Shadow of Doubt

by Terri Blackstock

  “Celia! Celia! Wake up!”

  Slowly, she emerged from the deep abyss of her sleep, and realized that she had been dreaming. There was no dark room, no candle, no body. Aunt Aggie stood over her, shaking her, and the afternoon sun radiated through her window.

  “Celia, you got a phone call. Down to the hospital. They need to talk at you.” Hospital? Celia managed to get her eyes open and sat up, wondering when she had fallen asleep. No wonder God didn’t answer her prayers, if she couldn’t even forsake sleep for something so important. “The hospital?” she asked. “Is Stan awake?”

  “I don’t know. Come on downstairs. They been waitin’ a long time. I couldn’t wake you up!”

  For a moment she just sat there, paralyzed, her mind reeling with dread. What if they weren’t calling to tell her he had awakened? What if he had died, just like in her dream? Slowly, she forced herself to get out of bed. She glanced at the clock on her bed table. Three P.M. She had lain down to pray and hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She went barefoot down the stairs to the one telephone at the bottom of the staircase. By the time she reached the telephone, the cobwebs had sufficiently cleared themselves from her brain, and she was beginning to cry.

  Her hand shook as she took the phone.

  “Mrs. Shepherd? This is Frank Dupree at the Slidell Memorial Hospital Lab. We did some blood work on you Tuesday night?”

  Her heart leapt, then took a nose dive. “This isn’t about my husband?”

  “No, I’m sorry. Actually, it’s about you. We’ve finished running all of our tests on you, and we thought you’d like to know that one of them came up positive.”

  Her mind was still on Stan’s condition, groping to find its way back to the phone call. She sat down in the chair next to the telephone table. “Wait…what?”

  “Your blood test, Mrs. Shepherd…”

  “But they said that night that they hadn’t found arsenic in my blood.”

  “No, there’s still no trace of arsenic. But the doctor ordered several tests. It’s the pregnancy test that came up positive.”

  Celia’s breath caught in her lungs, and her hand immediately fell to her stomach. “The what?”

  “You’re pregnant, Mrs. Shepherd. That explains the nausea.”

  She and Stan had been trying to have a baby for over two years, and now her heart raced at the thought that it was finally coming true. She had dreamed of this moment, when she got the news and would throw her arms around Stan and call him “Daddy.”

  Then she wilted as she realized that her baby may never know its daddy, because Stan might not wake up from his coma…that even if he did, the child could be born in prison and taken from her at birth.

  She suddenly felt sick again. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate your letting me know.”

  She didn’t know how she managed to get the phone back in its cradle and make it to the bathroom on time. When she emerged, Aggie was waiting with a worried look on her face. “What they said, T-Celia? You been poisoned, too?”

  Celia shook her head. She was shaking as she raked her hand through her disheveled hair. “No, Aunt Aggie. I’m pregnant.” The word choked out on a wave of tears, and Aggie’s face brightened, then instantly darkened.

  “Why you cryin’? Ain’t that what you want?”

  “I want to tell Stan,” Celia wept. “I want him to celebrate with me. We’ve waited so long for this moment, and I don’t understand why it has to be like this…”

  Aggie held her and let her cry, then walked her into the parlor and set her down on the sofa. “It’s gon’ be awright, sha,” she said. “I know it is. Somehow, this baby gon’ make everything okay. Can you just see yourself sittin’ in front of that jury with your belly out to here? Can only help in the sympathy department.”

  “I don’t need sympathy. I need for them to catch the killer. I need for Stan to wake up and recover.” She sat sideways on the couch, with her feet tucked beneath her, and dropped her face on the back of the sofa. “Oh, Aunt Aggie, what is he going to think when he does wake up? When he hears that his wife has been charged with his attempted murder? When he hears that he almost died of arsenic poisoning? Will he know that I didn’t do it? Or will he doubt like everyone else is going to?”

  “He’ll know,” Aunt Aggie said. “He’ll fight tooth and nail to clear your name. You’ll see.”

