Remember Me by Mary Higgins Clark

to take the house off the market.”
    â€œScott, there is something we need to ask.” Graham Carpenter clearly was trying to keep his emotions under control. “The emerald ring Vivian always wore. It’s been in her mother’s family for generations. Do you have it?”
    â€œNo, I don’t.”
    â€œYou identified the body. She never took it off her finger. She wasn’t wearing it when she was found?”
    Scott looked away. “Mr. Carpenter, I’m grateful you and Mrs. Carpenter didn’t see the body. It had been so badly attacked by marine life that there was very little left to identify. But if I had that ring I would have given it to you immediately. I knew it was a family treasure. Is there anything else of Vivian’s that you want? Would her clothes fit her sisters?”
    Anne winced. “No . . . no.”
    The Carpenters got up together. “We’ll call you for dinner soon, Scott,” Anne said.
    â€œPlease do. I only wish we’d gotten to know each other better.”
    â€œUnless you can’t part with them, perhaps you’ll assemble some pictures of Vivian for us,” Graham Carpenter said.
    â€œOf course.”
    When they reached the car and started to drive away, Anne turned to her husband. “Graham, you never put water in your scotch. What were you doing?”
    â€œI wanted to get a look at the bedroom. Anne, didn’t you notice that there wasn’t a single picture of Vivian in the living room? Well, I have news. There isn’t a picture of her in the bedroom either. I’ll bet you there isn’t a trace of our daughter anywhere in that house. I don’t like Covey and I don’t trust him. He’s a phony. He knows more than he’s telling, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

15
    T hey had set up a computer, printer and fax machine on the desk in the library. The computer and printer took up most of the surface, but it would suffice, especially since Menley didn’t intend to devote all that much time to working. Adam had his portable typewriter, which Menley was always trying to get him to discard but which could be set up anywhere.
    Adam had so far successfully resisted Menley’s efforts to get him to learn how to use a computer. But then Menley had been equally stubborn about learning to play golf.
    â€œYou’re well coordinated. You’d be good at it,” Adam insisted.
    The memory made Menley smile as she worked at the long refectory table in the kitchen. No, not the kitchen, the keeping room, she reminded herself. Let’s get the jargon right, especially if I’m going to set a book here. Alone in the house with just the baby, it seemed cozier to work in this wonderfully shabby room, with its huge fireplace and side oven, and the smell of the garlic bread lingering in the air. And she was only going to make notes tonight. She always did them in a loose-leaf notebook. “Here we go again,” she murmured aloud as she wrote David’s Adventures in the Narrow Land. It’s so crazy how all this had worked out, she thought.
    After college she had managed to get the job at Travel Times. She knew that she wanted to be a writer but what kind of a writer she wasn’t sure. Her mother had always hoped she would concentrate on art, but she knew that wasn’t right for her.
    Her break at the magazine came when the editor in chief asked her to cover the opening of a new hotel in Hong Kong. The article had been accepted almost without editing. Then hesitantly she had shown the watercolor paintings she’d made of the hotel and its surrounding area. The magazine had illustrated the article with the paintings, and at twenty-two Menley became a senior travel editor.
    The idea for doing a series of children’s books using a “yesterday and today” theme, in which David, a contemporary child, goes back into the past and follows the life of a