Don't forget

Author: Mary Higgins Clark / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-05-01
Features: Mary Higgins Clark, the "Queen of American Mystery," is a regular on major bestseller lists. She has published 33 novels to date, each a bestseller, with over 80 million copies sold in the United States alone. This book is another of her masterpieces. The characters are well-developed and vivid, making you feel as if you know them and share their fear and loss. Young and handsome Scott married Vivian, who inherited a million-dollar fortune, only to drown in a storm during a dive with her husband three months later. Scott inherited a vast estate, but both the police and Vivian's family believe it was a murder, not an accident. Adam Nichols, a New York lawyer who spent his childhood vacations by the sea, moved with his wife Melanie and daughter Hannah into "The House of Forgotten Memories" to repair their broken marital relationship, as their newborn son died due to Melanie's negligence. "The House of Forgotten Memories" is an old house built in the 18th century, known for its mysterious and terrifying history. Melanie, a best-selling author of children's adventure books, also developed a strong interest in "The House of Forgotten Memories," hoping to study its legends, origins, and secrets for her next book and try to forget her grief and self-blame. Meanwhile, Melanie convinces and supports her husband to defend Scott. Can Adam help Scott win the trial? What is the truth behind Scott's mysterious wife-murder case? And what secrets lie behind "The House of Forgotten Memories"? At 9 p.m., a storm swept in, with fierce northeast winds rolling giant waves against the east coast of Cape Cod. Melanie leaned over the pool to close the windows while murmuring to herself, "This must be the peak of the northeast wind." She tried to reassure herself, thinking it might be more interesting. The airport in Cape Cod was closed, but Adam would rent a car and drive from Boston. He would be home soon. There was plenty of food prepared, and she had candles on hand in case of a power outage. But now, she began to doubt whether her initial idea was right. The house was lit only by candlelight, and the thought of it was quite frightening. She turned on the radio and selected a station in Chatham that played 1940s music. When she heard the opening of Benny Goodman's The House of Forgotten Memories, she raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You just happen to live in a place called 'The House of Forgotten Memories,' so this song would naturally catch your attention," she explained to herself. Setting aside this habitual thinking, she adjusted the volume and picked up a serrated knife to cut tomatoes for a salad. When Adam called, he said he hadn't had a chance to eat yet. "But you've forgotten what you should remember," the lyrics sang softly. The strong wind battered the house, and its unique howling sound echoed once again. Standing on the shore battered by giant waves, the house in the storm became like a giant bellows, its mournful whistling sounding as if it were coming from far away, as if someone was shouting, "Forget me—Forget me—" This strange sound spread by word of mouth, and the house was thus named. When she reached for the celery, Melanie shivered. Adam would be here soon, she told herself. In a little while, while she was cooking spaghetti, he would have time for a glass of wine. A sudden noise. What was it? The door was blown open? Or the window? Something was wrong. She turned off the radio. The baby! She cried? Was it crying or the sound of being smothered? She rushed to the dining table, grabbed the baby monitor, and pressed it to her ear. Another sharp cough, and then silence. The baby couldn't breathe! She dashed from the kitchen into the hallway, running toward the stairs. A faint purple shadow filtered through the ornate fan-shaped window above the front door, casting light on the floor made of wide planks.
P1 She ran up the stairs without touching the ground, crossed the hallway, and stood in front of the nursery door. There was no movement in the crib. "Hannah, Hannah!" she called. Hannah was lying face down, arms outstretched, motionless. Melanie leaned forward with a racing heart, reaching out to turn the baby over. At that moment, her eyes widened in horror. The porcelain head of the antique doll was tilted in her hand. The dirty face twisted, staring at her. Melanie wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Then, from behind her, a voice whispered softly, "I'm sorry, Melanie. It's all over now."
P2