Lester shrugged. “Not for sure. Joaquin Salas lives up at Clemson Ridge with his wife and kids. We talked to him, and it seems he’s got an uncle by the name of Pedro, but we don’t know if it’s the guy John Doe was asking about.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Just that Pedro lost his wife and his son in a fire about ten years ago. And after that, he went off the deep end.”
“What do you mean?”
“Apparently, he’s an alcoholic and has a hard time staying employed. Last they heard, he was working in California. He called his nephew after he got fired for drinking on the job and asked if he could come back to Texas and stay with him. But Joaquin told him he’d have to dry out first. And they haven’t heard anything else from him.”
Betsy leaned her hip against the counter. “What else do you know?”
“That night at the Stagecoach Inn, John Doe got into a tussle with Slim Ragsdale and Bobby Wolford.”
“Did he cause the fight?”
“Nope. Slim and Bobby are a couple of troublemakers who’ve had run-ins with the law on several occasions- vagrancy, disturbing the peace, that sort of thing. But without any witnesses to the mugging, we can’t do much about it. And if you talk to Bobby and Slim, they’ll try to convince you that they left the bar and went straight to choir practice.”
“And that’s it?”
Lester nodded.
“No missing person reports?”
“Not in our office or in Wexler. But we’ve been pretty shorthanded since Hank Rawlings went out on disability and haven’t checked with the other counties.”
So Betsy didn’t know much more than she already did, other than Pedro Salas had a drinking problem. And he and Jason might both be from California.
“Anything else I can help you with?” Lester asked.
“No, that’s it for now. Thanks.”
As Betsy started for the door, her shoulders sank under the weight of the answers she’d been given, answers that only served to trigger more questions.
Why would a well-dressed man go into a honky-tonk looking for a drunk? And why would he set off a couple of local troublemakers?
Apparently, whatever keys to Jason’s identity lay far away from Brighton Valley. And if she knew what was good for her, she’d get out while she could.
Chapter Eleven
Jason tossed and turned until about two that morning. And when he finally fell asleep, he didn’t rest long. A dream of automobiles crashing into each other, glass shattering and air bags deploying tore into his slumber, shaking him to the core.
But most disturbing of all was that sound of a woman’s cries.
Then she shrieked, as if she were being torn in two, and Jason shot up in bed. His heart was pounding like a runaway train, and his skin was cold and clammy.
“Damn,” he uttered, his breaths coming out in short, ragged huffs.
He raked his fingers through his hair and scanned the darkened room, needing to assure himself that the accident hadn’t really happened.
Surely the nocturnal vision had only been a figment of his sleep-deprived imagination. But it had been all too real to be sure.
If the goose bumps on his arms had any significance whatsoever, it could be an eerie premonition.
Or had it been an actual memory that had been triggered by the conversations he’d had with his brothers?
He blinked his eyes, trying to recall the details of his unsettling dream.
There’d been an intersection, a blinding glare. A car speeding by. Metal slamming upon metal. Mangled vehicles spun this way and that.
A blonde in her early thirties sat in the driver’s seat of a minivan. A jagged gash marred the side of her head, and shards of glass littered her blood-matted hair.
Tears streamed down her face as paramedics and firefighters worked on the vehicle, using the Jaws of Life to cut her out of the crushed metallic prison that held her body captive and refused to let go.
Who was she? The only blonde in his life that he was even vaguely aware of was Katrina, the woman he’d been dating. Was she the injured driver? Was she expecting a baby?
And if so, was it
Is that how Jason figured into all of it?
He might have told his brothers not to worry, that his memory was coming back. But clearly, some things were still lost to him.
Another wave of confusion swept over him as he tried to remember the life he’d once lived.
A sprawling home with an ocean view. A black Mercedes in the driveway. A closet full of suits. A calendar full of meetings and charity events.
Bits and pieces were all he had. But the only life that kept coming back to him, the one that made sense, was the one he’d recently stumbled upon in Brighton Valley. The one he’d found with Betsy.
But if there was a woman he’d been seeing, a woman who might be pregnant, then getting involved with Betsy was wrong. And making love to her, as sweet as it had been, was the last thing he should have done.
His gut clenched at the thought of giving her up, of letting her go. He’d come to care too deeply for her. Hell, he might even love her. But his life was getting more complicated by the minute, and it wasn’t fair dragging her into his mess.
Maybe what he needed to do was to go to California, where his life made sense again. Where he could make some decisions based upon fact.
Going back to sleep was out of the question now, so he got out of bed and padded into the bathroom, where he showered. The hot water pounded his neck and back and the steam swirled around him.
As confused as he was, as uneasy as he was about leaving Brighton Valley and all he’d found here, the past was clearly calling him home. Maybe in San Diego, when he was immersed in familiar surroundings, everything would fall into place.
He sure hoped so. The alternative-eternal uncertainty-wasn’t going to cut it.
After getting dressed, he went to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. While he waited for it to brew, he checked the dialing history and called his brother.
Not Michael, though.
He couldn’t explain why or how he knew it, but it was David he went to when he had a problem. David who came to him for the same reason.
His brother answered on the fourth ring, his voice groggy and sleep-laden. “Yeah?”
“David?”
A pause. “Jason? What’s up, man?”
“Did I wake you?”
Another pause. A glance at the clock? “Damn. It’s three in the morning. I’m not sure where you are, but if it’s in Texas, there’s got to be a two-hour time difference between us.”
Jason blew out a sigh. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think. I’ve only been firing on a few cylinders lately.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m coming home, Davey. But I need money.”
“You got it. I’ll wire whatever you need first thing this morning.”
