Last Look (12 page)

“Did Shannon have a boyfriend?” Andrew asked. “A boy she liked, or one who liked her, maybe someone who called the house a lot?”

“We weren’t allowed to date until we were sixteen, so no one would have been calling, unless it was for homework or something like that.”

“Any names come to mind, anyone who called for homework assignments a lot?”

“No.”

“Do you recall if there was anyone back then who paid more attention to her than he should have? Maybe someone who followed her, or showed up where she was when she wasn’t expecting him?” Andrew followed on with his line of questioning.

“No.” Paula Rose shook her head. “I don’t remember her ever mentioning someone like that. There was just Eric. I know he brought her home from school a couple of times, like when it was raining or stormy or something, he’d drive her home.”

“He ever come into the house? Did you ever see them together anywhere other than in his car?”

“Oh, goodness, no. He’d just pull into the driveway, close up to the porch, I guess so she wouldn’t get wet, and he’d drop her off. She’d get out of the car and come right inside. That was all.”

“So the police were called when?” Andrew asked, moving the interview along.

“I’m not sure when, exactly. Before Momma left for the church, she told me to get on down to the school bus and she’d take care of finding Shannon, so I did. I left for school. It wasn’t until I came home that afternoon and saw the police cars around the house I knew something was wrong.” She took another swallow of tea. “I knew something bad had happened to Shannon.”

“Does anything else stand out about that day? Was there anyone around the house who maybe seemed out of place?”

“Not that I can remember. After I got home from school, I got sent right over to my grandparents, so I don’t know who all was here or hanging around. I was only home for a minute, and my parents told me Shannon was missing but they were doing everything they could to find her. I stayed with my grandparents for a few days because my parents were just too upset to deal with me, I guess. And I think they didn’t want me at home in case she was found, you know. It was a very sad, very scary time for all of us. Especially me, being so young and not really knowing what was going on.”

Paula Rose sighed heavily.

“At first, the police didn’t seem sure if she’d been kidnapped or murdered, so they brought the FBI in, several agents and that one who figured out Eric had killed her, he was in charge, I think. Then Eric was arrested, and went to jail.” She took another sip of tea. “Which seemed right at the time. Everyone thought it had been him all along.”

“Everyone like who?” Andrew asked before Dorsey could.

“Everybody.” Paula Rose shrugged. “Soon as everyone knew she’d been in his car and they found that bloody shirt, everyone figured he’d killed her. The police, my father, my grandparents—everyone in town thought it was him. Hearing that FBI agent say it just made it so.”

“Except that it wasn’t,” Dorsey pointed out.

“True. But I still say that if she ran away, it was because of what he did to her.”

“Can you think of any other reason Shannon would have wanted to leave home? Was she unhappy? Had she been having any problems?”

“None that I knew of. Then again, like I said, I was only eleven. If there was something going on with her, she wouldn’t have told me about it.”

“Who would she have told?” Dorsey asked.

“Aubrey. Or maybe Kimmie White.”

“Did you ever hear her talk about running away? About leaving home?”

“No. But I’d have been the last person she’d tell, if she was going to do something like that. She’d have been too afraid I’d tell Momma.”

“So, I guess we should schedule a visit with Aubrey.” Andrew stood, as did Dorsey. “I’m sure she’s expecting us by now.”

Paula Rose laughed. “I’m sure she got a phone call, just like I did. Natalie, too, most likely.”

“And Kimmie? Do you think your mother called Shannon’s old friends to give them a heads up?” Andrew took the half-empty glass from Dorsey’s hand and placed it along with his on the tray.

“Undoubtedly. She was pretty heated up when she called me. She did not appreciate you asking if she’d known Shannon was alive all this time.”

“Actually, what I asked was if there was anything that might have happened over the years that might have made her think that Shannon might not be gone. Something that might have made her think Shannon was trying to contact her.”

“Well, however you phrased it, she didn’t care for it one bit.” Paula Rose began to walk toward the door, obviously intending for the agents to follow her.

“I’m sorry for that. But while we’re on the subject, how about you? Was there anything that might have happened years ago that, looking back, you might wonder if your sister might have been reaching out to you?” Andrew stood his ground, watching her face. “Phone calls where the person on the other end did not speak? Hang-ups? Something in the mail that came anonymously?”

