her feet down to the floor, but before she could stand, Mr. Zale strode over. His mouth twisted into an ugly snarl.
“Come on, baby, don't get coy on me. You know damn well I wouldn't offer a grand if I wasn't expecting T and A"
Eliza shook her head. “I don't know what you're talking about."
“Titties and ass, baby. Now shuck that bikini, or I'll yank it off you.” He reached for the tie at the base of her neck.
Eliza swerved away from his hand and sprang to her feet. She had to push against his belly to make room for herself. Before she could take a step away from him, he clamped his hands around her arm.
“Wait a minute, honey. I'm not just some Texas small-timer. I got friends all over, even Hollywood. I can do a lot for you in this business."
Eliza didn't know what business he was talking about, but she didn't want any part of it if she had to take off any more clothing. She tried to yank her arm free but couldn't.
“Max, are you nuts?” Valene yelled.
Mr. Zale gave Eliza an insincere smile. “Whatta you want? More money?"
Eliza pulled as far from the man as she could. Her free hand bumped against one to the light stands. It wobbled. She grabbed the stand to steady it.
A voice boomed in her head, Don't steady it, Eliza. Push it at that man.
As the hot light fell toward him, Mr. Zale released Eliza and threw his hands up. Free from restraint, Eliza dodged around him and ran toward the door, not looking back at the sound of a loud crash, the flash of brilliant light, or Mr. Zale's curses. She flung the door open and ran down the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her. In the vestibule, she suddenly remembered what she was wearing and stopped.
“Come back here, bitch.” Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Eliza forgot everything but escape. She pushed open the front door and ran out onto the sidewalk. A large red and silver, two-wheeled machine was just pulling up to the curb.
Jeff sat on the machine. “Eliza, what in the..."
The door behind her flew open. Mr. Zale stormed out. An angry red mark creased his forehead.
“Damn, you. You broke a hundred dollars worth of my equipment. I'll put your scrawny ass in jail."
Jeff got off the motorcycle. “What's the problem here? I'm a police officer.” The shiny black helmet he wore gave him a sinister look.
Mr. Zale blinked as he looked back and forth between Jeff and the motorcycle.
Jeff reached in his pocket, took out a leather holder, and flipped it open under Mr. Zale's nose. “I'm off duty, but I can still make arrests."
Zale pointed at Eliza. “She broke one of my lights. Damn near killed me."
“Why'd she do that?” Jeff asked in a calm voice.
“Well ... she ... ah..."
“And why'd she come running out of this building almost naked and scared to death?” Jeff continued, his voice growing hard.
Mr. Zale held up a hand. “Look, I don't want no more trouble."
Jeff touched Eliza's arm. “Did he take pictures of you with that camera hanging around his neck?"
Her lips were pressed together so tightly that she could only nod.
“Guess I'll have to confiscate the camera for evidence, Mister ... What's your name?"
“You can't take my camera. That's how I make my living."
Jeff shrugged. “You don't want to settle this here, we can go to the station and do it."
Mr. Zale's beady eyed gaze darted back and forth between Eliza and Jeff. She realized she'd instinctively moved closer to and a little behind Jeff.
“Suppose I just give you the film? In fact, I'll open the camera and give it to you right here,” Mr. Zale said.
“Won't that destroy the pictures?” Jeff asked.
“Isn't that what you want?” The hint of a sneer pulled at Mr. Zale's mouth.
Jeff stuck out his hand, palm up.
“Ah ... hell,” Mr. Zale muttered. He opened his camera and pulled out the film, letting some of it unroll and dangle.
Jeff accepted the film. “This better be all the pictures you took."
“It is, it is.” Mr. Zale turned back toward the building. “Take it and her the hell out of here."
“What did you say?” Jeff called after him.
“Nothing, nothing.” Mr. Zale disappeared inside.
Eliza exhaled deeply; a tremor ran through her body.
Jeff turned to her. “Why in the hell did you come here?"
Now he was angry about this. She didn't think she could take any more. “Ken said it will cost three thousand dollars to get that number. How else can I get so much money?"
His hand cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “So why didn't you stay in there and earn the money?"
“I put on the tiny bathing suit, but that wasn't enough. He wanted me to take off...” She looked down in horror, remembering her state of undress and that she now stood on a public street. She crossed her arms over her chest.
A pickup truck drove past; the driver honked the horn in loud blasts. If people could die of embarrassment, Eliza would have at that moment.
“Oh, my goodness, I left my clothes up there."
“I'll go up and get ‘em, but you better step inside."
A shrill whistle sounded overhead. Eliza looked up and saw Valene leaning out the window. She was holding Eliza's tote bag. As she dropped it, her bare breasts hung free. Jeff was apparently so astounded by Valene's display that he was slow in reacting. He had to make a diving catch to get the bag before it hit the sidewalk.
Obviously, he liked to look at any woman's body, not just Eliza's. He became even less heroic in her eyes.
“What a bimbo,” Jeff muttered as he handed Eliza the bag.
She supposed bimbo had something to do with large breasts.
“Why don't you step inside to put some clothes on or we're gonna draw a crowd.” He led her toward the doorway.
“I can't go back in there.” She shuddered.
He looked through the glass to be sure the vestibule was empty. “Just stand in the hallway and put your pants on. I'll be right here to make sure nobody interrupts you."
Desperate to cover herself, Eliza did as he suggested, yanking on her jeans and slipping on her knit shirt over the red bikini. When she came out of the building, Jeff handed her a shiny blue helmet.
“What's this for?” she asked.
He gestured toward the motorcycle. “Put it on if you want a ride home."
She looked at the machine fearfully. It must be dangerous or he wouldn't make her wear the padded hat. Of course, it shouldn't be too different from riding a horse. The machine even had leather seats and fringed trimmed saddlebags like she had often seen on horses. Eliza donned the helmet.
Chapter Twelve
AFTER ELIZA SETTLED on the back seat, Jeff pulled down little silver bars on the sides of the machine. “Put your feet on these,” he said. Then he straddled the bike in front of her.
Eliza's seat was higher than Jeff's. With her feet on the little bars, her knees were sharply bent and jutted out on either side of him. She had to hold them widely apart to keep from touching him.
He inserted a key, pressed a button, and the machine purred to life. Kicking back the little stand that held the motorcycle upright, he looked back at her. “All set?"
She looked for something to hold on to. The tops of his shoulders seemed the likeliest places. Gingerly laying her hands on him, she nodded. The cycle swept away from the curb so fast that Eliza squealed. She gripped his shoulders with all her might.
This was nothing like riding a horse. The machine tilted from one side to the other as it moved into the flow of traffic. She was perilously close to the hard pavement that blurred as the machine picked up speed. A car horn sounded and the huge vehicle passed them so closely that the wind it created fanned Eliza's cheek.
She had to bite her lips to keep herself from begging Jeff to stop. This was just one more thing she couldn't handle in this modern world.
Being here was a mistake. She should have died in her schoolhouse in Young County.
A truck in the next lane suddenly pulled directly in front of them. Jeff swerved and the motorcycle dipped deeply to one side. Eliza squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. Perhaps God intended to correct the mistake now.
Slowly, she exhaled and released one of Jeff's shoulders, letting her hand fall against her own thigh. Softly murmuring, “Thy will be done,” over and over again, she pulled the other hand down.
The motorcycle leaned to the left and Eliza's body swayed out over the pavement. Her left leg tensed against the footrest and held her on the seat. Then the bike tilted more sharply to the right. The quick movement threw her weight against her weaker right leg. It crumbled.
Concentrating on the traffic, Jeff suddenly realized Eliza no longer gripped his shoulders. In a quick glance back, he saw her body lurch toward the pavement. Hanging on to the handlebars with one hand, he threw his other arm back, stopping her decent. He groped until he had a firm grip on her arm. Then he yanked it against his body and clamped his upper arm over it. With both hands back on the handlebars, he headed for an open parking space by the roadside.
When the motorcycle stopped moving he had to swallow the fear that built in his throat at the thought of what could have happened. “Eliza, what in the hell were you doing?"
Looking over his shoulder he saw her staring blankly at nothing. “I thought ... I thought..."
“A motorcycle is nothing to play around on,” he said more softly.
She blinked at him but didn't respond to his words. What was wrong? Had her encounter with Max Zale been too much for her delicate mental state?
He kicked the stand into place, got off the bike, and turned to examine his passenger. She was as pale as a ghost and her eyes were glassy.
He put his hand on her shoulder, hoping the contact would bring her back to him. “Did that photographer hurt you?"
She shook her head but continued to have such a faraway look that he didn't know if she had understood him.
He pulled her helmet off and smoothed her hair back on either side of her head. The hair ran through his fingers like strands of fine silk. “What's wrong, Eliza? Tell me."
“I ... I'm afraid.” She spoke so softly that he had to lean closer to hear her.
“Of what? The bike?"
She didn't answer. She was really starting to scare him. Taking her chin in one hand, he shook her head gently as he tilted it up. “Look at me, Eliza. Talk to me."
Finally her gaze met his. “I don't think I can go on."
“Riding a bike's really not so dangerous. You just have to hold on. If the traffic bothers you, we'll wait until it clears some."
Her lips formed a thin wispy smile that didn't seem to be a smile at all. “Don't worry about me,” she said. “I'm not your responsibility."
“Of course, you are. I've got to solve your case."
“Haven't you ever had a case you couldn't solve?"
He pulled on her hand. “Come on. Let's go for a walk."
She swung her leg over the bike but moved so unsteadily, that he caught both of her arms and helped her to stand. For a few seconds, she wavered against his support.
He hooked both the helmets over one arm and led Eliza across the street and onto a sloping walkway that ran into the park.
“This is the city's famous Water Garden,” he said as the sound of gushing water surrounded them.
Interest awakened in her eyes, as the main attraction of the Water Garden came into view. In a large pit, walls of pebble laden cement, with water flowing freely over their surfaces, terraced down to a sky blue pool.
“Did men make this?” she finally asked.
“Yeah."
“Why?"
Jeff couldn't help smiling. “You aren't the first person to ask that. It's just a park, a place for people to come and relax.” He pointed to some kids who were moving along the large, raised, stepping stones that led down into the pit of foaming water. “You want to go down there?"
She shook her head. Her eyes still carried a haunted look.
He slipped his free arm behind her and gently propelled her into a wide courtyard. In the center, steep concrete steps formed a high platform. Bright green lawns around the courtyard showed beyond low walls. Trees edged the lawns, the city skyline rose beyond them.
Eliza stared at a bum sleeping in a shady spot on top of one of the walls. “Shouldn't we wake him up?” she asked. “He might fall."
“Don't worry about him. He's just a homeless guy."
“Homeless?"
The word came out as a strangled cry. Jeff felt a shiver pass through her body.
He had to do something to get her out of this mood. “Come this way. I want to show you my favorite spot in the park.” He led her over to a flight of stairs that descended between tall, sloping, cement walls.
When they were half way down the steps, Eliza reached out and let her fingertips touch the thin sheet of water flowing almost invisibly down the outer wall. She looked at him with eyebrows raised.
“Come on down and see it all."
They turned a corner at the bottom of the stairs and saw the wide, shallow pool, surrounded by trees and tall walls that all had water dribbling over them.
“Water is supposed to cool as it evaporates. Do you think it's cooler here?” he asked.
She looked about with wonder. “I guess ... a little. If they covered it with a roof and walls it would be even cooler, like a spring house."
“What's that?"
“A little house built over a spring. People put food in them to keep it from spoiling. At least, they did ... a long time ago.” The bleak look returned to her eyes.
“How do you know about them?” Jeff asked.
She looked at him as though debating her answer. “I must have read about it."
“Like you did Eliza Scoggins?"
“Uh ... huh.” She looked down at the pool.
“You obviously have a special interest in history."
“Stop it. No more questions.” She walked away from him with jerky steps.
He followed her, but not too closely. When she sank down on the low wall edging the pool, he sat beside her. “I'm sorry for the way I questioned you yesterday, Eliza. I guess I took my frustration over not getting anywhere on your case out on you. Can you forgive me?"
“You were just doing your job.” She trailed one finger in the water. “I don't blame you for not solving my case."
More questions flashed through his mind, but her mood was so strange he dared not ask them. “Look, I know it's only natural for you to get depressed about this, but you can't let it get you down. We're going to find out who you are."
She clenched her hands together in her lap. “Suppose you don't?” Her voice sounded hollow. “I have a feeling there's no family out there ... no one to claim me. I'm all alone.” She dropped her head.
Jeff covered her hands with one of his. “You're not alone. You have friends, Marge and me. You'll make a life for yourself. You've got the courage to do it."
She looked up at him, tears glistened in her eyes. “Courage? I'm scared to death."
He gently placed his arm around her shoulders. “Hey, not the girl who just bopped old Max Zale with one of his own lights. That was a tight situation, and you did exactly what you should have ... hit him and ran."
She sniffled. “I never should have gone there in the first place. Marge tried to tell me there was something wrong with him, but I didn't bother to find out what."
He pulled her closer so her head rested against his shoulder. “You made a mistake, but you'll know better next time. Don't beat yourself up over it. Things will work out."
“I don't see how.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I've got to work to get money, but I can't work without that number, and I can't get the number without money."
“Shh ... shh.” He stroked her upper back with one hand and dug out his handkerchief with the other. “I told you I'd take care of the damn social security number, didn't I?"
“But you've already been refused."
“They need proof of birth, so I'll just have to find out who you are. Once I've done that, you won't need money to pay a forger."
“But you ... haven't found anything ... so far,” she said between jerky little sobs.
“I haven't looked hard enough. There's probably something on my desk right now, I just haven't seen it."
She looked up at him with watery, disbelieving eyes.
“Trust me,” he said. “And promise me you won't get mixed up in any of Marge's illegal schemes."
He stared down at her until she nodded. From the corner of his eye, Jeff caught sight of a small boy standing in front of them.
The boy asked, “The lady hurt?"
Eliza tried to wipe away her tears.
Jeff shook his head. “She's all right."
“You her daddy?"
“No, I'm not.” Jeff answered, surprised at the question.
“Does he look old enough to be my daddy?” Eliza asked, showing a trace of a smile.
The boy nodded.
Jeff felt Eliza's shoulders began shake. She was laughing.
A woman suddenly appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Jimmy, don't bother those people."
The boy ran toward the woman.
Jeff wanted to keep Eliza laughing. “Well, I certainly don't think I look old enough to be your father."
Eliza's expression softened. “Oh, he probably said that because he saw you comforting me."
Jeff didn't want her to return to the strange mood that had caused her tears. “Listen, I better let Marge know you're all right and I left my cell phone in the bike.” He stood and waited for her to join him. “Shall I ask her to come pick you up, or can you ride with me?"
She stood. “I'll go on the bike."
He looked steadily into her eyes. “Are you sure?"
She nodded.
* * * *
ELIZA WATCHED JEFF mount the motorcycle in front of her.
He looked over his shoulder. “You hold on this time. In fact, it'll be better if you put your arms around my body, and when we go around curves, you lean with me."
He placed her hands around his waist. “Isn't that better?"
She nodded. Holding the sturdy trunk of his body made her feel more secure, but she'd never touched a man so intimately. Her hands tingled with the warmth and strength radiating through the thin weave of his shirt. She fought the temptation to wrap her arms tightly around his chest, knowing her breasts would then press against his back.
Jeff started the cycle and steered it through the late afternoon traffic. Instead of heading for the freeway, he wound through side streets where the traffic moved more slowly. The sun had descended in the western sky. The breezes whipping against Eliza's face and arms were cooler, almost refreshing.
When Jeff looked back to check on her, she gave him a reassuring smile. Riding on a motorcycle wasn't so frightening; with her arms around Jeff, it was fun.
She reminded herself of what he had said in the park. He'd called himself her friend. Not her beau, she mustn't hope for that. But a friend she could count on. Could she believe him or was it a policeman's ploy?
The cycle swerved and dipped as Jeff turned into a driveway. As they stopped in a parking lot, Eliza realized they were at some sort of eating establishment. After taking their helmets off, they went inside.
Jeff ushered her over to a booth. “You sit here and I'll get us some ice cream. What flavor do you want?"
“Flavor?” Eliza asked.
“Of ice cream. Don't you remember ice cream?"
“I think I had some in the hospital. Is it white and cold?"
Jeff grinned and held up his index finger. “I know just what you need. I'll be right back."
He spoke to a young woman at the counter. In a few moments he returned to the booth with two plastic dishes filled with mysterious concoctions.
“Chocolate nut sundaes,” Jeff said as he sat across from her. “Guaranteed to cure the blues."
Eliza dipped the plastic spoon through the gooey chocolate and into the solid cream. Cautiously she tasted it. As the rich flavor of chocolate, the shock of icy coldness, and the crunchiness of nuts registered on her palate, she smiled, delighted.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured as she eagerly dug in for another spoonful.
“Some people save the cherry for last, but I like mine with plenty of syrup.” He took the bright red fruit from the top of his sundae. Holding it by the stem, he reached over and dipped it into the pool of chocolate and melted cream in the base of Eliza's dish. Then he quickly raised it to her mouth.
Instinctively, Eliza opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue to catch the dripping syrup. Jeff's little boy grin faded, he watched with heavy lidded eyes as she bit the cherry away from the stem. The combination of rich flavors and Jeff's smoldering stare made it hard for her to chew.
When she managed to swallow, she noticed the cherry in her dish and decided to return the favor. Holding the stem she dipped the cherry in his dish and held it up to his mouth. She wasn't as quick as he'd been and a blob of chocolate syrup dripped into the little cleft in the middle of his chin.
A twinge of regret ran through Eliza as the laughing Jeff wiped the chocolate away with a paper napkin. She would have liked to lick it away.
Goodness, what a shocking thought.
She returned her attention to the sundae, eating rapidly until a sharp pain throbbed in the middle of her forehead. She placed her fingers on it and groaned.
“Uh-oh,” Jeff said. “I forgot to warn you.” He hurried to the counter and came back with a cup of water. “Drink this."
The pain had already subsided; the water chased it away completely. “What caused that?” Eliza asked.
“If you eat ice cream too fast, it'll give you a headache. I guess it's a reminder to enjoy our pleasures in moderation."
Eliza held her spoon over her dish uncertainly.
“Just hold the ice cream in your mouth for a few seconds before you swallow it. It won't hurt then."
She tried a spoonful that way and was relived when the pain didn't come back. “That's really an important lesson,” she said as she toyed with her spoon.
He looked puzzled.
“Learning to control our pursuit of pleasure,” she explained.
He laughed. “And a hard one to learn."
Eliza smiled back at him. She loved him like this, so relaxed and playful. No, not loved, liked. They were friends, just friends. She captured some of the rich goo in the bottom of her cup with her spoon and dribbled it over the half-eaten mound of ice cream.
“What's the matter?” Jeff asked.
“Oh ... nothing.” She couldn't tell him she'd been thinking about her feelings for him. “I was just thinking of all the things I need to learn."
“I'm not much of a teacher, but I'll be glad to help any way I can."
“What I really need is something to read other than fashion magazines. Something to help me catch up on history ... and things."
His eyes widened. “I may have just the thing. Let me make a phone call."
After his call, Jeff said, “All set. Mom's at home. As soon as you're finished we'll go over there."
Eliza stiffened at the thought of meeting Jeff's mother. “But I'm not properly dressed."
“You look fine, except...” His gaze stopped at her chest.
Looking down, Eliza saw that the bright red of the bikini bra showed through the white of her knit shirt.
“Oh, my goodness.” She held a hand up to shield the disgraceful display. “I have white undergarments in my bag."
“No problem. I'll get the bag out of the cycle and you can change in the rest room."
Once she'd changed into her more modest underwear, Eliza glanced into the mirror over the sink and noticed how smudged her eye make-up had become. Not wanting Jeff's parents to think she was an easy woman, she washed all the make-up off and reapplied only lipstick.
* * * *
AS THE CYCLE pulled into the driveway of the one story, yellow brick house, Eliza worried about appearing in front of Jeff's parents wearing pants. She reassured herself by remembering they were also Marge's parents, so they shouldn't be surprised by the sight of a woman in jeans.
Jeff took her to the back door, making Eliza wonder if he was embarrassed by her attire. Two older people were waiting in the kitchen. They greeted her so warmly that her discomfort eased.
After the introductions, Jeff said, “Eliza needs something to read to help her catch up on all the things she can't remember. Is that set of encyclopedias we used as kids still around here?"
“Yes, they're on the bottom shelf of the bookcase in the den,” Mrs. Palmer said.
Jeff took Eliza's hand and led her into the den. His parents followed them. The shelves, built along a wall and crowded with books, filled Eliza with awe. She had thought Jeff's parents were people of moderate means, but if they owned all these books, they must be wealthy.
Jeff pointed to a row of thick books next to the floor. “These are the encyclopedias, Eliza. They list subjects alphabetically and cover just about everything."
Eliza knelt and pulled out the book with a golden A embossed on its spine. She thumbed through it. A variety of photographs, maps and diagrams flashed by. Going through the book more slowly, she looked at the subjects listed in bold letters in the upper corner of the pages.
“Everything is in here,” she said in awe.
“Those books are better than twenty years old,” Mr. Palmer said.
“We offered them to Jackie for her children, but she said they'd have to get more up-to-date ones,” Mrs. Palmer added.
Eliza gasped as she reached a section on airplanes. Several pages pictured strange contraptions made mostly of string and sticks developing into the sleek silhouettes she'd seen in present day skies. She'd dearly like to know how those things stayed up in the sky.
Making a cradle for the book with her legs, she bent over it. “I must read this."
“Whoa,” Jeff said. “You don't have to do it now. I'm sure you can borrow the books."
Eliza realized how rude she was being and looked up at the Palmers apologetically. “I'm sorry, but I have so many questions."
“That's perfectly all right, dear,” Mrs. Palmer said. “I'm glad somebody can use the books. You go ahead and read. I need to start supper anyway."
“Hey, Mom, we aren't staying for supper. I didn't let you know ahead of time,” Jeff protested.
“It's Wednesday night,” his mother said. “I'm always prepared to whip up something on Wednesdays.” She turned to Eliza. “We made that the night for family dinners because the children usually have other plans on the weekends."
“I don't want to intrude,” Eliza murmured.
“Oh, pooh.” Mrs. Palmer waved her hand. “I can talk to Jeff anytime. Tonight, I'll let Jeff and his father grill hamburgers. That'll mean less work for me."
Eliza stood. “I'll be happy to help if you'll tell me what to do."
“You can stay here and read if you'd rather,” Mrs. Palmer said.
“I'd really like to see what you do in the kitchen. I can't, that is, I don't remember how to cook. Do you use the stove or just the microwave?"
Jeff chuckled. “I'm sure you haven't seen much action in Marge's kitchen."
Eliza looked at him in alarm. She didn't want the Palmers to think she was criticizing their daughter. “Marge mostly uses the microwave."
“Well, you come along with me if you want to. I'm not going to do much tonight, but we can talk and watch the men work for a change,” Mrs. Palmer said with a warm smile.
