you’re referring to Wilcox’s suggestion that you tried to commit suicide, forget it. And something has changed. Today your memory started to return.”
“No.” Jane reached blindly for the chocolate chip cookie, brought it to her mouth and said, “It didn’t,” then took a bite.
“Really?” Matt lifted one eyebrow. “How would you describe the event that caused you to insist that it was the middle of May?”
Jane chewed slowly. She felt the combination of dough and chocolate soften in her mouth, but could taste nothing, as she thought back to the incident at the scarf counter. She shrugged as she swallowed.
“A moment of confusion. There was a lot of noise, and people and music…” She paused to fight a sudden chill. “It was my first real experience with Christmas crowds, actually. Last year, Zoe and I stayed with her family in a town that consisted of three square blocks surrounded by farms.”
“What’s that have to do with thinking you’d been standing on the beach yesterday?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I had a subconscious yearning for somewhere quiet and peaceful. You know, a daydream.”
“A daydream. Hmm. Tell me about this daydream.”
The speculative expression in Matt’s narrowed eyes made Jane uneasy. Or maybe it was remembering how she’d felt standing at the glass counter and discovering she had no idea what month it was, where she was, and worst of all who she was, that made her reluctant to discuss the fleeting but oh-so-real image that seemed to have thrown her into such confusion.
“It wasn’t really anything,” she said, then picked up her coffee cup.
Matt was aware that Jane was evading his question. He should know, being the self-acknowledged king of evasion himself. Remembering how transparent Jane had been when she first recovered from her three-week coma, he wondered if she’d learned this tactic from observing the way he and Manny joked around in an attempt to keep the particulars of her accident from her, hoping that she’d remember these things on her own.
Matt watched Jane take a drink, saw her mouth twist with distaste as she backed off from the cup.
“You don’t like eggnog-flavored coffee?”
Her eyes met his as she lifted her chin. “Certainly.”
Matt felt that her voice sounded a tad too defensive, but he wasn’t going to let this minor mystery deflect him from going after the larger story.
“You told Wilcox you weren’t at the beach this past May, right?”
Jane took another sip of coffee before placing the cup back on the table. She nodded, then picked up her cookie and began breaking it into tiny pieces.
“Okay. How about June?”
Matt watched as Jane turned her attention to the sliver of cookie between her fingers, then raised her eyes to his.
“No. And I didn’t go to the beach in July or August, either. I’ve been too busy.”
Matt couldn’t miss the fear shadowing those unusual smoky eyes of hers. How could he have forgotten that haunted look, or the fact that Jane had always responded better to teasing than to police-type inquisitions? Maybe he’d been taken with the fact that she seemed so much more…grown-up, courtesy of the businesslike red jacket she wore and the sophisticated way her hair had been cut to fall in soft, spiky layers around her face.
“Too busy for the beach?” Matt purposely exaggerated his surprise. “Didn’t you learn anything from me and Man—from that day we took you to Ocean Beach and demonstrated the fine art of surfing? I must say, whoever took over the job of educating you in the joy of living definitely fell down on the job.”
Jane’s smile was weak, but Matt took a great deal of satisfaction in having managed to get that much.
She said, “That would be Zoe. She’s going pretty strong for a woman in her seventies, but I think surfing is a little out of her range.”
“Okay. So you weren’t at the beach this past May.” He released an exaggerated sigh. “Well then, it seems clear to me that you must have flashed back to a day you spent at the beach a year ago May—before your accident.”
Matt watched the tiny curve of the edge of Jane’s mouth disappear. Her eyes seemed to darken as she stared at him, and her jaw visibly tightened before she said, “So?”
“So?” Matt’s voice softened as he prepared to do battle. “Sooo, I would say that you have had your first honest-to-goodness memory in over a year. A matter worth celebrating.”
With that he took a long drink of aromatic French roast. Savoring the rich, strong flavor, he placed his cup on the table, swallowed and grinned at her again.
“Matt, that brief image of sand and sea could hardly be considered a memory. And even if it was, I still don’t have any desire to know who I once was. I’ve moved forward, just like I said I wanted to, and I have no interest in looking back.”
Matt remembered the warm July day that Jane had made that particular declaration. She’d just returned to her hospital room, after meeting with a family who had come five hundred miles to see her, certain she would prove to be their lost loved one—only to discover they were wrong. He recalled the way Jane had dashed away the tears of disappointment, then declared she wanted nothing more to do with the past.
There was no sign of tears in her eyes now, but Matt recognized the same determination he’d seen on that day. The memory of that resolve had reassured him whenever he thought about Jane’s unsolved case while battling back from his own injuries, then working tirelessly with his cousin Jack to build the sort of detective agency they both needed.
He and Jack had been determined to continue their childhood dream of catching the bad guys. It had taken a long time, and a lot of legwork to prove themselves, but they’d built a reputation for solving cases that the police had given up on, or were forced to let lie fallow as they pursued matters with more promise.
Like the case of Jane Doe Number Thirteen.
This had been his investigation. It was his again. Now he had the time, the autonomy and the resources to find out who had sent this lovely young woman over the edge of a cliff in a car rigged to burst into flame. And, it seemed that Jane just might be ready to provide the most important item in the equation—the memories that would lead him to the person or persons with a motive strong enough to set that horror in motion.
If, that is, he could get Jane to cooperate.
Changing tactics, Matt relaxed back in his chair. “You mentioned Zoe. How is she?”
Jane seemed to study him a moment before answering. “She’s fine. I rent an apartment from her, and in case you’re wondering, she has accepted my decision to forget about the past, and never bugs me about it.”
Matt managed to keep his expression neutral at this news. Zoe Zeffarelli had come highly recommended by a couple of cops he and Manny knew. The therapist had used a combination of psychology and hypnotism to help crack several cases. Matt had found the woman to be a no-nonsense sort who had instantly gained Jane’s trust and his respect. He had assumed that when he and Manny went to work on the money-laundering scheme, Ms. Zeffarelli would help Jane recover her memory and build a life for herself. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, that hadn’t happened.
Maintaining his casual attitude, Matt said, “Okay, we’ll leave the distant past alone. Tell me what’s kept you too busy to go to the beach.”
“I started my own business.”
“Yeah? What kind of business?”
“I make elves and fairies.”
“Really? Would this be the one-wish sort, or three?”
As Matt watched Jane’s eyes crinkle at the corners, he found himself smiling easily and