Forget Me Not (3 page)

After excusing myself and treading on a few toes, I reached my goal. The newspaper article under the picture informed me that Mr. Williams had opened the restaurant in 1951 and had been serving up his famous burgers ever since. A smaller picture on the right was taken on the restaurant's fiftieth anniversary. My eyes widened as I recognised my ‘ghost’ standing in the front row, smiling at the camera.

“Hello, Letitia,” a voice said.

I started and pasted a smile on my face. It was then that I realised the short, balding man at the register was the same one I'd seen in the pictures. It was Mr. Williams, the owner.
And he knew me?

“Hi,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

He nodded towards the picture. “It was so sad about your friend, Melanie. Seems like just yesterday she was here waiting tables and now...”

So my ghost's name was Melanie. Endeavouring to cover up my shock, I murmured the first thing that came to mind. “Yes, it was very sad.”

Luckily the proprietor didn't seem to notice my discomfiture. “It was a tragic month. First the attack in New York and then right after that, Melanie's murder. I don't know what the world is coming to.” He shook his head and gave me a wan smile. “It's good to see you again. Are you back for good this time?”

Back?
“Oh, no, I'm just visiting.”

“Well, it's good to see you, dear.”

Just at that moment, another familiar face seemed to leap out of the photo at me. A black man, standing towards the back in a green apron and ludicrous chef's hat, looked just like Aaron. There was something about the tilt of his chin and the set of his shoulders that gave away his identity. I must have made some strangled sound, for Mr. Williams turned back towards me.

“Yes?”

I could only point at the man in the picture. Was it Aaron?

Mr. Williams stepped closer and tipped his glasses up. “Hmmm. I don't know that I remember his name. Something common, like Tim, John, Mike. He only worked here a couple of weeks. In fact if he hadn't quit, I was going to fire him.”

“Why?” I couldn't drag my eyes away from the picture. It had to be my husband, Aaron. I'd recognise him anywhere. My gaze drifted down to his hands. There was no wedding ring in evidence, yet according to everything he'd told me, we were married and living in San Francisco at the time.

“He was a screw-up. Some shifts he'd do fine back on the grill, but there'd be days on end where he couldn't fill an order to save his soul.” Mr. Williams shook his head. “Love-struck is what I think. He just couldn't keep his eyes off the pretty waitresses. Especially Melanie.”

A cold chill crept down my spine.

I had to say something, anything, to get more information out of Mr. Williams. But what?

“So you don't remember his name at all?”

Mr. Williams paused as if thinking. “No. If it's really important, I could look it up for you.”

“No, that's okay. I was just hoping to give my regards to Melanie's friends and family while I was in town,” I blurted out.

I was going to feel really stupid if this backfired.

“Did you stop by the house on Hemlock? Must have been a bit of a shock to see the ‘For Sale’ sign. Old Mrs. Robinson had a stroke ‘bout six months ago. Jimmy put her in one of them assisted living homes downstate.”

“Oh,” I murmured.

Mr. Williams turned his attention back to the register while I stood staring at the picture. My mind whirled around the facts I'd uncovered. My ghost's name was most likely Melanie Robinson and she had lived on Hemlock. The man I knew as Aaron had worked in the same restaurant as Melanie at the time of her death and right before my accident. The clues were beginning to materialize, but I wasn't sure I really wanted to look for the answers. I had an inkling I wasn't going to like what I found.

“Did you need a table, sweetie?” A full-figured waitress in a tight, pink blouse asked.

“Um, no,” I answered stupidly. If I had just been able to stand there a few more minutes, I sensed that everything would have fallen into place. But then I often felt like that, and still my memory remained tantalisingly blank. Someone cleared their throat, and I moved out of their way. I turned to ask Mr. Williams another question, or two, or ten, but was interrupted by a tiny, grey-haired woman.

“Mr. Williams!” she greeted him. She then proceeded to tell him about her vacation, her children, her grandchildren and her ailments. I waited a few minutes, but it was obvious she wasn't going to finish talking for a long time.

