Lost Memories

By Brenda Kimball

When Katrina found out the truth about her family as a young teenager, she vowed to one day solve the 20 year old murder that took place in England. The event that changed the course of her family history, their memories lost forever.

 

With the help of a retired Scotland Yard detective and Damon, her detective boyfriend, she's

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957781129

Book preview

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

The night was so dark it was hard to see your hand in front of your face. There was no moon, no stars—only the lonely desolation of the clouds and the unrelenting rain that surrounded the cabin.

The embers from the old woodstove were only a muted red glow now. Gone was the only source of light they had provided.

The coyotes were howling in the distance. In between their eerie cries, there was only silence and the constant pounding of the rain on the flat roof. The sound was almost deafening in its unending clarity.

Why did her pride have to come in the way of her common sense? She should have asked for help. She should have told someone about this place. She was starting to get worried: what if he didn’t show? But what if he did show?

She couldn’t stand the waiting and wondering. Sitting here in the cold, she felt the dark and the too-quiet surroundings were killing her, if he didn’t kill her first.

She needed Damon. She needed to warn her family. She had to protect them. Would she ever see them again?

She remembered back to when life was less complicated…

Chapter 2

Kara and she were the only daughters of Lillian and Fred Watsill. They were apparently a well-to-do family, but the family never flaunted their wealth. She was never aware that her parents had money until she was much older.

They lived in a modest neighborhood in the older part of Banff, Alberta. The trees and bushes were well established and plentiful. Outside the front window was a huge mountain ash full of ripe red berries that seemed to be there year-round for the birds to eat.

The immaculate lawn encircled the paved driveway, with chokecherry, rose, and lilac bushes lining the perimeter of the lot, which were in full bloom in the spring and well into the summer.

Their house was nice, not grand, not imposing, a four-level split with a two-car garage built in the early nineties. It had four bedrooms, one of which had been converted into a den for her mother and her volunteer work.

The den was sparse, with only a desk and a couple of chairs. Her mother’s laptop was the only thing that sat on the small desk. There were no pictures or knickknacks.

The house was nicely decorated with new furniture. The family room had a comfy taupe-brown leather sofa, a loveseat and reclining chair, a built-in storage unit for the television and stereo systems, and a glass-top coffee and end tables. It was the only room in the house Kara and Katrina were allowed in other than their bedrooms. It didn’t matter anyway because this room was the only room that was inviting. Her father would always be in there with them, sitting in the recliner reading his newspaper or watching TV when he wasn’t playing a game with his girls.

The living room was used only for company (which was odd because they rarely had any). Of course, the children were never allowed to go in there to play. The huge sofa and loveseat were Royal Kahala mahogany. The seating surface was exquisite soft ivory leather with cushions in pastel blues and soft browns. The coffee and end tables were mahogany as well, with matching blue and brown lamps and accessories. The room was for show and nothing else. Nobody dared sit in there.

The kitchen was modern, with stark-white-painted wood cupboards. The stove and fridge were white. The walls were white. The rectangular table and four chairs were white, with a mosaic design on the tabletop. The chairs had cushions that were off-white with tiny green flecks and was the only other color accenting the kitchen. It was always spotless, and the girls were scared to even make a sandwich in there, in case they messed it up.

Katrina’s bedroom was accented in soft pastel blues. The furniture was pale-blond oak consisting of a dresser, one night table, and a single bed with no headboard. The room was painted white, and she was not allowed to put up any pictures or posters (it would wreck the walls). She hated it. It felt cold and empty.

Kara’s room was almost the same, except her bedspread and curtains were a soft pastel green. Kara was always after Mother to change the color; she loved pink, but their mother would not allow it. It would cost too much money to redo, and it was good enough anyway.

Katrina always found it odd that nothing in the house was antique since her father owned an antique shop. It was almost like her mother did it for spite; because her father loved old, her mother went with new.