“No. Sorry.” She opened the front door and stood waiting for them to walk through it. “But if anything comes to mind, I’ll certainly give you a call, Agent Shields.” Outside, Andrew turned back.

“I expect you’ll need one of these, in that case.” Andrew held out one of his cards. “You can call my cell phone and—”

“I surely will do that.” She snatched the card from his hand and closed the outer door. “You both have a nice day, now.”

10

“Well, we’ve certainly scored big with the Randall family today, haven’t we?” Andrew drove to the end of Paula Rose’s street and made a right.

“We? I’d say you. I was doing just fine.”

“And here I always fancied myself a lady’s man.”

“We all have our little delusions.” She rested back against the head rest, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

“So what do you think of the Randalls so far?” he asked. “Any impressions you’d like to share? Other than the fact that they’re a strange group?”

“You thought so, too?”

“Definitely. Let’s start with the mother. She’s devastated about her daughter, yet when it comes time to make a positive identification, she sends her eldest daughter—alone—to do the deed.”

“Maybe, like she said, she just couldn’t face it. It had to be a shock, after all these years, to find out that Shannon could have been alive, only now she’s been murdered for real. Maybe she couldn’t face Shannon’s death twice.”

“All I know is, if Shannon had been my sister, my mother would have walked barefoot over hot coals to get to her. And we’d have all been walking with her.”

“I can’t relate.” Dorsey looked out the window. “I have no siblings and my mother died when I was young.”

He glanced over at her as if he was about to say something, then thought better of it.

“And Paula Rose—you get the feeling she’s played that baby-of-the-family role for all it’s worth?” he asked.

“Definitely.” She nodded. “And I think I’d bite my tongue off before I went to her for guidance for any problem I was having. I noticed a definite lack of charity in her attitude toward her long-lost sister.”

“You’re referring to her comment about ‘the way Shannon turned out’?”

“Yeah. Very cold. Turned on her sister like that.” Dorsey snapped her fingers. “I didn’t get any ‘judge not’ vibes from her.”

“I can hardly wait to see what Grandma brings to the mix.”

“Well, let’s see if we—that would be you, actually—can strike out as thoroughly with the matriarch. Shall we bet on how long it takes you to piss her off? I’m thinking fifteen minutes, tops.”

“What’s the wager?”

“Loser buys lunch.” She looked at her watch. “Make that dinner. And the winner gets to chose the place.”

“You’re on. I should warn you, though. I’m planning on winning the elder Mrs. Randall over with my charm. I’m going to be a model of sensitivity.”

“Plan on finding a place that serves great barbecue, then, because that’s what I’m going to want as my winnings.” Dorsey took her cell phone from her pocket and checked for messages. There were none. She bit the inside of her lip, and wondered where her father was and why he hadn’t returned her calls.

“I was actually thinking along the lines of some good old-fashioned Southern comfort food.”

“We’ll see who gets to—oops!” Dorsey referred to the directions Judith Randall had given them. “I think you should have gone straight instead of making a turn at that stop sign. Mrs. Randall lives around the corner on the next street.”

“I just wanted to take a look around the back of the church property.” He reduced his speed to a crawl as they approached the wide drive that marked the rear of the church’s parking lot. “You never know what you might find.”

“Like that blue van parked behind the church?” she asked.

“Yeah. Like that.”

He turned into the lot and parked next to the dark blue vehicle.
THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE
was painted on the both front doors in white block letters. Andrew parked the car and got out, but before he’d taken three steps, a man emerged from the stairwell leading up from the church basement. He was tall and broad and—though he looked to be in his late sixties—vigorous. He eyed Andrew suspiciously when he saw him standing close to the van.

“Help you with something?” He took a key ring from his pocket and unlocked van’s side door.

“You work here?” Andrew smiled and tried to look friendly and nonthreatening. He wished he’d taken off his tie and jacket when he’d left Reverend Paula Rose’s house. He was pretty sure his attire didn’t lend itself to casual questioning around Hatton.

The man nodded. “I am fortunate enough to offer my time in service to the church, yes sir.”

“You drive this van?”

“Right again.” The man wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief that he pulled from a pocket and turned to watch Dorsey round the back of his vehicle. “Hot as blazes today, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” Andrew nodded. “May I ask what you use the van for?”

