When You Come Back

by Webb, Debra

  “You and your mom will always have me and Helen.” I face forward. “So, what’s our plan?”

  “I say start at the beginning. Retrace every step. Find out who was where and doing what. First thing, we make a list.” She gestures to the glove box. “There’s a pad and pen in there if you want to get started.”

  I open the glove box and retrieve the needed items. “Natalie’s and Stacy’s names are at the top, I presume.”

  “Right. Then the two of us and our parents. Add Mr. Russell. It’s a long shot but let’s find out if he’d been sick just before the crash and if anyone knew about his health issues.”

  Definitely a long shot but then I’m not a cop.

  “What about the neighbors who lived on Long Hollow Road at the time?” I suggest.

  “Yep. Friends and teachers of Natalie’s and Stacy’s. Everyone. We won’t leave anyone out.”

  I scrawl names as fast as I can. “Hold on, I need to catch up.” I shake my head. “I’ll never remember all Natalie’s friends.” My sister was one of the most popular girls in school and it was a long time ago.

  “Look in the backseat. I put the yearbook from that year back there.”

  “You are a very smart lady.” I unbuckle and fetch the yearbook. Seatbelt back in place, I ask, “Where are we headed first?”

  “To your old house.”

  “Good starting place, I guess.”

  “That’s not our starting place.” Letty flashes me a grin. “It’s going to be our command center.”

  I point a finger at her. “I was wrong. You’re not smart. You’re a genius.”

  “I have the case files in the back. The ones from twenty-five years ago as well as the Shepherd and Baldwin file.”

  My mouth gapes. “How did you get away with those?” I felt reasonably confident the investigators reopening the old case would need them. Certainly the new case files were needed in the Shepherd-Baldwin investigation.

  “I spent most of the night at the station making copies.”

  “Geez, should you be driving?”

  “I’m good for now. I may crash and burn later.”

  We park around back of the house to avoid nosy passersby. I locate the hidden key and unlock the backdoor. Once the boxes of case files are unloaded, I open a couple of windows to air out the place.

  “We need a coffeemaker,” I mutter, wondering why Letty did all the preparing and I did nothing but show up. I should have asked her what I could do.

  “Your mother is bringing a coffeemaker, coffee and breakfast.”

  My lower jaw sags again.

  “Don’t worry,” Letty assures me, “she’s not staying. I asked her if we could use the place and she said of course but she insisted on bringing a few comfort items.”

  A few comfort items turned out to be a vast understatement. Mother showed up half an hour later with the promised coffeemaker, a couple of pounds of freshly ground coffee beans, pancakes and sausage, bottled water, a six pack of each of our favorite sodas, chips, apples, cheese and crackers. She added a fresh bouquet of flowers to the mason jar in the window over the kitchen sink and stocked the two bathrooms with toilet paper and hand towels. Helen Graves can never be accused of being anything less than thorough.

  With the supplies unloaded, she gave each of us a hug and went on her way.

  “Did you tell your mom?” I sent Letty a text last night and told her about my inability to keep part of the news from Helen.

  “I went by her house and told her,” Letty said. “I realized I couldn’t keep it from her since those dog tags will probably end up in the news today or tomorrow. She needs to be prepared for being questioned all over again.” Letty exhales a heavy breath. “And the reporters. It wouldn’t be right to let her be blindsided like that.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “She swears she took them off Dad’s neck right in front of the coroner.” Letty clears her throat. “She wanted to keep them for me. But she lost them at some point later on.”

  I frown. “The coroner should be able to confirm what he saw when he certified cause of death.”

  “I’m planning to talk to him as soon as his doctor gives the okay.”

  We line three of the dining room chairs under the double windows and place the file boxes in the seats for easy access. Our notepads, pens, the school yearbook, and other useful items go on the table. Letty even managed to dig up an old phone book.

  “Let’s get started.” She pulls out one of the three remaining chairs and gets comfortable.