The evening passed most pleasantly. Finally, after tucking volumes A and B of the encyclopedias in the saddlebags on the cycle, Eliza took her place behind Jeff. The Palmers had followed them out to the driveway where Eliza thanked them again for dinner.
“Any time, dear. And you have my number. Feel free to call me with questions you have about cooking or anything else,” Mrs. Palmer said.
“You come back, and I'll show you how to surf the net,” Mr. Palmer added.
Eliza waved until Jeff brought the cycle's engine to life and slowly backed it into the street. She placed her hands on Jeff's shoulders until they were out of the Palmer's sight. Then she moved her arms back around his body, leaning just a little closer than she had before. She found his warmth and strength so comforting that she rested her cheek against his back and wished they could ride throughout the night.
Too soon, he pulled to a stop in the parking lot of her apartment house. When he pulled away from her to get off the bike, it seemed as though a blast of cold air flowed over her even though the weather was balmy. Eliza removed her helmet with fumbling fingers. Jeff extended his hand to help her dismount. His touch made her ache for more intimate contact, but he quickly released her and retrieved her tote bag and the books from the saddlebags.
When she reached for them, he said, “I'll take these up for you."
“You don't have to."
“I want to."
“You've done so much for me today."
“And I'm going to do this.” He gestured with the hand holding her bag for her to walk ahead of him.
When they reached the door, Eliza turned back to him. “Would you like to come in? I could make some coffee. I know how to do that."
“Thanks, but I've got to get to the office early tomorrow."
Needing the key, Eliza reached for the tote bag. Her palm brushed across the back of his hand. The coarse hair on his hand caused a tingle to shoot up to her shoulder. She giggled nervously as she found her purse and fumbled for the key.
Setting her bag against the wall, he took the key from her and reached around her toward the keyhole. The warmth of his body again caressed her, making her wish she could press herself against him. She heard the lock click and the door crack open.
“Thank you for rescuing me today,” she managed to say despite near breathlessness.
Continuing to stand very close, he smiled at her. “Some rescue. You had the situation well in hand before I got there."
“I'm not talking about just Mr. Zale. Everything you did today helped me. You are a true friend."
He came so close that it made her dizzy to look up at him. She closed her eyes. A second later, his lips brushed against hers.
Chapter Thirteen
ELIZA LEANED INTO the kiss with her dear friend, Jeff. The firm pressure of his lips felt so good against hers that she leaned even closer. The tips of her breasts touched the hard wall of his chest with shocking impact.
Realizing she was feeling much more than friendship, Eliza pulled back with a startled gasp. “We shouldn't do this."
Loaded down with the books, he made an impotent gesture of reaching for her. “Why not?"
“This might ... might spoil our friendship."
“Or make it better.” He was so close she could feel his warm breath against her cheek.
Wanting to fill her arms to keep them from following their strong inclination to wrap around his body, she reached for the two books he held. “My life's so confused. I can't start ... I mean we can't..."
He moved back, but gripped her shoulder with his newly freed hand. “You're right. But I'm going to fix things. I promise you I'll find out who you are. And once your identity is settled, we can ... we can see where our friendship goes.” He handed her the tote bag and turned away.
Eliza watched his back until he disappeared down the staircase. He had kissed her. Not because she initiated it, but because he wanted to. He must feel more for her than friendship or duty. What was she going to do about it? If she responded favorably to his advances, would he expect to be intimate with her like Ken was with Marge? Did she want to?
* * * *
BY THE TIME Jeff reached the parking lot he was sweating. What had gotten into him? He'd been about to make a declaration of ... of what? He didn't even know Eliza's real name. He was a policeman, for God's sake. He believed in facts not feelings.
The facts all pointed to something being wrong with Eliza's story. People didn't suddenly appear in this world with no records to verify their existence. She'd been the victim of a brutal crime. Someone had plunged a large knife into her body with three vicious thrusts. There were no reports of a similar M.O. being used in this part of the state.
Add those facts to the doctor's opinion that her amnesia was caused by mental trauma, and you came up with a crime of passion. Had someone she loved hated her so violently that she couldn't bear to remember it?
Did she really have amnesia? What about the way she'd talked in the park today ... as though she were certain no family or friends looked for her? She'd acted so despondent he'd thought she might harm herself and been scared silly by the prospect.
No matter who or what Eliza was, he cared about her, and believed in her basic decency. There had to be a way to determine her identity. He hadn't looked hard enough. Tomorrow he'd tear those reports apart.
* * * *
MORTIMER LOOKED DOWN at Jeff's hunched shoulders. The boy had come into work an hour early this morning and had been poring over the reports from Eliza's file ever since. Jeff ran his fingers through his hair as he dropped another sheet on the pile steadily growing in front of him.
Mortimer tried to think of an honest way to help Jeff. Was absolute truth absolutely necessary? If an untruth could help one person and hurt no one else, was it really wrong?
As Jeff picked up another batch of reports, Mortimer made up his mind. It was his duty to help Eliza find a place for herself in this world.
One of the reports slipped from the stack and fell to the floor. Jeff picked up the papers and started to throw them back on his desk when he noticed the grainy picture stapled to one corner. He pulled it closer and squinted. The picture hadn't come through the faxing process well, but the woman did have long, straight, blonde hair. Jeff read the data on the report carefully.
Paul came in just then. Gesturing at Jeff's littered desk, he asked, “What's all this?"
“Just going back through the Scoggins file to see if I missed anything,” Jeff replied.
“That looks like a report I checked."
“Yeah.” Jeff held it out to him. “Don't you see a resemblance in this picture?"
Paul stared at the picture for a moment. “Don't see much of anything in it.” He flipped the picture back and looked at the report. “Oh, this is the girl from Laceyville, Louisiana. Didn't you see the note from the sheriff? He suspects she met with foul play."
“What evidence did he have of that?"
Paul shrugged. “Nothing really. But they're in the middle of bayou country, plenty of places to dump a body."
“The woman in this report has blonde hair and blue eyes, the same as Eliza,” Jeff insisted.
“She was also five-seven. The Scoggins woman is what, five-ten?"
“The girl was only sixteen when she disappeared eight years ago. She could have grown."
Paul threw the paper back onto Jeff's desk. “So where's she been for the last eight years?"
“Sixteen-year-olds run away all the time, you know that."
“I also know the majority come back unless something happens to stop ‘em."
“The doctor says Eliza's amnesia is caused by emotional trauma. No telling what she's been through,” Jeff said softly.
Paul scratched his chin. “I swear I don't remember that picture being so dark, but maybe I've gotten it mixed up with another file. I'll check it out again."
“That's okay,” Jeff said. “I'll do it.” He knew he was stepping on his partner's toes, but he didn't intend to miss the best opportunity he'd seen so far to solve Eliza's problem.
Paul raised his eyebrows. “What are you going to do? As I recall, there's no immediate family left."
“Maybe if I question Eliza, I can jog her memory."
Paul's brow creased with frown lines. “Or feed her information so we can never determine who the hell she is."
“I know better than that."
“I'm not sure you do,” Paul said, “not this time."
Jeff shrugged. “You can come with me, if you want to."
“I intend to.” Paul's jaw hardened. “In fact, I think it'll be a good idea if you let me ask the questions."
“You'll be careful won't you? I was a little rough with her the other day and made her cry."
Paul grimaced. “I'm not planning to use a rubber hose."
* * * *
ELIZA HAD BEEN so happy when Jeff called and said he wanted to come over, but he had brought his partner with him. Now the two men sat across from her with stern expressions. Detective Hale had a pen and notebook in his hands. Apparently this was an official visit. “We're following up some leads in your case, Miss Scoggins, and need to ask you a few questions,” Detective Hale said.
Why was he questioning her? She looked at Jeff for an explanation, but he only smiled.
“I'm sorry,” Eliza said, “but I still don't remember who attacked me."
“If we can find out who you really are, that would help us solve your case."
Oh, dear, back to that. Dr. Ferris often asked her to tell him about the pictures in her head. Maybe she could use that on these policemen. “I see things sometimes, like hazy pictures, but when I try to see them more clearly, they go away."
“Are there people in these pictures?” Detective Hale asked.
“Yes, but I don't know who they are."
“What about places?"
“There are rooms, just parts of rooms. They don't seem to be connected to anything.” Eliza thought she was getting good at this. Maybe she'd try it on Dr. Ferris the next time she saw him.
“Do you ever think of the names of any places?” Detective Hale asked in a very matter-of-fact voice.
Eliza hesitated. It would be safer to just say “no.” But if she could convince them she came from some other state, they might find it easier to understand why they couldn't identify her. What state should she choose? For some unknown reason, she suddenly blurted out, “Louisiana."
Jeff's mouth opened slightly.
Gripping his pen more tightly, Detective Hale asked. “Do you remember the names of any places in Louisiana?"
“New Orleans is there, isn't it?"
“Do you think you've ever been there?” Jeff suddenly asked. He leaned forward as though the answer were important. His partner frowned at him.
Eliza had, in fact, been in Louisiana. At least she'd passed through it when her family moved from Kentucky to Texas. But she knew what she had seen then would be vastly different today.
After another glance at Jeff's hopeful face, she looked at the nearest blank wall. “Thinking about it does make me see pictures."
“Can you tell us anything about the pictures,” Detective Hale asked in his calm voice.
“A river ... a wide river."
Jeff made a little noise as though about to speak. Eliza turned and saw Detective Hale wave him to silence. “Anything else?” he asked.
“Big trees growing at the edge of the water."
“Do you see any people when you think of Louisiana?"
“A woman, an older woman.” Eliza's mother had gotten sick on the riverboat. They'd stopped in New Orleans where she had died. Eliza closed her eyes against the tears that threatened as she remembered her heartbroken family leaving the mother behind and going on to a new land.
“Who is the woman?"
“My mother."
“What's her name?"
“Mama.” She sniffed and wiped moisture from the corner of her eye.
“Do you recognize the name Brenda?” Jeff asked in an intense voice.
Eliza snapped her eyes open and looked at him. “Brenda?"
“Have you ever heard that name before?” He seemed to be holding his breath as he waited for her answer.
“Yes, I'm sure I have. I just can't remember where."
Detective Hale cleared his throat. “It's not an uncommon name. I think we better go. Don't want to tire Miss Scoggins.” He stood and glared at Jeff.
“I think we're getting someplace,” Jeff said.
His partner reached over, grabbed Jeff's arm, and pulled him to his feet. “We have to go. Now."
Jeff frowned at Detective Hale as if he intended to argue with him, but then relaxed. “Yeah, I guess you're right.” He looked down at Eliza. “Thanks for talking with us. And I hope..."
Detective Hale pulled him to the door. “Don't get up, Miss Scoggins, we can show ourselves out. Good to see you again."
Eliza stared after them wondering what in the world that had been about.
* * * *
JEFF COULD TELL by the way Paul slammed the car door that he was really steamed.
“Are you nuts about that woman or just plain nuts?” Paul demanded as he snapped his seat belt.
“She was remembering,” Jeff said, trying to keep his own temper in check. “Didn't you see the way her eyes snapped open when I said Brenda?"
“Another minute and you'd have given her the full name and address."
“I think she is Brenda Morel. What right do we have to keep facts from her that could bring her memory back?"
“Just a damn minute. We're policemen not shrinks. This is way out of our league. Turn this report over to her doctor and let him decide."
Jeff glared back at Paul but finally nodded.
As soon as they got back to the office, Jeff called Dr. Ferris. “We've found a missing person's report on a young woman from Louisiana who bears quite a few similarities to Eliza Scoggins."
“That's good news."
“Well, not entirely. This woman disappeared eight years ago. Her fingerprints aren't on file and no immediate family is left. That makes a definite determination impossible. When I talked to Miss Scoggins, however, she remembered some general impressions of Louisiana, the woman's home state."
Sitting across from him, Paul glowered.
“You didn't tell her about this woman, did you?” Dr. Ferris’ voice had become brusque. Jeff couldn't seem to please anybody today.
“No. I thought we were stimulating her memory, but my partner suggested we leave that up to you."
“Quite right,” the doctor said. “Can you send me a copy of this report?"
“Sure. Do you have a fax number?"
The doctor gave Jeff the number. “What's on the report, anyway?"
“Mainly vital statistics."
“That's not the sort of thing a person usually remembers first. Can you get additional information on this woman?"
“I can call the sheriff who sent us the report. He's in a small town. There's probably someone around who remembers her."
“Thanks, Detective. I'd appreciate that."
“No problem. I'll fax you the report now and send the rest later."
Jeff hung up the phone with a feeling of satisfaction. He didn't care what Paul thought. This was the best lead they'd had, and he intended to follow it all the way.
He immediately called Laceyville, Louisiana. Sheriff Girard's voice had musical Cajun inflections that made him sound like a cheerful sort. “Be mighty nice if our Brenda Sue turned out to be your amnesia victim. I've hated to think of her out in the swamp all these years."
“There are enough similarities between the two women that I thought I better check it out,” Jeff said. “Your report stated there are no fingerprints or family members who might identify her."
“Afraid not. Brenda's ma, a widow, passed on just last year. Most likely worried herself to death about that girl, her being an only child and all.
“The girl went a little wild in high school. She was running with some troublemakers at the time she disappeared. I always figured there had been an accident or a fight and her body got dumped in an isolated spot. I'd sure like to know that's not the case. How can you prove your amnesia victim is Brenda Sue?"
“That's the problem, Sheriff. It pretty much comes down to the woman getting her memory back. It would be a big help if the doctor working with Miss Scoggins had more information about the Morel girl. Things he could use to check against memories Miss Scoggins does have. Can you help us on this?"
“There are folks around that remember her. In fact, one of my deputies is married to a girl who went to school with Brenda. I could gather up some information for you."
“Anything you can send will be a big help. I'm anxious to clear this case off my books."
“I know what you mean. I'd like to clear the Morel case off my books, and my conscience."
After hanging up the phone, Jeff rubbed the back of his neck. He was willing to bet this would be the answer to Eliza's problems.
* * * *
ELIZA WENT TO sit with some of the other models. Sinking gratefully into an empty folding chair, she asked, “Will we have to practice walking anymore?"
“Probably not,” Peggy said and yawned. “Today was mainly to check on the alterations. The runway practice is more for the debutantes’ benefit."
Eliza looked at the women now on the runway. She had noticed a difference between the models who were Marge's friends and those who weren't. Marge now coached the others on making turns.
“What are debutantes?” she asked.
“That's just what we call ‘em,” Peggy replied.
Dani looked up from applying polish to her long fingernails. “The store hires a few real models to give the show class and recruits the rest from their customers. School girls mostly.” She nodded toward Lynn who sat nearby. “Or a few society types."
Lynn's head snapped back and she looked at Dani with a pinched expression. “I'm a real model. I did the show last year, and I've done several others."
“If you're such a pro, why did Mrs. Herman set your tight-ass down and ask Marge to do the coaching?” Peggy asked.
Lynn shrugged. “Of course, Marge is better than me. She does this full time. I'm just getting money for my college tuition."
Eliza sympathized with Lynn. “I'm not a real model, either. Marge had to teach me how to walk, too."
“Yeah, but you're doing this to eat, not to save Daddy a few bucks,” Dani said with a touch of bitterness in her voice.
Lynn picked up a fashion magazine and began to leaf through it. Dani went back to painting her nails.
Peggy pulled an extra chair over so she could put her feet in it and stretch her legs out. “I'm beat.” She dipped her head as though intending to nap.
The pungent smell of Dani's nail polish filled Eliza's nostrils just as questions about how to go on with Jeff filled her mind. First he had kissed her as though he really cared for her, and then he'd come with his partner and questioned her as though they were barely acquainted.
She tried to tell herself the kiss had meant nothing and she should be wary of him. He was a policeman whose investigation could ruin her chances for a normal life. But he had been so kind to her, so helpful, and so caring, yes, caring. She couldn't stop herself from believing that he really cared for her. What was she going to do about it?
She needed to ask someone's advice on how relationships worked in this modern world. It hadn't seemed proper to ask Marge. Besides, Jeff surely wouldn't want her to discuss his personal life with his sister. She looked at the women around her. Lynn was still in school. She probably didn't know much. Peggy had a pessimistic view of life. Dani was somewhat irritable but knew a lot about the world.
Keeping her voice low, in the hope she wouldn't attract the other women, Eliza asked, “Are you married, Dani?"
“No."
“Do you have a special gentleman friend?"
Dani glanced up from her nails. “Sure do."
“Are you two in love?"
“He says we are."
“Aren't you sure?"
Dani stuck the little brush back into the bottle and left it there, giving Eliza her full attention. “Yeah, I'm sure, but I haven't told him."
“Why not?"
“Girl, you never use the ‘L’ word first. You gotta let him talk you into it."
“What's the ‘L’ word?"
Dani blew on her enameled nails. “Love. Even though most guys these days don't hunt for anything but desk jobs, deep down they still have their caveman instincts. A smart woman makes him think he caught her."
“And,” Peggy said without lifting her head, “once you tell ‘em you love ‘em, they think they own you."
Eliza digested this advice. “So, you don't have an ... an intimate relationship until he declares his love?"
Dani's eyes opened widely. “I didn't say that. If you really like a guy and he's coming on strong, it's hard to keep things at the goodnight-kiss stage. What I meant is you don't get all gushy and start talking love and marriage right off the bat.
“If you do, they think you're trying to trap them and they head for the nearest door. You gotta play it cool. Let him know you think he's a fine specimen of manhood but you're not ready to settle down with one man. That keeps ‘em coming after you."
Eliza wanted to be sure she understood correctly. “So, it's all right to ... ah ... be intimate with him as long as I don't tell him I love him?"
“Well, don't be too easy, girl. Make him work for it, or he won't appreciate it,” Dani said.
“Don't be too hard to get, either,” Peggy muttered, “or he'll find someone who isn't."
“You asking about this just in case, or do you have yourself a boyfriend, Miss Eliza?” Dani asked with a teasing grin.
Eliza realized all the women had looked up at her expectantly. She glanced at the area where Marge was coaching the other models. “I ... uh ... I am interested in somebody, but please don't say anything to Marge about it."
Dani's eyes narrowed and she glared at Eliza. “You aren't sniffing after her skinny photographer, are you?"
“No, no.” Eliza shook her head. “I'd never do something like that. I'm seeing Marge's brother, and he and Marge don't always get along. Although I think they really do care for each other, I don't think he'd want me talking—"
“The cop?” Peggy exclaimed. “I saw him once. A real hunk."
Dani smiled at Eliza. “You go, girl."
* * * *
JEFF PAUSED AT the gate to the courtyard. He knew he shouldn't do this. He'd promised himself that he'd stay away from Eliza until this identity question was settled, but when she'd called and invited him to a pool party at her apartment house, he couldn't bring himself to say no. In the first place, she'd said “the guys downstairs” were giving it. He knew guy parties were usually hunting and fishing expeditions; hunting for women and fishing for sex. An innocent like Eliza would need protection in a situation like that. Besides, he didn't want to miss a chance to see her in a bathing suit again.
Juggling the six-packs of beer he'd brought, he opened the gate. He easily sorted through the people clustered around the pool and saw Eliza sitting on a chaise with a dorky-looking guy crowded in beside her. When her eyes met Jeff's she stood, her long legs extended beneath a tee shirt.
“Here's my friend,” she said, with a look of relief on her face.
Jeff strode toward her.
She gestured to the man sitting on the lounge. “Have you met our neighbor, Randy?"
Jeff nodded at the guy and muttered, “How ya doin'?"
Randy nodded back, with the corners of his mouth turned down. Marge rushed over and grabbed one of the two packages Jeff carried. “Great. More beer."
Jeff tore the other carton open, took out two beers, and set the rest near a cooler on the deck. He held one of the cans out to Eliza.
She wrinkled her nose. “I really don't like that."
Jeff grinned. “Good. Just guard it for me. The way this crowd is going, the supply won't last long."
Eliza took the can from him. Jeff tore off the tab and took a long swallow while surveying the seven people standing around the edge of the pool and the six others on a porch around a smoking grill. “I thought this was a pool party. How come nobody's swimming?"
“Some of the girls don't want to get their hair wet."
“Are you one of them?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don't know how to swim."
Ken walked over to them. “How's it going?” he asked Jeff.
“Okay. How about yourself?"
“I'm great. Did Eliza tell you the big news?"
“What news?"
“About the pictures I sent to my friend in New York. He's very excited about her. Thinks he can get her on with the agency he works for."
Jeff frowned. “What kind of agency?” It felt like a stone was sinking into his stomach.
“A modeling agency, of course. They handle some of the biggest names in the business. With them, Eliza would be sure to make the big time."
Jeff should have seen this coming. Marge had always wanted to pursue a modeling career in New York. And even while Eliza was in the hospital, people had said she looked like a model. This was how Marge wanted to exploit her. He'd put a stop to...
He glanced at Eliza. Her eyes were on him, apparently waiting to see his reaction to Ken's news. She probably didn't understand what in the hell Marge and Ken were even talking about, but the promise of big money might appeal to her. He decided to play it cool.
Keeping his voice steady, he asked, “Do you want to go to New York, Eliza?"
She shrugged. “Ken's friend wants to see more pictures. Probably nothing will come of it."
“Jeeez, Eliza, be more positive,” Ken pleaded.
Jeff relaxed a bit. Even with amnesia, Eliza had too much sense to get excited over pipe dreams. “Maybe she doesn't want to get her hopes up and then be disappointed."
“Yeah, well—"
Marge called to Ken just then.
“We'll talk later,” he said and hurried over to her.
Jeff decided to probe a little deeper. “Wow, New York. That would really be something."
“What's so special about New York?” Eliza asked. “Marge and Ken both want to go there."
Jeff tried to keep his voice neutral. “That's were the big modeling jobs are. New York is supposed to be the city that never sleeps."
Eliza thought for a moment. “Is it bigger than Fort Worth?"
He chuckled. “A lot."
She wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something unpleasant. “I'm lost here. How would I ever get around there?"
Jeff slipped his arm around her shoulder. “Don't worry about it. Ken's friend is probably just blowing smoke."
“Doing what?"
“You know, guys like to brag to each other about how well they're doing. I doubt a guy who went to school with Ken has any influence at a big time modeling agency.” He knew it wasn't nice to put Ken down behind his back, but Jeff didn't want Eliza to be hurt by believing a lot of big promises and phony dreams.
She nodded.
He changed the subject. “How about a swimming lesson?"
“Do you really think I could learn?"
“Sure.” He took another swallow from his beer can. “Besides, you'll have to take off your tee shirt and I'll get to see you in a swim suit again."
Her cheeks grew rosy. “Do you need to go upstairs and change?"
“I've got my suit on under my jeans.” He reached for the top button.
Eliza turned her head away. He grinned at her old-fashioned ways as he stripped off his jeans and shirt. Curiosity apparently overcame her modesty. She glanced at him, and then she stared. Watching her gaze roam over his body, he was glad his job required him to stay in shape. When her gaze reached the bulge in the front of his trunks she averted her head, her cheeks got redder.
