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Sherlock went back to his perch behind Vivi’s desk and nuzzled Watson. Amelia glanced down at her lap. “I don’t even know if it’s real. Maybe I’m imagining it.”
“Let’s work with the assumption you’re not. What did you remember?”
Amelia picked up her cup, didn’t drink. “The night my father died, there was a man who came to our house. I don’t think Dad expected him…the details are fuzzy, but the two of them went to Dad’s workshop. From what I remember, Mom hustled my sister and me into our hatchback to get dinner. We didn’t eat out much so it seemed like a treat. I thought we were going to pick up pizza and bring it home, but we stopped at a diner. My sister got chicken fingers and I chose a grilled cheese, like always.” She shook her head and continued. “Mom said she’d get a burger for Dad, and when we went to leave, I had to remind her that she hadn’t ordered one. She blew it off and told me not to worry, she’d make him something when we got home.” Her voice dropped a notch. “Our house was in flames when we arrived.”
“Did your mother tell the police about the visitor?”
“I don’t know. I want to call her and ask, but… I mean, it was ruled an accident. Faulty wiring in the attic above the garage. Should I even bring this up? We were all so traumatized, and it was a lot of years ago.”
Vivi made a note. “You’re asking because you wonder if this man had something to do with the fire.”
Amelia met her eyes. “Working here is making me as paranoid as everyone else. My father was a simple man, and a kind one. I can’t imagine he had enemies.”
“And yet, you’re sitting in that chair with a lot of questions about that night.”
“You don’t think I’m imagining it?”
“I don’t. Your brain may have put the memory in cold storage, but it’s back now and it’s bugging you. Could your sister confirm it?”
“She was only five, and in her bedroom playing when he showed up. I was…” She squinted, as if sorting through memories. “I was in Dad’s chair. I was reading to him as part of a school assignment while he fiddled with a clock Mom wanted fixed.”
“Can you describe this man?”
“Tall and lanky. Wearing a grease-stained coat and pants, like a mechanic. Wore a ball cap, so I didn’t pay attention to his hair, but he had an ugly scar on his cheek.”
Those details were too vivid to be imagined. “Call your mom and tell her you’ve recalled him coming to the house to talk to your dad that evening. Does she remember him, too? If she asks why you want to know, you don’t have to mention anything beyond the fact that you’re simply wondering if your concussion is confusing you about the past.”
Amelia toyed with the cup. “Sounds believable.”
Vivi brought up Amelia’s file on her computer, creating a new entry and adding her notes to it. “I also want you to inform Rory regarding this. He has a sketch artist he can contact who will do a drawing of the man’s face based on what you remember.”
“Why?”
For folks who’d never lived in the world of crime and undercover work, it was hard at times for them to wrap their mind around certain possibilities. Still, she didn’t want to come out and tell her it was more than likely the fire was not an accident. Not yet. Amelia needed to figure it out on her own.
“I want you to pursue this in case remembering more aboutthattrauma unlocks memories about the recent one. Retention and recall don’t always follow obvious pathways. Like I mentioned, the brain makes connections that seem illogical on the surface, but there’s always a reason. Don’t fight it; allow whatever surfaces to take you where it wants to. Think of it as clearing the cache on a computer. Review what’s there and then you can decide what to keep and what to delete. You may discover other memories, some of them seemingly inconsequential, like what you ate at the diner that night. Doesn’t matter. Your brain is sifting and sorting and that’s a good thing.”
“Not to sound weak, but I wish it would all go away. It makes me feel inadequate, powerless.”
Vivi saved her work and took a sip. “You’re not. Just the opposite, in fact. This is a positive development, Amelia. Give it time.”
“But what if…?”
When she didn’t finish, Vivi sought to reassure her. Rory was right about this at least—something was scaring Amelia into keeping her memories locked up. “One step at a time. First, if possible, verify that the man exists and was at your house that night. Then we’ll go from there.”
“If he was responsible—”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Remember, he may be innocent. I’m sure your mother mentioned his visit to the police and they checked into him. Rory can get a copy of the report.”
Amelia stared into her cup. “All roads lead back to him, don’t they?”
Vivi worked at keeping the smile off her face. “He’s a good man with a lot of valuable skills. Sometimes, I have to mentally list them to myself when he’s being a dick, but in general, they far outweigh his hang-ups.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
As if they’d conjured him out of thin air, he appeared in the open doorway. “If you insist on going Thursday night,” he announced without preamble, marching into the room and facing Amelia, “then I’m going with you. Also, I’m bringing backup.”
Her mouth dropped open, and Vivi sat back, no longer hiding her smile as Parker, Moe, Beatrice, and Cal crowded into the office.
