When You Come Back

by Webb, Debra

  “Refresh our memories about Natalie’s friends,” I suggest, moving on to something we can do. “Starting with Mallory.”

  Mother sets her plate aside and walks to the timeline. “Mallory Carlisle—Jacobs now—was a year older and a sophomore but she was one of Natalie’s closest friends, next to Stacy. That year was different though, Mallory was so busy with her first real boyfriend that she dropped out of dance and cheerleading. Natalie and Stacy were really disappointed. They didn’t spend as much time together anymore, but they were still friends, I believe. Things change when boys come into the picture,” she adds in case Letty and I don’t remember the less pleasant side of puberty.

  “What about teachers?” Letty asks. “Any difficulties with teachers or school staff? Or any other adult around town?”

  I wonder if this is Letty’s way of getting around to the “older” guy theory?

  Helen settles wearily into one of the three chairs not loaded with file boxes. “All Natalie’s teachers loved her and she adored them. She was an honor student. On the student council. Beta Club. Interact Club. She didn’t have any enemies.”

  Mother presses her hands to her face for a moment before she can go on. “I know it sounds like I’m bragging, but it’s true. Everyone loved Natalie. Stacy, too, as far as I know.”

  I reach across the stacks and pages and squeeze her hand. “We know you’re not bragging. It is true. Everyone loved Natalie and Stacy.”

  Except at least one person.

  “During her interview,” Letty walked over to the table and picked up one of the reports, “Mallory said she thought Natalie might be involved with someone older.”

  Mother throws up her hands and shakes them from side to side. “That’s not true. Natalie was far too busy for a boyfriend and if she’d had one, I would have known. We shared everything. I told the sheriff and the chief that all those years ago. Mallory was wrong.”

  I look at Letty and raise my eyebrows in an I-told-you-so.

  Letty drops into the chair nearest Helen. “Think about that answer for a minute, Helen. If Natalie had her first serious crush—particularly on someone you and her father might not have approved of—are you sure she would have told you?”

  Mother hesitates but only for a second. “I believe so.”

  Letty looks to me again.

  “You and Dad have lived here your whole lives,” I say, taking another approach. “Surely there was someone during the investigation that you thought should have been a suspect—at least in your minds.”

  Mother surveys the pages and pages of reports covering the dining table. “No. There wasn’t a single person in this community that we felt would hurt our daughter. No one.”

  “Someone new in town at the time,” Letty offers. “There was a Benton Culver. He’d recently been released from prison on an attempted rape charge. His alibi checked out and he moved away, but you didn’t once consider he might have been involved? Or someone like him?”

  Mother moves her head from side to side. “No. We spoke to him twice. It wasn’t him. There just isn’t anyone I know who would have done such a thing.”

  The emotions she displayed a few minutes ago are gone. She seems oblivious, almost indifferent. Chipper even. I can’t decide if she’s still suffering from a bit of shock or if she’s hiding something.

  “Mother.”

  She looks at me, startled as if I snapped her from a faraway place. “Hmm?”

  Maybe her doctor prescribed something for anxiety. I should have thought of that. Of course he would under the circumstances. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did your doctor give you something to help you stay calm?”

  “What?” She frowns. “No. I’m fine. I’m just having a little trouble with the tears. Please, ask whatever you like. Really, I’m fine.”

  Letty looks uncertain, but I do as Mother says and plunge onward. “What do you truly—deep in your heart—believe happened to Natalie and Stacy?”

  For half a minute or more she contemplates the question. “I think perhaps they got lost. Like you did,” she says. “I spoke to Colton about the cave where they were found—”

  “Please tell me,” Letty interrupted, “that he didn’t pass along anything about that crime scene.”

  Mother shakes her head adamantly. “No. Of course not. He only told me how the cave had sunk in all those years ago. You know, like a sinkhole. I think maybe they were lost and fell into the hole. He said it was a big drop.” She shakes her head, draws in a shuddering breath. “That has to be what happened.”

  Letty and I exchange a look. It’s a reasonable theory, except Natalie and Stacy didn’t bury themselves. I keep that part to myself.

  “I doubt we’ll ever know what actually happened,” Mother says, almost to herself.

  “We will know,” Letty assures her. “Twenty-five years ago, the police only had a starting place. They had no evidence and no direction. They had nothing.”

  My attention is riveted to my mother’s face as Letty speaks. She almost looks afraid of what Letty will say next. Why would she fear finding the truth? Is she afraid for us? It’s the only explanation that feels even remotely logical.

  “Now we have an ending place,” Letty goes on. “Somewhere between the beginning place and the ending place we’ll find the intersection where Natalie and Stacy encountered the person who took their lives. You have my word on that.”

  More of that suffocating silence lapses. I can’t take it. “Our plan is to retrace their steps, Mother. We’re starting the week before they disappeared. From that day forward we’re going to know everyone they spoke to, everywhere they went, every little thing they did. Someone somewhere knows something that matters; they just might not realize it matters. It’s like Letty said, it’s a whole different ballgame now that we know the ending place.”

  I am suddenly on fire. Maybe a little full of shit but a whole lot psyched.