  I do the same. I’ve spent my life digging in the dirt so this is a different kind of dig for me but I look forward to the challenge.

  If Natalie and Stacy’s killer is still alive, I hope he’s afraid.

  No, I hope he’s terrified.

  We’re coming, you bastard.

  17

  I have exhumed the remains of people brutally murdered by the leaders of their own countries and then buried in mass graves as if they were nothing more than cattle grouped together in the wrong place when lightning struck.

  Just when I believe I have seen it all, I witness something more depraved—the very worst man can do to man. Days and weeks, even months of my life have been spent examining remains and the environment in which they were found in an effort to determine the events leading up to the day their existence ended. I’ve evaluated cause and manner of death.

  But I have never worked a case from this aspect—determining the identity of the killer.

  Letty created a timeline on my mother’s china cabinet. Photos and pages listing events are taped to the front of the cabinet, top to bottom. The timeline begins on Tuesday, April third, one week before the bus accident twenty-five years ago. Photos of Natalie, Stacy, me, Letty, all the parents as well as the bus driver are taped along the top of the cabinet. She left space below those photos to affix pages with the names and hand drawn heads (like the placeholder images used for social media profiles) of other persons of interest; POIs, she calls them. So far we have several additional friends who were close to Natalie and Stacy, dance instructors, teachers—like the cheerleading coach and the yearbook sponsor—with whom both worked closely beyond the usual school curriculum.

  The few neighbors who lived on Long Hollow Road at the time are listed though several are now deceased. Still, it was necessary to include them. No one who had opportunity can be excluded. Once the names of every person with opportunity are assembled, that list will be narrowed down by motive. I have a feeling the china cabinet will never be large enough.

  “If we go strictly with the interviews conducted by the investigators who handled the case in real time, most of these POIs can be ruled out.” Letty braces her hands on her hips and paces the length of the dining room, her gaze fixed on the timeline. “But we’re not ruling anyone out based on what they told the police twenty-five years ago.”

  “Do you have reason to believe one or more didn’t tell the whole truth in their interviews?” Letty has read all the reports and would certainly recognize any aspect that appeared suspicious. She is trained to look for the holes in a story, I am not. I am, however, reasonably competent at spotting lies—a secondary result produced by years of honing my own skill at telling lies.

  “This girl.” Letty taps one of the photos.

  “I remember her,” I say as I study the photo. “Mallory Carlisle. She was one of Natalie’s close friends. Her folks were divorced or something.”

  “Mallory Jacobs now,” Letty pointed out. “Her dad left when she was about ten. Her mother spent all her time trying to find a new husband. According to my mom, Mallory ended up home alone a lot. I guess that’s why she found herself pregnant at eighteen and married right after high school graduation.”

  “Jacobs?” I try to remember someone Natalie’s age or older named Jacobs.

  “He was from Huntsville,” Letty explains. “They divorced a couple of years later but not before having another child. Two girls, both married really yo
ung just like their mom. The younger one—” her forehead pinches in concentration “—I can’t remember her name, she’s a senior at one of the local universities. She married Heather’s little brother, Marshall. They had a baby six months later.”

  I really can’t recall any details about the youngest Beaumont. “How old is he?”

  “Marshall is twenty-eight. He’s with some big time law firm in Huntsville.”

  Nothing like his older brother, apparently. The image of Mark flickers through my mind. “I saw Mark the other day.” I opt not to mention the circumstances of our chance encounter.

  “He’s spent most of his life in and out of rehab.” Letty shakes her head. “Mom says Mark changed after his father’s accident. Threw his future away.”

  “I’d forgotten about that, too.” I’ve obviously blocked far more of the past than I realized. “Didn’t Mallory and Mark have a thing for a while?”

  Letty nods. “It ended badly.”

  “Yeah.” I frown. “That’s right.” More ancient data long ago exiled to some unused area of gray matter.

