Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [50]
I began to eat my salad. “So I have to ask you. What did the police say?”
“I called the Charleston police the night of the wedding, but they told me I needed to wait twenty-four hours. Then I got back to the hotel and found the note from her.” He put his sandwich down. “I was up all night, just waiting. And I waited all the next day. I wandered around looking for her. Finally, when night came I contacted the local police again, but when I showed them the note, they weren’t interested. Gave me some line about how women do that sometimes.” He laughed scornfully.
“And that’s it? They wouldn’t help you?”
“Nope. I called the Portland police, too. They were a little nicer, and they looked into her disappearance for a few days, but they kept coming back to the note, and eventually they dropped their investigation. It was the same song and dance about letting her have a little space. I’ve been trying to find your father, but the number’s not listed. How about giving me that?”
His question startled me. My father was a private man, and I wasn’t sure what to do. “Do you still have the note?” I said, ignoring his question for the time being.
Matt sighed. He stared at me. Finally, as if he’d made a decision, he nodded, then leaned back and reached into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a small, worn piece of white notepaper and handed it to me. Across the top, in green italic printing, it read, Planters Inn. Under that, in blue ballpoint ink and tiny cursive handwriting, Caroline had written:
Matty, I love you so much, and I’m sorry to just take off like this, but I need a break. Please, please, please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll be in touch. Love, Caro.
I read it once more and felt a tug in my heart at the nicknames.
I handed the paper back to Matt. “Has she done this before?”
“Never.” He ran a finger over the note before he folded it and put it back into his pocket.
“And you haven’t heard anything from her?”
“No.”
“Have you called her friends?”
Matt smiled. “You’re looking at him.”
I felt that tug again. “She doesn’t have any girlfriends?”
“Not really.” He must have caught the surprise on my face. “Don’t look so sad. She became pretty good friends with my buddies, and I’m her best friend. We’ve been happy, until your father screwed it up for us.”
The lettuce in my mouth felt dry and sticky. I had to force myself to chew and swallow it. I was angry at my father for keeping me away from Caroline, but I still hated to hear someone malign him. Will Sutter was an organized, cerebral man who always had a reason for his actions. He did nothing by accident. I wanted to believe that he had a good motive for keeping in touch with Caroline and not telling his youngest daughter about it.
“I’m sorry,” Matt said. “I know you lived with your dad, and you probably believe he’s perfect, but if you’d seen Caroline that day…” His words died away for a moment, as if the memory was too painful. “I should have made her talk then. I should have forced her to tell me what was making her act like that and look so scared. But Caroline got jumpy when she was pushed, and I thought there was time. I thought…” He trailed off again, and shoved his plate away. He’d eaten only half his sandwich.
“Shouldn’t you try to eat more?” I asked. “You need to keep your strength up.”
Matt smiled, the first genuine smile I had seen since I met him. “That’s what Caro always used to say. ‘You need to keep your strength up.’”
I returned the smile. It was something I said frequently, too, clichéd words of wisdom I gave to my father when he was on trial or to Maddy when she was drinking too much wine. A glimmer of a memory then. My mom in a pair of shorts and a peach T-shirt, bringing a basket of rolls to the table.
“Della made them special,” she’d said, placing the basket on the table. “Eat, kids. You need to keep your strength up.”
Suppers during the week were laid-back affairs, with all of us in casual clothes—shorts in the spring and summer, jeans and sweaters during the colder months. The food was brought