  We are going to do this. For Natalie and Stacy.

  And for our mothers.

  Even though, for some odd reason, mine doesn’t look so thrilled at my revelation.

  18

  Despite our shaky start, Helen provided considerable insights into most of the faces hanging on the china cabinet and she suggested a few names Letty and I hadn’t thought to add. We now have quite the list. We decided the best way to move forward was to do so separately. The names on my list are the easier ones to approach, the ones who gladly cooperated with the original investigation.

  Letty is taking the folks who might prove less cooperative. She’s the sheriff. As long as she doesn’t mention that she’s taken some personal time, those people will see her questions as official police business. Even the toughest nut to crack will often yield to a badge.

  The first name on my list is Mallory. Though I remember her, she never really paid attention to me. No doubt she will recall the name. Emma Graves, Natalie’s younger sister. Emma Graves, the girl who came back when no one else did.

  Mallory owns a European style boutique in town. This shop was established after her divorce, about ten years ago. Rumor has it that the tidy settlement she received helped to launch her longtime dream. According to Helen, Mallory likes to travel so she chose a career that allows her to write off all that travel as a tax deduction. Maybe Mallory is smarter than I recall. Of course all the girls Natalie’s age seemed dumb to me because their worlds only appeared to encompass clothes, popularity and celebrities.

  I glance in both directions before I get out of my car. I’ve spotted numerous reporters since I left the farm, all no doubt looking for a story to tell. Someone who knows the missing girls. Someone who knows bones have been found. The police have been fairly tightlipped with comments. I imagine that will change soon enough.

  The Royal Boutique is on the square in downtown Jackson Falls facing the Classical Revival style courthouse built in 1884. As the legend goes the original courthouse burned to the ground at the hands of Frank James’ supporters while he was on trial in near
by Madison County. My grandmother was an avid storyteller when I was a child and she insisted that the burning of the courthouse story was completely inaccurate. Her tale was that a number of Jackson Falls’ most prominent families, including the mayor, the sheriff and a couple of judges, arranged to have dinner in the jail with the notorious outlaw on numerous occasions while he was incarcerated. Certain Jackson Falls church-going extremists burned down the courthouse in retaliation for their wicked behavior.

  Whatever the case, the courthouse was rebuilt exactly where it once stood for close to a hundred years. As the center point of the town, the courthouse is bounded by four streets. The rest of the town expands from there in a grid of square city blocks. Mallory’s shop is brick with large windows like the others along the block. I decide it must be French week or month since mannequins dressed in very French Couture fill her storefront windows.

  At the door the faces of those two young girls who are missing stare at me. The giant red letters that spell out the word MISSING demand action. I can’t help you. I couldn’t help my sister.

  How the hell do I think I can do this and make a difference?

  I close my eyes and banish the negative thoughts. I have to do this.

  I will do this.

  The bell over the door jingles as I push through.

  “Welcome! I’ll be right with you!” floats from somewhere beyond the counter. There’s an open doorway that leads into a back room, maybe a storeroom.

  I’m impressed by the glamorous vibe. The shop would be right at home around Fiftieth and Fifth in Manhattan. I check a tag on one of the dresses. “Ouch.” The prices are reminiscent of those as well.

  “Oh that would be perfect with your winter coloring.”

  I turn toward the voice. Mallory looks surprisingly like the teenager she once was. The only surrender to aging I note are the typical lines that have etched themselves into her face but even those are minimal. At forty or forty-one she’s still slender and dresses young with no sign of gray in her long red hair.

  She recognizes me and her mouth forms a circle of surprise. “Why, Emma Graves, how are you?”

  “I’m good. And you?”

  “I’m just wonderful, thank you.”

  I spin slowly, admiring the extensive collection of chic apparel. “Your shop is very nice.”

  She beams. “Thank you. I take great pride in my work.” Her expression slips a bit. “I heard your mother had a heart attack. I hope she’s doing all right now. I feel just terrible that I haven’t dropped by and checked on her. I guess you’ve had to come home to see after her.”

  I smile at the suggestion that a mere heart attack could slow Helen down or require anything beyond minimal assistance. Yet, in the back of my mind I know that the next cardiac event could be far more serious. I could lose her. My heart squeezes.

  “She’s doing well, thanks.”

  Mallory’s hand flies to her throat. “Oh, my, I just realized you’re probably back because of the bones. I can’t believe it took all these years to find Natalie and Stacy.”

  My brain stumbles for a moment. How can she know this?

  “Oops.” Mallory covers her mouth for a moment, her eyes round with something like surprise. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t supposed to say that, but, of course you must know.”

  “How did you hear this?” I ask, careful not to confirm her statement.

  She busies herself with refolding a scarf. “I might have overheard something about it at the mayor’s office this morning. I pop in for coffee sometimes before I open the shop.”

  I’ll just bet she does. She probably has a spy on the staff who keeps her up to speed on all the juicy news and rumors. Nothing ever changes in a small town.

  A big sigh bursts across Mallory’s freshly painted lips. “Lord, I have prayed so many times they’d be found, alive—of course.”