  Letty rolls her eyes. “Mallory is so thrilled that one of her offspring landed the most eligible bachelor in all of Madden County.”

  I roll my eyes, too, as much at Letty’s sardonic tone as at the news. “How exciting for her.”

  The older two Beaumont children ruled our small world back in the day. You would have thought they were royalty when the truth was they were mere humans just like the rest of us. I wonder if Heather has figured out that part yet. Evidently not based on the fit she pitched in the Pig about her preferred yogurt.

  “Anyway,” Letty says, turning back to the timeline. “Of all the friends interviewed, Mallory is the only one who stated that Natalie was seeing someone—someone older.”

  “I guess it’s possible.” I shrug, struggle to look at the possibility with some measure of objectivity. I can’t help Letty find the truth if I can’t keep the proper perspective about all this. “She was very popular. Mature for her age. I don’t think Mother knew about a boyfriend. I certainly didn’t.”

  Snippets of memories I haven’t thought of in years file through my mind. Natalie fussing over what she would wear to school. Spending more time than usual on the phone. “I suppose if she was hiding a relationship there must have been a reason—maybe the boy was considerably older, a senior maybe. Freshmen cheerleaders are usually considered fresh meat to the seniors.”

  Letty nods and joins me at the table. “That’s my thinking. I’ve asked your mom to come back over. She was closer to Natalie than anyone. She can help us with some of this.” She gestures to the china cabinet.

  Letty’s right. Helen will remember accurately far more than the two of us. We were so young. It’s possible much of what we remember was shaped more by emotions we were too immature to comprehend and sort than by actual events.

  “We were all in shock back then.” I survey the photos. “Terrified of what had potentially happened and hoping against hope it would turn out okay…that we would find them. The way they found me.”

  “I remember being so scared that night,” Letty says. “When Mom came to Granny’s house and told me they’d found you I was so happy.” She gifted me with a sad smile. “I couldn’t imagine ever going back to school without you.” Her smile faded. “But Granny just started crying and crying as if the world had ended. Mom hugged her so hard. She cried, too. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. They were afraid Natalie and Stacy were gone for good.”

  A shiver rushes up my spine. “People always said your granny could see things.”

  “I wish she was still here so she could tell me how to figure this out.” Her gaze settles on the collage of people and information.

  “Me, too.”

  I’ve watched my fair share of television and movies. Read more books than I can call to mind. But the story that stuck with me as a kid was The Wizard of Oz. When Natalie and Stacy didn’t come home that first day after the bus crash, I kept thinking that all they had to do was click their heels three times and repeat the words: There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. Then God or His angels or some good witch would help them find their way home again.

  Except they never did.

  I don’t think we ever watched The Wizard of Oz again after that year.

  I banish the thoughts and sit up a little straighter. “I hope Helen brings lunch.” For the first time in a long time I am not just hungry but starving. This is unusual, mark-the-calendar unusual. I want to satisfy this raging hunger and then I want to get out there and find the answers no one else has been able to find.

  Maybe deep down I want to be the hero, the good witch or the angel that never came when my sister and her friend first went missing.

  “Hey, girls!”

  Mother’s voice rings through the house. My heart seizes at the memory of all the times she came home and called out to Natalie and me exactly that way. She closes the front door and walks into the dining room, arms loaded with a picnic basket. I push to my feet and grab the basket. I heft it onto the kitchen counter since the table is covered with interview reports.

  “Did you bring everything in your fridge?” I ask. The basket weighs more than one of my dig packs. I’m certain she shouldn’t be lifting anything this heavy. Obviously the two of us are going to have to sit down with her doctor and discuss her limitations.

  She smiles. “I figured you two had built up an appetite.”

  “God, it smells good,” Letty says with a groan of appreciation.

  As we watch, mouths watering, Mother unloads fried chicken, mashed potatoes, sweet peas and rolls from the basket. And, of course, homemade cherry cobbler and mason jars filled with iced lemonade. Melamine plates along with packaged plastic dinnerware she’s saved from take home orders.