Kara and she were never allowed any extravagances or pretty things. When their friends were getting brand-new Levi’s jeans or Barbie dolls, they were getting bargain-brand clothes. She couldn’t remember getting any spontaneous presents, and birthdays were never recognized by her mother. Sometimes their father would give them something little if their mother didn’t find out.

Christmas was not considered a holiday, so of course, they didn’t receive any presents or candy. The family didn’t put up any decorations nor did they partake in any of the festivities other families came to expect and take for granted. Kara and she never really knew why. Their family was not religious, so they just figured that was why their mother chose not to recognize any holidays. They never knew any different when they were young. As they got older, they saw their friends celebrating the holidays and wondered why.

One day, Katrina tried to question her mother why she didn’t observe any of the holidays. Her mother got a rare, pained expression on her face and then just as offhandedly closed up and said, There’s really no use, is there, when we don’t find any joy in them? Katrina knew that look and didn’t question her any further. It crushed her when she saw other people smiling, laughing, and hugging during the holidays.

Her mother was an indifferent lady. Her prominent British accent made her seem almost supercilious. Katrina always wondered if she came from royalty because of the way, she held herself, almost regal. Lillian was a slight woman no more than five feet three inches, but it was her confidence and her ability to complete any task in her no-nonsense manner that made her appear much more dignified.

She had a heart-shaped face. Her ivory skin was soft and silky, the kind that made a person want to touch it. One never did though because it was her eyes, in contrast, that made you stop. Her eyes were a beautiful aqua-blue color, which were set under perfectly arched eyebrows and long soft black eyelashes, but they were hard and closed.

Her exquisite mouth with her full pink lips was sad, and she rarely smiled. She had long straight black hair that was usually combed tight to her skull and caught up with a shiny silver comb at the nape of her neck. On the rare occasions that she let her hair down, her features softened, and she looked almost approachable.

She was never mean to them or had she ever laid a hand on the girls. That was just it; she never touched them. It was like she was scared to reach out to them at any level. The girls were just seen and not heard. Her word was law, and they just listened, not attempting to disobey her in any way.

The girls were raised by several different nannies and, of course, their father when he could. Lillian was hard on the hired help. Whenever the girls would get attached to a certain nanny, their mother would say or do something, and the nanny would quit, and they had to break in another one.

Their father was their only salvation. He never raised his voice to their mother or to them, for that matter. He was their oasis in the desert. They knew they could always go to Daddy for a hug, a talk, or just to watch him work.

He had big gentle hands and a kind face that lit up whenever his daughters were around. He always told them they were his only purpose in life.

He was a tall man, six feet two inches, with short sandy-blond hair and thick bushy eyebrows. His deep-set brown eyes were compassionate and unassuming. They overlooked his finely chiseled straight nose that twitched when he worked. His mouth was that of a once-happy man. He had all the right laugh lines. Now he only sported a sad smile that became a little more lilted when his daughters were around. He wasn’t an overly handsome man, but he was certainly good-looking. And to his daughters, he was their knight in shining armor.

He was stooped a bit from bending over his work. He ran an antique shop, Watsill’s Antiques. He oversaw all the refurbishing of the antiques and refinishing of all the furniture, usually doing most or all the work involved. His greatest love was repairing antique clocks and watches. He would work for hours on end, whistling while he worked.

People would come from miles around to buy or to just look at his wares. He had every piece of quality antique furniture, from armoires to chairs, clocks of every size and shape, pottery, dishes, silverware, bedroom accessories, books, pictures, machinery, antique cars, and trucks. He collected anything and everything that was antiquated.

The outside shop was full of all kinds of machinery that were either being reconditioned or were actual moving machines. He was well-known for his quality products and one-of-a-kind pieces.

The girls loved to go to the shop and snoop around to see all the new things that Daddy had acquired that week. Usually, their mother allowed them to go on weekends when all their chores were finished and then only for about an hour or so. Daddy would quit what he was doing, drape his arms around both of them, and proudly show all the new trinkets and old decrepit furniture that had been bought that week.