He took the extra beer from her hand, buried it under his discarded clothing, and gestured to her shirt. “Your turn."
He supposed shyness caused her to tentatively grasp the bottom of the shirt and pull it up slowly, but the gradual revelation of her sensuous curves had the effect of an artful striptease. She wasn't wearing the tiny red bikini Max Zale had given her. This suit covered more, but it left most of her body bare and the tight bra-like top pushed her breasts up and out.
Jeff decided he'd better get into the pool quickly before they both had cause to blush over the front of his trunks.
* * * *
ELIZA FOLLOWED JEFF into waist deep water. She'd always wanted to swim. Her brothers had a swimming hole in the creek that ran across their land and often went for dips on hot summer days. Of course, they swam in the altogether so Eliza was never allowed to go with them.
The water she now stood in was pleasantly cool. She looked to her teacher. “What do I do first?"
“I guess you should learn to float.” He placed one hand in the middle of her back. “Just lay back."
The touch of his hand on her bare skin sent a shocking tingle through her. Instinctively, she straightened her back pulling it away from his touch.
But his hand followed her. “Just relax. I won't let you go under."
She hadn't thought about going under the water, but now she began to and swimming didn't seem quite so tempting. She didn't want Jeff to think her cowardly, however, so she gradually let her weight press against his hand. Her head went back until she could feel her head touch the water.
“Now pick your feet up,” he ordered.
She raised one foot, then the other. Surely Jeff couldn't support her full weight with just one hand. She brought both feet back to the bottom.
“I've got you.” Jeff reached over and wrapped his other arm around her middle, placing that hand just below her waist. “Lift your feet."
She grabbed his arms as her feet rose toward the surface of the water.
“That's right,” Jeff said. “Stretch out, like you're lying on a bed."
She forced herself to follow his directions. Her body floated toward the surface of the water, the feeling of buoyancy was pleasant.
“Now let go of my arms. Don't be afraid. I've got you."
She released one of his arms and then the other. Following his instructions, she extended her hands out in the water. This was better than lying in a bed. “I feel like I'm floating on air."
“I'm going to pull my hands away—"
Feeling his support going, she again grabbed his arms. “I'll sink."
“I'll keep my hands under you even after I move them. Just relax and you can float by yourself. Trust me, Eliza."
He continued to talk in soothing tones until she released his arms and relaxed her back and neck. He kept his arms in a circle around her body, while supporting her with just one hand. Closing her eyes against the sunlight's glare, she listened to the water lapping at her ears. The water gently rocked her body.
Suddenly she realized he no longer supported her. She opened her eyes and excitedly called out, “I'm doing it. I'm floating by my—"
Then she went down. Water rushed into her mouth, nose, and eyes. Jeff pulled her up. Eliza managed to get her feet on the bottom and stood coughing spitting, and blinking.
When she could again draw a breath, she gasped, “I ... I almost drowned."
Jeff laughed. “No, you just swallowed a little water. I had you."
He thought this was funny. Had he dunked her on purpose? She glared at him.
He brushed aside a strand of hair that was plastered to her face. “I'd never let you drown, honey.” He drew her against his chest in a protective hug.
The corded muscles of his arms pressed into her back. Her bare midriff touched his flesh. The coarse hairs on his chest scratched the tender skin that swelled above her swimsuit top. Eliza felt as though she were drowning again, drowning in a sea of burning sensations unlike any she'd ever known before. Suddenly Jeff pushed her away. She followed his gaze to see Marge, Ken, and Randy all staring at her. Eliza hung her head, embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate embrace.
Jeff suggested she next learn to kick properly and Eliza gratefully followed him away from the spectators. She purposefully gripped the curved tiles at the top of the wall and vigorously kicked her feet while avoiding looking anyone in the eye.
She had to look up when Marge yelled, “Hey, you guys. Pete and Kitty are serving hot dogs. You must be hungry after all this exercise."
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks. Are you hungry, Eliza?” Jeff asked, looking as though his sister's impudent grin was making him uncomfortable, too.
Thinking it would be best if she put more distance between herself and Jeff, Eliza nodded. To her astonishment, he put his large hands around her naked waist and lifted her up to the side of the pool. He had lifted her, gawky, too-tall Eliza Scoggins, as though she weighed no more than a feather. She stared in openmouthed admiration at his bulging biceps as he hoisted himself up beside her. For a moment he stared down at his feet dangling in the water. When he turned toward her, she turned away too confused to meet his gaze.
What did all this touching mean? In this modern world, could a man and woman share such intimacies and remain nothing more than friends? Her skin tingled from the memory of his touch. Her pulse raced with the desire to ... to what? She dare not name it.
That had certainly gotten out of hand, Jeff thought as he went for Eliza's tee shirt and the other beer. She was standing when he got back to her. She slipped her shirt over her head while avoiding his gaze. Had he embarrassed her or made her angry? He guessed he shouldn't have hugged her, but it just seemed like the natural thing to do. It was getting harder and harder for him to keep his hands off her. Did she know how badly he wanted her?
With other women, he could read the signs, but Eliza went from temptress to innocent little girl in the blink of an eye. Could a woman as alluring as Eliza really be that innocent? Sometimes he wondered if she were scamming him.
They walked over to the patio where people were gathered around the grill. Marge introduced him to Pete and Kitty and several others. Jeff tried to be polite and join into the conversation while he fixed a hot dog for Eliza and then helped himself. It was hard to keep his attention on others while she was by his side.
Marge excitedly told Kitty about Eliza's big chance to go to New York. Kitty asked Eliza what she thought about it. Eliza looked doubtful and said she didn't know if she could manage in such a big city.
Marge winked at Eliza. “If you ask sweetly, maybe I'll go with you."
The bite of hot dog Jeff had just swallowed stuck in the middle of his chest. Marge was undoubtedly hoping to catch a ride on Eliza's star. The possibility of Eliza leaving Fort Worth sent a sharp pain though his chest.
Jeff noticed how Eliza hugged herself and rubbed her upper arms. “Are you cold?"
She nodded. “A little. I should go upstairs and get into dry clothes. What about you? Don't you need to dry off before you get dressed?"
“Yeah, I guess I do."
She held her hand out to him. Jeff thanked Kitty for her hospitality, took Eliza's hand and followed her. With every step, he told himself he shouldn't be going into an empty apartment with her at this critical point in his investigation.
Chapter Fourteen
INSIDE THE APARTMENT, he paused in the middle of the living area. She entered her bedroom then turned to him. “You can use the bathroom. I'll change in here."
He nodded. He could go through Marge's room to enter the bathroom, but the way Eliza stood and watched him drew him to her. As he passed her, she lowered her eyes shyly, but a little smile pulled at her lips. Why was she smiling? Did she find their being together, half naked, in her bedroom as exciting as he did? He reminded himself that this was his sister's apartment and that she might walk in at any minute and hurried into the bathroom.
As he pulled his damp trunks off, he pictured Eliza on the other side of the door doing the same thing. All he had to do is reach for the door knob, turn it, and—
He grabbed a towel, briskly dried himself, and yanked his clothing back on. He had to stop thinking about her in this way until he'd solved her case.
Jeff was standing at the mirror running a comb through his hair when he heard Marge's voice. “Where is everybody?"
Eliza answered her, but Jeff couldn't understand what she said.
Marge's voice sounded again, only much closer. “Hurry up with the bathroom, will you?"
Jeff stepped out through the door that connected with her bedroom, “All yours."
Ken moved around Marge and rushed into the bathroom.
Marge grinned. “He can't hold his beer."
Jeff ignored her remark and joined Eliza on the living room sofa. She was again wearing her jeans and a tee shirt; her still damp hair fell freely past her shoulders. He couldn't resist curling the end of a silky tress around his finger.
“You ought to dry this."
“I will ... later."
He knew that meant, after you leave, so he took her hand. “Walk me out to the parking lot."
She nodded. He ought to just go home, but he desperately wanted a few minutes with Eliza without being under Marge's smirking surveillance.
They walked down to the courtyard and stopped beside the pool. He felt foolish to stand there holding her hand like a schoolboy, but couldn't bring himself to let go. “I'm still working on your case. I should have some news soon."
The haunted look she got whenever he spoke about her identity problems came over her face. “I know you're doing everything you can."
He squeezed her fingers. “I'm going to fix things, Eliza. Trust me."
She turned her face away from him. What was she trying to hide? He pulled her along with him toward the parking lot. In the shadow of a tall oleander, he turned and slipped his arm around her. “Look at me, Eliza. Tell me what you're afraid of."
“I ... I don't know.” She didn't return his gaze.
“I told you I'd fix things. I will find out who you really are."
She glanced up then. “How will—"
He brought his lips down to cover hers. She didn't resist or respond. He pulled back. “Do my kisses bother you?"
She nodded.
He took a step away from her.
“They make me feel like tadpoles are swimming in my stomach,” she said.
He grinned and pulled her closer. “Oh, that kind of bother.” He kissed her again. Starting gently, he spread one hand over her back and slipped the fingers of the other up to cradle her head. He felt a little shiver run through her body and tightened his embrace and the pressure of his lips.
Her body melted against his. Her hand moved tentatively up to his shoulder. A small whimper rose from deep in her throat. If he didn't stop now, he wouldn't be able to stop at all. He pulled back and held her at arm's length.
What in the hell was he doing necking in the bushes like a teenager? “I ... You'd better go upstairs."
“Is something wrong?” she asked in a weak voice.
“No. We just can't keep doing this.” He gave her a gentle push toward the courtyard. “You go back inside. I'll call you in the morning."
She took a step then stopped and looked back at him with obvious regret. “I'm going to get my hair cut in the morning."
Before he could stop himself, he reached for a strand that lay on her shoulder. “Why?” he asked alarmed at the thought of her losing the long hair he liked so much. “It looks great, just the way it is."
A pleased little smile played with her lips. “They said it should be shaped or something like that. I don't think they're going to make it short."
He forced his fingers away from her hair. “You make sure they don't. I'll call you in the afternoon."
* * * *
ON THE WAY to the hair stylist, Marge maneuvered her Nissan onto the freeway and found a slot in the flowing traffic. She glanced over at Eliza who stared straight ahead as though fascinated by the car in front of them. Since saying goodnight to Jeff last night, Eliza had moved like a zombie. The faraway look in her eyes could only mean one thing ... she was falling in love. And with Jeff of all people.
Marge ground her teeth. Just when it looked like her chance to get to New York had finally arrived, something as stupid as love had to come along and spoil it. Had Jeff done this on purpose? He'd always been against her modeling career.
No. Jeff might want to thwart her, but he wouldn't deliberately use Eliza like that. He had really fallen for a woman he suspected of being, at best, a liar, and at worst, some sort of international criminal. This was totally out of character for Jeff, so it must be the real thing.
Marge had long wished he would fall in love, believing the experience would make him more human. But why did it have to be this woman at this time?
Remembering her exit was coming up, Marge swooped into the right lane. The driver she had cut in front of honked and Eliza gasped.
“Oops. Sorry about that,” Marge murmured.
“Is something bothering you?” Eliza asked.
“Me? No. Why do you ask?"
“You've been so quiet this morning."
“Well, I have been wondering if you realize what you're getting into with Jeff?"
Eliza was silent for a long moment. “Oh, he's just trying to help me. It's part of his job."
Marge wondered if she really didn't understand what was happening between her and Jeff. “All the attention you're getting from my brother is not standard police procedure. He looks like he's about to burst into flames every time he's around you."
“I haven't done anything to make him—"
Marge shook her head. “I'm not trying to tell you what to do. But after that fiasco with Max Zale, I want to be sure you understand what you're getting yourself into. I saw your rosy lips when you came back into the apartment last night. Even though he acts like a boy scout, Jeff's a full grown man who isn't going to be satisfied with just kisses for long. Soon he's going to want more. Are you ready for that kind of relationship?"
A quick glance at Eliza's worried frown showed Marge that her words had hit the target.
“You mean a relationship like you and Ken have?"
Marge nodded. “This might not be the best time for you to start something like that. You don't know who or what you might remember when your memory comes back, and you've got to find a way to support yourself. Being romantically involved with someone is going to make your situation more complicated."
Eliza turned away from Marge to look out the side window. “Do you really think Jeff wants ... wants that kind of relationship with me?"
“Oh, yeah.” Marge gave a hollow chuckle. “I haven't seen him this shook up over a girl since he was in high school."
“What should I do?"
“That's up to you. This is just a word of warning. If you don't want this to go to it's natural conclusion, you better stop looking at Jeff like he owns the moon."
Eliza's shoulders slumped in an attitude of defeat. Marge hated to burst her bubble. But in the last few weeks, she'd developed a big sister attitude toward Eliza. So she had to warn her of possible troubles ahead. She was just telling her these things for her own good. Wasn't she?
* * * *
WHEN JEFF CALLED Eliza on Friday afternoon, she bubbled over with descriptions of her first trip to a beauty salon. He resisted the temptation to invite himself over for a look at the new hairdo. Things were getting out of hand between them. He needed to keep his distance until her identity was determined.
Fortunately, he had to work on Saturday. He made it a long day, and after his shift, went out with some of the guys for beers. Sunday he went for a long ride on his motorcycle. Going west on Route 30, he got out of the city. Then he turned onto secondary roads that wound though ranch country. Such jaunts usually relaxed him, but on this one he kept wondering what Eliza would say if she saw that house or those steers.
On Monday morning, Jeff received a fax from Louisiana. Sheriff Girard had done a good job. The first page was crowded with the names of Brenda Morel's parents and grandparents, and their places and dates of birth. The next four pages were the recollections from the deputy's wife, Loreen Jones.
Mrs. Jones had evidently been excited by being asked to contribute to an official investigation and had poured her heart into an account of Brenda's school days. She gave names of schools, teachers, classmates, and even included gossip about Brenda's boyfriends.
When he'd finished, he stared at the papers. Surely there were enough facts here to establish Eliza's identity ... if only she'd start remembering.
His partner's voice interrupted his thoughts. “What's that?"
“Uh?” Jeff snapped out of his revelry. “Oh, the report from that sheriff in Louisiana. Lot of good info here. I'm gonna fax it to the doctor."
Paul nodded.
Jeff went over to the copy room where the fax machine was located. After all the sheets had rolled through the machine, he gathered them up to put in the files. On an impulse he didn't stop to question, he made a copy and stuck it in his inside jacket pocket.
* * * *
ELIZA RAN THE comb through her hair, critically examined her new look in the mirror, and frowned. She'd always worn her hair swept cleanly away from her face. Now there were short lengths along the sides and even across her forehead. Valentino, the stylist, had said it should be that way. He'd told her to leave little strands of hair hanging loose even when she wore a ponytail. That seemed messy to Eliza.
Marge and Chaz had both said her hair looked super, but would Jeff like it? He'd finally called this afternoon, after two days of silence, and asked her out to dinner. He said he had something important to discuss with her.
Since then, Eliza had been as jumpy as a frog in a wagon track. Did he want to talk with her about beginning a relationship? If he did, what would her answer be? Perhaps he would again ask more of those curious questions about someone named Brenda and Louisiana. Even though Detective Hale had acted like the questions were unimportant, there had been something in Jeff's tone and expression that told her that wasn't the case.
Over the weekend, Eliza had asked Marge to take her to the Palmer's for another encyclopedia. She had exchanged the A volume for L and spent most of Sunday reading and rereading the section on Louisiana. Jeff had seemed to really want her to remember things about that state. If he asked her more questions, would she dare present some of the facts from the book as her own memories?
That would be terribly dishonest, but lying was the only way she could establish an identity for herself, and she couldn't hope for a future with Jeff without one. The memory of the passionate kiss they shared the last time they'd been together made her all quivery inside. The thought of becoming even more intimate with him set her pulse racing. She hoped he wanted to talk about them. Jeff was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.
But Marge had said Jeff would be interested in a relationship, not marriage. Eliza would never have considered doing such a thing back in Young County. If she had, her father would have skinned her alive, and her brothers would have called the man out.
But this was such a different time. Women were independent and able to make their own decisions. Marge had a relationship with Ken, and people still respected her. In fact, she'd said she and Ken might get married in the future. Dani and Peggy had talked about intimacy between lovers as though it were commonplace. Maybe having a relationship before marriage was the thing to do in this time.
What if she and Jeff had a relationship, but he still didn't want to marry her? Losing him then would break her heart. Which would be worse, losing him or never having a chance to fully know him?
She heard the doorbell, gave herself one more critical glance in the mirror, and walked slowly into the living room. She was so beset with doubts that she dreaded opening the door.
Jeff's eyes widened as she came into his view. “Wow. When I told you to wear a skirt tonight, I didn't mean for you to go all out."
Eliza was glad she'd worn the navy dress with the white dots. “This is the only dress up dress I have. I hope it's all right?” The expression on his face had already answered the question.
“The dress is great, but let me get a better look at the new hairdo.” He caught her chin and turned her face more fully toward him. “You look very modern ... and beautiful."
Eliza felt her cheeks burn. She pulled away from his fingers. “Will I need a wrap? Marge said I could use one of her sweaters."
“No, it's still hot out."
“But will we be eating in a cold place?"
“You mean air conditioned? No, that won't be a problem tonight.” He hooked his arm through hers and led her out of the apartment.
Eliza found Jeff's car a disappointment. It wasn't nearly as bright and shiny as his motorcycle. At least, it had more leg room than Marge's little car.
He drove her into the city, then turned onto an unpaved road and stopped next to a plain clapboard building. An electric light shone on a sign that read, Fernando's. Instead of going to the door of the building, Jeff led her to a whitewashed adobe wall beside it.
Stepping through an open gateway, Eliza found herself in a garden with tables scattered throughout. Vines grew overhead and paper lanterns suspended under them cast a warm glow over the garden. Water trickled in a tiled fountain.
A smiling man wearing a white shirt with ruffles down the front greeted them. “A table for two, sir?"
As they followed the man into the garden, Eliza stared in wonderment at this enchanted place. People sat at many of the tables eating food unlike any she'd seen before. Spicy aromas filled the air. Two men strummed guitars near the fountain.
After they were seated at the table and Jeff had ordered something called sangria from a waiter, Eliza leaned closer to Jeff. “All the people working here look like Mexicans,” she whispered.
He raised his eyebrows. “That's because this is a Mexican restaurant."
“But most of the customers are Americans."
“Mexican food's real popular, especially in Texas."
“It is?” In her day, after fighting each other in two wars, Texans and Mexicans often did not get along.
“Don't you like Mexican food?” Jeff asked.
“I don't know. I've never ... I don't remember eating any."
He looked disappointed. “Would you rather go someplace else?"
“Oh, no. It's quite beautiful here, but you'll have to tell me what to eat."
He smiled. “I was planning to."
The waiter brought the sangria, a fruit punch, and a platter with a bowl of chopped tomatoes in the center and curled corn chips around it. Following Jeff's example, Eliza scooped a large dollop of the tomatoes on a chip and put it in her mouth.
The pleasant tingle of her first taste quickly grew into a fiery burn. Eliza washed the offending material down her throat with a half glass of the punch, but that only spread the fire. Frantically, she reached for her water glass and gulped from it.
Seeing her distress, Jeff's expression quickly changed from alarm to unsuccessfully concealed mirth. He handed her another corn chip. “Eat this without any salsa."
She munched the chip and drank more water.
“I'm sorry I didn't warn you. We Texans are so accustomed to hot food that I didn't think about it."
Eliza looked at him in surprise. “You like that?"
He chuckled. “It's something you have to get used to. But I guess this proves you're not a native Texan."
The waiter returned, and he and Jeff got into a discussion of which dishes were less spicy. They bandied strange names back and forth until Eliza was totally confused.
After the order was decided upon, the waiter left, and Jeff turned back to Eliza. “I wanted to be alone with you tonight, so I could find out if you've remembered anything else."
A wave of disappointment swept through her. When she'd seen this romantic restaurant, she'd been sure he had more personal reasons for bringing her here. But he was still just doing his job.
“Nothing definite,” she replied in a low voice.
“Well, don't get depressed about it. After our talk the other day, I'm sure you're going to remember more very soon."
She took another chip and broke it into small pieces. “I wish I felt the same way."
“When's your next appointment with Dr. Ferris?"
“Wednesday afternoon."
He drew unseen designs on the tablecloth with his fork. “Be sure to tell him the things you remembered about Louisiana."
Louisiana must be where the woman named Brenda lived. “Why is that important?"
He studied the indentations in the tablecloth. “Maybe that's where you come from."
Eliza took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse. “After we talked the other day, I remembered that the trees growing in the water are called cypress."
He looked up. “That's good. Anything else?"
“The moss that hangs down from the trees is very pretty."
“Nothing about that name?"
“Brenda? It sounds familiar, but every time I think about it, I get confused."
He gnawed on his lower lip. “What about Sue?"
She watched his expression closely. “Sue? Brenda and Sue?"
He looked at her blankly.
“Is it two names or one?"
His head shifted slightly as though he was trying to hide a reaction.
She decided to take a chance. “It could be one name, Brenda Sue."
A spark lit his eyes.
Eliza nodded her head “Yes, Brenda Sue sounds right."
He stared at her expectantly. She tried to remember all the snippets of conversation she'd heard between Ken and Marge. Ken had said people were calling the police about women who were missing, women who might be Eliza. Was one of those women named Brenda Sue? “I wonder if that's my name?"
Jeff reached to cover her hand with one of his. “What do you think?"
Eliza felt as if she were about to step off a cliff, but what choice did she have? Without that cursed number she could never make a new life for herself. “I'm not sure ... but I think ... I think it is."
He exhaled. “Be sure and tell Dr. Ferris about that."
The waiter returned with a tray of steaming food. As Eliza watched him serve the plates she felt a growing panic over the step she'd just taken. How could she hope to claim another person's identity? The woman's family would know she was lying and then Jeff would know. He already suspected her of being untruthful. Now he would know for sure and really hate her.
When the waiter left, Eliza, eager to change the subject, pointed at the different foods on her plate and asked Jeff what they were. As he explained, she took tiny bites to test the spice level. This food wasn't nearly as hot as the salsa, but she'd lost her appetite. Trying to steal another person's identity must be against the law; Jeff was a policeman.
Maybe it wasn't too late to turn back. “Since I'm not sure, can't the police determine if that is my name or not?"
Jeff took a long drink from his glass. “We can't always do that if there're no fingerprints or people to identify—"
His sudden cut-off made Eliza wonder if he wasn't supposed to be telling her these things. She remembered how Detective Hale had practically dragged Jeff away after he'd first mentioned the name Brenda. Her stomach knotted. Could Jeff get in trouble for helping her?
“You really don't like this food, do you?” he asked gesturing to her full plate.
“It's good. I'm just ... just...” A lump formed in her throat as she looked at his strong, earnest face. Would he risk his career to help her? She knew how important being a good policeman was to him. Were his feelings for her stronger? She couldn't do anything to harm this wonderful man.
“Brenda Sue isn't my name.” Tears misted her eyes. “I don't know why I said that. I guess I just want a name so badly...” She reached for a tissue in her purse.
