Page 6 of One Little Memory (Cherry Valley Novella)

Phoenix went back to the nurse’s desk. “Dr. Cahill. Got a second? I have a couple more questions about Jo.”

Cahill looked up from the chart he was holding. “Jo?”

“The woman from the car accident who was brought in last night.”

Recognition dawned in Cahill’s eyes. “Right. Jo. Is that what she’s decided to use?”

Phoenix shrugged. “It was what she had down on the paper from the game you played. We have to call her something.”

Cahill set aside the chart. “Why don’t we go to my office?” He headed down the hallway, and Phoenix followed at his heels.

Once they were seated as comfortably as they could be in the confined space that passed as an office, Phoenix got out his notebook.

“Sorry for the cramped quarters.” Cahill gestured around the tiny room. “It used to be a broom closet.”

Phoenix smiled. “At least you have your own space.”

Cahill nodded. “That’s my thought, too. Sometimes it’s just nice to sit down and take a minute on my own. I didn’t realize how busy this hospital would be.”

“Cherry Valley is deceiving that way. It’s a small town, but it’s the largest one around so everyone in the surrounding towns comes here for a lot of things, including their healthcare.”

“Is there much crime here?” Cahill asked as he opened the top right drawer of his desk and took out an apple.

“Not violent crimes. Mostly DUIs and property damage. Some domestic disputes. We had an arsonist not too long ago, and then there was the former doctor.”

Cahill made a face. “Don’t remind me. I’ve seen a few elderly patients who seemed sure I was going to kill them.”

Phoenix had to chuckle. Not that the situation was funny, but he could just picture exactly who would behave that way.

Cahill’s eyes narrowed. “You know who I’m talking about?”

“Yup. Life in a small town. Hard not to.”

The doctor sighed and bit into his apple.

“So, what can you tell me about Jo? Is she going to get her memory back soon? She seemed to remember me from the accident.” He had no idea why it was so important to him that she get better, but it just…was.

“She remembered you. That’s great news,” Cahill said after swallowing.

“When do you think she’ll get the rest of her memories back?”

“It’s hard to say. The brain is a funny thing.

It doesn’t always do what you want it to do or what you think it should do.

I’ll let you in on a secret, which all doctors learn within months of starting to work full-time in a hospital.

Medicine is more of an art than a science.

We could have two people come in with the exact same problem, same symptoms, they could be the same age and weight and gender, but they can react to the exact same treatment in totally different ways.

There’s no way to predict one-hundred percent of the time how a patient will respond. ” He took another bite of his apple.

Phoenix leaned back in his chair. “So, what does that mean?” What was Cahill trying to tell him?

“It means that Jo has retrograde amnesia, meaning she can’t remember certain facts or events from her past, but she still has the skills to do things.”

Phoenix pinched his brow in confusion. “I’m not following you.”

“For example, a person might not be able to remember if they own a car or not, but they still know how to drive.”

“Okay,” Phoenix said. “I feel there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

Cahill smiled. “There is. Normally a person with retrograde amnesia wouldn’t forget their name.

They might forget certain events or if they own a dog, but they usually know who they are.

The fact that Jo doesn’t remember who she is means her amnesia is more complicated.

She bruised her brain in the crash. It’s going to take a while to heal.

Do I think she’ll eventually get her memories back?

Yes. But as to when, I have no idea. Essentially, she’s Jason Bourne.

She is going to have to rediscover herself and let the memories come on their own. ”

Shit. That wasn’t helpful. Phoenix’s phone went off. After he glanced at the screen, he apologized to Cahill. “Sorry, but I have to take this. Thanks for your time, Doc,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll be in touch.”

Phoenix answered his phone, “Halston.” He made his way down the hall and out of the hospital.

“Phoenix, we’ve got a dead body at Gus Marchand’s place,” said Stacy the dispatcher on duty.

“Who is it?” he asked as he started his SUV.

“Gus.”

Phoenix let out a sigh as the weight on his chest lessened.

“Yeah, I agree,” Stacy said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But I knew what you were thinking. The same thing we’re all thinking. Thank God, it’s not Arthur. Gotta go. People are waiting on you. Get your butt over there ASAP. Chief’s orders.” With that, she hung up.

