Forget to Remember

it. They drove the mile-and-a-half back to the paved road with Carol wondering exactly what had happened.
    Paul spoke first. “She likes you.”
    “Do you think so? I don’t remember anything about her.”
    “Don’t worry about that. By the way, I found a fairly recent picture of you with your parents. It’s in my attaché case. I’ll give it to you when we get to the hotel.”
    Her parents? “Why didn’t you get it out while we were there?” He talked as if there were no question about her identity.
    “I forgot. Rose got it copied and stuck it in my case this morning. Long day. But I think we may be in business.”
    What did he mean by that?
    “Aren’t you exited about this?”
    “I’m puzzled, more than anything. I wish I could remember.”
    “As I said, don’t worry. Maybe you picked the name Carol because of memories of North Carolina. This is a great opportunity for you, if you play your cards right. You’re a smart girl, and I’m sure you will.” He squeezed her knee. “Just remember Mrs. Horton is the key to this.”
    He chatted on about Mrs. Horton and the Sakais, rehashing some of what they’d talked about at dinner. It sounded like a sales pitch to Carol. When they arrived at the hotel, Paul came inside with her and gave the registration clerk his American Express card with which to pay the room bill.
    After Carol received her room information, she turned to Paul. “Thank you very much for all you’ve done, Paul. What time will you pick me up tomorrow?”
    “About ten. I’ll go to the room with you and make sure it’s okay.”
    “No thanks. I’ll be fine.”
    She was certain she didn’t want Paul to go with her. She stood in the middle of the lobby, not moving, and said good night to him. After a few seconds of hesitation, he reached into the attaché case he had brought in with him and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Carol, turned, and walked toward the exit. She watched him until he disappeared.
    She took the elevator to the second floor and found her room. She entered, using the card key, and turned on the lights. She suspected from a glance at the room that she was in Chapel Hill’s most luxurious hotel. No expense was being spared by Paul. Of course, he wasn’t paying for it.
    The message light on the telephone was blinking red. Maybe it was a message welcoming her to the hotel and hoping her stay would be marvelous. She picked up the receiver. The message wasn’t from the hotel; it was from Audrey, Mrs. Horton’s aide, asking her to call Mrs. Horton, regardless of the time.
    Strange. She punched in the number. Audrey answered after a couple of rings. “Good evening, Horton residence.”
    “Hi, this is Carol.”
    “Carol, please hold on for Mrs. Horton.”
    “Hello, dear.” Mrs. Horton’s voice sounded alert, not sleepy. “What time is Paul picking you up tomorrow?”
    “Ten o’clock.”
    “Audrey will pick you up at nine and bring you here.”
    “What about Paul?”
    “Don’t worry about Paul. As long as he gets what he wants, why should he care what the procedure is?”
    Carol couldn’t stop herself from laughing.
    “That’s what I wanted to hear.” Mrs. Horton’s voice had a smile in it. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
    Carol was still chuckling as she reached into the brown envelope Paul had given her and pulled out a five by seven inch photo. It was a shot of four people from about the waist up. At either end were Richard and Helen Sakai. She recognized them from pictures she had seen on the Internet and at dinner. The young man was Michael. She had seen his picture on the Internet also. The woman next to him was—her. At least it looked like her, without the scars. The girl’s hair was short, just like her hair. The only thing Carol didn’t recognize was the top she was wearing.
    Carol stared at it for several minutes. Could it be possible? This was the best evidence yet. It was so good she didn’t trust herself. She needed a second opinion. She remembered Frances was an expert at identifying photos and had even written a book about it. How could she get a copy of this photo to Frances?
    Carol had brought all the phone numbers and e-mail addresses she had with her. This was a ritzy hotel with an accent on customer service. Well, she needed some service. She took the stairs down to the first floor, not bothering to wait for the elevator, and went to the desk. She asked the clerk whether the hotel had a document scanner.