Jeff laid a hand on her shoulder. “I've pushed too hard and upset you. I'm sorry, Eliza. I'll get the check and we can get out of here."
She nodded and washed away the tears with another glass of sangria.
“Go easy, honey. There's wine in that,” Jeff warned.
While they waited for the waiter to return with the check, Jeff looked at her from beneath half closed eyelids. “Is Marge at home tonight?” he asked.
“She and Ken were coming back to watch a movie. Would you like to watch it, too?"
“I'd like to have a little time alone with you. Okay if we go to my place?"
She nodded, knowing she was taking another dangerous step.
* * * *
HIS APARTMENT WASN'T too different from theirs, a little smaller, only one bedroom. But there were no pictures on the walls or knickknacks on the table. A crumbled newspaper on the floor and a dirty glass on the counter were the only evidence that someone lived here.
Jeff ushered her over to the sofa, then went into the kitchen area and started a pot of coffee. As he worked, he kept glancing at her as though he were uncertain or apprehensive. This only added to Eliza's already taut nerves. Coming here had been a mistake. She'd have one cup of coffee and then ask him to take her home.
“You like sugar and cream, don't you?"
“Just sugar. Shall I come over there?"
“It might be easier to manage the coffee."
They sat side-by-side at the counter, nursing the steaming coffee. Finally, Jeff put his cup down. “Don't give up on the idea that you are Brenda Sue. I think it's a real possibility."
She shook her head. “I don't think so. It doesn't seem right."
“What are you so afraid of, Eliza? Whatever happened in the past, I'll help you deal with it."
“I'm afraid for you. I don't want you to get in trouble."
He reached for her hand. “What kind of trouble?"
“With the police for helping me too much."
“I guess I am anxious for you to regain you memory. Once you know who you are, you can start your life again. I want to be part of that life."
Eliza stared at him; it was hard to breathe.
“I've come to care for you, Eliza."
Her most cherished dream had come true. She wanted to laugh and sing and cry all at the same time.
He lightly gripped her chin and pressed a soft kiss on her lips. “Do you have any feelings for me?"
“Oh, yes."
He gave her another quick kiss, too quick. Eliza placed her arm around his neck and drew him closer. He responded with another kiss, but they were both sitting on stools with their knees under the counter, so it was difficult to get closer.
He pulled away. “Why don't we move to the couch?"
She followed him across the room. He sat so close that his thigh pressed against hers. Slipping his arm around her waist, he studied her face for a moment, caressing her cheek. He brushed another light kiss over her lips then pecked his way across her cheek. He pushed the wispy hair away from her ear and nibbled the lobe. A tremor ran through her body.
“Do you like that?” he asked.
“I...” She didn't know what to say.
“You're the only woman I know who blushes. It turns me on."
He moved back to her lips and deepened his embrace. She melted into his chest and sighed. At that instant he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She stiffened against the intrusion and tried to turn away. Insistent pressure from his lips and light strokes of his tongue soon persuaded her to relax and open fully to him.
Keeping his lips fastened to hers, he eased her upper body onto the sofa. She realized he was stretching his own body out on the sofa and then scooping her legs up beside his. He moved over her, pressing her body into the sofa, trapping her. She felt no fear. This was what she had been waiting for all her life, to be one with the man she loved. She wrapped her arms around his body and pressed herself even more closely to him.
Jeff groaned as though in pain. He rolled her onto her side and his hand groped over her back. He found the little tab at the start of her zipper and pulled on it.
Suddenly she remembered Marge's warning, remembered what a dangerous situation this was. She pushed against his chest and pulled her lips away from his. “A sleeve, do you have a sleeve?"
“What?” His eyes were glazed when he looked at her.
“Marge said I mustn't do this unless the man had a safety sleeve."
“A what?"
He didn't know what she was talking about. She hardly knew herself. “You must wear it for protection."
“You mean a condom?"
“Yes, that's it. Do you have one?"
“Marge told you that?” She heard irritation in his voice.
“Isn't it right?"
“Yes, it's right. I'm just surprised she gave such sensible advice.” He never missed a chance to criticize his sister.
Jeff started to realign their lips, but Eliza turned her head away. Her confidence about being with him had melted. She needed time to think. “Marge is really smart."
He nuzzled the side of her face. “Forget about Marge."
She pushed against his chest. “What kind of friend would I be if I did that?"
He propped on one elbow. “You'd be a good friend of mine."
“I'm not sure I would. Brothers and sisters should love one another, not constantly fight.” She thought of her own brothers and regretted their childhood squabbles.
“What's between Marge and me goes back a long way. Let's not get into it now."
Eliza edged from beneath his body and swung her feet to the floor. “You treat her unfairly."
He sat up and looked at her, his mouth set in a hard line. “You don't know the whole story."
He tried to get his arm back around her, but she jumped to her feet and out of his reach.
“Perhaps you're the one who doesn't know the whole story.” If he couldn't trust his own sister, how would he ever trust her?
“Marge wanted to go to New York and be in some modeling contest when she was only sixteen years old. When the folks wouldn't allow it, she turned into a high school tramp. I tried to stop her. She's resents me for that and for not approving of the way she lives now."
Eliza stared down at him and folded her arms across her chest. “You believed ugly stories spread by an angry boyfriend and never gave her a chance to defend herself."
Jeff jumped to his feet. “I see she's filled your ears full of her side of it. Don't be too quick to believe everything she's told you. Our folks begged her to go to college, but she dropped out during the first year."
“Marge is not a bad person."
“No, she's not bad. She's just—” He took a step toward her, opening his arms. “Why are we arguing about my sister when you asked me if I had a condom not two minutes ago? The answer to that question, by the way, is yes. I have a box of them in my bedroom. Would you like to see?"
Knowing this would be her last chance to say no, Eliza shook her head. She held a hand up to ward him off. “Maybe we're going too fast."
“You're right. We can slow down. Why don't we finish our coffee? It ought to be cool enough to drink by now."
She moved back to the counter, but didn't sit. Picking up her cup, she took a sip. “Yes, it's cool."
He sat on the edge of a stool, facing her. “Let's not let the evening end like this, honey. We said important things to each other before we got into that silly argument. What's between Marge and me has nothing to do with you and me."
All of Eliza's clarity was gone. “Marge is your sister. Don't you love her?"
Jeff grimaced. “Of course, I love her, but I—"
“How can you so easily condemn someone you love?"
“I don't condemn her. I just don't approve of some of the things she does."
“Like having relationships with men?"
“Well, yeah, for one thing."
Eliza stared at him in heartbroken realization. He was angry at his sister for doing the same thing he had just tried to get Eliza to do. “What will you think of me if I have a relationship with you?"
His mouth fell open. “Ah, it isn't the same thing."
“How is it different?"
“You and I really care about each other.” He reached for her hand.
She pulled away from his touch. Eliza had never dreamed love could be so complicated. If she had sex with him, he wouldn't respect her. If she didn't, she might lose him. On the verge of tears, she murmured, “I want to go home, please."
* * * *
JEFF DROVE THROUGH the city streets silently cursing. Even though he had known Eliza was a virgin, he'd come on to her like a wild man. Then he'd lost out to the oldest question in the book, Will you respect me in the morning?
He hadn't been able to convince her she was wrong.
Glancing at Eliza's rigid profile, he reminded himself that there were more important issues here than disappointing the big boy. Her whole future was on the line, and he'd upset her just when she was starting to get her memory back.
When she'd put those two names together in the restaurant, he'd been so excited that he almost told her the whole story. And why not? He was ninety-eight percent sure she was Brenda Morel. Why make her go on sweating it?
As he pulled into her parking lot, he told himself that he couldn't let his blunders ruin her chance to regain her identity.
He switched off the ignition. “When you go to see Dr. Ferris, tell him everything you told me tonight. I mean, about Louisiana and Brenda Sue. Will you do that?"
Her face was hidden in shadows. “Why?"
He slipped a little closer, trying to see her eyes. “If Dr. Ferris thinks you are Brenda Sue, all of your problems will be solved. You'll have a birth certificate. You can get a social security number. Don't let anything else that happened tonight cause you to lose sight of that."
“About tonight—” she started in a hesitant voice.
“Forget about it.” He draped an arm around her shoulders. “I was wrong to bring it up at a crucial time like this. You concentrate on yourself and your memory. We can work the rest out later."
“Jeff, I'm so confused.” She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest.
He embraced her. “Don't worry, baby. Everything will work out. Everything will be all right."
The poor girl didn't know who she was or what tomorrow would bring, and he'd tried to get physical with her. He'd make it up to her, no matter what he had to do.
Chapter Fifteen
“THE DOCTOR WILL see you now."
Eliza forced herself to smile at the receptionist as she walked toward Dr. Ferris's door. Since Monday night she'd been in a constant debate with herself over what to do at this meeting. Should she continue with the mad scheme to steal another woman's identity?
The chances of being caught in an outright lie were tremendous. But if she didn't attempt it, what would become of her? Time was running out. She couldn't wait for another miracle. A little voice kept telling her that this was her miracle.
Could she fool the doctor with the small amount of information she now possessed? There was only one way to find out, the little voice said.
“Come in, Eliza. Sit down. How are you feeling today?” Dr. Ferris gave her a tight-lipped smile before reaching into his desk drawer and pressing the button on the little machine there. The first time she had come to see him, he'd shown her the machine and said it would keep a record of what they talked about. It could also be evidence of her deception.
“Very well, thank you,” she replied as she settled into the chair across from his desk.
“How has your week gone?"
“Good. I had my first rehearsal for the fashion show and I got my hair cut."
“So I see. It looks very nice. What about your memory? Has anything come back to you?"
She took a deep breath and told herself that she had no choice. Fraud was her only hope. “I think so."
“What do you mean by that?"
“The detectives came to see me and asked me if I remembered the names of any places, and I said Louisiana.” She tried not to watch his reactions too obviously. “Then I started to get a lot of pictures in my head."
Dr. Ferris nodded. “What kind of pictures?"
“There was a large river with tall trees growing along its banks. When I thought about it later, it came to me that the trees were called cypresses."
“Anything else?"
“The trees had gray moss hanging from their branches. When it moved in the breezes it looked pretty ... lacy."
“What?” Dr. Ferris stretched his neck like a turtle coming out of its shell. “Why did you say that?"
“Say what?"
“What you said about the moss."
“That it was pretty?"
“No, the other."
“Lacy?"
“Yes."
That word definitely had some special meaning to Dr. Ferris, but Eliza couldn't imagine what. “I don't know. It just came to me."
Dr. Ferris opened a file and scanned a piece of paper. “Anything else?"
“There was a name.” She'd better be careful here. Detective Hale had witnessed Jeff telling her the first name. “Actually one of the detectives asked me if I remembered the name Brenda. It did sound familiar to me, but something seemed wrong about it. Then I heard a song on the radio about a girl named Sue. I put the two names together and Brenda Sue sounded just right."
Dr. Ferris leaned forward. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down several times before he spoke. “That's very interesting. Do you think you know someone named Brenda Sue?"
Eliza gnawed at her lower lip. This was the last step. If she took it there would be no turning back. She took a breath to steady herself. “I think it might be me."
He braced his hands against the edge of his desk and pushed himself against the back of his chair. After telling her she was making excellent progress, he cautioned her not to push herself too hard. He recommended she practice making her mind blank and just letting thoughts drift into it. He had her try this for him. Of course, she didn't know anything else to remember.
When her appointed time was up, Dr. Ferris walked Eliza out into the waiting room where Marge waited. He told Marge that Eliza seemed on the verge of a breakthrough and needed to come back the next day.
Eliza's mind reeled as he discussed a possible appointment time with Marge and his receptionist. Verge of a breakthrough meant he still wasn't convinced. She'd told him everything she knew. What was she going to do next?
* * * *
JEFF CHECKED HIS watch when he heard Dr. Ferris's voice on the phone. Eliza must have just left his office. “What can I do for you, doctor?"
“Just wanted to let you know it is a definite possibility that Eliza Scoggins is Brenda Sue Morel."
“Only a possibility?"
“It's too soon to say for sure. She's regained only small fragments of her memory. Hearing Brenda from you detectives makes that memory somewhat suspect. You didn't mention any other names to her did you?"
Apparently Eliza hadn't told him about Jeff's use of Sue. “Ah, I don't think so."
“You're sure you didn't mention the name of the town in Louisiana?” the doctor pressed.
“No. I didn't tell her that. Did she remember it?"
“She described Spanish moss as looking lacy. That was probably a subconscious reference to the name Laceyville."
“Yeah.” Jeff felt a wave of elation. She was Brenda Morel. He'd been right. “Isn't that enough to make a positive determination?"
“It's a very good indication, but it could be only a coincidence. Usually, however, when memory starts coming back, it comes quickly. Miss Scoggins has another appointment tomorrow. Hopefully, I can resolve the matter then."
Jeff swallowed his disappointment, thanked the doctor, and asked him to please keep him advised of future developments.
He dialed her number but didn't get an answer. Evidently she and Marge hadn't gotten home yet. He called his mother to cancel tonight's dinner. Eliza would surely need a friend to talk to tonight.
“But you must come, Jeff,” his mother said. “Marge has already called to say she, Eliza, and Ken are all coming. With you it'll be a real party."
“Oh, well, okay. I don't want to miss that. I'll do these reports some other time."
His mother chuckled. “I thought you'd change your mind when you heard Eliza was coming."
Jeff set the receiver back on its cradle and tapped his fingers against it. It sounded like his mother had her matchmaker cap on again. Maybe something would come of her efforts this time.
After the spat he and Eliza had about Marge, maybe not. He knew Eliza liked him. She wouldn't turn away from him just because he had an attitude about his sister, would she? But she feared he'd have the same attitude towards her if they got close. How was he going to get around that?
The best way might be to show her that he really liked Marge. Tonight's family dinner could be a good opportunity. He'd have to stay sharp and not let Marge suck him into any arguments.
* * * *
ELIZA GLUMLY STARED at the passing scenery from the back seat of Ken's car. Marge had accepted tonight's invitation for Eliza and refused to let her beg off. She said Eliza needed to get out and be with other people.
Unfortunately one of those people would be Jeff.
Eliza had rejected him two nights before in the hope of winning his respect. Now she needed information only he could give her in order to convince Dr. Ferris that she really was Brenda Sue. If she asked Jeff to compromise his principles to help her, she would surely lose his respect.
Jeff's motorcycle stood in the driveway of the Palmer house. Eliza followed Marge and Ken around to the backdoor dragging her feet at the prospect of having to face Jeff and make a decision.
Mrs. Palmer was alone in the kitchen. After welcoming them warmly, she said, “Marge, get everyone a drink from the fridge and then join your father and Jeff in the den."
Eliza took a glass of iced tea but delayed facing Jeff by offering to help Mrs. Palmer. Marge who had already started out of the kitchen turned back and said, “Yeah, Mom, what can I do?"
Mrs. Palmer smiled at her daughter. “Since when did you become interested in cooking?"
Marge shrugged and sat down at the kitchen table. Mrs. Palmer set a cutting board, a couple of tomatoes, and a knife in front of her. She gestured Eliza toward the counter and set her to grating cheese. When both of the younger women were busy, she said. “Marge told me you had to go to the doctor today."
“Yes, ma'am. But it was the head doctor. I just talk to him."
“He thinks Eliza's about to have a breakthrough,” Marge said. “He wants her to come back tomorrow."
“That's encouraging,” Mrs. Palmer said.
“I had a phone message when I got home about a job in Dallas tomorrow. Could you possibly take Eliza to the appointment?"
Eliza hadn't known Marge was going to ask her mother. She'd hate to have the woman there if the doctor unmasked Eliza's duplicity. “Oh, I don't want to bother Mrs. Palmer."
“I don't have anything planned for tomorrow. I'll be happy to take you. It'll be exciting to be there when you finally learn who you are."
Eliza felt a noose tightening around her neck.
Jeff's voice sounded from the doorway. “The doctor called me at the office and told me she's already remembered part of her name."
Eliza fought the impulse to turn towards him.
“You didn't tell me that,” Marge exclaimed. “What name?"
“Brenda Sue,” Eliza said softly.
“Brenda Sue?” Marge said in a derisive tone. “Couldn't you have come up with a better name than that?"
“What's wrong with it?” Jeff snapped.
“It sounds so ... country."
“No more so than Eliza Scoggins."
“That's true, but she needs a sophisticated name if she's going to model in New York,” Marge said.
“Who says she's going to New York?” Jeff asked Marge while looking at Eliza.
After a quick glance at him, Eliza turned back to the grating.
“It pays to be ready,” Marge said. “Ken sent his pal some of those pictures he took of Eliza and me together. We may all pack up and go."
Jeff grunted. “Probably end up on welfare."
“Why am I not surprised you said that?” Marge didn't wait for an answer. “You live to put me down, don't you? Well, one of these days you're going to eat—"
“Children.” Mrs. Palmer pointed a wooden spoon back and forth at her offspring. “Go in the den, both of you. Let your father referee, so I can finish this meal."
Jeff grimaced as though upset by his mother's reprimand. Marge just shrugged and sauntered toward the doorway. “Come on, Supercop. Dad's the only one who can set you straight, anyway."
Jeff looked at Eliza before turning and following his sister.
“I've finished the cheese, Mrs. Palmer. Do you want me to go, too?” Eliza asked.
Mrs. Palmer smiled at her. “Not unless you'd rather be with the young people. I just don't like to hear Jeff and Marge argue like that."
“I don't, either."
“Well, you stay in here with me. I'll show you how to broil chicken breasts. That's about the only meat dish Marge will eat. You can tell me about your visit to the doctor."
* * * *
JEFF SMEARED BUTTER on his roll and tried to look interested in his father's story about a new web page he'd found. Eliza was avoiding his gaze. He could kick himself for letting Marge badger him into another argument. Darn his irritating little sister, anyway.
Of course, he shouldn't blame Marge for that argument. He'd wanted to belittle her about going to New York because he couldn't stand the thought of Eliza going away. He did have a habit of putting Marge down, a bad habit.
Eliza had accused him of believing stories spread by an angry boyfriend. Is that when he started picking on Marge? He'd always teased her. When had it stopped being teasing? He blamed his sister for ... for what?
His father finished his story.
Marge interrupted Jeff's thoughts with a question for Eliza. “What have you remembered besides that charming name?"
Eliza pushed peas around on her plate with her fork. “Not much. Some things about Louisiana. That may be where I came from."
“Why didn't you tell me about any of this before?"
“Well, I wasn't sure. I wanted to talk to Dr. Ferris about it first."
“I don't think you should keep stuff like that bottled up,” Marge said. “Talking about it will probably make you remember even more."
Jeff could see the discomfort etched on Eliza's face. He'd better distract his sister. “Marge..."
Marge turned toward him. Her lips thinned as she prepared for battle.
“I want to apologize for the way I talked to you earlier."
Her jaw went slack.
“I do have a habit of criticizing you. I'll try to cut it out. You have as much right to your opinion as anyone else."
Silence reigned for a long moment. His parents looked as stunned as Marge.
At last she arched an eyebrow. “Does this mean I have to start being nice to you?"
He chuckled. Marge did have a cute sense of humor. “Absolutely."
She groaned.
Jeff glanced at Eliza. A pleased smiled pulled at her lips. That was worth a thousand apologies to Marge.
The banter around the table picked up. Everyone's spirits brightened. Ken told a story about a funny incident at the newspaper. His mother related the latest prank of her youngest grandson. Eliza kept smiling shyly at Jeff. He desperately wondered how he could get her alone for a few minutes.
When the meal was over, Jeff began to clear the table, Eliza started helping him, and his mother put away the leftovers. Marge and his mother exchanged sharp looks of silent dialogue, and suddenly Jeff and Eliza were left alone in the kitchen to load the dishwasher.
As their heads came together over the machine, Eliza said, “Thank you for apologizing to Marge."
He took a glass from her. “Thank you for making me see I do treat her unfairly."
She looked deeply into his eyes as though she might be reading his mind. His gaze fell on her lips as her tongue darted out and moistened them. He forced his thoughts away from kissing those lips.
She handed him two plates.
“These need to be rinsed before we put them in.” He reached for the spray hose from the sink. “What time is your appointment with Dr. Ferris tomorrow?"
Her eyebrows drew together. “Two o'clock."
He poured detergent into the machine. “Don't get worried about it, Eliza."
Her face twisted in sudden agony. “How can I not? Every time I remember something, he asks for more. You all do."
Jeff slammed the door of the dishwasher and flipped the switches, hoping the sound of rushing water would drown out their voices in the other room. He caught hold of her arms. “You need to relax and let yourself remember."
Her eyes glistened. “Relax? My future, my whole life depends on my memory."
Unable to bear the pain in her eyes, he pulled her against his chest and cradled her in his arms. It wasn't fair that she had to go through this. “You don't have to remember anything until you're ready."
She twisted her head so she could look up at him. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “But, Jeff...” Her voice trailed away into a moan that tore at his heart.
“What's wrong?” His mother stood in the doorway staring at them with wide eyes.
“Eliza's upset about tomorrow's doctor's appointment,” Jeff said, loosening his embrace.
His mother rushed to a box of tissues on top of the refrigerator. She yanked out a couple and handed them to Eliza. “And no wonder. Everyone pushing and prodding her to remember."
His mother patted Eliza's back. Eliza turned toward the older woman who hugged her. Jeff felt a flash of rejection. Then he reminded himself that Eliza didn't have a mother. Hearing the comforting sounds that only a mother can make, he was glad to share his with her.
“Get her a glass of water, Jeff."
Eliza pulled away from the older woman. “I'm sorry,” she murmured.
“Nonsense,” his mother said and stroked Eliza's arm. “You're always so sweet and easygoing that we forget how much pressure you're under. You have to let it out once and awhile."
Jeff handed Eliza the water.
“Feeling better?” his mother asked.
Eliza nodded.
“Good. I came in here because Marge said you brought one of the encyclopedias back tonight. I wanted to be sure you didn't forget to exchange it."
Eliza pointed to the book and her purse lying on the counter near the back door.
“I'll get it,” Jeff said. As he handed her volume B, he asked, “You read the whole thing?"
“I'm just reading parts. Marge is right. I can't learn everything."
“Ready to go to the den?” his mom asked.
Eliza nodded and they all moved to the other room. His father had something on the computer screen. Ken and Marge were looking over his shoulders in obvious interest. His mother went to see what they were looking at. Eliza moved toward the bookshelves.
Jeff followed her. His jacket hung on the back of a chair near the shelves. The extra copy of Sheriff Girard's report peeked out of the inside breast pocket. He hesitated for just a second before reaching for it. Sure, he was breaking regulations, but for the first time in his career something mattered more to him than the job. The woman he loved was in pain; he had the means to make that pain go away.
Slipping the report from the pocket, he squatted next to Eliza who had knelt beside the encyclopedias. “Let me help you with that. You want the C volume, right?"
She nodded.
He pulled out the book, let it fall open, and laid the folded report inside. “You read this carefully,” he said and snapped the book shut.
