Shadow of Doubt

by Terri Blackstock

  “T-Celia?” It was Aunt Aggie’s voice, and Celia sat up and looked through the bars.

  “Aunt Aggie?” She saw Vern ushering the old woman past. “Aunt Aggie, what are you doing?”

  “I’m locking her up,” Vern said.

  Aunt Aggie was smiling, as if she were the victor. Celia realized her aunt had given them reason to incarcerate her so that Celia wouldn’t be alone. Horrified, she tried to appeal to Vern. “Vern, this is ridiculous. Aunt Aggie, I can handle this. I’ve done it before. Now go home.”

  “Too late,” Vern said.

  “What did she do?” Celia demanded.

  “Knocked me upside the head, for one thing,” Vern said.

  “I deserved to be locked up,” Aunt Aggie said proudly. “I’m a thief, and I’m dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? Come on, Vern, she’s eighty-one years old.”

  “She asked for it, Celia.” He opened the door in the cell next to her and pushed Aunt Aggie in. “If there was some way I could put her in a different section of the jail, I would, so you two couldn’t talk. But we got regulations, and this is the only place we keep the women.”

  Aunt Aggie walked into her cell and sat primly down on her cot. He slammed the bars. “Good night, ladies,” he said.

  Aunt Aggie’s eyes were intent on Celia through the bars. Celia gaped at her as Vern left the area.

  “Aunt Aggie, what in the world are you up to?”

  “I didn’t want you bein’ alone down here,” the old woman said. “I couldna slept tonight. Couldn’t bear it.”

  “Aunt Aggie, I’m fine.”

  “Well, I’m fine, too. Now we’ll be fine together.”

  Celia’s throat filled with emotion over the lengths her aunt would go to protect her. “Aunt Aggie, you don’t deserve to be here.”

  “And you don’t either.”

  “But I can handle it.”

  “So can I.”

  Celia shot her a frustrated look. Aunt Aggie stood up and leaned her head on the bars. “Look, sha. I can’t do nothin’ about it now. I’m here and you’re here, and we’re both here for the night. Can we at least make the best of it?”

  Celia reached through the bars and held her aunt’s hand. “I love you, you crazy thing.”

  “I love you, too,” Aunt Aggie said matter-of-factly. “Now what can I do for you?”

  Celia almost laughed. “Aunt Aggie, short of naming the killer, there is nothing you can do.”

  “Well, I can’t do that,” she said. “But I knew you’d wanna talk to Stan. I can help you with that.”

  “Talk to Stan?” she asked. “How can I do that?”

  Aunt Aggie looked as if she had a delightful secret. “What if I told you I had a phone with me?”

  “Aunt Aggie, that’s impossible. You came in here empty-handed. They had to have checked your purse in.”

  “Don’t mean I can’t hide no phone.”

  Celia’s eyes twinkled. “You can’t be serious. You smuggled a telephone in here?”

  “There’re advantages to age, you know. They don’t dare frisk an old lady.”

  Celia couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, Aunt Aggie.”

  “I ain’t promisin’ you can get through. I don’t know when the switchboard closes, but you can try.” She pulled up her skirt, pulled out the elastic band on her panty hose, and fished out the cellular phone tucked down in them.

  “Aunt Aggie, you amaze me.”

  “I amaze myself, sha.” She thrust the phone through the bars.

  “What if we get caught with this? It’s not gonna look good.”

  “Then don’t get caught. Just make the call and hurry it up.”

  Celia looked at the phone, almost reluctant to take it. But it would be wonderful if she could call Stan, just to see if he was all right, and to tell him once again that she had had nothing to do with the poisonings, and tell him again about the baby. Her hands trembled as she took the phone, flipped up the top, and dialed information.

  “No need to do that,” Aunt Aggie said. “I know the number. I been callin’ it enough since this whole thing started.”

  Celia dialed the number Aunt Aggie called out, then brought the phone to her ear and waited.

  “Slidell Memorial Hospital, may I help you?”

  Her heart leapt. “Uh, yes, could you connect me to Stan Shepherd’s room, please?”