“May I ask why you’re asking?”

“We’re investigating something for the Randall family.”

“I use it for church business, whatever Pastor Paula wants me to do. On Sundays I pick up members who don’t have a ride to services, either ’cause they’re too sick or too old to drive themselves, or maybe ’cause their car broke down or something. Use it during the school year to pick up folks for choir and such. Starting next week, I’ll be using it to pick up kids for Bible camp. Church runs camp every year, two weeks in June, two weeks in July.”

“Anyone else drive it?” Andrew asked. “Reverend Paula, for example?”

“Nope, she hasn’t driven it once that I know of. No one else drives it, either. Just me.” He returned the damp cloth to his back pocket.

“Where is it garaged at night?”

“Garaged? Ain’t no garage. It goes home with me, every night, sits in my driveway until I drive back over here in the morning.”

“Weekends, as well?”

“Every day, seven days a week. Like I said, I pick up people for Sunday services, drive ’em back home again.”

“Thanks for your time.” Andrew started back to his car, then turned to ask, “This van hasn’t been painted recently, has it?”

“Nope. Always been dark blue, far as I know.”

“Thanks.” Andrew waved and got behind the steering wheel just as Dorsey got in her side and rolled down the window.

“You suspicious of Reverend Paula?” she asked.

“I’m suspicious of everyone right now.”

“The van spotted on the island that night was a light color, right?”

“That’s why I asked if it had been painted.” He circled around to the exit. “But you know that would have been too easy.”

“Right. And it never is.” She snapped on her seat belt.

“It would have been nice though. There’s the sister with the motive—God forbid anyone should find out the minister’s sister not only did not die twenty-four years ago, but ran away and has been doing the dirty for money all this time. Here’s the van the minister used to dispose of the body. And of course, as soon as we question the good reverend about it, she’ll break down and confess.”

“I’ve never had it happen like that, all wrapped up and tidy with the first suspect on the list.” She added wistfully, “Though I’ve heard about such things happening. Might be nice, just once, just to see how it feels. The very thought of a murder confession…well, it’s always been a fantasy of mine.”

“You’ve never had anyone confess? You’re kidding, right?”

“Not to murder.” She shook her head. “Everyone is always innocent. You can catch someone at the scene with the murder weapon in hand and they’ll tell you they were just holding it for someone. You forget, I’ve been in Florida for six years. That’s a death penalty state. Nobody admits to anything.”

“You’ve been in Florida for the entire time you’ve been with the Bureau?” Andrew drove slowly to the corner, then asked, “Which way?”

“Right, then right again at the next corner. Then straight for a block.” She folded the paper and stuck it in the top of her handbag. “I was in Cincinnati for a few years before I was transferred to Florida.”

“Cincinnati was your first assignment?”

“Yes. That’s where I worked with Aidan. He was only there for my first few months, though.” She smiled wryly. “Then he went off to play with the big kids.”

“The big kids?”

“John Mancini’s unit.” She turned in her seat. “I think we passed it.”

He pulled to the curb and parked. “We can walk back. Which house is it?”

She got out of the car and checked the number on the nearest house. “I think it’s that gray bungalow about four or five houses back. The one with the black shutters and the red geraniums out front.”

The house they’d parked in front of looked vacant, and a sale sign had been placed at the edge of the unkempt lawn. The sidewalk was cracked and uneven in spots. By the time they arrived at Martha Randall’s home, Dorsey was wishing she’d opted for low-heeled shoes.

“This is it.” She nodded in the direction of the low-slung house with the wraparound porch. On one side, a trellis supported a trailing vine heavy with red-orange flowers. “Cute, but you’d have thought the family would have moved her into a better neighborhood.”

She glanced at the houses on either side of the house, then at those across the street.

“It does seem a bit run-down,” Andrew agreed as they walked to the front door. “Think she’s heard from her daughter-in-law by now?”

“Her daughter-in-law and her granddaughter, no doubt.” Dorsey rang the bell.

A moment later, a plump, unpleasant-looking woman in her thirties answered. She was dressed in a white blouse with stains under the armpits and a straight denim skirt. Her hair was secured into a tight bun in the back, and rhinestone trimmed glasses dangled from a beaded chain worn around her neck.