  “I appreciate your prayers.” It’s the expected thing to say when a person makes that announcement. No matter how many years I have spent away from the south that reaction was drilled into my head along with please and thank you. “I stopped by to see if maybe you had a few minutes to talk about Natalie and Stacy.”

  Curiosity claims her face now. “Well, Lord yes. Would you like a water or coffee?”

  I shake my head. “You and Natalie were close,” I say. This is not a question. I remember Mallory spending the night on several occasions.

  “We were.” She smiles sadly. “I regret now that I let having my first real boyfriend get in the way of our friendship. I think I hurt Natalie by always being busy. Plus I really couldn’t stand Stacy. I pretended to like her for as long as I could. Truth is, I had just turned sixteen.” She shrugs. “Let’s face it, sixteen is a stupid age. Lucky for me I eventually found a good man—at least for a little while—and had two beautiful daughters.”

  At that point the offspring photos came off the shelf behind the counter. Both daughters look exactly like Mallory, red hair and blue eyes. She goes on and on about the youngest being married to Marshall Beaumont. By the time I see half a dozen photos of the grandchild my eyes are glazing over.

  “I’m sorry, I have a tendency to go on and on about my girls and my little angel. I’m sure that’s not what you wanted to talk about.”

  I smile patiently. “I understand. Actually I wanted to follow up on something you said twenty-five years ago. I’m wondering if Natalie had any other close friends who knew about the older guy she was involved with at the time of her disappearance?”

  Mallory’s face shows surprise at the question, but the reaction doesn’t reach her eyes. “Older guy?”

  “You said in your statement to the police that Natalie had a new secret boyfriend and that he was older.”

  “Oh, well.” Rather than answer right away, Mallory made a production of putting the framed photos away.

  I recognize the ploy. She’s about to lie to me.

  “The truth is I was the one flirting with an older guy. One of the cops spotted me in a car with him and I lied and said it was Natalie. My hair was pulled back and he didn’t get a good look so he believed me. Like I said, sixteen and stupid. It’s a miracle any of us live through it.”

  She blinks as if she abruptly realized that some didn’t live through it.

  Anger stirs deep in my veins. I force a smile onto my lips. “We’ve all done stupid things, that’s for sure. Still, I wonder if there wasn’t someone. Natalie seemed more secretive than usual those last few months. Even Mother noticed.”

  This particular lie is not for my benefit. It is only for the sake of the investigation. Even the lying priest felt comfortable protecting the greater good with a little white lie.

  Again, the other woman looks away. “I’m sorry. I really don’t remember anything about her and an older guy. Maybe the cops confused me with another of Natalie’s friends. They interviewed so many of us and emotions were running high.”

  Ha. Not likely. “I thumbed through the yearbook and you were the only one of her friends with red hair. I can’t see the detectives who interviewed you confusing you with Natalie or any of her other friends.”

  Her smile is brittle this time. If her face tightens anymore her skin will crack. “Maybe so, but I think I would remember if I mentioned Natalie having a secret boyfriend. There was obviously a mistake or a miscommunication.”

  A razor thin edge of irritation vibrates in her voice. Maybe she is telling the truth. It wasn’t impossible that one of the cops involved with the investigation made a mistake or maybe covered for someone else. Letty knows—at least by reputation—all the cops involved in the investigation. Tonight she and I will discuss the possibility that one of them fell down on the job…or purposely covered for someone.

  Anything was possible. Except it feels like Mallory is the one doing the lying.

  “Just one more thing,” I say before deciding to put her out of her misery and head for the door.

  She waits for me to continue, her eyes wide with what looks like
uncertainty.

  “You love your children and grandchild. My mother loved Natalie that same way. Wouldn’t you want the whole truth if something happened to one of your daughters?”

  The catch in her breath and the horror that claims her face should have made me feel bad for having suggested such a thing, but I don’t.

  I walk out, leaving her to ponder the question. As I drive away Letty calls to let me know an official statement has been issued. The bones discovered were those of Natalie Graves and Stacy Yarbrough.

  No matter that I knew this before anyone else, tears slip down my cheeks. Now the world knows, too.

  * * *

  Twenty-five years ago Ms. Stella Larson, only twenty-four at the time was a new teacher at Jackson Falls and being the low woman on the totem pole she was tasked with taking over as cheerleader sponsor. Old Mrs. Stedman had retired the year before. Someone had to do it. As it turned out, Larson had been a cheerleader in high school and in college. Unmarried and childless, she was happy to fill her after school hours with extracurricular activities.

  Funny how people always assumed if you didn’t have a husband and/or kids you had nothing better to do than their bidding.

  The current school year was nearing an end but next term’s squad would already be working on routines and organizing summer camp. I find Ms. Larson and her squad behind the new gym—the one that was built the year after I graduated. The girls are jumping around and doing flips on the field. The ones with the experience are critiquing the new girls. In my opinion high school is painful enough without adding some extra activity that involves pointing out your faults and belittling your form.

  I haven’t set foot on school property in fifteen years. Reunions always seemed to come on the wrong date. I was either out of the country or in the middle of a dig, sometimes both. Not that I would have come anyway. It wasn’t like there was anyone from my school days—besides Letty—that would draw me back for such an event.