She stared at him, a question in her eyes.
He gave her the book and covered her hands with his own. “But like you said, don't try to learn everything at once."
* * * *
AS SOON AS she got home, Eliza pleaded fatigue and hurried to her room. She crawled into bed and opened the book. Unfolding the papers Jeff had placed in it, she scanned the first sheet with growing amazement. It was an official report about a young woman named Brenda Sue Morel from Laceyville, Louisiana.
Frantically, she scanned all the pages. Surely this would be enough information to convince Dr. Ferris. Going back to the first page, she read more carefully. Blonde, blue eyed, sixteen years old ... eight years ago? The girl would now be twenty-four. Wait, her birthday wasn't until November. Perfect.
But the girl had run away from her widowed mother at sixteen. Why would she do a terrible thing like that?
Eliza read a hand written note that stated foul play had been suspected. Did that mean the girl had been taken away by force, possibly murdered? Eliza shuddered, feeling rather like a grave robber. But that wasn't her greatest worry.
If she convinced Dr. Ferris she was Brenda Sue Morel, he would then want to know where she had been and why she hadn't gotten in touch with her mother in all that time. Furthermore, during their sessions, he'd implied some painful secret was keeping her from remembering anything.
How could she possibly satisfy all his questions? What had Jeff said when he handed her the book? Don't try to learn everything. If she told Dr. Ferris all the facts in this report, he'd think her memory had come back completely and expect her to answer all his questions. She'd have to be selective and continue to say she couldn't remember things.
* * * *
ELIZA HAD GOTTEN very little sleep. She had a dull headache and her eyes felt gritty, but she stared at Dr. Ferris with determination. “My name is Brenda Sue Morel."
The doctor pursed his lips. “You seem very certain about that."
Eliza swallowed a knot of fear. “I am. Last night when the name Morel came to me, I knew it was mine."
“Have you remembered other things?"
“I grew up in Laceyville, Louisiana and lived with my mother and grandmother before she died."
“What about your father?"
Eliza made herself pause and wrinkle her brow. “I can't remember him."
“That isn't surprising. He died when you were five years old."
She feigned surprise. “You know about me?"
“The police sent me a report last week about a young woman who matched your description. I've been waiting to compare your memories with the facts on the report.” He opened a file and began to ask her questions.
Eliza told him her date of birth, and finally dredged up her mother's first name, but claimed she couldn't remember her grandmother's. She told him a few facts about going to high school in Laceyville, but stated her earlier memories were very hazy.
He assured her the haze would gradually clear away. Then he asked, “Do you remember why you left home?"
This was the moment Eliza had dreaded. Haltingly, she began to recite the story she'd made up the night before. “I was in love with a ... a boy ... named Bobby. My mother wouldn't let me go out with him. She said he was no good. He begged me to run away. I wrote my mother a letter ... said I was going to marry Bobby ... and slipped away to meet him."
Dr. Ferris stared at her with thoughtful eyes. She had reached the crucial part of her story. Pain suddenly made her realize how tightly she was clenching her fingers. Springing from her chair, she paced around the room.
“Bobby laughed at me. Said he'd just wanted to see if I'd choose him over my mother. He had no intention of marrying me. I couldn't go home then. Everything she'd said about him had been right. I stood by the highway. A truck picked me up."
Eliza stopped in front of a bookcase and poked at several books. It gave her an excuse to turn her back on the doctor. She feared seeing doubt on his face.
“I meant to go back after I found a good job and made something of myself. But I didn't have enough education. I couldn't do anything. I kept telling myself I should call her, but I hated to admit she'd been right about me, that I was stupid and worthless."
Eliza couldn't put it off any longer. She turned and faced the doctor. “Will you call her for me?"
Dr. Ferris's long face was somber. “I'm sorry, Brenda, but your mother passed away last year."
She'd known he would say that and expect a show of emotion on her part at hearing it. Eliza closed her eyes and just stood for a moment feeling rotten for telling lies about a poor dead girl. She wanted to blurt out the truth.
What truth? Her mother was dead along with her father and brothers and everyone she'd ever known. Thoughts of her family set off waves of sorrow. She staggered toward a nearby sofa, plopped down sideways and buried her head against the cool leather backrest. She had no need to feign grief, she released the real grief bottled inside her.
She heard loud, hoarse sobs and realized they were hers. Dr. Ferris placed his hand on her shoulder and pressed tissues into her hands. He spoke soft placating words. “There, there, Brenda."
He had called her Brenda. Apparently, he believed her lies.
She let herself be comforted, slowly bringing her tears under control. When she was at last sitting quietly, with a ball of tissue in the clenched hands, Dr. Ferris said, “And what do you remember about the man who attacked you, Brenda?"
She hadn't thought about that question. “I ... I don't remember the attack."
He looked closely into her face. “Nothing at all?"
“Ah, nothing except riding on a motorcycle and being very frightened. It was dark. We were going fast."
He nodded. “Don't push yourself to remember. You've made a great deal of progress today. Apparently you're still resisting the most frightening memories. Just relax. They'll come in time."
“Do you believe I'm Brenda Morel then?"
“Undoubtedly. The police will want to talk to you again, but I'll assure them that I'm convinced of your identity. Since there's been so much publicity about your case, would you like the hospital to issue a press release about this?"
“Perhaps a statement from the hospital would be the quickest way to get the press people to leave me alone.” Eliza couldn't believe how well her lies had worked.
The doctor walked her out into the waiting room. He pressed a small vial of pills into Mrs. Palmer's hand and told her Brenda might need help relaxing after her traumatic session.
Mrs. Palmer's kind face showed her concern. “Is there family we should contact, Doctor?"
Deceiving this sweet woman was the worst of it. Eliza turned away, bowing her head in shame.
Dr. Ferris spoke softly to Mrs. Palmer. “I've just had to tell her that her mother passed away last year."
Mrs. Palmer's sympathetic exclamations increased Eliza's guilt. When she felt the woman's arm go around her shoulders in a reassuring hug, Eliza covered her face with her hands, sure that her wickedness must be showing.
* * * *
JEFF FOUGHT TO keep elation out of his voice as he discussed Eliza's breakthrough with Dr. Ferris. “So she hasn't recovered all of her memory?"
“No, her early childhood is still quite hazy, and she has no recollection of her assault."
“Perhaps if we question her again—"
The doctor interrupted. “I wouldn't advise that, not for a few days, anyway. Learning of her mother's death was a shock. She was very upset when she left my office."
Jeff had handed her those papers without even thinking about the mother's death. Eliza had to read about it in that cold report when she was alone. What an insensitive jerk he was.
“Detective Palmer?"
“Ah ... yeah ... doc, we'll hold off on the questioning. Thanks for calling."
He hung up the phone.
Paul looked up from his desk. “Was that about Eliza Scoggins?"
“She's officially Brenda Morel now, but she still hasn't remembered who attacked her."
“Shouldn't we question her about that?"
“The doc says to hold off. She's pretty upset right now."
“Sure."
Jeff put off calling Eliza until after work. When he finally did, Marge answered the phone.
“She's already gone to bed, Jeff. The doctor gave her some pills."
“She took it hard, huh?"
“I think she feels guilty for not going back before her mother died, but I haven't asked her much."
“That's probably best. You call me if she needs anything."
“I will."
“Thanks for looking after her,” he said and really meant it. If he couldn't be there to comfort Eliza, he was glad his sister was.
Chapter Sixteen
ON FRIDAY MORNING at the final rehearsal for Halbots's fashion show, Eliza stood with other models waiting for Mrs. Herman to call her name. Then she walked out onto a portable stage and runway trying hard to do all the things Marge had taught her. Mrs. Herman had to remind her to smile.
After all the models had a turn on the walkway, Mrs. Herman told them to take a coffee break. While Eliza stirred white powder into her coffee, Chaz bustled up and said, “Jennie says she heard a news report that you've regained your memory."
“Ah, some of it,” Eliza stumbled over the words.
“You're from Louisiana?” he continued.
“I left there a long time ago."
“What's your real name?"
“Brenda Sue Morel."
“Hmmm.” Chaz pulled his mouth to one side as he mulled over the new name. “If you're going to stay in modeling, you might want to change it."
“I think Morel's all right. Sounds French,” Marge interjected. “But the Brenda Sue is cornpone."
“What's wrong with Brenda?” Dani asked. “I've got a cousin named that."
Marge made a face at her. “That's no recommendation."
“Oh, yeah?” Dani planted her hands on her hips. “At least it sounds American."
“Who wants to sound American?” Marge demanded. “The more exotic the better."
“What about Christie Brinkley?” Peggy jumped into the conversation. “There's an apple pie name if I ever heard one."
“That's a yesterday name. Today's names are Claudia Schiffer or Tyra Banks,” Chaz said.
“Yeah,” Dani agreed with a puzzled frown, “I wonder where the sister got that name?"
Mrs. Herman interrupted the debate. “Does this mean you'll have a social security number soon, Eliza?"
“Yes, ma'am."
* * * *
ELIZA AND MARGE had just returned to the apartment, when the phone rang. Marge answered, said “Hello, Jeff,” and looked toward Eliza.
She felt so guilty about the way she had manipulated him to obtain information about Brenda Morel that she shook her head.
Marge covered the speaker with her hand. “He says it's important."
Eliza took the phone.
His first words, “I'm sorry about your mother,” made her guilt worse.
“Thank you."
“I got the address for the birth certificate place in Louisiana,” he said. “I've typed up a request for one, but you need to sign it."
“Are you going to bring it here?"
“I thought we could go out tonight, maybe celebrate."
“I don't think celebrating is appropriate considering my mother's passing.” Lying was becoming second nature to her.
“I can understand that. But try to be positive about this. Now you can start a new life with a clean slate."
“I know I should be happy,” she sighed, “but I'm not."
“Get your jeans on,” he said. “I'll be there in ten minutes with my bike. That's the best way to blow the cobwebs away."
Eliza didn't argue.
He arrived right on time. When she opened the door, he said, “Hi, Brenda."
Instantly her cheeks began to burn and she looked down at her feet in shame. This is what her lies had led to, the man she loved calling her by another woman's name.
He touched her arm. “What's wrong?"
“I ... I'm still not used to people calling me that name."
He smiled and ran his hand up her arm until it rested gently against the back of her neck. “I'm grateful you finally have one.” Then he reached into his pocket for an envelope. “Now sign this paper so we can get on the road. There's sunshine going to waste out there."
Once they were underway, Jeff stopped at a mailbox and Eliza stuffed the birth certificate application into the slot.
He steered the motorcycle onto the freeway. As the machine picked up speed, Eliza wrapped her arms more tightly around Jeff's body and dipped her head down behind his shoulder. She wanted to recover the wonderful feelings she'd had the last time she rode behind him, but things seemed different now.
She was different. Now she was a woman named Brenda Morel, a woman who lied to the people she loved and perpetrated frauds against governmental agencies. She wasn't worthy of the wonderful man in front of her.
Jeff kept the motorcycle behind a truck in the outside lane, moving at a moderate speed. Eliza relaxed as the congestion of the city fell away from the sides of the highway. Holding tightly to Jeff, she raised her head and looked about. The engine roared louder and the motorcycle swooped from behind the truck, dipping left then right. Scenery blurred as they moved faster.
Hidden among the scent of fumes from gasoline engines were traces of sunlight, grass, trees, and earth. Eliza closed her eyes against the sights of the modern world and concentrated on the faint odors of her old world. Being here wasn't her doing. She didn't even know how it had happened. But now that she was here, she had to make a life for herself. She truly loved Jeff. If he cared for her, why shouldn't they make each other happy?
She leaned closer to him, letting her breasts brush against his back. As she pressed into him the vibrations of the machine flowed through him and into her. She tingled as though a giant tuning fork quivered inside her.
Jeff steered them onto an off-ramp. Her body moved in unison with his as the cycle swayed. She tightened her thighs against the sides of his body. They turned onto an unpaved road. The motorcycle bounced and stirred up clouds of dust. It reminded Eliza of other roads in other times. Jeff turned sharply at a barely discernible lane and the cycle slowly put-putted through clumps of grass until it stopped in the shade of an oak tree.
“Sorry about the last turn,” Jeff said over his shoulder. “I was looking for someplace to get off the road, but almost missed that break in the fences. Did I scare you?"
He must think she was frightened because of the way her arms were still tightly wrapped around him. She loosened her hold and moved back from him.
When he dipped his shoulder to look more fully at her, she shook her head. “No, I'm not frightened. I'm glad to be out of the city."
She threw her head back and stared up at the bunched green leaves and the patches of blue sky above them. Birds sang. Insects hummed. The wind rustled dry grass. If not for the strangely twisted wire stretched between the fence posts, everything looked as it had in her time.
A pickup truck careered past on the gravel road, spewing dust and gravel and spoiling the effect.
Jeff smiled. “Riding out here helps me relax. I hoped it would do the same for you."
She smiled back at him. “It has."
“Shall we stretch our legs before the ride back?” He got off the cycle, removed his helmet and waited for her to do the same. Then he caught one of her hands in a confident grip and pulled her away from the bike.
They walked slowly, silently. As they topped a rise, a small herd of cattle came into view. The steers stood under a distant tree, regularly lowering their heads for another chomp of grass. The scene appeared familiar and yet different. These cattle were fatter and had much shorter horns than those on her father's ranch.
Jeff slipped his arm around her shoulder. “You all right?"
She faced him, telling herself to forget other times. Jeff was here and looking at her with tenderness and concern.
She wrapped her arms around his chest in a fierce hug. “Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for...” There were no words to exactly describe her indebtedness to him. He was her anchor to this world. Without him, she would be hopelessly adrift.
His palm cupped her cheek. He looked into her eyes for a moment and then brought his lips down to hers. At first, his kiss was as light as the brief passage of butterfly wings. Then his arms tighten around her and his mouth consumed hers. Eliza returned the pressure of his lips and his body, wanting nothing more than to be one with Jeff.
Finally he pushed her away, literally pushed her away; she tried to cling to him.
He looked down at her with a startled, almost frightened, expression. “It'll be dark soon. We oughta start back."
She let him lead her back to the motorcycle. When he took his seat in front of her, she leaned forward, reveling in the warmth of his muscular back.
They rode slowly on the bumpy road through the growing twilight. Eliza felt a sting of disappointment when the cycle crossed onto the smooth surface of pavement and back into the modern world. The bike picked up speed. Traffic grew heavier. Lighted buildings began to dot the roadside.
Within sight of the humming freeway, Jeff pulled into a parking lot around a sprawling, wooden building. He parked and reached to help her.
“Might as well eat something before we get back into the city.” He had to speak up to be heard over the loud music coming from the building.
Even in the parking lot, Eliza smelled the heavy aroma of wood smoke and roasting beef, her stomach growled a response. The restaurant wasn't crowded. Most of the customers sat beside a long bar on one side of the barn like building.
A waitress waved and said, “Just sit anywhere."
Jeff led Eliza to a booth.
The waitress brought menus. “What can I get you folks to drink?"
“Better make it iced tea tonight,” Jeff said and looked at Eliza for confirmation.
She nodded and looked down the list of entrees. Everything was a form of barbecue. Could that possibly mean the same thing it had meant in her day? “What kind of food do they serve here?” she asked.
“Real Texas cuisine. You like beef ribs?"
Eliza had a flash of a huge side of beef sizzling over a fire pit as her father prepared it for a gathering of their neighbors. The ribs were always the choicest part. “Oh, yes,” she said even as she told herself not to get her hopes up.
Jeff ordered the Double Rib Dinner. While they waited, he entertained her with stories of camping and fishing trips he'd taken on the motorcycle. He promised to take her to the Gulf for a weekend. Eliza listened in a near daze as she imagined riding for hours with her body pressed against his.
The waitress had to make two trips to bring all the food to their booth. Along with a platter stacked with mahogany colored beef ribs, she brought chopped cabbage, fried potatoes, baked beans, and a basket full of biscuits. Eliza's mouth watered as she waited impatiently for the waitress to leave. Thank goodness Marge wasn't here.
Jeff made her tie a large bib around her neck before they waded into the sea of food. The ribs had been basted with a tomato based sauce but the pungent flavor of wood smoke still made its presence known. The greasy sauce collected in the corners of her mouth as she gnawed the succulent meat from the bone.
From the way Jeff grinned at her, she knew she must be making a spectacle of herself but didn't care. Eliza had thought she'd never taste anything this delicious again.
When the platter of ribs had been reduced to mostly bones, she leaned back against the booth, folded her arms over her own stomach, and groaned in pleasure. “That was so good."
As he wiped grease from his fingers with a wet napkin that had come out of a little package, Jeff chuckled. “Now I know how to please you ... just order ribs."
Eliza would have been embarrassed if she hadn't been so satisfied. “I haven't had food like that in a long time,” she murmured.
He tore open another little package and handed the napkin to her. She looked down at her greasy hands and the spotted bib. Her chin and lips felt coated. “I think I better go to the ladies room and wash up."
He pointed her toward a door with a silhouette of a woman wearing a long, bell shaped skirt painted on it. Everything about this restaurant made her feel at home.
When she returned to their booth, she noticed that many of the tables around them were now filled. Couples were dancing in front of a lighted machine that played music when people put money into it. The music differed from what Marge played on her stereo. Eliza heard fiddles in this music, and some of it had a toe-tapping rhythm similar to music she had square danced to.
She slid into the booth still watching the dancers.
“You up for a little two-stepping?” Jeff asked.
“I don't know that dance."
“You want to learn?"
She watched for a while before letting him talk her into trying. On the edge of the dance floor, she stood stiffly, suddenly afraid everyone would laugh at her.
Jeff took hold of one her hands and put his other hand at her waist. “Just relax and follow me."
At first she looked down at his feet, trying to follow his steps. Then she looked into his eyes, felt the gentle directions of his hands, and began to move with the music. He laughed when she stepped on his toe and murmured soft praise when she moved in unison with him. His smiles told her that he didn't care if she danced well or not. All that mattered was being with her.
Someone finally paid the machine to play a slow song; Jeff pulled Eliza closer. He pressed his cheek against hers, brought their joined hands up to his chest, and swayed from side to side.
The song was about how much the woman singing it loved her man. Eliza began to listen closely to the lyrics. They ended with thanks to God for giving the woman such a wonderful man.
Eliza pulled her head back so she could look into Jeff's eyes. “That's how I feel about you,” she said.
A flush spread across his cheeks.
Eliza shook her head. “I know I'm not supposed to say this first, but I can't hold it back. I love you as I have never loved anyone before."
He stopped moving and stared at her. Then his gaze flicked to the side, and Eliza noticed a nearby couple watching them, having apparently overheard her. Mortification fired Eliza's cheeks.
The woman pulled on the man's arm, trying to get him to move on.
“Why don't you ever say things like that to me?” he asked.
The woman started walking away, but looked back over her shoulder. “Start looking like him, and I will."
Eliza brought her hand up to her burning face. “Oh, dear. I've made a spectacle of myself. I'm sorry."
Jeff pressed a quick kiss onto her forehead. “I hope you'll never be sorry for loving me, Brenda."
* * * *
THE CYCLE SWOOPED off the freeway and stopped at a traffic light. Jeff looked back at her. “You ready to go home?"
The thought of removing her arms from around his body and going to her own bed alone filled Eliza with near panic. “Can we go to your place?"
He turned until his gaze squarely met hers. “You sure?"
The car behind them sounded its horn; they both jumped. The light had changed to green. Jeff let the motorcycle roll forward.
Eliza stretched so her mouth would be closer to his ear. “I'm sure."
The cycle's engine roared and the machine picked up speed.
Once inside Jeff's apartment, Eliza stood in the middle of the living room as he turned on lights, put away the motorcycle helmets, and picked up some scattered papers. Finally, he turned to her. “Would you like something to drink? I have soda or I can make coffee."
She shook her head.
He embraced her. “I'll take you home any time you say."
“I want to be with you, I just don't know what to do."
“This time you can leave it to me.” He nuzzled her ear.
“This time?” Her voice squeaked.
“I hope you're not looking for a one night stand?"
She didn't understand what he meant; the light kisses he deposited along her cheek made it difficult to concentrate.
His mouth reached hers, but instead of kissing it, he began to caress her lips with the tip of his tongue. Eliza wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned against his body. He caused an exquisite tingle in her sensitive lips.
His tongue plunged into her mouth as his lips pressed tightly against hers. Eliza thought she was falling, then realized Jeff had scooped her feet away from the floor. She buried her head against his neck and tasted the salty flesh there as he carried her into the bedroom.
Beside the bed, he set her on her feet then pulled her knit shirt over her head. It had barely touched the floor when his shirt fell on top of it. With a quick twist of his fingers he opened the front clasp of her bra.
Suddenly shy, Eliza tried to burrow against his now bare chest, but he held her back.
“No, baby. Let me see you. Touch you.” His fingers cupped and caressed her breasts. “Taste you.” His lips descended onto a rigid nipple.
Hot pleasure flashed from his touch down to the core of her body. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts toward him.
One of his hands rubbed across her back and inched under the waistband of her jeans. Eliza impatiently opened the button and zipper to give him greater access. As her clothing fell away, he caught her bottom in both of his hands and pressed her lower body against the hard ridge straining against the front of his jeans.
Awash in a sea of unfamiliar sensations, Eliza stood breathless and dizzy, all her fears forgotten. Without realizing how it happened, she was suddenly naked and lying on the bed watching Jeff strip away the last pieces of his clothing.
He paused to reach into the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out something that looked like a ten-dollar gold piece. Eliza watched as Jeff carried the coin to his mouth. Did he mean to bite it to see if it was real?
He used his teeth to break apart the edge of the coin. Something was inside. With a deft sweep of his hand, he covered his male part with a thin, second skin.
The sleeve was really a little bag, only what it covered didn't seem little at all. Had she made a mistake in agreeing to this? Jeff moved down beside her. His bare flesh rubbed against hers. His hands and lips seemed to be everywhere. Her doubt gave way to fiery yearning.
As he nudged his way between her knees, she wrapped her arms around his neck, determined not to lose the wonderful sensations of his probing kiss. A burst of pain caused her to tense and break contact with his mouth.
He cooed in her ear, massaged her breasts, and kissed her. The pain ebbed and pleasure, wave after wave of pleasure swept through her. She clung to Jeff, writhing and tossing her head from side to side. She squeezed her eyes shut, and stars exploded behind her eyelids.
Slowly Eliza became aware of the sound of her own ragged breathing and of Jeff's strong body still moving over her. She opened her eyes and saw his face twisted as though in terrible pain. The fullness inside of her increased. Jeff thrust once more, cried out, and collapsed on top of her.
For a moment, he just gasped for breath. Then he rolled to his back, pulling her onto his chest. “Are you all right?"
“I had no idea it would be like that,” she whispered.
“Did I hurt you?"
“Just for a minute. But after that it was like ... like ... I don't know what. No wonder everyone wants to ... to have a relationship."
* * * *
THE BUZZING OF THE phone finally penetrated the fog in Jeff's brain. He rose to one elbow and glanced at the clock. Dammit, it was only seven forty-five, and this was his Saturday off. He grabbed the phone from its cradle and barked, “Hello."
