Mariah Stewart - Last Look

“I was thinking about what you said when you were here last time. Wondering if maybe Shannon had tried to contact us and we didn’t realize it.” She swallowed hard and looked up at him. “I snapped at you, threw you out of my house.”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Randall. I understand that you’ve been through a lot-” He opened the door to leave.

“I’m thinking maybe I reacted a little too hastily. Should have thought that through some before I jumped all over you.” She followed him out onto the porch, still holding on. “I’m thinking now maybe…at least, I’ve been wondering if maybe…”

“Maybe?” He paused at the steps. Apparently she hadn’t overheard his conversation with her husband after all.

“Maybe she did try, and we just didn’t know.” Another hard swallow. “There were hang-up calls, but you know, everyone gets those. Wrong numbers and such. But there were times when it seemed that whoever was on the other end stayed on for longer than you’d expect for a wrong number. Well, I always figured those for kids playing a prank, you know how they do? I’m wondering now if…do you think that maybe…”

“I think it’s possible, in retrospect. I think if you were my mother and I was far from home, I’d reach out to you,” he said as he patted the hand that gripped his arm.

“There was something else, I’m wondering now if maybe it should have made me think a little. Maybe I should have given more thought to it at the time.”

“What was that?”

“For a while there, envelopes came to the house that had just a tiny something in it, if anything at all.”

“What kind of things?”

“One time it was a little white clover flower.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Most times it was nothing at all.”

“Do you remember where they were postmarked?”

“The one with the little flower was from Nashville. I remember that one because I always wanted to go there, never did. Didn’t know anyone there, either.” She forced a half-smile. “I always used to say that in my next life, I was going to come back as a country-western singer. That I was going to sing at the Grand Ole Opry.”

“Do you remember where the others were from?”

“Not really. Just places.” She was crying now, tears spilling onto her face. “There was a postcard from Memphis once. It came on my birthday, about eight years ago. It had a picture of Graceland on the front. The girls used to tease me because I’d told them I was a big Elvis fan back when I was just a girl.”

“Did you recognize the handwriting?”

“No. It wasn’t Shannon ’s, if that’s what you mean. I would have recognized that. I would have known.”

“When did you receive the last envelope?”

“Oh, it’s been some time now.” She gazed upward as if searching for the answer. “Maybe four years or so.”

“And the phone calls? Do you remember the last time someone called and hung up?”

“Oh, it seems we always get those, but maybe just a few months back there was one like the others. Like someone was there and didn’t want to hang up but they wouldn’t speak.” She shook her head. “Wouldn’t that have been something, if that had been Shannon?”

“Mrs. Randall…the empty envelopes. Who did you think they were from?” Andrew couldn’t help but ask.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think much about them at all. I just figured someone had sent us something and it had fallen out because it wasn’t sealed in the back. The flaps were tucked inside the envelope, not sealed.”

“How often did these envelopes arrive?”

“Oh, every few years or so. Not frequent enough that it would make me think about it so much.” She took a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her face. “Though that clover…that did make me wonder some. It never occurred to me that it could have been from her, that she could still be alive. But it should have made me think just a little.”

It was the second time she’d used that phrase.

“Think about what?”

“ Shannon always made those little clover chains, you know? She used to fashion them in a big circle and I’d have to wear it on my head.” Judith was openly weeping. “She used to say I was the clover queen, and she was my princess…”

Andrew took a step toward her, to comfort her, when Franklin appeared in the doorway.

“I told you to leave! Get the hell away from my wife. Get off my property!” He banged furiously at the closed screen door. “Judith, get in this house immediately! Do not speak to that man!”

“ Franklin, what on earth…” Judith turned to her husband.

“Thank you, Mrs. Randall, for sharing your recollections with me,” Andrew said quietly.

“You stay away from my wife, stay away from my family!” Franklin rolled his chair out onto the porch and wheeled past his stunned wife. “You hear me? Bastard!”

With Franklin Randall’s curses following him all the way to the end of the block, Andrew was more than happy to reach his car and escape the harsh aftermath of his interview with the man. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb. He could have sworn he could still hear Franklin yelling.

He turned on the radio to drown out the voice ringing in his ears, but it didn’t help, so he snapped it off. Suddenly, he felt very tired, and wished he was home. Or if not home, then someplace, anyplace, where kids weren’t abused by people who were supposed to love and protect them, where kids didn’t cut themselves, didn’t prostitute themselves, didn’t give up bright futures in attempts to bury their horrible pasts.

He drove through quiet Hatton, his stomach rumbling. He called Dorsey to let her know he was on his way back and was grateful to learn she had in fact saved him some pizza. He parked his car in a space between her room and his and ignored the reporters who’d returned to the motel in hopes of getting some extra tidbit from him. He walked toward her room, prepared to knock, but when he raised his hand to the door, she opened it while keeping out of sight.

“Sorry,” she said as she closed the door behind him. “Nothing personal, but I figured the last thing you needed right now was speculation on who the redhead in the motel might be.”

He laughed ruefully and took off his jacket. “I have a feeling they might already know.”

“What do you mean?” Dorsey stood with her hands on her hips.

“I mean you’ve been outed.” He hung the jacket on the back of the room’s lone chair. “Please tell me you have beer.”

“In the bathtub.” She nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “What do you mean, ‘outed’?”

“One of the reporters asked how many agents had been assigned to the case and I told him one.” Andrew disappeared into the bathroom. “Oh, wow. You know, you just might be the perfect woman.”

He came back out with a dripping wet bottle of beer in his hands. “Ice in the bathtub. Brilliant.”

“Thanks. It’s going to make for a damn cold shower later, but hey, at least the beer isn’t warm.” She directed him to the desk. “The pizza might still be, though. I wrapped it in a blanket.”

“You really are brilliant, did I already say that?” He sat wearily at the desk and opened the lid of the pizza box. “I’m so hungry right now I could eat the box.”

“The pizza tastes better. Go on and eat.” Dorsey sat crossed-legged on the end of the bed. “Finish the part about me being outed.”

“I said, one agent had been assigned. Me. And Chief Bowden said, ‘Oh, but what about Agent Collins?’”

“And you said?”

“I said,” Andrew chewed and swallowed, “Agent Collins wasn’t officially assigned. Which would have been fine, except that after the mics were turned off, I heard the reporter asking Bowden about you.”