Forget to Remember

31
    “Carol is really Cynthia?” Paul looked incredulous. “Elizabeth, I remember you sitting in that very chair and telling me Carol couldn’t possibly be Cynthia because of some crazy thing about her earrings.”
    They were sitting at the table beside the kitchen counter having a pre-dinner glass of wine. Carol and Mrs. Horton had spent the afternoon reminiscing—or at least Mrs. Horton had reminisced while Carol listened and tried to grasp threads of events from her past, hoping one would open a closed door within her brain.
    Carol greeted Paul with a firm handshake. He didn’t look bad in a tan suit—he might even have lost a few pounds—but now that she was the heir to the Sakai estate she wasn’t going to do anything to besmirch her reputation in the eyes of her grandmother. Paul acted equally distant. Mrs. Horton wanted to clear her conscience and dropped the bombshell as soon as they sat down.
    Mrs. Horton explained she had rejected Carol because of the phone call from Michael. Paul had a hard time believing Michael was still alive. Mrs. Horton persisted. Paul took copies of the wills of Richard and Helen out of his briefcase and looked at them.
    “Michael isn’t mentioned in the wills at all, so from the point of view of the estate, it doesn’t matter whether he’s alive or dead. Carol, or should I say Cynthia, you’re the sole beneficiary if you’re alive and available. My memory of discussions with Richard and Helen when they revised their wills a year ago is that Michael didn’t want to be a beneficiary. I didn’t think much of it at the time, except that Michael must be an odd duck. I don’t remember ever meeting him. The contingent beneficiary is the Weatherford Foundation.”
    Carol took a swallow of wine. “What do you know about the Weatherford Foundation?”
    “Your parents seemed to be very keen on it. As executor, I felt it was my duty to do some research. It’s a foundation based in Fairfax, Virginia, that donates money to worthy causes, whatever that means. I have their brochure and I’ve talked to the Executive Director, a woman named Katherine Simpson, on the phone. She seems competent enough. I gather from talking to her the foundation doesn’t have a lot of money. The inheritance from the estate would be a huge bonanza for it.”
    Mrs. Horton asked, “Do you have a list of the board of directors or anybody else connected with the foundation?”
    “I have the names of the board members.”
    “Is Michael among them?”
    “No, he isn’t, but remember, Michael is officially dead. If he’s connected with this foundation in some way, which is what I think you’re implying, he’s using an assumed name.”
    Carol smiled grimly. “I’m afraid that runs in the family.”
    It took Paul a while before he understood everything. Then he did a summation, as if he were speaking to a jury. “Elizabeth, you didn’t acknowledge Carol as your granddaughter at first because you were afraid of Michael. Carol—I’m going to continue to call you Carol for the time being—you went to England and ran into a woman you’ve worked with for two years who filled you in on as much of your history as she knew. Michael was supposed to be on the plane that crashed but wasn’t, and in fact, he sabotaged it, causing it to crash, killing his parents. He’s tried to kill Carol three times. His motivation, at least for the last two times, apparently is that he controls the foundation that receives the money from the estate if she’s dead.”
    At this point they moved into the dining room to eat a fancy chicken dinner served by Audrey, who could hear everything they said. Mrs. Horton had told her some of it that afternoon.
    Paul continued. “I found a newspaper clipping in my Sakai file this afternoon about the knife attack against Carol. I had forgotten about it. Michael isn’t mentioned as a suspect. I believe it says he called nine-one-one. That doesn’t sound like the act of a murderer.”
    “That’s one memory I’ve recovered.” Carol didn’t want her opinions to be dismissed so lightly. “I remember the smell of Michael’s aftershave. There’s no doubt in my mind he did it. My parents must have talked me out of making an accusation against him. Janet, my English friend, says I told her I went to England to get away from him.”
    “All right, we’ll accept that for the moment. The second attempt was the Dumpster in California. There were no witnesses. The third attempt was