Mariah Stewart - Last Look

“Yeah, but that just makes the picture more clear.” Andrew checked the time. “We have time to get a quick bite before we head out to Aubrey’s. Let’s grab something at that diner across from the post office.”

“Fine. What do you mean, the picture’s more clear?”

“We have two cases to solve here. The first one being what happened twenty-four years ago, the second being who killed Shannon. Let’s just look at the first one for now.”

He drove to the municipal parking lot and took a spot.

“Let’s assume that whatever happened to put Tim Beale behind bars had something to do with Jeff Feeney.”

“That feels right.” She nodded. “So Tim’s behind bars, then something’s going on between Feeney and Tim Beale’s little brother.”

“Okay, hold that thought.” Andrew turned off the car but didn’t move to get out. “Not too long after whatever confrontation there was between Feeney and Eric Beale, Shannon Randall runs away from home. Kimmie White tells Chief Taylor that she saw Shannon in Eric’s car. Eric’s picked up and questioned, and when the bloody shirt is found in his car, Taylor concludes that Eric killed Shannon.”

“To get back at Eric somehow for having gotten into something with his nephew?” Dorsey frowned.

“With his wife’s nephew.” Andrew let that sink in. “Is there any doubt in your mind that Taylor ’s wife held the reins in that house? The house bought and restored with money she inherited?”

“So, you’re thinking that after Eric appeared to be a suspect, his wife leaned on Taylor to turn it on full blast, to get Eric out of the way for some reason?”

“Think about it. Both Beale boys get into seriously hot water with the law, after each of them had a run-in with Jeff Feeney.”

“Maybe Tim and Eric had something on Jeff, or maybe knew something that Jeff-and his aunt-didn’t want anyone else to know.” Dorsey thought for a moment. “Or it could have been the other way around.”

“Could be either. Having Eric arrested for Shannon’s murder was the way Taylor shut him up.”

“But why wouldn’t Eric have spoken up back then?” Dorsey frowned. “Why didn’t he say something at the trial? It doesn’t make sense that he’d keep quiet and let them execute him if he knew why he was being railroaded.”

“I agree. It doesn’t make sense at all.”

“And how would Shannon ’s disappearance be connected to that?”

“I don’t think it is. I think her disappearance was just a convenient way for Taylor to get rid of Eric the same way he got rid of Tim.”

“I find it hard to believe that Taylor would have let them execute Eric, knowing he was innocent.”

“Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe once the story was concocted, he believed it. Maybe it all made perfect sense to him, once all the little bits of evidence starting falling into place. You know you can talk yourself into just about anything, if the stakes are high enough.”

“Let’s suppose you’re right,” Dorsey said. “Let’s suppose that’s how it happened. Eric gets onto Taylor ’s radar somehow, he believes Eric is guilty, Eric is convicted and he’s executed. Now fast forward to 2007. Shannon Randall’s murdered. You’re saying you don’t think the two events are connected?”

“I think there’s a thread of a connection, but I don’t think that thread has anything to do with Eric Beale. I think he was an unfortunate victim of something else, something to do with Taylor ’s nephew. I think Shannon ’s disappearance was merely an unfortunate coincidence as far as Eric was concerned. A convenient means of getting rid of him.”

“Do you see a connection between Shannon ’s disappearance in 1983 and her murder in 2007?” Dorsey turned to face him. “I feel there has to be something that ties one to the other. I just don’t know what that something is.”

“Neither do I, but I agree there’s something there, and there are a whole lot of pieces to this puzzle.” He opened his car door and started to get out. Over his shoulder, he added, “I’m hoping sooner or later we’ll be able to put them all together and see the whole picture.”

“Wow, those white columns really stand out against those redbrick walls, don’t they.” Dorsey rolled down the window to get a better look at the home of Aubrey Randall, the self-styled Southern version of Martha Stewart.

It wasn’t a question.

“She certainly does seem to like that antebellum look.” Andrew parked in front of a tidy boxwood hedge. “I could swear I heard the theme from Gone With the Wind while we were driving up that long drive from the road.”

“You too? I thought it was just me. Eleanor Taylor’s got nothing on Aubrey.”

“Except of course, Eleanor’s got the real thing. Aubrey’s is all new construction. A mere copy of the real thing.”

“Well, copy or no, I’m impressed.”

Andrew turned off the engine and stared at the house.

“It looks like she’s home. Assuming that’s her Mercedes over there.”

“The license plate is AGR. Aubrey some-middle-name-that-begins-with-G Randall.” Dorsey opened her door. “I don’t see another car, though, so maybe the senator hasn’t arrived yet. Which would be good, because I’d rather we have some time with Aubrey alone.”

“If they’ve concocted a story, for whatever reason, it’s already done. They know what they’re going to say.” Andrew got out of the car and took a good look around. “Nice gardens. Nice horses out back. Very nice.”

“I’d say Miz Aubrey does quite well for herself.”

“She’s a local star on her way to the big time, right?”

Dorsey looked around at the lush grounds and the beautiful house that stood before them.

“I’ll bet it would hurt like hell to give up all this. I’ll bet someone who had all this would fight tooth and nail if they thought they were in danger of losing it.”

“Your point?”

“Just that if this were mine, I’d feel really anxious if something threatened to take it from me, that’s all.”

“Something like a sister who’s supposed to be dead turning up with a record of numerous arrests for prostitution.”

“Yeah. Like that.”

“How do you think those network folks would feel about giving Aubrey a shot at the big time with a scandal like that just beginning to break?” Dorsey said.

“I’d say it would be pretty unfortunate timing.”

“Unfortunate enough that you’d do something really desperate?”

“You know what they say.” Andrew glanced around as they walked. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

The path they walked along was red brick to match the house, laid out in a herringbone pattern that led right to the front door. Breezy daylilies grew around the steps in clumps and vied with huge puffs of hydrangea for attention.

“Nice,” Dorsey said again. “Very nice. Tasteful, even, and-”

“Agents Shields and Collins?”

The woman who opened the door was tall and willowy, her features as finely chisled and delicate as her younger sister’s were sharp. Her blond hair curled around her face in a short and charming cut. She wore a pale pink T-shirt tucked into the waist of a slim denim skirt, lots of silver jewelry, and a welcoming smile.

“I’m Andrew Shields, this is Dorsey Collins.” Andrew smiled back as warmly. “Miss Randall?”

The woman barely glanced at Dorsey. Andrew had her total attention.

“Aubrey.”

“Aubrey,” he repeated with a smile meant to charm. “This is quite a place you have here.”

“Well, thank you.” Aubrey Randall beamed as she stepped out onto the small square that served as the front porch. “Would you like a quick tour while we wait for my sister?”