Hil?” He frowned. “Doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“It didn’t register with me, either, when I found it today. But tonight I had another one of those stupid Lost Weekend dreams. This time I was in some sort of massive chamber. There was a skeleton on the floor.” She broke off, struggling to bring back some of the swiftly evaporating details. “Maybe two skeletons, I’m not sure.”
“Sounds like a major anxiety dream.”
“I knew I had to get out of the chamber and keep moving. They were chasing me.” The little piece of paper in her hand trembled.
“Easy, honey.” Emmett put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close against his hard, warm body. “Just a dream.”
Fuzz hopped from Emmett’s shoulder to Lydia’s and rumbled soothingly in her ear. She raised her hand and patted him.
“I know,” she said, shaking off the aftereffects of the nightmare. “I’m okay. The dream tonight was just my unconscious reminding me about this little note.”
There was no point in telling Emmett that the Lost Weekend dreams were getting more frequent and more bizarre. He would only worry. He had problems enough at the moment.
The truth was, she was hopeful that the nightmares were a sign that her amnesia was starting to clear. In recent months she’d had an increasing number of fleeting glimpses into the dark place where her memories of the Lost Weekend were hidden. To date she had seen nothing solid or identifiable, though. It was like catching sight of a wraith at the corner of her eye. When she turned to look, it disappeared.
But she was convinced now that one day soon she would remember exactly what had happened to her down in the catacombs. When that day arrived, she planned to file the mother of all lawsuits. To that end, she was already drawing up a list of inexpensive lawyers. The problem would be finding one who was gutsy enough to take on the Cadence Guild.
She turned briskly away from the table and went toward the kitchen. “There’s something familiar about what Maltby wrote down. I know I’ve seen these words somewhere else.”
“Any idea where?” Emmett asked behind her.
“Yes.” She yanked open the refrigerator and peered into the glowing interior. “On a milk carton.”
Emmett moved close behind her and studied the carton of milk sitting on the top shelf. “Amber Hills Dairy.”
“ Yes .” She waved the piece of paper. “Frankly, I just can’t see a man who was preparing a fix of Chartreuse worrying about picking up a carton of milk at the grocery store, can you?”
“He could have written the words earlier and gotten distracted.”
“Emmett, when you make out a grocery list, you write milk, not the name of the dairy.”
“Huh.”
“I take it you don’t make out a lot of grocery lists.”
He shrugged. “I just go into the store and buy what I want.”
She shook her head and closed the refrigerator door. “Another thing, Maltby’s handwriting was very good and very precise. I saw some examples of it on his desk. But look at the penmanship on this piece of paper. Amber Hil was written with a hand that was shaking badly.”
“Maybe,” Emmett said, clearly unconvinced.
“Know what I think? I think Maltby was trying to write Amber Hills Dairy because he knew he was dying. He was leaving me a clue.”
“Slow down, honey. Why would he use those last few moments of his life to write the name of a commercial dairy?”
“Good question.” She swung around and started toward the bedroom. “I’m going back to his place to see if I missed something else.”
“Now?” Emmett asked warily.
“I can’t think of a better time, can you?”
“Damn,” Emmett said. “I was afraid of that.”
----
Chapter 6
Contents - Prev | Next
The fog had rolled in off the river earlier in the evening. It had flooded Hidden Lane, thickening the already deep shadows that nestled in the narrow passage. It was one-thirty in the morning. Only a handful of the windows
“It didn’t register with me, either, when I found it today. But tonight I had another one of those stupid Lost Weekend dreams. This time I was in some sort of massive chamber. There was a skeleton on the floor.” She broke off, struggling to bring back some of the swiftly evaporating details. “Maybe two skeletons, I’m not sure.”
“Sounds like a major anxiety dream.”
“I knew I had to get out of the chamber and keep moving. They were chasing me.” The little piece of paper in her hand trembled.
“Easy, honey.” Emmett put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close against his hard, warm body. “Just a dream.”
Fuzz hopped from Emmett’s shoulder to Lydia’s and rumbled soothingly in her ear. She raised her hand and patted him.
“I know,” she said, shaking off the aftereffects of the nightmare. “I’m okay. The dream tonight was just my unconscious reminding me about this little note.”
There was no point in telling Emmett that the Lost Weekend dreams were getting more frequent and more bizarre. He would only worry. He had problems enough at the moment.
The truth was, she was hopeful that the nightmares were a sign that her amnesia was starting to clear. In recent months she’d had an increasing number of fleeting glimpses into the dark place where her memories of the Lost Weekend were hidden. To date she had seen nothing solid or identifiable, though. It was like catching sight of a wraith at the corner of her eye. When she turned to look, it disappeared.
But she was convinced now that one day soon she would remember exactly what had happened to her down in the catacombs. When that day arrived, she planned to file the mother of all lawsuits. To that end, she was already drawing up a list of inexpensive lawyers. The problem would be finding one who was gutsy enough to take on the Cadence Guild.
She turned briskly away from the table and went toward the kitchen. “There’s something familiar about what Maltby wrote down. I know I’ve seen these words somewhere else.”
“Any idea where?” Emmett asked behind her.
“Yes.” She yanked open the refrigerator and peered into the glowing interior. “On a milk carton.”
Emmett moved close behind her and studied the carton of milk sitting on the top shelf. “Amber Hills Dairy.”
“ Yes .” She waved the piece of paper. “Frankly, I just can’t see a man who was preparing a fix of Chartreuse worrying about picking up a carton of milk at the grocery store, can you?”
“He could have written the words earlier and gotten distracted.”
“Emmett, when you make out a grocery list, you write milk, not the name of the dairy.”
“Huh.”
“I take it you don’t make out a lot of grocery lists.”
He shrugged. “I just go into the store and buy what I want.”
She shook her head and closed the refrigerator door. “Another thing, Maltby’s handwriting was very good and very precise. I saw some examples of it on his desk. But look at the penmanship on this piece of paper. Amber Hil was written with a hand that was shaking badly.”
“Maybe,” Emmett said, clearly unconvinced.
“Know what I think? I think Maltby was trying to write Amber Hills Dairy because he knew he was dying. He was leaving me a clue.”
“Slow down, honey. Why would he use those last few moments of his life to write the name of a commercial dairy?”
“Good question.” She swung around and started toward the bedroom. “I’m going back to his place to see if I missed something else.”
“Now?” Emmett asked warily.
“I can’t think of a better time, can you?”
“Damn,” Emmett said. “I was afraid of that.”
----
Chapter 6
Contents - Prev | Next
The fog had rolled in off the river earlier in the evening. It had flooded Hidden Lane, thickening the already deep shadows that nestled in the narrow passage. It was one-thirty in the morning. Only a handful of the windows
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