  She just wasn’t sure. She wouldn’t know until she talked to him, heard his voice, heard him defending her to those who would string her up. “Will you call the hospital and see how he’s doing?”

  “I just did ’fore I got you up. No change.”

  She groaned and wept into her hands for a moment longer. Finally, she said, “Aunt Aggie, I don’t want anyone to know about the pregnancy. Not until I can tell Stan. I don’t want him to read about it in the papers or hear about it from someone who thinks I did this. I want to tell him.”

  “Awright,” the old woman said. “I won’t say nothin’.”

  “You won’t say anything about what?”

  They looked up to see David standing at the doorway to the parlor, and Celia wiped her eyes and reached for a tissue in the gold tissue holder on the end table.

  “Hey, David.”

  “What’s going on, Celia? Something happened.”

  She blew her nose. “No, nothing. I’m just…a little depressed.”

  “Come on, Celia,” he said, coming to sit next to her on the couch. “It’s me. You’ve got me worried to death. Now, what is it?”

  She looked at Aunt Aggie, and her aunt nodded, urging her to tell him. Finally, she realized that she wanted to. She wanted to share the news. At least she could tell those closest to her. She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

  There was no joy in his eyes as he gaped at her. “Pregnant?”

  “Yes. That’s why I’ve been sick off and on…” Her eyes filled again at his reaction. “David, what is it?”

  “Well, it’s just…” He got up and looked at Aunt Aggie, then turned back to Celia. “Celia, the timing couldn’t be worse. Stan lying in a hospital, you being charged with his murder, a probable indictment…”

  “I know that,” she said, growing impatient. Did he really think she didn’t know?

  “Celia, you can’t have this baby.”

  She looked up at him, stricken at the declaration, as if he’d made the decision and it was a done deal. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you can’t. It would be cruel to bring a child into the world in the middle of this.”

  She stared up at him. “David, are you suggesting abortion?”

  “I’m just saying that this is going to complicate your life miserably.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “No, you can’t. What do you think Stan will do when he finds out? Or his parents, for that matter?”

  “Stan will defend me when he wakes up,” she said with certainty. “And when I tell him about the baby, he’s going to be happy.”

  “Right. And when they start feeding him all the lies about you, you think he’s still gonna want you to have his baby? Celia, if you terminated it this time and waited until this was all cleared up and you and Stan were back together, it would be so much better.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her hand went to her stomach again, and a burst of love surged through her. “God didn’t make a mistake with this, David. This is my baby, and I’ve been praying and waiting for it.”

  “Did you pray to be a single mom? What if Stan dies, Celia?”

  “That’s enough!” Aunt Aggie got to her feet and stepped between them. “David, leave the child alone. She got enough worry.”

  “Aunt Aggie, you must agree with me. How can you condone this?”

  “She had nothing to do with it!” Celia said, her voice rising. “It doesn’t matter if she condones it or agrees with you. Neither of you has the right to decide anything for me.” She got another tissue, blew her nose again. “I thought y
ou might be happy, David.”

  “You’re not even happy. When I came in here, you were sobbing, Celia. Don’t tell me you weren’t.”

  “I was crying over the circumstances. Not the baby. The baby is wanted. He or she is an answered prayer.”

  David seemed to realize he wasn’t getting anywhere with her. He sank back onto the sofa. “It seems very romantic, Celia. But you’re the one who’ll be most hurt.”

  “I’m willing to take that chance.” She wiped her face and looked down at her feet. “If you’re going to support me, David, you’ll have to support me in this, too. And you can’t tell anyone. Either of you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I want Stan to hear about it from me.”

  He stared at her as if struggling with the words, then finally gave up. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

  The phone rang, startling her, and Aggie went into the foyer to answer it. “Hola?”

  Celia could hear her muttering something, and she reached for another tissue to blow her nose again. In a moment, Aggie was back in the doorway, fairly dancing as she got out the words. “He’s awake, T-Celia! That was Allie, down to the hospital. She said he woke up!”