  She waited for the woman to tell her that the switchboard was closed, that it was too late, but she didn’t. Instead, the phone began to ring.

  “They connectin’ you?” Aunt Aggie asked hopefully.

  Celia’s eyes were wide as she waited. “Yes.”

  After a couple of rings, someone picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  It was his mother, and for a moment, she thought of hanging up. But she needed to talk to him, and it was worth whatever chance she had to take. “Hannah?”

  Hannah hesitated. “Yes?”

  “Hannah, it’s me. Celia. Please don’t hang up! I need to talk to Stan…Please.”

  Hannah’s voice was tight as she answered. “He has nothing to say to you, and if you call here again—”

  “Stan knows I didn’t do it. He saw me there. I didn’t change his bag. He knows. Please, Hannah. Just let me talk to him for a minute. Tell him it’s me.”

  There was silence. She closed her eyes and prayed that Hannah was giving Stan the phone. Finally, Hannah said, “He saw the picture of you with that man, Celia. His eyes are opening. He doesn’t have anything to say to you.”

  “That picture…” Her voice broke off, and she groped for words. “It wasn’t what it seemed, Hannah. Please…” She sobbed, then tried to rally. “Is he all right? Did much of the poison get into his system this time? What are the doctors saying?”

  The phone clicked in her ear, and she realized that Hannah had cut her off. “Hannah, don’t hang up!” But it was too late.

  She handed the phone back to Aunt Aggie, dropped onto the cot, and covered her face with both hands. “Oh, Aunt Aggie. I’ve lost him. He believes them! He believes them!”

  Aunt Aggie took the phone back and tucked it into her skirt. “He don’t believe ’em, sha. Don’t you believe his mama.”

  “No, Aunt Aggie,” Celia said. “They showed him the picture. He thinks I’m trying to kill him!” Celia curled up into a fetal position, her face still covered, and sobbed into her hands. “Oh, Aunt Aggie, what am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?”

  But Aunt Aggie was uncharacteristically speechless as Celia wailed out her pain.

  Chapter Forty-One

  In the hospital, Stan covered his eyes with his wrist, and his mother leaned over him. “Honey, are you all right?”

  He shook his head. “I wanted to talk to her, Mom.”

  “To what end?” his mother asked. “Stan, she’s dangerous. Physically and emotionally. I don’t want you listening to her lies. Look at you. You didn’t even talk to her, and you’re all upset.”

  He took in a ragged breath and wiped his face roughly. “It’s been a long day, Mom. A lot’s happened.”

  “I know it has, Stan.”

  He closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, but he knew sleep wasn’t going to come tonight. It was too hard. How could Celia have betrayed him? And was it true about the baby, or had she lied to further manipulate him? What was going on with her? How could he have been so blind?

  He thought again of that picture of her in Lee Barnett’s arms and fought the despair.

  His mother picked up the phone and began to dial. He wiped his face and looked up at her. “Who are you calling, Mom?”

  “The Newpointe police. I’m going to tell Sid Ford that Celia called. I thought she was in jail.”

  “No, Mom,” he said. “Don’t tell him.”

  She looked at him as if he was crazy. “I certainly am.”

  With all his effort, he pulled himself up, reached for the telephone, and took it out of her hand. “Hang it up, Mom,” he insisted. “Now.”


  She hung up the phone. Deflated, she headed into the bathroom to get ready for sleep.

  Stan realized that his mother had every right, every reason, to report the phone call. But as it was, he couldn’t stand the thought of Celia sitting in that jail cell. He had long thought that they needed to do something to improve the women’s portion of the jail, but it was rarely used. He’d never had anyone he cared about down there before. Now something inside him ached at the thought that she was sleeping on that thin mattress, using that toilet, that sink…He hoped someone had had the presence of mind to clean it before she’d gone down there.