“Jeff?” Marge yelled in a voice so shrill he hardly recognized it.
“What?"
“Is Eliza with you?"
“Where else would she be?” he asked.
“Well, you picked a great time to turn into Romeo. Today is the fashion show. Eliza and I are supposed to be at the store by eight-thirty."
“Oh.” He glanced over as Eliza turned her sensual body toward him and looked up through a curtain of silvery hair. “I forgot about that."
“You would,” Marge said with obvious disgust. “The fashion show is the most important thing in Eliza's life."
Jeff wanted to dispute that but couldn't waste the time. “If I bring her from here, she can make it."
“Okay, but make her wash her hair, and come in with it wet. I'll bring everything she needs and fix it."
Jeff barely had time to agree before Marge hung up on him.
Eliza sat up, pulled the sheet across her chest and tucked it under her arms. “Is something wrong?"
“That was Marge."
Eliza's face reddened.
“She's worried about you getting to the fashion show on time."
Eliza's eyebrows shot up. “Oh, my goodness.” She jumped out of bed, forgetting her nakedness. “What time is it?"
“Take it easy. I'll get you there. But first I have orders to wash your hair.” He gestured toward the bathroom. “Can we do it in the shower?"
Eliza took several quick steps toward him as her gaze raked up and down his body. She faltered, looked down at herself, and stopped. Jeff reminded himself that, despite the intimacies they'd shared during the night, this was the first time they had stood fully revealed to each other.
He moved to catch her hand and pull it up to his mouth. Feathering light kisses on the backs of her fingers, he said, “Thank you for a wonderful night."
She looked at him through lowered lashes. “Was I ... it ... truly ... wonderful?"
He smiled broadly. “It was for me. Apparently you don't agree."
Her eyes opened widely as she reached for him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she murmured, “Oh, Jeff, yes I do."
He kissed her tenderly then pushed her away. “If we don't stop this, Marge will kill us both. Now get into the shower."
For efficiency's sake, or so he told himself, he got into the shower with her. Rather than standing quietly and letting him lather and rinse her hair, Eliza kept trying to rub soapy hands over his chest and stomach.
He told her to stop, warned her they would be late if she didn't. Finally, splashing water all over the floor, he staggered out of the shower, knowing he had to get away from her teasing hands or they'd never make it to the fashion show.
While she toweled her hair, he warmed leftover coffee in the microwave and dropped bread in the toaster. While she gulped down a quick breakfast, he rushed into the bedroom and got dressed. They were acting like an old married couple who had overslept on a work day. He liked it.
He dropped her at Halbots's back entrance at eight-forty. Since the show wouldn't start until eleven, Jeff bought a paper and went into a nearby coffee shop for a leisurely breakfast.
At quarter to eleven, he strolled into Halbots. The women's fashion section of the store was on the second floor.
Stepping off the elevator, he found himself amid a milling crowd of mostly well-dressed women. The racks of clothing that usually filled the floor had been moved and rows of folding chairs now stood in front of a small stage that jutted into a short runway. Most of the chairs were already filled, but Jeff was happy to remain standing in an out-of-the-way corner. Spotlights came on around the stage area and stragglers rushed to their seats. An expectant hush settled over the cavernous room. Mrs. Herman stepped from behind the curtains and moved to a podium at one side of the stage.
Slipping on half-glasses, she welcomed the onlookers to Halbots's summer fashion show. Then she announced the first model. A striking redhead in a skimpy tennis dress paraded down the runway first. Jeff thought she had a phony smile. She was followed by a teenager in a tiny bikini and a see-through cover-up.
“Our next model is Marge Palmer,” Mrs. Herman droned on. “She's wearing a sports ensemble from Western Wear of Dallas."
Marge stepped onto the stage, made a quick half turn, took a couple of steps, turned again, and started down the runway with long confident strides. Jeff had never seen his sister work before. He had to admit she did it with a lot more class than the first two.
Another girl took her turn. Then Mrs. Herman announced, “Brenda Morel.” Brenda moved stiffly onto the stage wearing slacks and a tailored blouse. Even though heavily made-up, she looked pale and kept glancing down as though she feared stepping off a cliff. She started down the runway as if a guillotine waited at the end.
Realizing she was petrified by the crowd of onlookers, Jeff moved away from the wall he leaned against. He took small side steps, trying to attract her attention. When she saw him, she stopped completely. He swung his arms back and forth and twisted his shoulders in a poor imitation of a model's walk.
The hint of a smile pulled at Brenda's lips. She started to move again. Jeff winked at her. Her smile grew and her stride lengthened. She made a reasonably graceful turn at the end of the runway, shot him one backward glance, and returned to the curtained area with confidence. A smattering of applause rewarded her.
Jeff felt great. The most beautiful girl in the room, hell, maybe the whole world, belonged to him.
The fashions progressed from casual to career to special occasion to eveningwear. Brenda modeled an outfit in each category. Every time she came out, she fixed her gaze on Jeff, and moved toward him with that twisting torso walk Marge had taught her. It reminded him of how she had writhed in his arms the night before. Suddenly Jeff was very glad he has wearing loose slacks instead of tight-fitting jeans.
As the clothes grew fancier, the audience grew more animated. Marge won eager applause with a seductive stroll in a formfitting, red, sequined gown.
“And now,” Mrs. Herman's voice echoed slightly over the sound system, “the highlight of our show. From the House of Romero, the perfect gown for a late summer wedding. Brenda is modeling this blush white gown of..."
Jeff didn't hear anymore. He stared in wonder at the frothy vision gliding toward him. She moved as if she'd always worn long flowing dresses. Through the hazy veil, he could see her gaze fixed on him. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips slightly parted. There even seemed to be a film of tears in her eyes, or were they in his?
She paused at the end of the runway. The audience sat hushed. Then she slowly turned and moved away from him. The harsh sound of applause jarred him from his trance. He realized he'd been holding his breath and gulped in air. The fresh supply of oxygen brought him the absolute realization that he wanted to marry Brenda.
Was he crazy? She still hadn't regained most her memory. When she did, she might be a different woman. No telling what she'd been mixed-up in during the eight years she was missing. But none of that mattered. He'd never wanted to marry any woman before Brenda. Now, he couldn't imagine ever wanting to marry anyone except her.
The fashion show ended. Jeff realized he hadn't made plans for meeting her after the show. He'd just assumed they'd meet, like he was assuming she'd marry him.
Would she? They hadn't mentioned the future. There hadn't been time. Maybe he should slow down, reconsider. No, he had to know where he stood. He shifted. Did he dare go behind the curtains to look for Brenda? Even a badge wouldn't get him into the models’ dressing room.
Then he saw her coming toward him in her jeans and a knit shirt. She walked with a self-confident bounce. Her eyes sparkled.
“Could you tell how frightened I was? I hadn't thought about an audience until I suddenly saw all those faces. Thank goodness you were here. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
He had to fight the desire to sweep her into his arms. “Can we go somewhere? Have lunch or something?"
“I'm sorry.” She laid her hand on his arm in an apologetic gesture. “I can't leave. There's another show at two o'clock. Mrs. Herman said sandwiches will be brought in. She was rather short with me for being late this morning."
Jeff grimaced. Now that he'd made his big decision, he wanted to get on with it. But a proposal needed to be done right, he reminded himself. “How about dinner? We can celebrate your success."
She smiled. “A celebration. Shall I invite Marge and Ken?"
“No.” Jeff grabbed her hand. “I want this to be a private celebration ... at my place ... just the two of us."
Color flooded her cheeks. “Like last night?"
He cupped her warm cheek in his hand. She snuggled into his palm. “Better than last night,” he whispered. He pulled his hand away. “Now, get back to work before I'm accused of interfering with your career."
Brenda sighed, but started to turn away.
“Okay if I pick you up at six?"
She looked over her shoulder. Her mouth pulled into a half-smile and her eyes smoldered as she nodded.
Jeff's spirits rose as he watched her walk away. She certainly acted like a woman in love. If he could sweep her off her feet with a romantic dinner, surely she'd say yes.
Chapter Seventeen
ON THE WAY back to his apartment, Jeff passed the Flower Mart, did a U-turn, and pulled into their lot. Inside the store, he stood before the refrigerated case eying the long-stemmed roses.
A tired looking, middle-aged woman approached him. “Can I help you?"
“I'm thinking about getting some roses."
“Are they for a lady?"
“Yes."
“A dozen roses would make a nice bouquet."
Jeff eyed the price on the outside of the rose container. A dozen roses would be all he could afford. “I'd like to have more that just one bouquet, you know, spread them around."
“We could prepare several bouquets of mixed flowers for the price of a dozen roses."
“That sounds good, but I don't have anything to put them in."
“We have inexpensive plastic containers."
Jeff tapped his teeth together. “I don't know. Maybe I should go with the roses. Aren't they the flowers guys usually bring when they propose?"
The woman's expression softened. “You're going to propose?"
“Yeah, at dinner at my place. I want the apartment to look better, like a celebration."
The woman smiled. “Let me show you what we can give you for the price of the roses."
The clerk hurried into a back room. Another woman soon peeked at Jeff through the doorway. The two women busied themselves assembling flowers, greenery, flimsy plastic containers, and foil covers. They finally placed three bouquets of mixed flowers on the counter in front of Jeff.
“Wow."
The women beamed at him. The one from the back room handed him a bag with a cellophane window. “Here's a small corsage. You can pin it on your lady."
He looked through the cellophane at a creamy white gardenia with a white satin bow attached to the stem. “This is great. Thanks so much. Both of you."
“Do you have any candles?” the clerk asked.
Jeff shook his head.
“Candlelight makes things more romantic. The gift shop next door sells them."
* * * *
EVEN THOUGH ELIZA knew she'd gotten ready too early, she couldn't help looking out the balcony window, impatient for Jeff to arrive. Some of her euphoria over last night's lovemaking had worn off. She worried about what one did next in a relationship.
Marge came out of her bedroom and headed for the kitchen. As she passed Eliza, she gave her a little frown. “Don't be so eager. Make him worry a little."
Wondering if she'd ever learn all the social rules of this time, Eliza watched Marge take a soft drink out of the refrigerator. “Should I really?"
Marge shrugged. “That's what I say, but look at me. Almost six o'clock on a Saturday night and I'm still waiting for Ken to call.” She pulled the tab from the can and took a long swallow.
“But you and he have a long-standing relationship. Don't you know he'll always come over?"
“Honey, you don't know that unless you're living with them. And even then, you don't always know."
Eliza found this relationship business hard to understand. “What should I do now that Jeff and I have ... I mean does that mean we'll ... What does it mean?"
Marge held up her hand. “Look, Jeff is my brother, my older brother. He won't like me getting mixed up in his love life. All I can say is you need to talk this out with him. Ask him these questions."
Eliza perched on one of the bar stools. “I thought what happened last night would tighten the bond between us. But I could be wrong, couldn't I? He could just be using me."
“Basically, Jeff is a good guy. I'm sure he'd never set out to hurt you. But guys don't like to make commitments, and we girls tend to attach more importance to a roll in the hay than they do."
“So, I was wrong to sleep with him?"
Marge propped her elbow on the counter and stared into Eliza's eyes. “Did you decide to sleep with him to trap him into something?"
“No. I just wanted to so badly that I..."
“Couldn't help yourself?” Marge chuckled. “Welcome to the club, honey. Now you have to decide if you want to go on making the man you love happy or rock the boat and make demands. That's not an easy decision."
Eliza realized she was seeing a side of Marge that she'd never seen before. “I thought you knew all about men."
Marge shook her head as she walked back toward her room. “Afraid not. I'm as confused as everyone else."
Eliza began to pace. She definitely needed to talk with Jeff, but what should she say? She had told him how much she loved him last night, yet he hadn't revealed his feelings for her. Suppose it was like Marge said and last night had not been important to him? Eliza would feel like a fool if she forced him to tell her that.
If she were back with her father and brothers, she'd know what to expect. There, Jeff would either marry her or run. Here, he could calmly ask her to dinner and expect her to sleep with him again. Maybe all the freedom modern women had wasn't such a good thing after all.
The chime sounded. Eliza hesitated then opened the door.
“Hi,” Jeff said. He looked at her face, down the length of her body, and back to her face as a crooked little smile pulled at his lips.
Eliza didn't know how to react to his behavior. She had checked an impulse to throw herself into his arms when she first saw him, with a reminder that Marge might join them at any minute. His silence made her uneasy. “Ah, would you like to come in?"
The glazed look left his eyes. “If you're ready, let's go."
* * * *
WHEN THEY REACHED Jeff's apartment, he held out the bag of food he'd picked-up at the Chinese restaurant. “Can you hold this while I unlock the door?"
After unlocking the door, he took the bag from her and said, “Wait out here for just a minute, will you?"
She nodded and watched him edge through the partially opened doorway. Jeff had been acting strangely ever since he picked her up this evening, tense and distracted. She hoped he wasn't regretting what they'd done last night.
The door opened wider. Jeff swept his arm out and bowed slightly. “Right this way, madam, and welcome to Chez Palmer."
Eliza slowly stepped into a room glowing with flickering light. Fat candles, both tall and short ones, were grouped on the bar that separated the living and kitchen areas and at the opposite end of the room on a table beside the sofa. Eliza gasped with pleased surprise. Candles couldn't match electricity in creating brightness, but their golden light added elegance to Jeff's plain apartment and reminded her of times past. Then she noticed the bouquets of flowers centered among the candles.
“What do you think?” Jeff smiled hesitantly.
Through the open bedroom doorway, she saw another bouquet beside the bed. “It's beautiful, but why did you do so much?"
“I told you this would be a celebration."
“What are we celebrating?"
He loosely encircled her with his arms. “Your successful debut today as a model and our very successful lovemaking last night."
As he nuzzled the side of her face, Eliza hugged him fiercely. “Oh, Jeff, I ... I...” She warned herself not to blurt out declarations of love, “I like this celebration a lot."
Pulling back, he kissed the tip of her nose. “This is just the beginning, sweetheart,” he said in a gravely voice. “First comes the dinner I promised you."
Two places were set on the table. A white flower trimmed with satin ribbon rested beside one of the plates. Jeff picked it up. “Where would you like this, on your shoulder or in your hair?"
As he held the flower out to her, she pulled his hand toward her face. “Hmmm ... it smells so good."
Jeff sniffed loudly. “Is that the flower? I thought it was you."
She giggled. “How did you know gardenias are my favorite flower?"
“I read your mind. Didn't you know I do that?” He pulled a long pin from the stem of the flower. “I guess this means I pin the thing on your dress."
She had left the top button of her blouse undone. Jeff ran his fingers through this opening, held the fabric away from her skin by letting his hand rest warmly against the swell of her breast. He carefully pinned the flower in place.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she murmured.
“You're very welcome, beautiful lady.” He brushed her lips with his own.
Eliza pulled him closer. He complied, plundering her mouth with a searching kiss.
He finally took a deep breath and looked down at her as though through a fog. She sighed. The words, I love you, lay heavily on the tip of her tongue.
He blinked and a grin pulled at his mouth. “If you don't stop tempting me, we're going to have a cold supper.” He stepped back and pulled out a chair. “Sit down. Let's get this meal out of the way."
“Can I help with anything?"
“Not tonight.” He gave the back of the chair a little shake, and Eliza obediently sat down. He began pulling paper cartons from the bag.
“This table wasn't here yesterday, was it?"
“Actually it's a card table. I had to borrow the cloth from Mom this afternoon or we'd be eating off green felt."
“You didn't tell her I was coming here, did you?"
He handed a bowl of rice over the bar to her. “Yeah, I told her."
Eliza grimaced. What must his mother think of single woman going to her unmarried son's home alone?
He chuckled. “Don't worry. I didn't tell her what we'd do after dinner."
He handed her some of the paper cartons. “Afraid I don't have enough bowls for each of these. We'll have to use the cartons, but then we won't have so much to cleanup."
Picking up a large green bottle, he stripped away foil and pulled on the fat head of the cork, which came out with a loud pop. Bits of foam spewed from the top of the bottle and Jeff tipped it over a tall, stemmed glass. “No celebration's complete without a bit of the bubbly."
He brought two glasses and the bottle to the table and sat down across from her. He held his glass toward her. “Here's to the beginning."
Eliza picked up her glass. “Of what?"
“Everything.” He lightly tapped his glass against hers and then took a sip.
Eliza followed his example. The little bubbles in the wine tickled her nose. The first taste burned her tongue, but knowing this was important to Jeff, she took another sip and decided it wasn't so bad.
He spooned rice onto both of their plates then urged her to try the strange dishes with pieces of meat and unrecognizable vegetables cooked together. He used little white sticks to fish the helpings out of the cartons. After placing a couple of funny looking fried noodles on her plate, he started tearing the corners off little foil pouches and suggesting she try soy and duck sauce.
Eliza had learned her lesson in the Mexican restaurant. She tasted tiny amounts of each sauce before allowing more to be emptied over her food. She savored the new tastes and textures.
He identified such things as bean sprouts and bamboo shoots, used strange words like chow mein and won ton, and poured more champagne.
“How did it go at the second fashion show?” he asked.
“I wasn't nearly as frightened at that one. Although, I did miss your presence."
“Sorry I couldn't be there.” He gestured to the table. “I had to prepare this sumptuous feast."
She grinned. “I know you didn't cook this food, but you certainly made the setting pretty."
He reached across the table and caught her hand. “It had to look good for my beautiful lady."
“Am I?"
“After the way the audience reacted to you today, you must know you're beautiful."
“I meant, am I your lady?"
His grip on her hand tightened. “Do you want to be?"
She looked deeply into his eyes trying to guess where this conversation was going. “What do you want me to be, Jeff?"
His gaze bored into her. “My wife."
Her breath froze in her chest.
Still holding her hand, Jeff slid off his chair and came down to one knee beside her. “This isn't the way I meant to do this. Hell, I don't know how I meant to do it. But ever since I saw you in that wedding dress, I haven't been able to think of anything else. Will you marry me, Brenda? Will you make my life full and complete?"
Tears burned her eyes as she leaned toward him. “Yes ... yes."
Catching him around the neck, she peppered his cheeks with light kisses until he caught her face between his hands and sealed her promise with a kiss on the lips.
He stood, pulled her to her feet, and pressed his body against hers. “I can't believe I actually got down on my knees. I hadn't planned to do that."
He picked up a glass of champagne from the table. “Here's something I did plan, though.” He held the glass to her lips. She took a sip. Then he drank from the other side and held the glass up between them. “Together forever,” he said softly.
“Oh, Jeff, I love you so much I feel like I'm going to burst into a million pieces."
He set the glass down and tightened his embrace. “Don't do that. I like you the way you are now."
He kissed her again and scooped her up in his arms.
She laughed. “Will you always carry me to bed?"
“Just for the first forty years,” he assured her.
* * * *
JEFF EASED UP on one elbow and stared at the sleeping woman beside him. Her silky hair spread across the pillow. Her lips were red and swollen from their lovemaking. Her complexion glowed a healthy pink, showing no signs of the terrible injuries she'd suffered just a few weeks ago.
Who in the world had wanted to harm this angel? Jeff couldn't believe she had wronged another human enough to inspire that kind of rage. Had she innocently stumbled into illegal activity, like a drug ring, and the perps tried to silence her? But those guys usually didn't mess up their hits, and if they did, they tried again.
He wondered if she'd ever remember what had happened. When he had worked traffic, some accident victims never remembered all the details of their accidents, even when they didn't have general amnesia. He'd like to put the S.O.B. who'd nearly killed her behind bars, but if remembering would damage their relationship, he hoped she wouldn't remember.
She stirred in her sleep. Jeff stroked strands of hair away from her face. She started smiling even before her eyes opened.
“Good morning, my love,” she murmured.
“How are you feeling this morning?"
She stretched. “Sleepy. What time is it?"
“Early. I thought I'd go out for a Sunday paper and some bagels. Then we can spend the rest of the morning reading in bed. How does that sound?"
Her smile became impish. “Just reading?"
“Why, Miss Brenda Morel, shame on you.” He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. He pulled away when he saw a look of distaste cross her face. “Is something wrong?"
She looked pensive for a moment. “I'm just not comfortable with that name yet."
“Everything takes time, honey."
“Marge and Chaz said Brenda wasn't a good model's name. Maybe I should change it."
He frowned. “You're not still thinking of going to New York, are you?"
“I never seriously considered doing that. Would you let me go after we marry?"
He chuckled and scooped her up against his chest. “Not a chance, lady. I intend to keep my eyes on you ... and my hands and my lips and my—"
“Jeff!"
“Sorry,” he said but didn't mean it. He stroked her arm. “Just want you to know what to expect. By the way, how do you feel about kids?"
“How do you feel?"
He gave her a little squeeze. “I asked you first."
“I'd like to have children of my own, but I'd rather not have a really large family."
Jeff had always wanted kids. “How many is too many?"
“Well,” she thought for a moment, “no more than five."
“Whoa."
“Do you want more than that?” She swiveled her head around to look at him.
“Let's try for three,” he said. “Then we can decide if we want any more."
She nestled herself against his chest again.
“Do you want a church wedding?” he asked, remembering her lack of family.
“It would be nice. What church do you go to?"
“I haven't done a lot of going recently, but I still belong to my folk's church. It's Presbyterian. Would that be all right?"
“My parents were Methodists, but I won't mind being married in a Presbyterian church."
Jeff stared up at the ceiling. His heart began to pound so hard he could feel it move. A notation on the report from Louisiana had said that Brenda Sue Morel had been baptized in the Catholic Church. At least one of her parents must have been a Catholic.
His heart said let it go, but his brain screamed for the truth. “Tell me more about your parents.” he said, amazed that his voice was so calm.
“My parents?"
“You just said they were Methodists."
She lay perfectly still. He thought she'd even stopped breathing. She'd read the report on Brenda Morel and had to know she'd made a mistake, a big one.
A sick feeling spread from his stomach to his chest, but he went on. “What about your brothers? You told me once that you didn't have any sisters, but you never said whether you had brothers or not."
She didn't answer him. Was she afraid or merely thinking up more lies?
Jeff thought of all the little mistakes she'd made and of all the big questions he'd pushed aside as he fell in love with this woman he did not know. “You're not Brenda Sue Morel, are you?"
Her face twisted in apparent agony. “Jeff, I—"
He pushed her off his chest and glared at her. “You've known who you are all along, haven't you?"
Her eyes squeezed together as though she couldn't bare the accusations in his stare. He reminded himself that she was a cold-blooded liar and hardened his heart against her. She reached for his hand.
Snatching it from her touch, he leaped out of bed and paused just long enough to grind out, “Did you enjoy making a fool out of me?” Then he stomped into the bathroom and slammed and locked the door.
He stood in the shower for a full minute before realizing the water was icy cold. He slowly turned the handle toward Hot until the water was comfortable then he added more until his skin stung from the heat. Maybe he could burn the lying witch out of his system.