  “Oh, thank God!” Celia got to her feet and began to weep, harder and deeper than she had all morning. “Oh, thank God!” She fell into Aunt Aggie’s arms, then pulled David into the embrace with them. “Oh, I can’t believe it. What did she say? How is he?”

  “She wasn’t sure,” Aggie said. “But she knew you’d wanna know.”

  “Oh, I want to see him! I want to look into his eyes and tell him about the baby…”

  “You have to,” David said. “You have to get in there somehow and tell him. As long as you’re not there, and his family is feeding him lies, he might believe them. You have to go see him.”

  “But I can’t. The court order.”

  “Yes, you can, Celia. Stan needs to know about the baby.”

  He was right, she thought. She had to see him, to touch him, to kiss him. She had to tell him about the baby, and watch his eyes smile, and feel his arms around her. Then he would know that she couldn’t have tried to kill him. Then he would tell them, and it would all be cleared up, and she could be with him as the baby grew…

  “I’ll figure out a way,” Celia said on a whisper. “They won’t be able to keep me away from him for long.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Stan Shepherd was still weak and felt as though he’d been dragged a hundred miles behind a pickup truck…then backed over. He felt so tired. So incredibly tired, but they all seemed to be so glad to see him awake that he hated to give in to the fatigue and close his eyes again.

  But all the questions…they were asking so many, probably to evaluate whether he had brain damage. He tried to answer them, but the question he had for them seemed more pressing. Where was Celia? What had happened to him? Had they been in an accident? Was Celia hurt…or worse? Is that why no one wanted to tell him where she was?

  “Celia,” he whispered again, and his mother, standing on one side of the bed, offered him that cup of water with the straw that probed at his lips like some kind of medical instrument. He sipped obediently.

  “Honey, don’t try to talk.”

  “Stan, can you tell me your birth date? Your name and address? Your mother’s maiden name?”

  “Thought she said not to talk.”

  The doctor who stood over him wasn’t amused. He was serious, so Stan tried to give him what he wanted. “April 22. Stan Shepherd. I live at 313 Burgundy Drive, Newpointe, Louisiana. Want the zip?”

  The doctor smiled. “No, that won’t be necessary. Detective, could you tell me the last thing you remember?”

  That was a tough one. He closed his eyes and tried to think. Celia. He remembered Celia crying over him, calling 911…

  “I was sick.”

  “Yes. Do you remember when you began to feel sick?”

  “I don’t know.” He began to get concerned and looked around the room again, taking grim inventory of the people watching him. Two doctors, a nurse, his father, his mother…

  “Where’s Celia, Mom? Is she all right?”

  “She’s…not able to be here today. Just relax, darling.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that. He turned back to the doctor. “How long have I been here?”

  “Two days. You came in Tuesday night. It’s Thursday now.”

  “Thursday? What happened to—” He tried to sit up, but realized he was too weak.

  “You’ve been in a coma, Detective. You were poisoned.”

  “Poisoned? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, I’m afraid not. It was arsenic poisoning.”

  Arsenic? He closed his eyes, trying to think. Arsenic. Like Nathan, Celia’s first husband. Poisoned. He’d been in a coma…Had almost died.

  His skin felt cold, damp, and he brought a trembling hand up to wipe his temples. “Where’s my wife?”

  Silence again.

  His eyes filled. “Is she dead?”

  “No, of course not,” Hannah said quickly. “No, darling, nothing like that.”

  “Then what?” he asked, growing agitated. “Why won’t anybody tell me where she is? I want to see her. She must be worried sick.”

  His father pushed between Hannah and a nurse, and set his hand on the railing of the bed. “Son, we don’t know how to tell you this.”

  “Just spit it out,” he snapped. “I want my wife.”

  “Celia’s…not allowed to see you. There’s a court order…”

  “A court order? What kind of court would order a thing like that?”

  “Son, did you know that Celia’s first husband had died of arsenic poisoning, and that she was charged with that murder?”

