Forget Me Not Read Free Page B

disappeared. My stomach rumbled again. I'd be no use to anyone if I didn't eat. I forked a bit of egg up and studied the paper. The bed and breakfast didn't have a daily menu, you simply ate what was served.
    With a start, I realised I was familiar with the name of the restaurant. It was a tiny hamburger joint right on the edge of town. When we had come to Napa that long ago day, I had just gotten back my appetite. A hamburger had sounded luscious and I had begged to stop. Aaron had refused, saying the food there was horrible. I wondered how he had known, since he'd professed to have never been to Napa Valley before.
    Had that too been a lie?
    Thinking back, I now knew it must have been. My memory of that time was so hazy. I'd been plagued with severe headaches, nausea and the incessant visions of the dead. He'd claimed that we came here to help me recuperate from my injuries, but I actually would have been more comfortable in a nursing home where the staff would have been available when he wasn't. While we were here, he would tend to my basic needs and then disappear for hours. I'd sat or slept in the lonely cabin, unable to properly care for myself. I closed my eyes and tried to picture Aaron that weekend. He'd been ill at ease and very jumpy. When I asked, he'd explained he was concerned about national security. So concerned, in fact, he'd even bought a gun. I shuddered. What had we really been doing here?
    I couldn't solve that mystery without more information, but I could work on the one in front of me. While I ate, I scratched out possible combinations of numbers and letters. Despite all of my alphabetical gymnastics, I couldn't come up with anything that made sense, except the word ‘hemlock'. Well, damn it, the woman had obviously been shot, not poisoned. It had to mean something else.
    Perhaps the clue was really the menu. I flagged down the server and asked for a local map. After determining the location of the restaurant, I headed for the parking lot. My little grey sedan was right where I'd left it. I slid behind the wheel and cranked up the volume of the radio. I'd found that loud music served to discourage the spirits from riding along with me.
    The restaurant looked exactly the way I remembered it, but today the parking lot was packed. The foyer was filled with grey-haired customers waiting for tables. A sign indicated that I'd arrived in time to join the seniors for their monthly breakfast get-together. I wasn't planning on staying, but a large picture over the cash register caught my eye.
    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