  Then he wondered why he cared. If his wife had truly tried to kill him, shouldn’t he hope the worst for her? No, somehow he couldn’t. His heart ached. It was broken into tiny pieces, and he doubted he would ever put it back together again. How would he ever trust again? How would he ever believe? Marriage was supposed to be for better or for worse. Had things been so bad, against his knowledge, that she hadn’t been able to endure it? He tried to relax the torment from his face, to hide it from his mother as she came out of the bathroom, so she would leave him alone. But part of him didn’t want to be alone.

  He’d never felt more alone in his life. And he wondered what the cost would be of continuing to love Celia, especially if he didn’t believe her.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The police station was still buzzing at eleven-fifteen when Nick showed up to see Celia. Phones were ringing and printers were printing. A drunk man yelled curses to a cop who was booking him, and a woman with a black eye and bloody mouth sat at a cop’s desk wailing that she couldn’t press charges against her husband.

  Nick’s soul swelled at the depravity of his own generation, and he clutched the Bible in his hand, wishing he’d brought one for each of them. Reminding himself of his purpose for coming, he scanned the desks for Sid Ford. There he was at the back of the room, talking to Jim Shoemaker. He wondered if those men ever slept.

  He cut between the desks and made his way back. “Sid,” he said, hating to interrupt.

  Sid glanced back at him. “Oh, hey, Nick. How ya doin’?”

  “I’m interrupting,” he said, shaking both of their hands. “Sorry, Jim. Do you mind if I talk to Sid for a minute?”

  Jim told Sid to come into his office when he’d finished with Nick, and he left them alone.

  “Sid, I need to see Celia,” Nick said in a quiet voice.

  Sid shook his head. “Sorry, man. It’s after visitin’ hours.”

  “Please, Sid. Stan asked me to come and see her. It’s spiritual business that I need to take care of.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sid said. “We ain’t makin’ no exceptions.”

  “Sid, I’m your preacher. You can help me out just this once. Bend the rules a little.”

  “No way, man. We been jerked around enough tonight.”

  “Jerked around? You think I’m jerking you around?”

  “Yeah, I think you are,” Sid said. “I think you’re pullin’ rank on me.”

  “Rank? We’re not even in the same department.”

  “Rank with the Lord,” Sid said. “Just because you’re my preacher, I’m s’posed to bend the rules.”

  “Sid, if it was you in jail, you’d want me to visit.”

  “If it was me in jail I would deserve a visit,” he said. “You can come back tomorrow when it’s visitin’ time. But right now we need to let her and Aunt Aggie stew.”

  “Aunt Aggie?” Nick asked. “She’s in jail?”

  “Yeah,” Sid said defensively. “And don’t you get on my case about that. Second time she assaulted a police officer, they threw the book at her.”

  “An eighty-one-year-old woman?”

  “You got a problem with that?” Sid threw back.

  Nick saw that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. “All right, Sid, look. If you won’t let me visit, at least take this Bible down to her. That’s the least you could do. She has the right to a Bible.”

  Sid took the Bible, as if he knew Nick was right. “I’ll get it to her when I got time.”

  “No, Sid,” Nick pleaded. “Do it now. For Stan. He wanted me to come and see about her, make sure she was all right. If you won’t let me in, at least, for his sake, take her the Bible.”

  “All right, but I gotta tell you somethin’, Preacher. I’m gettin’ sick and tired of all this. I don’t like folks poisonin’ my friends. When you start tryin’ to kill a police officer, I take it real personal. And I ain’t fixin’ to coddle Celia Shepherd, or even her demented aunt, for that matter.”

  “I’m not asking you to coddle them, Sid. I’m just asking you to give them what they’re entitled to.”

  “Aunt Aggie don’t want no Bible.”

  “No, I realize that. But Celia might. Please, just get it to her right away.”

  Sid rolled his eyes, but he started back to the basement door.

  “Are you taking it now?” Nick asked.

  “What does it look like?” Sid shouted.

  Nick had to be satisfied with that, and finally, he turned and left.

  He walked out of the police station, looked up at the stars, and wondered for the thousandth time what he was doing being a preacher. Silently, he asked the Lord what he could do for Stan, Celia…if he should do anything. He started to go back to his car, but the night was cool and serene. In the midst of all this turmoil, it was a welcome relief.

