While pursuing a suspect, I fell and hit my head on the pavement. This caused a mild concussion. This was minor, but there was something that wasn't so minor:

Memory loss!

The doctors said that this would go away eventually, but they weren't sure when. They also said an event of some kind could trigger my memory.

My physical aliments were treated, so I left the hospital. I hoped that my own home would help me jog my memory, but alas it didn't. I took it easy for a few days. Fortunately, my insurance paid for it.

I received a visitor, one day—a cop. And he brought flowers!

"May I help you?"

"Jenny, this is Carl!"

I thought for a bit. "Oh, you must be Lt.. . Kichenbam?"

"Kirschenbaum. I guess your memory hasn't returned, yet?"

"No," I said, sadly. "But thanks for the flowers. Come on in."

"Thank you."

I put the flowers in a vase and gave him some coffee I brewed. Then we sat down on the couch.

"I'm sorry I didn't visit you at the hospital," he said contritely. "I was busy on an important case. "

"No problem. I understand."

"OK, how much do you remember about yourself?"

I thought for a bit. "My name is Jennifer Mason, and I'm a private eye. I go by the nickname Barefoot Jenny because I like to go barefooted."

"That's right."

"I actually do like going barefooted." I girlishly wiggled my toes. He smiled. "Perhaps you might be able to shed some light on something."

I got up and walked into a storage room. I picked up five 8x11 photos and brought them to him.

They were photos of me covered in wet blue paint!

He smiled. "Oh, yes! That was a misadventure with a local artist!" (The Blue Detective) He described it to me, and I laughed out loud. But alas, it didn't stir my memory.

"Tell me about some of my other cases."

"OK. You solved a murder that took place at a cocktail party—and you went swimming with your dress on!" (Murder During the Cocktail Hour) He described that incident. Again, it made me laugh—but it didn't spur my memory.

"What else?"

"Well, the first time we met was at a fountain. You waded in it to look for jewels that a thief left in it." (The Fountain Incident.)

"Did I find any?"

He smiled. "You tripped on one of them and fell in the water!"

I also smiled. "Sounds so funny! I wish I could remember it."

"You will."

"OK, what else?"

"Just recently, you exposed a quack doctor—and you ended up in his mud bath, with your clothes on! " (The Cure for Cancer)

"I seem to end up messy a lot!"

"Yes, you do!"

He told me other case of mine that he was involved in or knew about. Some of them stirred memories, but they didn't quite "click."

"I've got an idea. If this doesn't help bring back your memory, I will give up, at least for now."

"OK."

He kneeled at my feet and began massaging them. It felt nice. And when he pressed down on certain points, it caused stirring inside of me. . .

"How do you like rubbing my feet for the first time, Carl?"

"Quite nice—HUH?!"

"I remember, now."

"Everything?"

I thought for a bit. "Well, there's a few holes, but pretty much, yes!"

We hugged, and I kissed him.

"I've got to be getting back on duty. Want to have dinner with me, tonight?"

"That sounds nice. But I'd like to first to go my office. I need to put my things in order."

"OK. How about I drive you there, then pick you up at, say 5:00?"

"Sure, that's fine. Carl, I'll never forget you, for this!"

"Thanks!"

I put my shoes on and cleaned up, a bit. Then he drove me to my office in his squad car.


I had 20 unanswered called and 100 unanswered emails, at work! I spent the afternoon going through them and putting other things in order. I also looked through my files, and that did fill most of the memory gaps.

Carl picked me up at 5:00, and we had a nice dinner together. And because he helped me to regain my memory, I paid!