Kara was sure that most of it should have been sent to the junkyard, but he would tell his girls in great detail what and how the finished product would look like. They cherished every Saturday afternoon and looked forward to it like other kids looked forward to going to a movie or to their friend’s house.

Kara and she were never allowed to go anywhere but to school and to Daddy’s shop. Daddy would, on rare occasions, take them for a drive up to his land.

Playtime was not allowed because idle hands were the devil’s workshop. As a result, the few friends they did acquire from school usually didn’t hang around long because they could never do anything with them anyway. They were branded the geeky sisters among other names and were eventually left alone.

Kara was the youngest. She was a rare, breathtakingly beautiful girl, but she never knew that she was. She had long shiny coal-black hair and the deepest blue eyes you could ever imagine, which were set ideally above a tiny perfectly molded nose. Her full heart-shaped mouth was always smiling despite what she had to endure.

Kara resembled her mother in looks, but not in temperament. Kara was kind, compassionate, and funny. She had a way of communicating with all types and ages of people. She could make anyone feel comfortable and important at the same time.

Her mother always told her that she would never amount to anything. She never praised Kara or gave her any kind of positive feedback, so Kara just thought she was plain, ugly, and nothing special.

Kara would always ask her, Katrina, why doesn’t Mommy love us? What did we do to make her so unhappy with us?

Of course, Katrina could never tell her the truth. She would only remark, That is Mother’s way. Only Daddy and she would remind her how great and how pretty Kara was.

Katrina was older than Kara a mere three years, but she felt like she was eons older. Looking back now, she knew she tried to fill the role of a mother to make up for all the things that were lacking in their family.

Katrina wasn’t nearly as beautiful as Kara in her eyes. She had long wavy sandy-blond hair like her father and liquid rich brown eyes. Her daddy used to say, Katrina, your eyes are like the souls of the angels from heaven. He said they were the softest and friendliest eyes he had ever seen.

She thought her nose was too small and too wide, and her full-lipped mouth too big, and her chin too square. Of course, Daddy would say you’re perfect in every way.

She never believed him though, because her mother would look at her with hidden contempt in her eyes and say, Can’t you ever keep your hair out of your face? or Why can’t you try to keep yourself clean? or Why can’t you ever do anything right? The insults and remarks were endless, and she knew that she would never be perfect or good enough. She didn’t want to be perfect, just acceptable in her mother’s eyes.

As they grew older, they came to accept their mother for what she was. Katrina didn’t know that love was ever considered. The girls just tolerated her, and yet they always tried to please her.

Their mother became more and more withdrawn, not wanting anything to do with her family. Not even their father could get through to her. Their mother stayed away from the house almost every day and, sometimes, well into the night doing her volunteer work. She volunteered at the local homeless shelter, at the youth center, and at the hospital. It seemed that she was willing to help out everyone else but her family, and they never understood why.

Chapter 3

It was getting darker and cloudier outside if that was possible. She could see the intermittent bolts of lightning illuminating the sky and could hear the distant claps of thunder.

She reread the letters again, as if she hadn’t cast them to memory already. She had received the first one the day before yesterday, and it said.

I know who you are and what you’re trying to do. I know where you are at all times. I’m watching you. Do not contact the police. If you do, your nephew and your family will be in grave danger.

It was signed the Kelvinator.

She was puzzled by the name.

She had received a second note under the door of her apartment that morning. She was scared. He (whoever he was) knew that she had contacted the police, and now the threat to her and her family was very real.

She was fairly certain that she had outwitted everyone by coming to this cabin. Very few people knew it existed. She had parked the rental car adjacent to the cabin, concealed in a grove of trees and bushes.

How was she going to stop him? She had to meet him in a few hours. She couldn’t very well contact Damon anymore; in case they really were watching her.

She started to daydream about Damon…

Chapter 4