Just when I'd decided to wait, the waitress tugged on his arm. She took over the register and he strode back towards the kitchen.

Now what?

My head ached the way it had right after my accident. Low on sleep, I wanted nothing more than to return to my cabin and take a nap. It was a short drive back to the resort, and I parked in the lot. I could either walk the long way around to my cabin or cut through the main centre. Opting for the shortest route possible to my bed, I pushed open the door and slammed into something muscular and hard. I looked up and stared. It was him again.

“Hello, Letitia,” he said.

Why did even his voice set my body on fire? After making love to him last night and then this morning, I would have thought I would be sated. Instead I found myself fantasising about us, entwined and naked.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded.

“Well you look like hell.”

I laughed at his candid statement. “Gee, thanks, I think.”

He laughed with me, and even his chuckles teased fingers of desire deep in my belly. After our laughter died away there was a moment of silence.

“Anyway, I'm glad to see you. I left my car keys in your cabin.”

“I wondered why you were still here.”

“I'm staying here at the resort too, so it's not a big problem.”

“Well, you must have places to go and people to see. Let me get your keys for you. Do you remember where you left them?” Geez, I was babbling.

I started off towards my cabin with him dogging my footsteps and probably watching my ass. It made me feel self-conscious and a bit shy. Part of me wanted to scream in frustration at once again not having a moment to myself to think, the other part of me was wondering how I could get him back into my bed. I'd heard sex cured headaches and I itched to find out if it really did.

Once inside the cabin, I turned to him. “So, where're your keys?”

“I lied.” He jingled his pocket. “I was anxious to see if you had opened the box and remembered anything.”

I looked pointedly over at it and gave him a long-suffering sigh. “Look, it's been seven long years of having no memory of my past. I've tried everything to get it back, therapy, hypnosis, even past life regression, and got nothing, nada.”

“You've given up hope?”

“No.” I shook my head. “But I also don't worry myself sick over not remembering. It'll either come back or it won't.”

“I see.”

“So I'll look at your box when I'm good and ready to face it. Right now I have a pounding headache and I want to take a nap.”

I looked pointedly at the door, but he ignored me and stepped closer. I could feel the warmth of his body envelop me, and the scent of his cologne teased my nose. The man not only looked great, he smelled delicious.

As if he had a right to, he brushed his hand over my head, down my back, and then it roamed over my ass. Just as I was about to protest, he smacked it. Hard. I felt my eyes widen when my pussy throbbed in response to the sting.

“Did you like that?”

Amazingly, I did. “It felt...” I looked away. “Kinky.”

He laughed. “There's nothing wrong with a little kink every now and then. Don't tell me, with him you only had sex in the missionary position?”

I was not going to discuss my past love life with this man. I turned away, but he grabbed me and hoisted me up over his shoulder.

“Hey!” I beat on his back, but he didn't pause. He toted me to the bed and threw me onto the mattress. I squirmed away from him but wasn't fast enough. He pinned me down.

Instead of being frightened or defiant, I was turned on. My nipples hardened, and all I could think of was the sensation of his mouth on my flesh. As if he read my mind, his lips came down on mine and his tongue stabbed into my mouth. His assault left me without breath or reason.

When he pulled my hands over my head, I arched up. My breasts ached to be touched, caressed, suckled. He didn't have to ask me to leave my hands where they were while he unbuttoned my blouse. I should have been cold, but his gaze heated my skin. He unclasped my bra and turned his attention to my nipples. They were already hard before he rubbed his thumbs over them in a slow torment. I reached up to pull his head down, but he reared back and flicked my hand over my head.

“All in good time.”

It only took him a few seconds to unbutton my slacks. I shifted my hips, thinking he meant to take them off me. His stern expression discouraged me from moving further. He sat on the side of the bed and, with a deft movement, he lifted me and deposited me face down across his lap. It was strangely exciting to be held in place while his fingers roamed over my back and then under the waistband of my slacks. I didn't stop to analyze it, I just enjoyed it.

His fingers teased lightly between my panties and my skin. I wiggled a bit and he stopped.