Finally, he pushed the valve back into the comfort zone and let water stream down over his face and head. She'd been lying from the very beginning. When one crazy story hadn't worked, she conned him into helping her concoct another one. She'd played him like a master fisherman reeling in a big mouthed bass.
Paul had warned him, but Jeff hadn't listened. He'd believed she was Brenda Morel because he wanted her. And that hadn't changed. But he damn sure wouldn't marry her until he knew what terrible secret her past held.
* * * *
ELIZA DRIED HER tears, got dressed, and went into the kitchen to make coffee. How incredibly cruel it was to come so close to realizing her fondest dreams and then lose everything. She should have known she couldn't build a new life on a foundation of lies. She had known. She'd just wanted Jeff so badly, that she'd ignored her principles.
Now it was time to pay for her sins. But how? The shower water stopped running. Eliza got two cups out of the cupboard, hoping Jeff would sit down and talk to her, although she had no idea what to say to him.
She poured coffee into her cup, slumped onto a stool, and dumped a spoonful of sugar into the brew. The bathroom door opened. Eliza concentrated on stirring her coffee until she felt him standing behind her. He stalked around the counter and poured himself some coffee.
Eliza finally dared to look at him. “I'm sorry,” was all she could manage to say.
He stared at her for a moment before pouring milk into his cup. He sat on the stool beside her. “For what?"
“For ... for deceiving you."
“About what?"
“About who I am."
He took a swallow of coffee, but his gaze continued to bore into her over the rim of the cup. “Is that the only thing you deceived me about?"
She straightened in surprise. “What else?"
“How about being in love with me?"
She leaned toward him. “Oh, no, Jeff. I meant that with all my heart."
He stared at her for a moment. “Did you believe me when I said I loved you and wanted to marry you?"
She had to stifle a sob, knowing he was about to call off their wedding. “Yes."
“Do you trust me?"
“Trust is an important part of love. I couldn't love you if I didn't trust you."
His gaze bored into hers. “Then trust me enough to tell me the truth."
She stared back at him, shocked by the simplicity of it. Love and marriage had to be based on trust. How had she ever thought she could be happily married to a man she had deceived? She had to trust him enough to tell him the truth, and he had to trust her enough to believe and accept her.
She took several deep breaths, trying to slow her racing pulse. “It's hard for me to explain—"
Jeff held up his hand. “Just tell me the truth, Brenda, or whatever your name is. I'll stand by you, no matter what."
She saw the pain in his eyes and reminded herself that he had betrayed his own beliefs by giving her a copy of the report. That showed he truly loved her. Surely he would trust and believe her.
She brought her hands together and tightly intertwined the fingers. “There are some things I can't explain, because I don't know what happened.” Her voice trembled. “The last thing I remember before waking in the hospital was an Indian about to scalp me. I am Eliza Scoggins."
He jumped to his feet, knocking his stool backward. Hovering over her, his hands formed fists as he glared at her. “How can you tell me that ridiculous lie again? Nobody believed it the first time. Do you think because I'm in love with you I've become a fool?"
“Please, Jeff.” She reached for his arm, but he jerked out of her grasp.
“What's so terrible in your past that you can't tell me? I've already broken the law for you. What more must I do?"
“I'm telling the truth. I swear—"
Pumping his fists, he yelled, “No more lies."
She feared he might actually strike her and drew back.
He glared at her, fury and pain twisted his features. Then, Jeff rushed for the door.
“Wait,” she shouted. “Please—"
The door slammed behind him.
Eliza sat in stunned silence, staring at the closed door. He didn't believe her ... would never believe her. She had been loved for one day. Now her dreams were ashes.
She heard his motorcycle roar to life, the sound faded as it raced away.
Every breath was a conscious effort. What would she do now? How could she go on? Since the first time she'd seen him in the hospital, he'd been her hope. She'd clung to the belief that somehow he'd help her make things right again. For a few short hours he had.
That was all gone now. Slowly she stood and stumbled to the bathroom. She ran cold water over a rag and held it up to her face. When she pulled the rag away, she stared at herself in the mirror. She saw an old maid schoolteacher on the Texas frontier, a model on the front page of modern newspapers, the woman Jeff had briefly loved.
Which one of those women was real?
It had been wrong for her to depend on Jeff to take care of her. In her former life she had fought her father and custom for the ability to take care of herself. Her life had not been easy then, but she had managed. Somehow she must manage now.
She raked a comb through her hair, even put on a little lipstick. For a moment, she stood and looked at the rumpled bed and sighed over the flood of memories it triggered. The yellowed gardenia lay on the bedside table. Its petals were edged in brown and the sweet aroma nearly gone, but Eliza vowed to keep this memento of Jeff's love forever.
She paused in the living room and looked around one last time. The radiant bouquets of flowers mocked her.
Blinking away a blur of tears, Eliza left the apartment.
Chapter Eighteen
MORTIMER FLUTTERED BACK and forth over Eliza as she plodded along with her head down. This breakup was terrible, just terrible. Jeff would have given Eliza the home she needed, and she was the kind of woman who would make him happy. Mortimer couldn't let it end like this.
But what could he do? He'd been screaming pleas at them for the past thirty minutes and neither would heed him. Eliza wouldn't even listen to his warnings about her walking home. Having always made the journey in motor vehicles, she didn't realize how great the distance.
What could he do with these stubborn people?
She stopped walking and looked up and down the street. Was she losing her way?
Go back. Go back and wait for Jeff.
She wiped at the perspiration that beaded her brow and walked on, limping slightly.
If only Jeff would believe her. But he was a modern man, a policeman, who needed facts to explain everything. What sort of evidence could Mortimer supply that would allow Jeff's head to follow his heart?
Mortimer wasn't supposed to take direct action. People had to make their own choices. But suppose he just altered the schedule a bit? He could make something that was going to happen anyway happen now, something that would give Jeff more information to base his choices on. Surely that wouldn't be wrong.
* * * *
THE LITTLE TWINGES Eliza had been feeling in her injured leg became stabbing pains. She could barely stand to put weight on it. Perhaps Jeff was back at his apartment by now and would help her. No, she couldn't go back there. Seeing a gasoline store on the corner, she limped toward it. Marge, she'd call Marge.
One of those telephone boxes was mounted on a pole near the sidewalk. She fished in her purse. The sign said to use a quarter or two dimes and a nickel. The only coins she had were two nickels and a dime.
A bell dinged twice. She saw a car stopping in front of the gasoline pumps. A young man in matching shirt and trousers came out of the building and began wiping the car's windshield. Eliza limped toward the building hoping she could get change for the phone.
Putting all her weight on her left leg, she leaned against the doorframe and waited for the attendant to finish with the car's owner. When he finally came back into the office, she held out a dollar bill.
“Could you please give me change for this? I need to use the telephone."
He took the dollar and reached into a drawer for the change. “I noticed you limping. Is something wrong with your foot?"
“It's my leg; I had an injury a while back. It started hurting again while I was walking."
He stared at her rudely. “Have you walked a long way?"
“I'm trying to find Lindsey St. Do you know where that is?"
“Yeah. It's at least three miles from here."
“That far?” She'd never make it walking. “I hope my friend can pick me up."
The young man continued to stare at her as he handed her the change. “You're that woman in the newspaper, ain't cha?"
Eliza nodded.
He grinned. “I thought so. I'm real good with faces. I just read in the paper how you got your memory back. Bet you're glad of that."
“I haven't remembered everything, but it is good to have a name again. Thank you for the change.” She turned toward the door.
“You can use the phone here,” he called after her. “Save you some steps.” He gestured to a grimy black phone on the desk. “The boss don't let people use this phone, but I'm working alone this morning.” He rolled a chair from behind the desk. “Why don't you sit down? You look beat."
Gratefully, Eliza sank onto the chair. When the back of her right thigh touched the seat, she gasped at the burst of pain and shifted her weight over to the left thigh.
The attendant looked down at her with worried frown. “You're really bad off. You can't walk no more."
Eliza ignored him and dialed the phone. It rang a half-dozen times before Marge's muffled voice answered.
“Can you come get me?” Eliza asked.
“Where are you?"
“At a place that sells gasoline on...” She couldn't remember the name of the street.
“Camp Bowie and Jackson,” the attendant supplied.
Eliza repeated the street names into the phone.
“What are you doing there?” Marge demanded.
“I ... I can't explain now. Please come.” Eliza's voice stuck in her throat as tears streaked down her cheeks.
“Brenda, are you crying? For God's sake, what's happened?"
“My leg ... something's wrong with my leg,” Eliza managed to say before her voice cracked.
“Okay, you stay put. We'll be there as soon as we can."
Eliza hung up the phone and leaned heavily against the desk to take more pressure off her aching thigh. The attendant hovered over her. He obviously wanted to help but didn't know what to do.
“How about a drink? Would you like a cold drink?” he blurted out.
Before she could answer, he sprinted to a vending machine outside the office. He came back with a cold can of cola and pulled off the tab. Eliza accepted the can and took a long swallow, washing away some of the ache in her throat.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “Let me pay you for that."
“No, no,” he said. “Glad to do it."
The bell dinged as a car pulled up, and the attendant reluctantly turned away from her. Eliza saw a woman in the passenger's side of the car staring in at her. She knew she must be a sight, sprawled in the middle of a public place and crying, but she just couldn't help herself.
Something terrible happened every time she tried to behave independently. She felt like a big, helpless baby in this world, and she hated it.
“...in the newspaper.” She heard the attendant speaking to the people in the car. “Something's wrong with her leg, the one she was stabbed in.” He was talking about her.
Eliza squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears. She had to quit making a spectacle of herself. After taking several deep breaths, she felt calmer.
Brakes squealed and Marge yelled, “Where is she?"
Then she ran into the station and slipped her arm around Eliza's shoulder. “Honey, what happened? Why are you here alone? Where's Jeff?"
Tears started down Eliza's cheeks again. “He ... he left me."
Ken appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed and out of breath. “What's wrong? Can you make it to the car? Let me help you."
With Marge on one side and Ken on the other, they got her out of the chair. Eliza made them wait while she put the change from her dollar on the desk to repay the attendant for her cola. Her hand was so sweaty that the coins stuck to it, she had to brush them off.
Carrying her wilted gardenia, she leaned heavily on her two friends, managing to keep most of her weight off her right leg, as she hopped out of the building. She knew the attendant and the people in the car were staring at her but no longer cared.
Alone in the back seat, Eliza curled up on her left side. With all the pressure off her throbbing leg, she concentrated on taking deep breaths and getting her emotions under control.
All she wanted to do when they reached the apartment was crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head, but Marge insisted that a long soak in a hot tub would do wonders for her leg. Ignoring Eliza's protests, she filled the tub, liberally sprinkling bubble bath into the water. Eliza got in grumbling, but found the warmth of the water, the caress of the bubbles, and the sweet aroma of wild flowers soothing.
She leaned back in the tub and closed her eyes. Jeff's face, with the damning expression he had worn just before he rushed away from her, filled her mind. She snapped her eyes open. She wouldn't start crying, not again. She had endured disappointments before. Somehow she would endure this.
But this new world had weakened her. In her old world she had been a plain woman and had, therefore, known the importance of being able to take care of herself. This new world, with its emphasis on beauty and desirability, had seduced her into believing a champion would come and solve all her problems.
She should have remembered that everyone, even the most beautiful, had burdens to shoulder. When she'd thought she had no external beauty, she'd believed the beauty inside a person was what really mattered. How quickly she'd forgotten that. Picking up one of Marge's scratchy sponges, she began to scrub her body vigorously.
The soak in the tub did take some of the pain out of Eliza's leg. After getting out, she put on her pajamas and lay down on her bed.
* * * *
MARGE PAUSED OUTSIDE Brenda's door, almost afraid to knock. She should be tickled that Brenda and Jeff had broken up. Now Brenda would want to go to New York. But Marge had seen the pain in her eyes and heard the heartbreak in her voice and found she couldn't be happy about that.
Ken evidently felt as lousy about this as she did. They'd barely spoken to each other since they'd gotten back to the apartment. Thank God neither one of them had done anything to cause this.
Brenda really was a sweet kid and Marge didn't want to see her hurt, but maybe, in the long run, this would be for the best. When Brenda became rich and famous, she'd be glad she hadn't settled for being a policeman's wife.
Pasting a smile on her face, Marge tapped on the door, stuck her head inside the room, and saw Brenda stretched out on the bed. “How about some lunch?"
Brenda shook her head. “I'm not hungry."
Marge walked over to the bed. “Since Ken's here, we're having sandwiches instead of salad. That ought to tempt you."
Brenda shook her head and gestured to her leg.
“You can lie on the sofa just as well as you can in here. Starving yourself won't prove anything.” She gently pulled on Brenda's arm.
With a sighed, Brenda sat up and swung her legs off the bed.
Marge helped her stand. When Brenda reached for her robe, Marge said, “You don't need that. It's only Ken.” She grabbed up one of the pillows and brought it along.
After Brenda stretched out on the sofa, Ken pushed the low table closer so she'd have no trouble reaching her sandwich and soda. Marge saw that she only nibbled at her sandwich, but decided this was no time to nag the poor girl.
Ken brought a bag of corn chips from the kitchen. Tearing it open, he offered the bag to Brenda. She shook her head. For once Marge actually wished she would eat junk food. Ken sat on the floor and Marge in the padded chair. The room was silent except for the sounds of munching and the rustling chip bag.
Ken finally cleared his throat. “You thought any more about going to New York, Brenda?"
Marge frowned at him. “She may not want to talk about that now, Ken."
Interest suddenly sparkled in Brenda's eyes. “Would I do fashion shows there?"
“You might do some, at first, but I think you'd eventually do mostly photography,” Ken replied.
Her mouth pursed with distaste.
Ken hastily added, “High fashion shots.” He picked up a copy of Vogue and flipped though it, stopping frequently to show Eliza pictures. “Classy stuff like this. You could even end up a cover girl."
Marge watched their heads come together over the magazine. A hollow feeling grew inside her.
Brenda looked at Ken uncertainly. “You don't even know for sure your friend wants me."
“It's good to know somebody in the business, but Russ doesn't work for the only agency in New York. With your bone structure, you could probably get on with the Fords. They're the biggest in the business."
Eliza self-consciously raised her hand to her cheek. “Why do you keep talking about my bones?"
Who was she trying to kid, Marge fumed. Nobody was that damn naive.
Ken held up the magazine. “Look at this cover girl. See the prominent cheek bones, the widely set eyes? That kind of face photographs well.” He set the magazine down on the table and reached for a manila envelope. “These are some of the close-ups I've taken of you.” He laid two pictures of Eliza on either side of the magazine. “Your face is as good, no better, than this girl's."
Marge's anger turned to fear. Now that Ken had Brenda he didn't need her anymore. Did he still want her?
Brenda studied the pictures for a moment. Then lay back on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. “I don't know how to go to New York and do what you're talking about,” she said softly.
“Marge and I both want to try our luck up there. We'll go with you. We can even drive up in my car."
“You still want me to go?” Marge said in a strained voice.
Ken looked over at her with a grin that faded when he saw her expression. “What do you mean by that?"
“Now that you've found your cover girl what do you need me for?"
“Don't be stupid, Marge."
“So now I'm stupid as well as ugly. Guess that tells me where I stand.” She jumped to her feet so quickly a wave of dizziness made her sway.
Instantly by her side, Ken grabbed her arm. “What the hell's the matter with you?” he asked in a puzzled voice.
“I ... I just stood up too fast,” Marge said.
“That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."
She stared at him in shock as she realized her dizziness had come from the sudden realization that Ken meant more to her than going to New York. When had he stopped being a convenience and become everything?
“For crying out loud, Marge. You saw Brenda's potential the same as I did. We've talked about this. Why are you so upset?"
She wrapped her arms around her body. “You never said I could be a cover girl,” she finally said in a low voice.
His mouth sagged open, he straightened his back. “I'm no expert, but frankly, I don't think you can."
That wasn't the answer Marge had hoped for. The tight knot in the middle of her chest twisted painfully. She bit down on her compressed lips hoping to stem the tears building in her eyes.
“You don't have the right bone structure,” Ken continued, “but you can sell a dress on a runway as well as anyone I've ever seen. Anyway, you are the girl I love."
Marge took a deep breath. The cramped feeling in her chest eased. Ken circled her with his arms and pulled her against his body. She wrapped her arms tightly around his lanky form. “Do you really love me?” she asked in an unsteady voice.
“I've told you dozens of times that I do,” Ken said.
“You only say it when we're making love."
“Maybe because that's the only time you've ever said it to me. I've wondered if you're only using me to get to New York.” He looked at her with a steady, questioning gaze.
She weighed her dreams and ambitions against the love she felt for this man. “If you stay here,” she said weakly, “I'll stay with you."
His embrace tightened as his lips came down over hers. This kiss was different, not meant to arouse passion, but to state possession. When their lips finally parted, Marge stared into his eyes until a noise distracted her. She looked over just in time to see Brenda's bedroom door closing.
Marge tried to pull away from Ken. “I better go reassure her,” she said.
He didn't release her. “She probably needs to be alone, Marge. There are some things you can't fix for her."
“What do you know about how women feel?” She struggled to free herself.
He grinned. “What happened to the sweet, vulnerable girl I was just kissing?"
She pulled and twisted. “She's about to punch you in the nose,” she said through gritted teeth.
He pushed her down on the couch and fell on top of her. “Oh good. You're back. I thought the pod people had gotten you."
“Smart ass.” She quit struggling.
* * * *
ELIZA AWOKE AND groaned from the sharp pain. Her leg was worse. Gingerly, she reached to the back of her thigh. Through the thin fabric of the pajamas, she could feel swelling and heat. She might as well admit it, the wound was putrefying. Why had it waited so long?
She raised a hand to her forehead. It still felt cool, but she knew it was only a matter of time before the fever would spread throughout her body and probably kill her. That's what had happened to so many of the wounded during the war unless they had the offending limb cut off soon enough.
The thought of having to manage in this new world without a leg overwhelmed her. The wound was so close to her hip that she didn't know if the stump would support a wooden leg.
Eliza shivered, she couldn't stop the groan that made its way through her tight lips.
The door to the bathroom opened. “What's wrong?” Marge ran to the bed.
“It's worse,” was all Eliza could say.
Marge turned on the bedside lamp. “Pull down your pj's and let me see."
As she pushed it down, the waistband of the pajamas brushed against the inflamed area. Eliza cried out from the searing pain. She felt Marge's cool fingertips lightly touch the area.
“It is hot,” Marge said in an uncertain voice.
“Marge,” Ken's voice came from the other bedroom, “why don't you call your mother?"
“Yeah, I think I will."
“Don't disturb her,” Eliza said, but Marge walked away without responding. Eliza soon heard her talking on the phone and a few minutes later to Ken. “Mom says we should take her to the emergency room."
* * * *
“MISS MOREL."
Eliza remembered that was now her name her and opened her eyes.
Dr. James stared down at her. “How are you feeling?"
“Sleepy."
He smiled. “You go back to sleep then. I'm going to keep you here until we remove the tube from your leg."
“Tube?"
“I want to be sure the wound heals from the inside out, so I inserted a drain. That's why you've got such a large bandage."
“Aren't you going to cut my leg off?"
He bent down as though he hadn't clearly heard what she said and then drew back in surprise. “Indeed not. You had a small particle of foreign matter in the wound. Your body was rejecting it. That's what caused the inflammation. With antibiotics and rest, your leg will be fine."
She found that hard to believe.
Dr. James shook his head. “You certainly have unusual reactions to anesthetics. Go back to sleep. I'm going to tell your friends to go home and get some sleep, too."
“Are they still here?"
“Yes, they've been here all night. You're a lucky young woman to have such loyal friends."
Eliza nodded. Ken and Marge had brought her to the hospital, and Mr. and Mrs. Palmer had arrived while Eliza was still waiting to be admitted. She was sorry to have inconvenienced them, but grateful to have people in this world who cared about her.
After the doctor left the room, she closed her eyes but sleep didn't come. She wasn't going to die. For reasons she couldn't fathom, she'd been sent to this time and was obviously meant to live here.
Why?
For a short while, she'd believed it was to be Jeff's wife and the mother of his children. Now she knew that wasn't to be, but couldn't believe such a miracle had occurred just so she could be photographed.
She needed to think about her future carefully. After she rested, she'd phone Mrs. Ragsdale, the lady who looked out for her welfare. Maybe she'd have some suggestions.
* * * *
ON TUESDAY MORNING, Jeff stared at the jumble of messages on his desk. He should have called in sick. His head did ache and his eyes felt like they were full of sand.
Of course, it was his own fault.
Since returning to his apartment on Sunday, after a long motorcycle ride to calm down, he'd been an indecisive wreck. His desire to run after the woman he loved and make a life with her no matter what wrestled with his common sense telling him he'd be better off without her. Whatever deep, dark secrets she had, she intended to keep them. He couldn't make a life with a woman he couldn't trust.
So he'd tried to blunt the pain with bourbon and beer. He'd known that was stupid, too, but this was his first broken heart. He didn't know how to deal with it. Hell, he'd been acting like a fool since he first laid eyes on Eliza Scoggins ... Brenda Morel ... whoever.
What really hurt was knowing he'd brought this on himself by breaking a detective's number one rule, Never get personally involved.
Paul walked up to his desk carrying a steaming cup. “Coffee's fresh. Why don't you get a cup? Looks like you need it."
Jeff just grunted. He didn't think his queasy stomach could stand a cup of coffee. Going through a stack of phone messages, he stopped at one from a Dr. James at Memorial Hospital. The name was familiar; he'd been Brenda's surgeon.
Jeff dialed the number and asked for the doctor.
“I'm sorry, he's not on call this morning."
He identified himself and explained he had a message from the doctor. The operator switched him to another woman. He heard her leafing through papers before she said, “Oh, yes, here it is. There's new evidence in the Brenda Morel case. It's in the hospital laboratory if you want to pick it up."
“New evidence? Do you know what it is?"
“No, but I suppose it's something they found Monday morning."
“You mean this Monday?"
“Miss Morel came in late Sunday night for emergency surgery."
“What? Is she all right?"
“Oh, yes. The records say it was just an abscess of an old wound. Nothing serious."
Jeff's hand trembled as he hung up the phone. Why was he so shaken? The nurse said it wasn't serious, besides Brenda wasn't his problem, not anymore.
Paul looked up from the report he was working on. “Something wrong?"
“Ah, that was the hospital. They have new evidence in the Morel case. Something in the laboratory."
“You look sick. You want me to pick it up?"
“No, I'll do it. Some fresh air might clear my head."
Jeff slipped on his sports jacket and left the detectives’ unit. If Brenda had to go back to the hospital, why didn't Marge call him? No telling what kind of story Brenda had told her. By now the whole family must think him some kind of rat.
Before he reached his car, he flipped open his cell phone and punched in his parents’ number. “Mom? Do you know anything about Brenda Morel being in the hospital?"
“How did you hear about it?” His mother sounded reluctant.
“The doctor called me. I am the investigating detective, you know. Why didn't you or Marge let me know?"
