Lost Memories Read online

  Lost Memories

  By Edna Curry

  Lost Memories

  By Edna Curry

  Copyright 2010 by Edna Curry

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  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction. All names in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without written permission of the author, except for short excerpts for reviews.

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  Smashwords Edition.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Credits:

  Cover by Bev Haynes

  Chapter 1

  Mel sat up straight at his accounting office desk. He stretched his arms high, turning his head from side to side to ease the stiffness in his neck. His shoulders ached from long hours bent over his keyboard.

  Although it was June and the April 15 IRS income tax deadline passed weeks ago, every flat surface in his office held piles of the paperwork of clients who had filed extensions.

  He rose from his desk, went to the sideboard and poured himself another cup of coffee, then moved to the window to stare out over the St. Croix River. He squinted against the reflection of the bright sunlight shimmering off the moving water. He loved the view from his window. That view had been a major factor in his decision to buy this house, so he could work downstairs and live in the apartment upstairs.

  Something different happened on the river constantly--boaters moved up or down or wildlife appeared, doing their thing. He even enjoyed the dancing sunlight sparkling on flowing water. He sipped the stale coffee. An eagle swooped low over the river and disappeared behind trees on the opposite bank.

  His office occupied the lower floor of his two story frame house, built close to the riverbank. His window gave him a bird’s eye view of the shoreline and the dam only a short distance upriver.

  The large power dam had been built right after the turn of the twentieth century, when lumbering still dominated the St. Croix River Valley. Along this side of the dam, a ‘bear trap,’ a device that allowed the lumbermen to move their logs through the dam in a controlled manner, still existed. A high gray rock cliff bordered the river overlooking the bear trap and the dam.

  Mel glanced upriver as he sipped his coffee. Two people stood on the cliff overlooking the dam. A man and a woman? They seemed to be arguing, facing each other and gesturing, not admiring the dam as he would have expected.

  Foolish city slickers. It’s not safe there. A constant spray of water rushing over the dam made the rocks slippery. He put down his coffee and picked up the binoculars he always kept handy for a closer look, looping the safety cord around his neck. Yes, long red hair on the woman. A flash of green, maybe her blouse?

  If only he could warn them to go back to safer ground. They were too far away for them to hear him if he tried yelling. Besides, the roar of the water going over the dam drowned out all other sounds.

  Signs posted along that road warned of danger, but he knew the dam fascinated people and they ignored the warning signs all the time, trying to get close to the waterfall. Nothing the authorities did stopped people from putting themselves in danger.

  As he watched, the man’s arm swung out. He slapped the woman. She put a hand up to her cheek. A moment later, the man reached out and gave her a hard shove away from him.

  Mel gasped as she fell over the edge of the cliff. He froze and held his breath as she dropped down, down, down until she disappeared far below. The curve of the rocks on the bank prevented him from seeing her. Had she fallen on rocks or into the rushing water of the bear trap?

  The man leaned forward to peer over the cliff where she’d disappeared, and then turned and moved out of Mel’s sight.

  Mel swung around, his binoculars hanging from his neck. He plopped the coffee cup on his desk, spilling some in his hurry to grab the phone and call 9-1-1.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the sheriff himself answer, instead of the usual dispatcher. In the two years Mel had lived in Landers, he and Ben had gotten well acquainted and they’d developed a mutual trust.

  “Ben, call the rescue squad out. A woman in the river needs help. A man just shoved her off the cliff by the bear trap…yes, by the dam on the Minnesota side of the river. She dropped over the edge, and then she disappeared.”

  His foot tapping impatiently, he waited while Ben switched to another line and made the call to get help coming. He glanced around the room, but realized he had no rope or anything in his office that might be of help in the rescue. Ben and his deputies would bring equipment, but the sheriff’s office was in the county seat, Canton, ten miles away. The local volunteer fire department’s rescue team would get there first.

  Ben came back on the line. “Okay, they’re on their way. I alerted your local guys, too, they’re closer. Give me the details of what had happened. You said he pushed her in?”

  “Yeah,” Mel said, “It looked to me like he shoved her on purpose…No, I was here in my office, so of course, I couldn’t hear what they said...If someone goes up that road they may be able to get the bastard…no, I couldn’t see much except he’s taller than her and had blond hair. Wearing dark slacks and a white shirt, I think. I’m going down to the river to see if I can find the woman. I’m too far away from the dam to see if she landed on the rocks below or not. If she didn’t, she’ll be swept downstream past me.”

  Mel hung up his office phone, grabbed his cell phone and shoved it into his pocket. Pulling the door shut behind him, he rushed down the steps to his backyard, his heart pounding in time with his feet. Jumping over his back fence, he made his way along the riverbank, a few hundred yards downriver from where he’d last seen the woman.

  He raised his binoculars and shaded his eyes against the sun, scanning the water for any sign of her. Damn it, nothing.