  Oh, so that was it. He closed his eyes again, racking his brain for some logical sequence of thoughts. That grogginess still hung on. Was it the arsenic, or the coma, or the damage that had been done to him? He forced his mind back to the question. Had he known about Celia’s first husband?

  “Yes,” he said. “She told me before I married her. She told me everything. But she didn’t do it, Dad.”

  “Son, I wish I could believe in her, but you were poisoned the same way. And there’s evidence…”

  “What evidence? I want to talk to Jim Shoemaker. I want to talk to Sid.” He struggled to sit up again, and this time half made it. “Do they think she did this to me? Have they arrested her?”

  “Yes,” his mother said. The word, uttered with such regret, shot to his heart like an arrow, knocking him back down.

  “No,” he said. “How could they be so stupid? Celia couldn’t—wouldn’t—do this!” His breath was coming harder. “Where is she? In jail? Get her out, Dad! I don’t care what it costs or what you have to do. Get her out!”

  “She’s out,” he said. “She was released on bond.”

  “I want to see her!” he managed to shout. “Now!”

  “That’s impossible, son. Judge DeLacy ordered her to stay away from you. There’s a grand jury investigation going on, and she—”

  “She didn’t do it, Dad! She didn’t!”

  “Then who did?”

  He fell back and laid his hand over his eyes, trying to think. “I don’t know. But I know she didn’t. Give me the phone.”

  Bart and Hannah looked at each other, but neither made a move. “Why?” Bart asked.

  “I want to talk to my wife.” His voice was a barely whispered rasp now, but he wouldn’t give up. “She must be scared to death. She must be humiliated. Give me the phone, Dad.”

  “I can’t do that, Son. I have to protect you.”

  “I don’t need protecting from her! At least let me call the judge. He can’t make that court order hold if I ask him to let me see her. I’m a grown man.”

  “You’re a sick man,” his father said. “You’re still very, very sick. You’re not out of the woods yet. You have to rest, and we can’t take the chance of having
her finish off the job…”

  “Give me a break!” The words came with such passion that they almost took what was left of his voice. He couldn’t believe they would do this to his wife. His body begged him to give in to sleep, to rest, to recovery, but his mind fought. He had to get up and get to her, wrap her in his arms and tell her it would be all right. Then he realized that it couldn’t be all right, not while the killer was still out there. What if he poisoned her, too? What if she was an open target? “Call Jim and Sid. I have to talk to them,” he said. “I have to make sure that someone protects her.”

  “When you’re rested and feeling better,” his mother said. “We’ll call them then.”

  “No, not then,” he said through his teeth. “Now. Mom, so help me, if you don’t, you’re gonna have to tie me down to keep me in this bed.”

  She shot his father a distressed look. “All right,” Bart said finally. “We’ll call them.”

  “Now. Call them now.”

  “Okay.”

  He closed his eyes as Bart picked up the phone. He didn’t relax until he’d heard him ask them to come. Then, finally, he surrendered to the sleep pulling at him.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sid had managed to get a few hours’ sleep, but it wasn’t enough. He rubbed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the rap sheet he’d gotten on Lee Barnett. When the phone on his desk buzzed, he picked it up, preoccupied. “Yeah? Ford, here.”

  “Sid, this is Bart Shepherd. Stan’s father.”

  “Yes, Mr. Shepherd,” he said, coming to attention. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. More importantly, Stan is fine. Or, he’s better. He’s awake.”

  “All right!” With the exclamation, he leapt out of his chair, knocking it over. Everyone in the room turned to look at him. He picked the chair up and sat back down. “Does that mean he’s out of the woods? What do the doctors say?”

  “They think he’s on his way to recovery, though we can’t be sure yet how much damage the arsenic did. He’s still very weak. But Sid, he wants to talk to you. You and Jim Shoemaker. You know how stubborn he can be and, well…” He dropped his voice. “He’s a little upset. Do you think you can come?”