Phoenix swore as he pulled his police SUV to the side of the road behind all the other emergency vehicles.

There were way too many people here. The crime scene, if it were a crime, which he was assuming it was since the whole fucking world was here, would definitely be contaminated.

He ground his teeth. That was the hard thing about being a cop in a small town.

Everyone wanted in on the action because there was so little of it.

Stacy was not wrong. Gus Marchand was a mean man.

There was no other word for him. He was a bastard, and everyone in town knew it.

His brother, Arthur, on the other hand, was one of the nicest people he’d ever met.

Arthur ran the hardware store. Kind and gentle, he was a town favorite.

Everyone wondered how two brothers could be so different.

Everyone except Phoenix. He and his brother, Falcon, were very different.

He loved his little brother, but they were total opposites.

It was like a punch to the gut when he thought of his brother.

All the air hissed out of his lungs. They were oil and water, but he loved Falcon, and the thought that he could be sick was enough to bring him to his knees.

It was just the two of them. Without Falcon, he’d be all alone.

He pushed that thought to the back of his mind.

Phoenix glanced up the muddy driveway. A small knot of men stood off to the left side next to the tree line.

Gus Marchand had lived in a small wooden shack in the trees.

The roof over the front porch was sagging, and the white paint on the railings was peeling.

There was an old rocking chair on the porch that Gus had spent most of his time in.

He sat out here on his own, day after day, and kept to himself.

When he did venture into town, he was abrasive and mean to anyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path.

Phoenix couldn’t imagine living such a bleak existence, but everyone was different, and Gus must’ve had his reasons if he wanted to live this way.

“Phoenix.” Chief Bowers beckoned him over, and he joined the knot of men. “You know Jagger Colson. He’s the ADA assigned to this. You guys played football together in high school. And, of course, you know Mayor Jenkins.”

Phoenix nodded to the mayor and then the lawyer.

Jagger had been in the twelfth grade when Phoenix had joined the team.

He’d only been fifteen and a freshman. They weren’t friends because they had moved in different circles, still did, but he knew Jagger to be a good guy and a great lawyer if rumors were to be believed.

“Why is an ADA here already? It’s a little early, isn’t it? ”

“I asked him to come,” Jenkins responded.

“I was with Jagger when we got the call that Gus Marchand was dead. I think we need him involved from the beginning on this one. Gus wasn’t everyone’s favorite, but his brother is well thought of in the community, so we need to make sure we run this case by the book. ”

Don’t fuck this up. That was the gist of what the mayor said without saying.

Message received. A case like this might not break the mayor, but it could screw up his re-election chances.

It didn’t help the situation that the mayor had just given Arthur Marchand the key to the town in a big public ceremony.

Arthur had done some major fundraising for the new community center that the mayor was building.

The mayor couldn’t afford to have his favorite citizen be pissed off. Too many others would follow suit.

He was surprised, though, that Jagger had come willingly. He’d always seemed like a stand-up guy to Phoenix. This whole thing seemed a bit like Jagger was…ass-kissing. Not something he generally associated with his old high school teammate.

“Why don’t you take a look at the scene, and we’ll go from there?” Chief Bowers suggested.

“Sounds good.” Phoenix moved toward the ramshackle little house, careful not to walk on tire tracks in the muddy ruts on the long driveway, not that it mattered since there were all kinds of footprints already there. He cursed again.

Off to the side of the porch was Gus Marchand. Phoenix squatted to start his cursory review.

The man was flat on his back, eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.

A large red stain had turned his dirty gray shirt the shade of brown, not unlike the marshy driveway.

Someone had shot him center mass. Death had to be quick with a shot like that, but the interesting part, or at least interesting to Phoenix, was that there were bruises starting to appear on the body.

Gus’s face was darkening on one side, and it looked like his right arm might be broken as well.

Someone had done a number on him before finally pulling the trigger.

Who the hell would want to torture Gus Marchand?

Sure, the man was an asshole, but he didn’t interact with enough people for someone to want him dead.

At least, it was news to Phoenix if he did.

He heard footsteps behind him. “Damian,” he said, assuming it was the local medical examiner, “do we have a time of death?”