Mariah Stewart - Last Look

She continued to ignore him even as he persisted. John realized what was going on and calmly reached out to the reporter. Nodding to Dorsey to continue on her way, John told the reporter, “This is an ongoing federal investigation, so I’d appreciate you not trying to question my agents when they’re not permitted to respond. Thanks for your time.”

Dorsey mouthed a thank you to John as she reached her father. She tapped him on the shoulder.

“Pop, do you have your phone on you?”

“Yes.” He patted his pocket. “Why?”

“Use it,” she told him. “Call Diane and let her know you’re okay. She’s been worried. Oh, and Pop?”

He paused before he dialed and looked up at his daughter.

“Tell her I said thanks.”

Dorsey folded the long knit shirt she’d slept in the night before and put it in her suitcase, wishing she wasn’t going back to Florida just yet.

Over dinner the night before, she and her father had a chance to go over with Andrew everything that they’d figured out while they were in the trailer with the Beales. He’d agreed that all the pieces seemed to fit. He also agreed Dorsey and Matt had been very lucky. The situation could easily have turned out very badly for everyone involved.

“With Tim holding that gun, things could have been very different,” he reminded her.

“In the end, the Beales really only wanted the same thing we wanted. The truth. And we feel we have that. Except we still don’t know how and why Shannon left town that night, and who beat her up.” She frowned. That still rankled, that they hadn’t been able to nail that down. “And we’ll probably never be able to prove that her grandfather was her abuser.”

She hated leaving before she’d seen the entire case through to the end, when Shannon ’s murder was solved-but she wondered if it ever would be. That part of the case was ice cold at the moment, and unless there was a break, it was likely to remain so.

Still, she reminded herself, she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do in the very beginning: she’d found out why her father had traveled down the wrong path twenty-four years ago. That was something she and Matt both needed to know.

Funny how things had worked out. Matt had needed to speak with Jeanette Beale every bit as much as she needed to speak with him. There’d been questions-and guilt-on both sides. To deal with his own culpability, before Matt left Hatton he’d made a call to Owen Berger and arranged to be Owen’s only guest on his Friday evening show.

“There are things that need to be said publicly,” Matt told his daughter before he’d left. “Someone needs to step up and take responsibility for Eric Beale’s death. That someone is going to have to be me. I’m just telling you ahead of time, there may be some fallout.”

“I can handle it,” she’d told him, “but are you sure you want to do this?”

“There’s nothing else I can do, honey. I screwed up big time. I didn’t do my job. I should have reinterviewed every witness, I should have personally checked out every fact-”

“You were part of a team,” she reminded him.

“I was the leader of that team.” He shook his head. “For years, I took the glory when it appeared Eric had been guilty. Now that we know he was innocent, I have to stand up and take the heat.”

“Think that will cost you your career as a crime expert?” she wondered aloud.

“What’s that worth, compared to what Eric Beale lost?” he countered.

Matt took the first flight out of Charleston back to Philly. Back to Philly and Diane, Dorsey reminded herself. Diane, who’d unwittingly saved the day-and probably Matt’s life-when she’d called Dorsey the day before.

There were still issues Dorsey needed to discuss with her father, but those would wait for another day. The past twenty-four hours had left them both with plenty to think about. Right now, she was happy they’d both come out alive, happy that there’d been resolution and closure of a kind for him, happy she’d been there to share that with him. Soon, though, they’d have to speak of other things. She wondered if she’d ever be able to talk to him about her self-mutilating. They’d long since talked about her mother’s death and the aftermath, but she still wasn’t sure how to talk about her cutting without making Matt feel guilty, making him feel he’d failed her. Maybe when things settled down, she’d be able to talk to him about how she’d been driven to take a razor and slice her flesh, but not now.

Maybe not ever.

Did it matter? She didn’t know.

Dorsey tossed her toothbrush into the suitcase, then took one more look around the room. Satisfied she hadn’t missed anything, she zipped the case closed, then turned off all the lights. One hand dragging the suitcase, the other searching her bag for the car keys, Dorsey paused at the door. Shannon ’s diary and the envelope were still in her bag. She’d meant to hand them over to Andrew the night before, but it had slipped her mind at dinner. She’d do it now, before she forgot.

She walked outside and went directly to her car, where she opened the trunk and put her suitcase inside. She slammed the trunk and went to Andrew’s room. As she raised her hand to knock, the door opened, and Andrew stepped out. She backed up to avoid a collision.

“Hey,” he said. “I was just on my way to see you.”

“I beat you to it.” She opened her shoulder bag and took out the items Edith had entrusted her with. “ Shannon ’s diary. Unfortunately, there’s nothing in here about her being abused. Nothing, really, to help the case, except those remarks about how mad Kimmie was at Eric.”

“Good move on your part, getting her to admit to her lie.” He took the diary and turned it over in his hand. “I guess I should give it back to her mother.” He tapped it in the palm of his hand. “Then again, maybe it really belongs to Edith.”

“It’s your call,” Dorsey said. “Me, I think it means more to Edith. It’s all she has of Shannon. Oh, and she’s leaving the life. She’s moving to Cincinnati and getting into a program there that’s designed to help hookers become former hookers. Teach them their self-worth, get them off the streets, help them to find other means of employment.”

“I’m really glad to hear it. She just didn’t seem to belong there.”

“I agree. Oh, and there’s something else.” She gave him the envelope. “What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall when you return this to Martha Randall.”

He opened his mouth to say something but his phone rang. He excused himself to answer it, but hardly said a word while he listened. Finally, he said, “Where is she? I’m on my way.”

He turned to Dorsey and said, “Aubrey Randall was admitted to the hospital about four hours ago.”

“An accident?” Dorsey followed him to the parking lot where he was headed toward his car.

“If trying to kill yourself with pills is an accident. I’m smelling a guilty conscience here.”

He got to his car and she walked toward hers. So much for my big good-bye scene, she thought wryly.

“Where are you going?” He stood next to the open driver’s side door.

“Well, back to Florida. I thought-”

“Come on, get in. Until someone tells me you’re out, we’re going to assume you’re in.”

“John didn’t say, get her the hell out of here?”

“Nope. Not his style, anyway.” He waved her on. “We’ll figure out how we want to play this between here and the hospital. I’m thinking we’ll have the three sisters all to ourselves.”

She got in the passenger side and he handed her the diary. “Here, hold on to this. It just might come in handy.”