  He was a good swimmer. If he spotted her, he might be able to swim out to her and pull her in. No point in going in the water until he knew where she was. The river was wide here, the water murky and the current swift. She could be anywhere.

  Sunshine sparkled off the rippling water, creating a beautiful scene. Downriver, boiling rapids rolled over rocks under the long bridge. Traffic moved across the bridge. He wondered if any of the occupants were aware of the drama unfolding beneath it.

  The water flowed along in the warm June sunshine, deceptively calm on the surface near the bank. Farther out in the river, treacherous currents moved fast. Some very good swimmers had failed to battle those currents and drowned.

  Damn it! Where was she? Could she swim? Had she fallen on the rocks and now lay hurt or dying? Or had she been knocked out on impact with the water and drowned? If she was in the river, had the current already washed her past him, or should he watch the water up river?

  Mel paced the riverbank, his eyes constantly moving, searching. His stomach churned with tension as it had so often on various assignments in his past life. Adrenalin surged through him, putting every nerve on full alert.

  Sirens screamed as police and emergency vehicles arrived, red and blue lights flashing. Mel ran to the landing an
d directed them to where he’d seen her disappear. The boat crew launched their power boat and climbed aboard. Tom, a short, stocky man and one of Ben’s best deputies, gave orders.

  Tom turned to Mel as he strode up. “Lucky we were over this way already. You got a description of this woman we’re looking for?”

  “She was tall, slim and had long red hair,” Mel said. “White slacks and something green on top like a blouse or a tee shirt maybe. Too far away for me to tell for sure.”

  “Okay, a couple of you men take the boat upriver to the dam. Check the rocks along the shore below the cliff. The rest of you keep a sharp eye on the river in case she pops up and is able to wave for help,” Tom said. “Any sign of her, yell to alert the rest of us. Let’s go.”

  Some officers with binoculars joined Mel to patrol the riverbank, while others climbed the bank and started upriver toward the base of the dam. The river was wide and the water constantly moving. From this distance Mel couldn’t tell whether a shadow on the river was a log, a person or only a wave of foam, or a flash of sunlight on the moving water.

  Hours passed as they searched. Hope faded with each passing minute.

  ~ * ~

  As the blackness receded, she felt herself tossed about in the strong river current like a cork, her lungs burning for air. A cold numbness engulfed her body as she paddled furiously upward. She broke through, gasped for air and went under again. She was so cold her insides ached.

  Desperately, she forced her screaming arm and leg muscles to work harder than ever before. The current slammed her against rocks in the river. She gulped in a mouthful of air and saw a cement pillar. A bridge. Rapids. Where the hell am I? What am I doing here?

  Pain surged through her but she fought on. She felt a fingernail break as she grasped at the rocks, frantically trying to stop her rush downstream; she couldn’t hold onto the wet and slippery stone. Her legs felt too heavy to pump, but she had to keep them moving, forcing them on and on. Breaking through the surface again, she squinted against the bright sun, trying to get her bearings, to see which way to try to swim to get to shore. The splashing water blinded her. Please, God, help me!

  Again she went under. She was past the rocks now and sank into deeper water. Very deep. The current was stronger here and more turbulent and swept her along. She moved her arms and legs as fast as she could in the icy water and managed to pop above water. Only trees along the banks here.

  She gasped, grabbing a breath of precious air before going under again. The strong, tumbling current swept her along, tossing her about like a ragdoll in the fast-moving water. She went under, popped up, and went under again, praying silently for strength to endure.

  After she’d repeated that scenario for what seemed like dozens of times, her feet slammed into sand on the bottom, scraped on the harsh, rough earth. Oh, God, yes! Sand instead of water. Solid land.

  The current had carried her to a spot where the river had flattened out. Or maybe she’d been swept out of the main channel. She struggled to get her rubbery legs under her and at last stood, her head free of the water. Rubbing the water out of her eyes so she could see, she focused on green trees and grass and turned toward the nearest ones.

  Step after painful step, she forced her weary muscles to move her through the chest-deep water, into shallower water as she struggled toward the grassy bank.

  Finally she pulled herself up on dry land, and dropped, panting and gasping like a fish, onto the soft grass. For what seemed ages, she coughed up water and vomited until her stomach ached.

  As her breath slowed to a normal rate, she revived enough to sit up and check out her surroundings. Trees lined both banks of the river. No sign of life. She was in the countryside. The earthy scents of grass, mud and river surrounded her. The sun felt blessedly warm on her wet, shivering skin. Ugh. She smelled like fishy river water and mud. She pushed her long, wet hair back from her face with an impatient hand.

  Where was she? What was she doing here? How had she gotten into the river? She wasn’t even in a swimsuit, so she couldn’t have gone swimming on purpose. God, she was a mess! She’d ruined her clothes. Her blouse was torn, her arm bleeding. Her feet were bare, holding shreds of her pantyhose. She had to find help, no matter how she looked.