  He decided to walk for a few minutes, and he set out past the fire station, down to the corner. Across the street, he saw Joe’s Place. He could hear the music spilling out of the doors. The parking lot was full.

  Many of the patrons were part of his flock, but he’d had little impact on their nighttime behavior. He wondered what he could do, what he could say, to make them understand that life wasn’t found in the confines of a smoky bar.

  The door opened, and a triangle of light spilled out along with a cloud of smoke. He saw Issie Mattreaux coming out with a man swaggering behind her. Something drew him across the street, and he stood at the edge of the parking lot, watching, listening—his nerves on red alert.

  Issie had every intention of letting Barnett come home with her, even though it was against her better judgment. He’d had too much to drink, but so had she. The alternative choice of going home alone was too boring to consider. Lee Barnett could add some excitement to a stressful but mundane existence. Besides, he was a good-looking man, and any woman in town would have thrown caution to the wind for him. She was sure of it.

  She opened her car door and tossed her purse in, then turned back to the big, virile man with romance on his mind.

  “So…you wanna come to my place, or do I come to yours?” the man muttered as his lips hovered over hers.

  “Maybe I’ll come to yours,” she whispered. “That way I won’t have to throw you out when I’m tired of you.”

  He chuckled under his breath. “You won’t get tired of me.”

  As if to prove it, he leaned in to kiss her, but almost lost his balance. She caught him, and he grabbed both her shoulders and gave her a punishing kiss.

  Issie tried to push him away. Too many people could come out of the bar and see her with Barnett, and by tomorrow, rumors would fly. No, she preferred to show her affections privately.

  She tried to break free, but he wouldn’t be deterred. Turning her head to break the kiss, she said, “Not here, Lee. Not now.”

  “Why not?” He tried to put her into the car, but she kept pushing him away.

  “Someone will see us.”

  “So?”

  “So…I said no!” Her voice was getting louder. “Stop it!”

  She heard footsteps on the gravel, and someone grabbed Barnett by the back of the collar, pulled him away from her, and flung him to the ground. Issie realized her “rescuer” was Nick Foster.

  “Nick!”

  Nick left Lee lying disoriented on the ground and swung around to her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes
,” she said. “He was…”

  “Who do you think you are?” Barnett called out from the ground.

  Nick spun around. “I was about to ask you the same question.”

  Suddenly, Issie felt ashamed that the preacher had seen her in such a compromising position. She decided to play the victim.

  “He had a little too much to drink,” she said, feigning distress. “I should have known better than to walk out to the parking lot with him by myself.” She looked up at him, widening her eyes as innocently as she was able. “Thank goodness you came along.”

  Barnett staggered to his feet and brushed off his jeans. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I just met Issie here in the bar, and we were havin’ a couple of drinks. I walked her out to her car…no big deal.” He shot Issie a look. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Issie said, unable to meet Nick’s eye.

  “What is he then? Your father?”

  She could see that the barb stung Nick. He was a little older than Issie. But not old enough to be her father.

  “I’m actually her preacher,” he said.

  “Preacher?” The man’s eyebrows shot up as if he was impressed. “You really a preacher?” Suddenly, it seemed he’d forgotten that the man had just flung him to the ground. He took a drunken step toward him. “You know a priest around here named Mueller? Edmund Mueller?”

  Nick frowned, wondering what in the world he was talking about. “I don’t know any Mueller.”

  “Oh, yeah, you got to,” he said. “A priest. Don’t you preacher types hang together? You gotta know him. He came to visit me. Celia Shepherd’s priest.”

  Nick shook his head. “I’m Celia’s pastor, and my name is Nick Foster.”

  Barnett squinted at him for a long moment. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Barnett looked thoroughly confused, and he stood there a moment, looked down at his feet, and shook his head.

  “Who are you?” Nick asked.

  Barnett kept staring at his feet, and Issie became slightly annoyed that he’d forgotten her so easily. Instead, he seemed to be struggling to understand something about some nonexistent priest. The perplexity and vulnerability on his face revealed something almost sad. It reminded her of herself.