Silent Fall

as she possibly could.
    â€œIt’s Thursday, March twenty-second,” Rosie replied with another sympathetic smile.
    â€œThursday,” she murmured, feeling relieved to have a new fact to file away, even if it was something as inconsequential as the day of the week.
    â€œTry not to worry. You’ll be back to normal before you know it,” Rosie added.
    â€œI don’t even know what normal is. Where are my things?” she asked abruptly, looking for more answers. Maybe if she had something of her own to hold in her hand, everything would come back to her.
    Rosie tipped her head toward a neat pile of clothes on a nearby chair. “That’s what you were wearing when they brought you in. You didn’t have a purse with you, nor were you wearing any jewelry."
    â€œCould you hand me my clothes, please?"
    â€œSure. They’re a bit bloodied,” Rosie said as she gathered up the clothes and laid them on the bed. “I’ll check on you in a while. Just push the call button if you need anything."
    She stared at the pair of blue jeans, which were ripped at the knees, the light blue camisole top, the navy sweater, and the gray jacket dotted with dark spots of blood or dirt, she wasn’t sure which. Glancing across the room she saw a pair of Nike tennis shoes on the floor. They looked worn-out, as if she’d done a lot of running in them.
    Another memory flashed in her brain. She could almost feel herself running, the wind in her hair, her heart pounding, the breath tight in her chest. But she wasn’t out for a jog. She wasn’t dressed right. She was wearing a heavy coat, a dress, and high stiletto heels. She tried to hang on to the image floating vaguely in her head, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. She supposed she should feel grateful she’d remembered something, but the teasing bit only frustrated her more.
    She dug her hands into the pockets of her jeans and jacket, searching for some clue as to who she was, but there was nothing there. She was about to put the jacket aside when she noticed an odd lump in the inner back lining. She ran her fingers across the material, surprised to find a flap covering a hidden zipper. She pulled on the zipper and felt inside, shocked when she pulled out a wad of twenty-dollar bills. There had to be at least fifteen hundred dollars. Why on earth had she stashed so much cash in her jacket? Obviously she’d taken great care to hide it, as someone would have had to examine the jacket carefully in order to find the money. Whoever had undressed her had not discovered the cash.
    A knock came at her door, and she hurriedly stuffed the money back into her jacket and set it on the end of her bed just seconds before a uniformed police officer entered the room. Her pulse jumped at the sight of him, and it wasn’t with relief but with fear. Her instincts were screaming at her to be cautious, that he could be trouble.
    The officer was on the stocky side, with a military haircut, and appeared to be in his mid-forties. His forehead was lined, his skin a ruddy red and weatherbeaten, his gaze extremely serious.
    â€œI’m Tom Manning,” he said briskly. “I’m a deputy with the county sheriff’s department. I’m investigating your car accident."
    â€œOkay,” she said warily. “I should tell you that I don’t remember what happened. In fact, I don’t remember anything about myself."
    â€œYeah, the doc says you have some kind of amnesia."
    His words were filled with suspicion, and skepticism ran through his dark eyes. Why was he suspicious? What reason could she possibly have for pretending not to remember? Had something bad occurred during the accident? Had she done something wrong? Had someone else been hurt? Her stomach turned over at the thought.
    â€œCan you tell me what happened?” she said, almost afraid to ask.
    â€œYour car went off the side of the road in the Santa Ynez Mountains, not far from San Marcos Pass. You plunged down a steep embankment and landed in a ravine about two hundred yards from the road. Fortunately you ran into a tree."
    â€œFortunately?” she echoed.
    â€œOtherwise you would have ended up in a boulder-filled, high-running creek,” he told her. “The front end of your Honda Civic was smashed, and the windshield was shattered."
    Which explained the cuts and bruises on her face.
    â€œYou’re a very lucky woman,” the