“Yes?” She gave each agent the once-over.

“We’re here to see Mrs. Randall,” Dorsey told her.

“She expecting you?” the woman asked.

“By now?” Andrew glanced at his watch. “Probably.” He held out his I.D.

“I’m going to have to check with her.” The woman closed the door in their faces.

“Did we expect otherwise?” Andrew asked.

“All things considered, no.” Dorsey grinned.

“For the record, annoying the housekeeper, or whatever she is, does not count as pissing off a family member.”

Before Dorsey could respond, the woman returned and pushed open the door.

“Miz Randall will see you.” She held the door for them and sighed deeply as they passed into the narrow foyer, as if their unexpected presence was a personal intrusion into her life. “She’s in the back room, right on through here.”

She directed them down a hall leading into the kitchen, and from there, to a screened porch overlooking a surprisingly pretty backyard. The room was filled with white wicker furniture. An elderly woman, white hair pulled back in a bun, sat in a rocking chair near the window.

“Mrs. Randall, thank you for seeing us like this,” Andrew said as they entered the room.

“If ‘like this’ means not calling first to see if this might be a convenient time, you needn’t worry. My daughter-in-law took it upon herself to announce your intentions.” The woman rocked gently, assessing them with cool blue eyes.

“Kind of her.”

“I’m sure.” Mrs. Randall pointed at the sofa positioned against the one long wall. “Please sit. I’m going to be getting a crinked neck from looking up at her.” She gestured at Dorsey. “You’re certainly a tall one, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” Dorsey sat where she’d been instructed.

“Those high heels make you even taller,” she observed with more than a trace of the South in her speech. “Your mamma a tall lady?”

“Yes, ma’am, she was.” Dorsey nodded.

“Was?” The old woman leaned forward slightly. “Meaning she has passed on?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Recently?”

“When I was nine,” Dorsey told her.

“Who raised you, then?”

“My aunt and my father.”

“They did a fine job.” Mrs. Randall nodded approvingly. “You’re a well-mannered, polite young woman. You tell your daddy I said so.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Mrs. Randall.” Dorsey smiled.

“Now, what is it that you two expect to learn from me that you haven’t learned from my daughter-in-law or my granddaughter?” Before either could answer, Mrs. Randall called out, “Dorothea? You bring some lemonade on out here for our guests. And turn on that ceiling fan.”

She turned back to Andrew. “You were about to say?”

“My name is Andrew Shields. I’m a special agent with—”

Martha Randall waved her hand impatiently. “I know who you are and where you’re from. You wanted to ask me questions about our Shannon?”

He nodded. “I’m sure it was a terrible shock to find out she’d been alive all these years.”

“Oh, my land, yes. You simply cannot imagine what we’ve all been going through these past few days.” She placed a hand over her heart. “It’s been most unexpected, to be sure. Not just that she’s been alive, but where she’s been.
What
she’s been. And to find she’s been murdered, after all.”

Her small hands continued to flutter about the middle of her chest.

“Doesn’t this just beat all? Who’d have thought that girl could have been alive all these years. And to never let us know. Well, like I told Judith and Franklin, it must have been amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” Dorsey asked.

“That kept her from coming home.” Mrs. Randall stopped rocking in her chair. “She obviously didn’t know who she was or where she was from. Otherwise, she’d have come home long ago.”

“Actually, Mrs. Randall, the police were able to identify her and locate her family here in Hatton because she’d told her roommate her name, and where she was from,” Andrew told her.

“How is that possible?” The old woman frowned. “How could she have known who she was, and not tell us she was alive?” She looked at Andrew, wide-eyed, as if the mere suggestion was ludicrous. “And for her to have been doing what she was doing down there in Georgia….” She visibly shivered. “No, no, Agent Shields. No granddaughter of mine would have lived a life of sin the way that poor girl had been doing. If she’d known who she was, she’d have come on home, and gone to college, just like she’d planned.”

She looked at Dorsey and added, “She was going to be a nursery school teacher, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” Dorsey said softly. “Shannon gave her name—Shannon Randall, of Hatton, South Carolina—to her roommate. How could Edith Chiong have known, if Shannon hadn’t told her?”

“Edith Chiong?”