  “Let’s eat and then you can tell me what you’re doing.” Helen surveys her china cabinet. “Maybe I really can help.”

  The hope in her eyes, in her voice tugs at the most tender place inside me. I recognize the tactic. She wants to help, but more than anything else she wants something meaningful to do. I’ve spent most of my adult life ignoring my own feelings and needs using that very maneuver.

  “For the purposes of full disclosure, did my mother ask you to spy on us?” Letty tosses out the question as she covers the pink roses on her plate with potatoes and peas. A golden brown chicken breast follows.

  Curious how Mother will answer this direct question, I keep quiet and follow Letty’s example, loading up my plate. Maybe I don’t generally eat like this because no one cooks like my mother—which might explain why I was a chubby kid.

  “No, she absolutely did not.” Mother pushes a mason jar toward each of us and reaches into the fridge for a bottle of water for herself.

  Apparently the fridge was stocked and plugged in sometime before we arrived. I never noticed the motor humming until now. I can already see that I’ll make a less than sharp detective.

  Letty grunts, her opinion on the matter as plain as the nose on her face, as Helen would say.

  “Well now, if you’d let me finish before you started snorting like a pig, you’d have heard the rest of the story.”

  Just like old times. Letty always liked to cut to the chase and Mother always reminded her that one should never jump to conclusions. However, on this one I stand firmly with Letty. Mother will report to Ginny whatever she learns and Ginny would do the same.

  “Your mother is worried about the two of you, just as I am,” Helen scolds. “We’ve had a terrible shock and I doubt a one of us is thinking as clearly as we should.”

  The glimmer of emotion in her eyes is difficult to look at. I wish I could spare her what is to come. She has no idea just how terrible it is. I scoop a wad of potatoes into my mouth. Pain impales me when I think of those damaged skulls—my sister’s skull and her best friend’s.

  Add to that the dog tags and this nightmare has barely begun.

  “Ginny wou
ld be right beside me,” Mother presses on, “offering to do whatever possible to help, but she has to work. The post office won’t run itself. As for your question, she did not ask me to spy on you, only to keep her informed as to your welfare.” She hesitates long enough to draw in a big, emphatic breath. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s get down to business. What exactly is it the two of you are doing out here? Liam O’Neal told me you’d taken some personal time.” This she says to Letty.

  I sip my lemonade—hand squeezed—and savor the taste of summer. Mother made this same lemonade all season every summer of my childhood. I stare at the thin slices of lemon floating in the mason jar. If I close my eyes for just a moment I can hear Natalie giggling in her room. Right down the hall. A thin wall separates our old rooms and she was always on the phone. Letty was the only person who ever called me. Until my junior year of high school anyway.

  “I can’t officially be a part of the investigation.” Letty shrugs. “It’s a conflict of interest. O’Neal is my chief deputy; he’ll be in charge for a while.”

  Helen considers this information. “On the news they said there’s still nothing on the Shepherd and Baldwin girls.”

  Letty lowers her head, as if she’s ashamed she hasn’t singlehandedly solved the case. “They have nothing. In that respect, it’s like twenty-five years ago all over again.”

  I remember that first night at Letty’s. She was determined not to let this new case be like Natalie and Stacy’s. Now everything is turned upside down. The past is suddenly the present and finding the bones and those dog tags has knocked all of us off balance.

  “The remote possibility,” Letty goes on, frustration heavy in her words, “that the two cases are connected prevents me from being a part of the Shepherd-Baldwin investigation as well.”

  Another frown furrows its way across my forehead. Letty and I have spent very little time together as adults. What I know about the grown-up Letty comes mostly from the things Helen has told me rather than anything I have personally observed. No matter, I recognize several things about my friend. She is not a quitter and she is one of the strongest people I know. She would never have allowed alcohol to become an issue and she absolutely would never have lost it in a classroom full of kids.