“I suggested it, but Marge said Brenda wouldn't want to see you. What happened between you two, son?"
“It's a long story. She's going to be all right, isn't she?"
“Oh, yes. The doctor said she could leave the hospital today. You didn't do anything to hurt her, did you?"
“Me? Of course, not. Who gave you that idea?"
“I sat with Marge in the waiting room. She was quite upset with you. Said you'd made Brenda walk home and that caused the abscess."
“I didn't ... I did leave her alone at my apartment, but I went back for her. When I found her gone I figured Marge had picked her up. Never thought she'd try to walk. God, it's at least five miles.” His stomach took a turn for the worse.
“I thought you and Brenda were, well, were fond of each other. What happened, Jeff?"
“I can't talk to you about it, Mom."
“You children can't talk to me about anything anymore, can you?” An angry undertone ran through her voice.
Jeff wanted to get off the phone, but knew he couldn't hang-up on his mother until she'd had her say. “What are you talking about?"
“Did you know Marge has finally decided to move to New York City?"
Was Brenda going with her? Jeff had to take a deep breath before he could speak. “She's been talking about it for a long time."
“Well, she's very definite now.” Her voice sounded teary. “Says she's going as soon as Brenda's back on her feet."
Yes, Brenda was going. Jeff leaned against the wall. He had to say something to his mother, but his brain didn't want to function. “As long as Marge is determined to be a model,” he finally managed, “she'll never be content until she knows if she can make it in the big-time."
His mother sighed. “I thought you'd be on my side in this. You're the one who always thought Marge should stay at home."
“I've been wrong so often lately, I'm not sure of anything anymore. But look on the bright side. Maybe Marge will fail and be happy to come home."
“I don't want to wish failure on any of my children,” his mother said weakly. “But I must admit that thought appeals to me. Your father's worried about her all alone in the big city."
“She won't be alone."
“No, that's true. I should be glad she'll have a friend with her."
Jeff wanted to say something else to cheer his mother but the words wouldn't come. “I gotta go to the hospital now, Mom. I'll call you later."
“Are you going to see Brenda?"
“No, just pick up something the doctor left for me."
“Perhaps if you talked to her..."
“It's too late for talk.” He clicked off the phone.
She was going to New York. Hadn't taken her long to change her plans. Hell, that had probably been what she planned all along. Why be a poor cop's wife if she could make millions as a model? She'd just used him to get a damn identity. He ought to be glad she was leaving. He was lucky to have escaped that mercenary little schemer.
He didn't feel lucky.
Chapter Nineteen
JEFF SHIFTED IN his chair. He'd been sitting in this waiting area for almost fifteen minutes. All they had to do was bring out whatever Dr. James had left for him. Maybe they'd lost it. If somebody didn't come out here in the next three minutes, he'd just tell the receptionist to mail it to him ... if they ever found it.
As if in answer to his unspoken threat, a man in a white coat stepped though the doorway, looked around, and then approached Jeff. “Are you the detective?"
Jeff stood up and flipped open his badge holder.
“Here it is.” The technician handed Jeff a small, plastic vial.
Jeff held the transparent vial between his thumb and forefinger and stared at the chip of something resting between two wads of cotton. “What is it?"
“That's what caused the abscess in Miss Morel's leg. The doctors originally thought it was a chip of bone that would be absorbed naturally. But it's stone, not bone."
Jeff jiggled the vial, trying to get a better look at the particle. “Stone?"
“I wouldn't shake it too much. The edges might break off and make it harder to prove it's manmade."
Jeff frowned. “What are you saying? This little piece of rock was inside Miss Morel's leg? And it's manmade?"
The man chuckled self-consciously. “Of course the rock wasn't made by men, but it was shaped by men. That little piece broke off from a larger piece. Under a microscope it's easy to see that the outer edge was artificially formed. My guess is the thing broke off of a stone arrowhead, but I'm no expert. You'll probably have to go to some university to get a definite answer."
Still staring at the vial, Jeff sat down heavily. “Arrowhead?"
“That's right. The doctor told me the patient claimed she'd been shot by arrows, but nobody believed her. No telling what kind of kinky business she was involved in."
Kinky? Brenda? Jeff's brain seemed to have short-circuited. What the hell did all this mean? He was too stunned to speak.
The technician gave him a smug grin. “I hear she's a real looker. Maybe somebody was using her in a snuff film."
Anger propelled Jeff to his feet. “What do you know about snuff films? Only sick sons-of-bitches have anything to do with them."
The technician took a backward step and shook his head. “Nothing ... nothing. I just read about ‘em."
Holding the vial under the technician's nose, Jeff glowered. “This is police business. Keep your mouth shut about it."
The man nodded his head. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir."
Cramming the vial into his pocket, Jeff spun on the balls of his feet and rushed from the waiting room. The dull headache he'd had when he came in changed to a blinding pain between his eyes. He charged down the hall, almost bowling over a woman carrying a tray filled with vials of blood.
Turning a corner, he realized he didn't have the slightest idea where he was going. He slowed down and looked for something familiar. When he came to the coffee shop, he went in, thinking he could at least get water and take a couple of aspirins.
The aroma of coffee seeped into his consciousness. He hadn't had any breakfast. Maybe that caused this headache. He picked up a Danish, got coffee and a glass of water, and carried his tray over to a table against the wall.
As he sat down, he felt the vial press against his thigh. A chip from an arrowhead? Was that possible? No, that technician didn't know what he was talking about. Even if it had come from an arrowhead, however, there could be a reasonable explanation.
People still hunted with bows and arrows, but nobody used stone arrowheads. Anyway, Brenda had been shot three times so what happened to her couldn't have been a hunting accident.
Okay, it wasn't an accident. Somebody had deliberately tried to kill her, somebody who just happened to have stone tipped arrows.
Jeff chased a couple of aspirins down his throat with water and took a small bite from the Danish. Nobody planning a murder would pick an unreliable weapon like that. It must have been a crime of passion.
He'd done some bow shooting as a teenager and knew how damned iffy hitting your intended target could be. He couldn't imagine someone in a rage managing to notch an arrow, pull the string back, and hold it steady while they sighted the target three times.
Okay, maybe the guy just used the arrow, holding it in his hand while he stabbed. But that would have caused tremendous amounts of tearing as the arrow was thrust in and yanked out. The doctor had said Brenda didn't have that kind of damage.
He took a long swallow of coffee and a big bite of the Danish.
Nothing fit. She had said Comanches attacked her schoolhouse in the 1860s and shot her, and when she woke up she was in a modern hospital in Fort Worth. That wasn't possible. Sure, there were movies and books about people traveling through time, but everyone knew they were just made-up stories.
But she had also said she couldn't explain how it happened. If she were intentionally lying, why had she picked such a ridiculous story?
He forced himself to think about her; every word, every look, every gesture. He'd suspected her of lying when she started saying she had amnesia because she was lying, and poorly.
When she told the Indian story, however, he hadn't thought she was lying ... only crazy. But that had been because he couldn't accept the story. Remembering her earnest blue eyes and open expression, he knew she had believed what she said.
How was that possible?
Could she be the victim of some bizarre brainwashing experiment? Some secret government agency had planted an entirely phony background in her memory and then decided to get rid of her when something went wrong. Now he was going crazy, turning into a conspiracy freak.
He remembered how frightened she had been the first time he took her somewhere in a car. Could that have been the first time she'd ever ridden in a car? Marge had even suggested Brenda might have grown up in some religious cult because she was so innocent about the ways of the world.
He could attest to the fact that she had been a virgin before he'd seduced her with vows of love. He'd begged her, in the name of that love, to trust him enough to tell the truth, but he hadn't trusted her when she did. Now he had lost her.
Jeff closed his eyes and turned his head toward the wall so no one could see the tears that seeped through his lashes. A miracle had brought him a beautiful, caring woman and his suspicions had driven her away. He owed her an apology.
He hoped he had the guts to deliver it.
* * * *
ELIZA MOANED AS she shifted her hips. She'd never been sick a day in her life until she came to this modern city. That wasn't a fair statement. After all, she'd brought her medical problems with her. In her old world those problems would have undoubtedly killed her.
The door burst open and Marge breezed into the room. “Hi, roomie. How are you feeling?"
“I'm much better."
“I brought you a skirt and blouse to wear when you leave the hospital."
“Thank you."
Marge hung the clothes in the closet and came over to the bedside. “You don't look very comfortable. Can I move that pillow under your leg or something?"
Eliza smiled slightly and shook her head. “I'm all right. The doctor took the tube out this morning. That hurt a bit."
“And you're still hurting over Jeff, aren't you? I wish I'd warned you away from him. He's always been a stiff-necked know-it-all, but I thought he'd at least behave like a gentleman."
Eliza wished she could get Marge to stop blaming Jeff. “He's not responsible for my leg. The doctor said the little piece of rock would have worked itself out sooner or later, no matter what."
“He must have done something pretty bad to make you try to walk from his place to mine."
“We always made the trip so quickly in the car that I didn't realize how far it was. That's the only reason I walked."
“He never should have left you alone."
Eliza closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then she looked back at Marge. “Some things just aren't meant to be."
“If you're so sure everything's over between you and Jeff, why won't you change your mind about New York?"
“Marge, you like modeling and are good at it. I don't like it. People staring at me makes me uncomfortable."
“You'll get use to it. They're not looking at you, anyway, just the clothes you're wearing."
“It's not what I want to do with my life."
Marge sat in the chair beside the bed and took hold of Eliza's hand. “I feel like I'm running off and leaving you when you need me the most."
“You're not going for a few weeks, are you?"
“No, it'll be the first of the month before Ken and I can get everything in order. I wish you'd reconsider Mom's offer and stay with her and Pop until you're on your feet again."
“I can walk now."
“You've got more to worry about than just walking."
“Mrs. Ragsdale's going to help me. I'll be all right."
“I don't trust that welfare woman. No telling where she'll have you living."
“She wants me to keep on modeling here in Fort Worth, if I can."
“You're worried about the scar on your leg, aren't you? The doctor said plastic surgery could help. Besides, there are lots of clothes to model other than bathing suits."
Eliza smiled up at her friend, wishing she could convince her that she didn't care about the enlarged scar. “I just need enough modeling work to keep me going until I learn another way to support myself."
“I've sent your name and pictures to all my contacts over at the Dallas Retail Mart. You'll get lots of work. Who knows, in time you may even learn to like modeling."
Eliza shook her head. “Don't expect that."
Someone tapped on the door.
“That must be Ken.” Marge jumped to her feet and yanked the door open. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was unusually harsh.
“I need to speak with Brenda."
Jeff.
Marge put her fists on her hips. “You've got some nerve coming here after—"
Reminding herself that she had to stop depending on others to fight her battles, Eliza called out, “Marge."
Marge looked back at her. “Don't worry. I'll take care of this. He won't hurt you anymore."
Jeff stuck his head around the edge of the door. “Can I please speak to you for a moment, privately?"
Marge looked as though she intended to physically eject him from the room.
Eliza didn't want to come between the sister and brother any more than she already had. “It's all right, Marge. I want to speak to Jeff. I'm not angry with him. Truly, I'm not."
Some of the stiffness went out of Marge's stance. “Are you sure?"
Eliza nodded. She tried to smile, but the best she could do was to flatten her lips against each other.
Marge retrieved her purse from the bed table. “Okay, I'll wait out in the hall.” She stopped at the doorway. “You call out if ... if you need anything."
Jeff closed the door and stood for a moment just looking at her.
Eliza gestured at the chair. “Won't you sit down?"
He came up beside her but continued to stand. “I'm sorry about your leg."
“It isn't serious. I'm going home this afternoon."
“I know, but if what I did made it happen..."
She waved her hand. “You weren't responsible. I'm getting tired of having to say that over and over again.” Suddenly she was angry, angry at him for thinking himself so important and at herself for being trapped in such a ridiculous position. She tried to shift so her hip wouldn't stick up quite so high. The bandage rubbed against her incision. She grimaced.
Jeff leaned over, concern etched on his face. “Careful, sweetheart, careful.” His hands hovered near her shoulders then quickly pulled away.
He sank into the chair. “I should have believed you. I should have trusted you.” His words spilled out. “When that guy told me they'd taken a piece of an arrowhead out of your leg, I realized how terribly I've wronged you. I know I've ruined everything between us, but I had to tell you how sorry I am."
It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. “Did they really say that piece of rock was from an arrowhead?"
He nodded. “The laboratory guy did."
Her elation that Jeff finally believed her, faded as she realized he was here because of new evidence, not feelings. “Where do you think the arrowhead came from?"
His eyes shifted several times before his gaze came to rest on her face. “I don't know. I deal in facts, proof, but I know unexplainable things do happen in this world. Of course, I don't like to admit it since I can't control the unknown.
“Being a cop has trained me to suspect everybody. But I never should have doubted your love. You were the best thing that's ever happened to me. No matter where you came from, I should have welcomed you and cherished you. I didn't and now you're going away."
He took a deep breath before going on. “I just want you to know you'll always have a place in my heart. I hope you find success and a new life in New York, but if you ever need help of any kind, please call on me.” He caught her hand and gave it a slight squeeze.
“I'm not going to New York,” Eliza said.
His head jerked up. “But Mom said..."
“Going to New York is Marge's dream, not mine."
He looked as if she'd just struck him. “Who's going with her?"
“Ken. He wants to be a fashion photographer."
For a moment he just stared at her. Then he said, “What are you going to do?"
“I had a long talk with Mrs. Ragsdale yesterday. She said there's something I can get in night school called a high school equiv..."
“Equivalency,” Jeff supplied.
“Yes, and then there are job training programs she will help me get into. Hopefully, I can pick up enough modeling jobs to support myself while I'm doing that."
“You're going to stay here?"
Apparently he still couldn't believe anything she said. “Yes."
He grabbed her hands again. “Can you ever forgive me for doubting you?"
“I understand why you doubted me, Jeff. My story is unbelievable."
He stared at her for a moment. “I'm always dealing with people who lie to me. I guess I've come to expect it from everyone. But what really drove me crazy was thinking you didn't love me enough to trust me.” He kissed the back of her hand. “I love you so much."
“But you don't trust me."
He released her hand. “I do now."
His comment inspired a bitter taste in her mouth. “Only because of that little piece of rock."
“Even though I doubted you, I still fell in love with you. Marry me and I'll take care of you. You won't have to worry about anything. Please, marry me."
She tried to blink away the tears rimming her eyes. “I can't, Jeff."
He caught her hand again and held it firmly between both of his. “Give me another chance. Please. I know we can be happy together."
She placed her free hand on top of his. “I'd only be a burden. I can't marry anybody until I know I can take care of myself in this world."
He leaned over her. “I can help you learn whatever you need to know after we're married."
“No, Jeff. As long as I depend on you, I won't learn to depend on myself."
“Okay, but, will you marry me someday?"
He looked so sweet and earnest that she had to smile at him. “I'll marry you when I'm sure I can be a true helpmate, if you want to wait that long."
“Oh, baby, I'll wait for you forever.” He scooped her into his arms.
Her bandaged thigh bumped against the side of his body. Eliza groaned at the unexpected pain. Jeff's face twisted with an unspoken apology as he gently lowered her onto the bed.
Marge stormed into the room. “What have you done now? Ken? Ken, get in here and throw Jeff out of this room."
Ken walked into the room with reluctant steps.
Eliza started to laugh. “It's all right. Really it is. Jeff accidentally bumped against my leg."
Jeff eased his arms from around her body and lightly brushed a kiss across her lips. Then he faced his sister. “Eliza has agreed to marry me."
“But not right away,” Eliza added.
Marge's mouth fell open. She looked at Ken.
“I told you to stay out of it,” he muttered.
Holding Eliza's hand, Jeff smiled broadly at the other couple. “I hear you two are going to New York. I wish you luck."
Marge squared her chin. “Brenda thinks we can make it. She talked us into going."
“I don't know anything about the fashion business,” Jeff said. “But you know how to model clothes and Ken takes good pictures, so I don't see why you can't. Anyway, you'll never know if you don't try."
Marge visibly relaxed and walked over to the other side of the bed. “Are you sure about this?” she asked Eliza.
Eliza nodded. “Like you, I'm following my dream."
Marge grinned. “I hope we both know what we're doing. Now I'm gonna run these guys outta here so you can get dressed and we can take you home."
“Let me take her,” Jeff said. “We've got a lot to talk about."
Marge arched an eyebrow. Eliza nodded at her. “But please help me dress first."
“Don't trust Jeff to behave himself, huh?” Marge chuckled.
Eliza was too flustered by that question to answer.
“Marge,” Ken said in a censoring voice. “Don't you ever know when to stop?"
Jeff placed his hand on Ken's shoulder. “Are you sure you know what you're doing? Come on, let's talk this over out in the hall."
* * * *
AN HOUR LATER, when Eliza was comfortably seated in Jeff's car, she asked, “What do you want to talk about?"
“Huh?” he grunted as he wheeled around a corner.
“In the hospital, you said we had a lot to talk about."
He took a deep breath and blew it out hard. “There's so much I want to know about you. I don't know where to start."
“I'm not ready to talk about the past, not yet."
He nodded. “Okay, but what about this job training thing? What are you going into?"
“Mrs. Ragsdale says so many mothers work out of the home these days that there's a great demand for workers to care for their children. I can be a daycare provider with only a little training."
“Is that what you want to do?"
“I want to work with children. I was a teacher, but today that requires too much education. But working with younger children will still be satisfying."
“That's hard work. You'll never make much money."
“I realize having a lot of money is important in this age, but it's never mattered to me. Does that disappoint you?"
He grinned. “If I wanted a lot of money, I wouldn't be a cop. I'm glad you won't be disappointed in my earnings."
Fortunately, her left thigh was next to him so she could lean against it and place a kiss on his cheek. “I haven't been disappointed in anything about you, yet."
“Careful, lady. Don't get me excited while I'm driving."
She pulled her hand away from his shoulder. “Does that mean I can't even touch you?"
He shot her a wicked glance. “Only above the belt."
Eliza slapped his shoulder. “I'd never do anything like that."
“Never?"
“Not while you're driving,” she said and giggled.
Epilogue
BRENDA WAITED NERVOUSLY in the little room inside the church. She looked up as the door opened. Mrs. Hooper, the wedding director nodded toward Mrs. Palmer. Paul, Jeff's partner, looking resplendent in his dress uniform, waited outside to accompany her to the front of the church.
As Mrs. Palmer gave Brenda's veil one more small adjustment, Brenda reached out and caught her hand. “Thank you for all your help with the wedding, Mother Palmer."
“I was glad to do it, especially since my youngest daughter,” she raised her eyebrows and glanced meaningfully at Marge, “didn't let me enjoy her wedding."
Marge grinned. “Sorry, Mom, we were just too busy making money to have a big do."
Mrs. Hooper cleared her throat.
Mrs. Palmer turned back to Brenda. “I have to go. You look beautiful, dear.” As she walked through the doorway, Paul extended his elbow toward her. She caught hold of his arm and they disappeared from view.
“We're next,” Brenda said and shifted from one foot to the other.
“What are you nervous about?” Marge asked. “It's just another fashion show. You've done this hundreds of times."
Brenda gave an unladylike snort through the frosting of her veil. “Getting married is nothing like a fashion show. Jeff and I are about to make lifelong commitments to each other."
“And I've never known two people who are better suited. I can't believe I beat you to the altar and into maternity clothes.” Marge smoothed the draped chiffon of her dress that outlined her protruding belly.
Brenda smiled at her friend's obvious pride. “After Jeff figured out that I could use Bren ... ah, my high school records and get into college, I had to postpone everything else."
“You've only been in school a couple of years. Have you changed your mind about getting a degree?"
“No, but Jeff swears it will be as cheap for me to live with him as with his parents. When I started living with the Palmers that made it difficult for us to, you know, be together."
Marge laughed. “Knowing how hung up you are on appearances, I can just imagine what poor old Jeff's been going through. I still can't figure out why you want to be a teacher, of all things."
“You should understand about dreams. Look how determined you were to become a model."
“I hope you aren't disappointed when you finally reach your goal, like I was."
Brenda had never told her future sister-in-law the truth about herself, so she could only say, “I have a feeling I'll like teaching. But why were you disappointed in modeling?"
Marge shrugged. “I guess I expected too much, or I realized I'd rather be a photographer's wife than his model. Besides, the way Ken's career took off, I figured I'd better grab him while I had a chance."
The door opened again and Mrs. Hooper nodded at Marge. She checked the folds of her gown to be sure her five months of pregnancy didn't show. Ken squeezed past Mrs. Hooper just as Marge picked up her spray of lilies.
He smiled at his wife and held up a thumb. “Looking good, babe."
Marge grinned back at him. “You look pretty spiffy yourself."
“I feel out of place in a tux instead of a uniform. Half the cops in Fort Worth must be here."
Mrs. Hooper waved Marge forward.
Marge took several steps then looked back at Ken. “Don't let Brenda forget her bouquet."
“Should I carry it for her?” he asked, with an impish grin.
Mrs. Hooper's wave became frantic. “I'll see to that,” she whispered.
Marge left. Ken moved beside Brenda. “As soon as chubby makes it down to the front, it's our turn."
“Thank you for doing this,” Brenda said as she placed her hand on his arm. “You're too young to be giving a bride away, but you were a good friend when I desperately needed one, and Jeff wanted his father to be the best man."
He smiled down at her. “Glad to do it. Besides, I need practice. The way Marge is taking to the motherhood bit, I'll probably have to do this for several daughters."
Mrs. Hooper darted over, picked up the bouquet of gardenias and placed it in Brenda's hands. The organ music that wafted through the open doorway suddenly changed to a series of dramatic notes. Mrs. Hooper ushered Brenda and Ken out into the vestibule. She motioned for them to stop and straightened Brenda's train. Finally, in measured steps, Brenda started down the aisle.
The guests stood as she entered the sanctuary. For a moment they blocked her view of Jeff. Then she saw him, standing proudly in his policeman's dress blue uniform. His mouth twisted in a smile as his gaze locked with hers. She thanked God for this man she was about to marry, this man she had traveled through centuries to find.
* * * *
MORTIMER LOOKED DOWN on the people gathered before the altar and sighed in relief. The bride and groom made a strikingly handsome couple. He felt sure they'd be happy together.
Now that Eliza had found a secure life for herself as Brenda in this new world, perhaps Mortimer's mistake would be wiped off the books and he'd be allowed back into the Retrieval Service. He certainly hoped so.
Being a guardian angel was hard on the nerves. He'd been though some harrowing experiences with Brenda. Just the memory of her learning to drive an automobile could cause him to lose another feather.
About the Author
Sarah Winn was born in Kansas. She has lived for short periods in both Hawaii and California but is now firmly settled in her adopted native state of North Carolina. After a thirty-year career in scientific research, she became a full-time writer, but endeavors to make writing more fun than work. While working on Trust in Love, she found looking at the world around her and trying to imagine what a traveler from another time would see an eye-opening experience. You can visit her at her website at www.Sarahwinn.com