It was an enormous effort merely to open her eyes. Ashley looked around the room and began to panic.
She was lying in a bed, naked, in a cheap hotel room. She managed to sit up, and her head started to pound.
She had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there. There was a room service menu on the nightstand,
and she reached over and picked it up. The Chicago Loop Hotel. She read it again, stunned.
What am I doing in Chicago? How long have I been here? The visit to Dennis Tibble’s apartment had been on Friday.
What day is this? With growing alarm, she picked up the telephone. “May I help you?”
It was difficult for Ashley to speak. “What-what day is this?” “Today is the seventeenth of—”
“No. I mean what day of the week is this?” “Oh. Today is Monday. Can I—”
Ashley replaced the receiver in a daze. Monday. She had lost two days and two nights.
She sat up at the edge of the bed, trying to remember. She had gone to Dennis Tibble’s apartment....
She had had a glass of wine.... After that, everything was a blank.
He had put something in her glass of wine that had made her temporarily lose her memory.
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