  Spotting a new-looking log cabin through the trees, she struggled to her feet to make her way towards it. Surely a cabin held someone to help her, or at least a telephone.

  She stumbled and fell, crawled a ways, sobbing out her frustration at her weakness. Succeeding in getting up, she moved toward that sign of life, hoping it wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

  When she reached the cabin, she pounded on the door, yelling for help. No one answered. She tried the knob. Locked, of course. She glanced around. A graveled parking area and a well-traveled driveway suggested people and cars came here, though she saw none now.

  She stepped back then over to a window. Just a levered lock between the top and bottom halves. She found a rock, broke the top window above the lock, then reached inside and turned the lever. The window raised easily and she eased herself inside.

  She glanced around, shivering in her wet clothes. A kitchen table and chairs, a TV set, magazines and shelves full of books--a neat, modern cabin, but no sign of a telephone.

  “It’s just not my day,” she muttered.

  A blue sofa with a matching knitted afghan thrown across the back of it invited rest. Without strength to go on, she collapsed on the sofa and wrapped her shivering body in the afghan.

  She’d rest here awhile and get warm, before moving on to find help. She’d need her strength, because she hadn’t seen any other houses nearby. Where was she? How far was she from another house or a town? Even a farmhouse? In which direction? She closed her eyes and dropped off to sleep.

  ~ * ~

  Back in Landers, a crowd of onlookers had gathered on both sides of the river. Mel knew the sheriff didn’t like crowds watching his men work. They got in the way instead of helping, despite their well-meaning offers of assistance. In this case, though, he welcomed more pairs of eyes to hunt for any signs of the woman. The temperature soared along with tempers. Sweat trickled down Mel’s back as he scanned the moving water.

  His arms ached from holding the binoculars up to his eyes, but he refused to give up.

  He shouldn’t get involved. He’d done his duty by calling for help. He should go back to his office and tend to his own business.

  No, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate if he did. He had to help. If only someone had gotten involved when his sister needed help, she wouldn’t be lying in a cold grave now. So, Mel stayed and searched for this woman, as though that could atone for his not being there for Mary.

  As the hours ticked by, hope faded. Frustration ate at Mel and left a sour taste in his mouth and a knot in his stomach. She couldn’t have survived this long without help.

  Still, they combed the river and its banks, hour after hour.

  Finally, daylight faded away into total darkness. The sheriff called off the search until daybreak.

  “I’ll need your statement,” Ben told Mel, his voice hoarse and weary. “But first, let’s get some food.”

  Mel nodded and followed Ben to the Flame Restaurant for supper, although he didn’t feel like eating. When he’d served in the military, his stomach had always rebelled when a mission went wrong. That hadn’t changed with retirement from active duty, no matter how often he told himself not to get personally involved in a case.

  This was Ben’s case, not his, he reminded himself, even though he’d witnessed her fall into the river and thus felt a special need to find her. He hated failure.

  Curious local people looking for the latest news as well as the usual crowd of tourists filled the restaurant. The scenic St. Croix Valley brought many people to town on a regular basis. In fact, tourism was the life blood of the whole valley. Waterslides and two state parks kept people occupied in the summer and two ski resorts did the same in the winter.

&n
bsp; Mel and Ben settled into a back booth in the coffee shop end of the building. A young waitress appeared with a pot of coffee, took their orders and hurried off to the kitchen.

  Mel sipped the hot coffee, feeling the fresh brew revive him. “Did anyone find the guy who pushed her into the river?”

  Ben shook his head. “No one was on the road to the dam when my men got there.”

  “He probably went north up the highway.”

  Ben nodded. “Otherwise, they’d have passed him coming south. Are you sure it was a man?”

  Mel stared at him for a long moment. “That’s my impression, Ben. Now that I think about it, no, I can’t be sure. Even with binoculars, I was too far away.”

  “So, all you’re sure of is, the person stood taller than the woman and had blond hair?”

  With a sigh, Mel admitted, “Yes. He was wearing dark pants and a white shirt.”

  Ben eyed him over his cup. “Which could also have been dark slacks and a white blouse?”

  Mel shifted in the booth. “I suppose. But my gut feeling is, it was a man, Ben.”

  “Do you think the person knew you saw him?”

  Mel shook his head. “I doubt he could see me standing inside my window. But most buildings along that street have a view of the river, so if he paid attention, he knew he could have been seen.”

  “Maybe, or maybe not. Guess we won’t know unless we catch him.”

  “Or until we find her and can identify her body.”

  “Yeah. But if the current got her and carried her downstream, that may not be for days,” Ben said glumly.

  “I suppose not,” Mel agreed. She had little chance of living through the rapids. If she hadn’t drowned as soon as she fell into the turbulent water below the bear trap, the fast current probably would have smashed her against the rocks as it carried her down river. The strong current could have kept her under the surface in the deep water. The river had taken many lives, even those of very good swimmers. Had this woman known how to swim?