Oh, so that was the game he wanted to play. I stilled and his hand resumed its erotic journey. He skimmed over my ass, down the crack and then found my pussy lips. I was already wet and could feel his fingers sliding in my juices as he teased up and down my slit. I moaned and gasped as his fingers continued to play back and forth, up and down, gentle and then rough. An orgasm lurked right at the edge, all he had to do was touch my clit and I was a goner. But he didn't.

Instead he reached under me. I went to stand up, but his hand in the middle of my back kept me in place. He slid my pants down and off.

Cold air teased my nether lips. This time his fingers flicked my clit. The orgasm I'd been reaching for washed over me, and I arched and keened in his arms.

He rolled me up onto the bed and I lay still, watching him undress. The man was built like a Greek god with his well-defined, powerful muscles. And his cock was stunning. It had to be at least nine inches long. Had I really had it inside my body?

Just thinking about it made me squirm. I wanted him inside me. Now.

He moved on top of me and I felt a flicker of disappointment. Missionary position? But I wasn't disappointed for long. Instead of allowing me to lock my legs around his waist, he pulled them up higher until they were draped over his shoulders. Then and only then did he plunge into me.

I moaned as he hit a spot deep inside and I felt my orgasm begin to bloom. He pulled all the way out and then slammed into me again. Above me, his face was a mask of tortured ecstasy.

My orgasm built until nothing else mattered but my need of him. Thrust after thrust, he drove deep into me. I cried out as my world shattered. Arching above me, his body went taut as he impaled me with one last thrust of his hips. The throbbing of his cock answered the pull of my pussy, and he cried out my name as he came.

He collapsed on top of me and I pushed him off and rolled over. He spooned up against my back, and I snuggled into his warmth.

When I awoke, he was gone.

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Chapter Three

Headache cured, I looked at the clock. I had only slept an hour and was now anxious to get back to my investigation. I jumped in the shower. The hot water cleared my head, and I knew where I needed to go next. After dressing, I slipped out of my cabin and slunk around the back of the buildings to the parking lot. Feeling unobserved for the first time that day, I opened the driver's door of my car and pulled out the map. It was too big to study on my lap, so I spread it out on the hood.

Hemlock was a short street, only eight or so blocks long. The addresses started in the one thousands. I looked at the numbers again. With ‘one’ as the first number, that still left another ‘one', a ‘seven', and a ‘three'. Oh well, I'd just have to start at one end of the street and look for the ‘For Sale’ sign.

I was in the middle of the third block when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. A faded ‘For Sale’ sign swung in a non-existent breeze. This was it.

I pulled into the driveway and studied the house. It looked much like the surrounding homes, small, nondescript with a few trees dotting the front lawn. It had a pretty bay window in the front, and I could easily envision it with flowers lining the driveway. It definitely had potential. Funny how a murder in the house can depress even the most enthusiastic home buyer.

I wrote down the name of the realtor and their phone number. It was a local agency, and once I had the address, it didn't take me long to find it.

The pert receptionist greeted me with a gleam in her eye and directed me back towards the office behind her.

“May I help you?” The realtor was a young Asian woman who didn't look old enough to have her driver's licence, let alone her realtor's certification.

“I'm interested in looking at the house on Hemlock Street.”

The woman grimaced. Well, she certainly wasn't going to sell the house with that attitude. But I played along.

“Oh, is there something wrong with it? It wasn't built on a landfill or anything, was it?”

“Oh, heavens no. It's just, well, someone died in the house.”

“Is that all?”

I kept my face neutral, and the woman gave me an appraising look. She seemed to sum me up as a determined buyer and pressed on. “It happened so long ago, I don't even know the details.”

“And it's been on the market all that time?”

“Oh no. Her mother lived there up until a few months ago. She had a stroke, and the family is selling the house to pay for her care.”

“Can I take a look at it?”

“Sure.” She rummaged in a filing cabinet and pulled out a plump manila folder. After tucking it under her arm, she led the way back out to the front where she paused at the kerb. “I'll meet you over there.”