Last Look by Mariah Stewart Page B

with Grady when I was at the academy.” She hesitated before asking, “How is Grady?”
    “About as you might expect.” He brushed the query aside and gestured to the front of the building. “Let’s go in and grab a bite, and we’ll talk.”
    She followed him around the corner of the building, and stepped inside when he held the door for her. There was one large square room with a dozen or more tables for four set here and there. He gestured to one that had a view of the water below.
    “Is this okay?”
    “Fine. Thanks.” Dorsey seated herself, placed her handbag on the edge of the table, and reached for the menu.
    “Don’t bother with the menu,” he said as he sat across from her. “They only have a few selections, and I can tell you from experience that this place makes the absolute best Low Country boil you will ever taste.”
    “What’s in it?”
    “Sausage, shrimp, potatoes, corn, spices…it’s really a treat.”
    “Sold.”
    “What would you like to drink?” he asked. “I can recommend the beer and the iced tea. Anything else, you’re on your own.”
    “I’m guessing they don’t have much call for light beer here.”
    “You’d be right.” He smiled. “Draught okay?”
    “Sure.”
    He pushed back his chair and walked to the bar on the opposite side of the room to place their order. Someone dropped coins into an ancient jukebox, and Otis Redding started singing about watching the tide roll away.
    “He was from Georgia, you know.” Andrew returned with two glasses of beer.
    “Who?”
    “Otis Redding.”
    “Oh.” She smiled her thanks for the beer and took a sip. It was delightfully cold. “I didn’t know.”
    Andrew tapped his fingers on the table, then said, “So, let’s cut to the chase. What is it you want?”
    “You’re kidding, right?” She almost laughed in his face. “I thought I made myself clear on the phone.”
    “On the phone you said you wanted to stop down to talk with me. You’re here. Now I’m asking what you want.”
    She stared at him hard across the table. “Please don’t play games with me, Andrew. You know why I’m here.”
    He returned the stare for a long moment.
    “Look, I don’t know what John Mancini told you….” She stopped and said, “Maybe we should start there. What exactly did he tell you?”
    “He told me that you’d be calling, which you did, and that you’d be interested in the Shannon Randall investigation. You mentioned that on the phone as well. He also said you’d probably want to play an active role but I was to keep your fingerprints off everything. He did say he explained to you exactly what that meant.”
    “He did.”
    “But what he didn’t say was whether or not his terms were acceptable to you.”
    “I don’t recall him saying there was a choice.”
    “There isn’t.”
    “So what part don’t you understand?”
    “I don’t know what your expectations are, Dorsey. I don’t know what you’re hoping to find.”
    The bartender waved to Andrew that their order was ready, and he excused himself. Dorsey watched him walk to the bar and retrieve the tray holding two steaming crocks of spicy stew. He set one in front of Dorsey and the other at his place, then set the tray on the table behind him.
    “They’ve been short on help all week,” he explained as he sat back down in his chair. “Go ahead. Give it a try.”
    She tasted a bit of shrimp. “It’s spicy.”
    “I probably should have warned you.”
    “No, it’s fine. Delicious, really.”
    They ate for a few minutes in silence.
    “Look, I’m not trying to be a hard-ass.” He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “I just need to know that you understand exactly how sensitive this is.” There was something almost naively earnest in the way he was looking at her.
    “Of course I understand.”
    “If anyone suspected that Matt Ranieri’s daughter was anywhere near this investigation—”
    “I said I understood.”
    “Convince me.”
    “I am