“Mary, it is I, Robert. You know me.

The accident must have addled your wits.”

“My wits are fine, thank you very much. Are you trying to gaslight me? How do you know my name? Have you been in my purse?” She looked around. “Where is my purse? And where is my car?” She glanced up and down the path paralleling the wall. “And where the hell is the road?”

The man stepped toward her, but Mary poked him with her stick. Robert jumped out of range.

Mary stood, cursed herself for hurting her ankle—twice—and perched on the wall. Keep sharp, old girl. “Stay back. I need answers, and I need them now.”

“Of course. If you put the stick down, I will be happy to answer what questions you have. I give you my word of honor as a gentleman.”

“OK, but try anything funny, and I’ll skewer you like a marshmallow at a Fourth of July barbeque.” She set the branch aside but kept it at the ready on top of the wall.

“That’s better.” He looked only marginally more secure without her waving the weapon at him.

She rubbed the back of her neck to relieve some of the tension but kept her eyes trained on the man. “First, where am I?”

“Can you recall nothing? That bump on your head is more serious than I suspected.”

“That does not answer my question. I warn you; I’ve had a bad day. This headache is making me testy, so don’t push me.”