Read Trust No One for Free Online Page B

against something buried near the bottom. He pulls it out. It’s a gold chain with a gold four-leaf clover hanging from it. He turns it over and studies it from different angles, but no amount of studying makes it familiar or suggests who it might belong to. Then he thinks that he wouldn’t be much of a crime writer if he weren’t able to connect the dots—he’s stolen it from either one of the staff, or from one of the other residents. Great, so now he’s going to be labeled not just the crazy man, but the crazy thief too. Just one more thing to add to the growing list of bad things he’s done in his life but can’t remember. Tomorrow he’ll drop it somewhere on the grounds for somebody else to find, but for tonight he needs to put it somewhere safe. And hidden. Last thing he needs is a nurse to walk in and see it on his bedside table.
    He opens the sock drawer and reaches into the back to hide it, but there’s something already back there—an envelope the size of a greeting card. It’s thin near the ends and a little bulky in the middle. There’s nothing written on it. He doesn’t recognize it. He sits on the bed and opens it.
    Inside is a necklace. And a pair of earrings. And a locket.
    You know what that is, don’t you?
    The words aren’t his, but those of Henry Cutter, and Henry is the real deal. Jerry might be able to connect the dots, but Henry’s the guy who makes the puzzles.
    “No,” he says.
    Yes you do.
    Jerry shakes his head.
    They’re mementos, Henry says.
    “I’ve been stealing from people?”
    That’s not all you’ve been doing.
    “Then what?”
    But Henry has gone and Jerry is left sitting on the edge of the bed alone, confused, frightened, sitting with an envelope full of memories he can’t remember.

DAY FIVE
    “My name is Jerry Grey and it’s been five days since I was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.”
    “Hi, Jerry.”
    “And it’s been two days since I last forgot something.”
    “Well done, Jerry.”
    That’s how Henry would write about the support group that Sandra wants you to go to, if he were writing this journal. You still need updating on Henry, and on support groups, and that will happen soon. Support groups are for other people, the same way car accidents are for other people. Sandra thinks it will be good for you. You fought about it, actually—though fought is probably too strong a word—but before you read all about the fight, or about Henry, here’s what you need to know about Sandra. You love Sandra. Of course you do. Everybody does. She is the absolute best thing that has ever happened to you. She’s beautiful, smart, caring, she always knows the right thing to say. When things are going badly, she is there to talk some sense into you. When the reviews are bad, she’s there to tell you the reviewers don’t know what they’re talking about; when the reviews are good, she’s there to tell you that reviewer is the smartest guy in the world. You bounce ideas off her, sometimes you go to the gym with her, you run with her, you used to hike when you were younger, you’d go camping and skiing and once you went skydiving together because you wanted to be able to write what you know. Your wife can’t walk past a cat without wanting to give it a cuddle, she can’t walk past a dog without a Howzzit going boy, can’t watch a chick flick without crying at the end, can’t walk into a mall without buying a pair of shoes, and she can’t imagine what you’re going through even though she gets you, and you can’t imagine a life without her.
    You’ve been married for twenty-four years and, if you do the math, you’ll see that Eva is twenty-five years old. You dated for five years before the wedding, which included three years of living together. You met back in university. You were getting yourself one of those fandangled English degrees that were popular back in the day, and you were doing a psych class too—psych 101. And why were you doing these things?