anxiousness out of her voice. "Do you know what happened?"
The blonde shrugged. "A fight. Like always." She pointed to the tables. "They've been smashed to bits so often, we stopped screwing them back together and just use duct tape."
"Did I do anything? Say anything?"
The blonde shook her head. "Sorry. We're too busy to really pay attention to anything but the next drink order."
"Or diving for cover when the fists start swinging," added the other waitress wiping down the tables. She had long red hair and dark eye liner around her green eyes.
"That, too," the blonde agreed. "I only remember you just because you almost died. Took me hours to get the blood stains off the floor." She pointed with her foot to a spot on the floor that was darker than the rest of the wood.
Lia stared at it, desperate to remember but coming up with nothing.
"Is Anita here?" Ryder asked.
All three waitresses looked at him in unison. No one said anything for several long seconds. Nervous, Lia stepped behind Ryder.
"She's in back. I'll get her," sighed one of the women finally.
Anita turned out to be a tiny woman with lots of hair. Her braid reached past her hips and Lia couldn't fathom the amount of work it took to deal with so much hair. Her dark eyes, big on her delicate face, met Lia's.
"Oh, it's you." She drew back as if not wanting to get too close.
"Do you know me?" Lia almost choked on the words, her heart had climbed so far up her throat.
Anita shook her head slowly. "No. I know your purse though." She pointed to the bag hanging on Lia's shoulder. "You look like the picture on your license."
"Do any of you recognize me?" Lia called out to the rest of the women. One by one they looked at her and shook their heads. Focusing back on Anita, she asked, "Can you tell me what happened the night you found my purse?"
Anita frowned at her and crossed her stick-thin arms. "There was a fight. That's all I know."
"Mason was here," Ryder murmured to Lia.
"He was back over there." Anita waved to a dark corner at the far end of the bar.
Lia took two steps toward it, but then stopped short. Something pressed against her skull and made her brain throb. She closed her eyes, trying to push past the discomfort to the place where her memory hid from her. It all sat just out of reach. She could feel it, knew it was there, but finding the path to it or the key to unlock it was beyond her.
A warm hand cupped her elbow and from the scent of leather, she knew it was Ryder. "You okay? You're swaying."
She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I'm good. Thanks. Just trying to remember." She went to the spot Anita had indicated. A large circular table stood in the shadows surrounded by wooden chairs. When she touched the back of one of the chairs, it wobbled under her hand, the legs uneven. Pulling it out, she sat. The top of the table was sticky and the smell of old beer filled her nose.
"Mason," she whispered to herself. "How do I know you?"
Ryder settled into a chair next to her. "I can't picture you in this place."
"I know. Me neither." She shrugged. "But maybe being knocked on the head changed me. Maybe I was a big partier. Maybe I was always in trouble and running with the wrong crowd."
Ryder chuckled. "Well, you're still in trouble and I wouldn't call living in a nursing home running with the right crowd. That hasn't changed."
"I don't know. I might be a completely different person now. What if I was a criminal?" She bit her lip, disturbed by the thought. Something flashed at the edges of her mind, and chasing it, she closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead with one hand to encourage it.
Always in trouble and running with the wrong crowd. The words ran circles in her mind; round and round, faster and faster. With a gasp, she opened her eyes.
"What is it?" Ryder leaned close, his gaze intense.
"I have a sister," she said. "And I think something happened to her."
"Do you remember what?"
She shook her head and frowned. "No. I don't. But I
The blonde shrugged. "A fight. Like always." She pointed to the tables. "They've been smashed to bits so often, we stopped screwing them back together and just use duct tape."
"Did I do anything? Say anything?"
The blonde shook her head. "Sorry. We're too busy to really pay attention to anything but the next drink order."
"Or diving for cover when the fists start swinging," added the other waitress wiping down the tables. She had long red hair and dark eye liner around her green eyes.
"That, too," the blonde agreed. "I only remember you just because you almost died. Took me hours to get the blood stains off the floor." She pointed with her foot to a spot on the floor that was darker than the rest of the wood.
Lia stared at it, desperate to remember but coming up with nothing.
"Is Anita here?" Ryder asked.
All three waitresses looked at him in unison. No one said anything for several long seconds. Nervous, Lia stepped behind Ryder.
"She's in back. I'll get her," sighed one of the women finally.
Anita turned out to be a tiny woman with lots of hair. Her braid reached past her hips and Lia couldn't fathom the amount of work it took to deal with so much hair. Her dark eyes, big on her delicate face, met Lia's.
"Oh, it's you." She drew back as if not wanting to get too close.
"Do you know me?" Lia almost choked on the words, her heart had climbed so far up her throat.
Anita shook her head slowly. "No. I know your purse though." She pointed to the bag hanging on Lia's shoulder. "You look like the picture on your license."
"Do any of you recognize me?" Lia called out to the rest of the women. One by one they looked at her and shook their heads. Focusing back on Anita, she asked, "Can you tell me what happened the night you found my purse?"
Anita frowned at her and crossed her stick-thin arms. "There was a fight. That's all I know."
"Mason was here," Ryder murmured to Lia.
"He was back over there." Anita waved to a dark corner at the far end of the bar.
Lia took two steps toward it, but then stopped short. Something pressed against her skull and made her brain throb. She closed her eyes, trying to push past the discomfort to the place where her memory hid from her. It all sat just out of reach. She could feel it, knew it was there, but finding the path to it or the key to unlock it was beyond her.
A warm hand cupped her elbow and from the scent of leather, she knew it was Ryder. "You okay? You're swaying."
She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I'm good. Thanks. Just trying to remember." She went to the spot Anita had indicated. A large circular table stood in the shadows surrounded by wooden chairs. When she touched the back of one of the chairs, it wobbled under her hand, the legs uneven. Pulling it out, she sat. The top of the table was sticky and the smell of old beer filled her nose.
"Mason," she whispered to herself. "How do I know you?"
Ryder settled into a chair next to her. "I can't picture you in this place."
"I know. Me neither." She shrugged. "But maybe being knocked on the head changed me. Maybe I was a big partier. Maybe I was always in trouble and running with the wrong crowd."
Ryder chuckled. "Well, you're still in trouble and I wouldn't call living in a nursing home running with the right crowd. That hasn't changed."
"I don't know. I might be a completely different person now. What if I was a criminal?" She bit her lip, disturbed by the thought. Something flashed at the edges of her mind, and chasing it, she closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead with one hand to encourage it.
Always in trouble and running with the wrong crowd. The words ran circles in her mind; round and round, faster and faster. With a gasp, she opened her eyes.
"What is it?" Ryder leaned close, his gaze intense.
"I have a sister," she said. "And I think something happened to her."
"Do you remember what?"
She shook her head and frowned. "No. I don't. But I
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