Trace of Doubt

by DiAnn Mills

  “An encouragement to leave town and not pollute respectable people.” I refused to fall into a hole of anyone feeling pity for me. The urgings to commit suicide were a puzzle when I had no idea who’d gain by my death. “Were you able to make any connection with the first three letters of the truck’s license plate that ran me off the road?”

  “I never read anything of the sort in the report.” He frowned. “Did you give the info to Officer Hughes?”

  Officer Hughes’s negligence came as no surprise. “Yes, but I wasn’t able to identify the state.”

  He pulled a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket. “I’ll run what you have and will keep you informed.”

  My phone rang. The blocked number indicated my anonymous caller, and I wrestled answering it.

  Sheriff Wendall slid the phone’s screen to him and turned it back to me. “Answer this, Shelby. Put it on Speaker. Prove to me this isn’t a legitimate threat.”

  I pressed the Speaker button. “This is Shelby.”

  “What’s the sheriff doing there?” the distorted voice said.

  “Following up on a couple of things from last week.”

  “So am I. I suggest you let him know this is a friend. If you want your loved ones to be safe, better do exactly what I’ve told you.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I start with hurting your friends in Valleysburg and will move on to your family. Suicide makes the most sense, right?”

  “Except it makes no sense as long as I abide by the terms of my parole.”

  “I’m losing patience with your lack of guts. This must be handled soon, or you’ll have regrets.”

  “Then let’s have a face-to-face. Are you a twelve-year-old who’s mastered voice distortion?”

  “You’re more stupid than I thought. Who do you want eliminated in your life? Edie? Amy-Jo? Denton? What about the sheriff?”

  “I could leave Valleysburg, change my name.”

  “Leaving won’t change a thing.”

  “All right. Just give me a little time to—”

  The caller clicked off.

  I laid my phone on the counter and clenched my fists against my legs. What should I do?

  The sheriff scratched his head. “Shelby, this isn’t going away.”

  “Why does suicide mean more to my stalker than killing me and not leaving any evidence?”

  “The caller is certain you have vital information of some kind. And while the person doesn’t have a problem hurting others, they, and I think it’s more than one person, draw the line when it comes to killing you.”

  “No blood on their hands,” I whispered.

  “And I think you know who it is.”

  I stared at him, and a name flashed across my mind. I shook away the thought.

  The sheriff glanced at his watch. “I need to go. Someone’s watching the cabin. Do I have permission to run your phone records?” When I agreed, he continued. “I suggest picking up a burner phone as soon as possible. Use it to contact me and those who might get hurt.”

  “And you can trace it?”

  “Technology offers law enforcement the means to investigate what formerly looked impossible. We can also run the voice through our database. If the person is in our system, we are good to go.”

  I wouldn’t be able to talk to Edie until I bought a new phone. We’d enjoyed texts and calls, and I wasn’t ready to let go of our friendship. Although my reasoning was selfish.

  Sheriff Wendall walked to the door. “Is there anything here in the cabin or stashed on the property that could be used against you or is of value to someone else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I want to be informed of everything, no matter how insignificant it seems. But not on this phone.”

  “Yes, sir.” Fear rattled my bones. Intuition told me if I left Valleysburg, the problems would stalk me. Staying here threatened those whom I’d grown to cherish, but according to the threats, I was running short on time. At what point would the caller run out of patience?

  A plan swept through my mind . . .

  24

  After Sheriff Wendall left, weariness settled around me, and hopelessness invited my old enemy called despair to come calling. The person or persons urging me to commit suicide had to stop before depression sent me spiraling. How could I react in a way that would take the satisfaction out of the stalker’s game? An idea from earlier in the evening made more sense. The details would take time . . .

  Someone pounded on my door. I froze, and a thousand scenarios bombarded my mind.

  “Shelby, it’s Denton. Can we talk?”

  I made my way to the door and leaned my head against it. “Please, I’ve had enough for one day. Just leave me alone.”

  “I get it. I’m a jerk. Don’t blame you at all. Except I’m asking if you will hear me out. Have I been wrong all these years?”

  “Ya think?” But a chilling fear left me pondering if his revelation focused on the money, Travis’s murder, or another ploy.

  “I won’t stay long.”

  “Denton, I’m tired, furious, and my shift starts at 5:45 in the morning.”

  “Ten minutes, please. The truth is, I’ve been involved with this mess almost as long as you have, and in a week’s time, you’ve shaken my convictions. Yes, I lied to you, but I haven’t sent you threatening calls.”

  “Any of your speech include an apology?” I longed to hear him clomp down the porch steps.

  “I admitted I was a jerk, and I’m sorry. I’d like to start all over as friends.”

  “There’s that friends pitch again. Why?” I hesitated at Denton’s second plea to hear him out. Dare I give him the grace he hadn’t shown me? I thought about Mrs. Emory . . . Losing my temper appealed to justice and fairness but not my commitment to faith. As much as I detested my own actions to yield to his request, the metal doorknob twisted in my hand. “All right. Ten minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Once inside, he sat on my sofa, and I slipped into the chair opposite him. A few smile lines fanned out from his brown eyes. “I’ll start at the beginning . . . with honesty.”

  “That’s one minute for the past fifteen years, not ten.”

  He pressed his lips together, no more amused than I. “You remember me as an agent who worked the original case. Your arrest was my first opportunity to investigate a major crime, not the murder charges but the theft. The police requested FBI assistance, and my partner and I were assigned. I desperately wanted to prove myself to the FBI. Instead, I failed and blamed you. My pride took a beating. My dad and two brothers were highly decorated police officers, and earning their approval meant everything to me.”

  Denton paused. “I was engaged prior to entering the FBI, and she broke it off during my training at Quantico. The same day you were sentenced, she agreed to marry my middle brother, Andy. Sounds weak, but it’s the truth. You went to prison, and I continued working other FBI cases, but I always searched for the money and the evidence to pin it on you.”

  I listened. Did he expect me to feel sorry for him? “So your self-worth is based on your performance?” The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. “That was uncalled for. Please continue.”

  “What I never expected was to like you, and today I realized the girl back then is not the woman today. Something changed you, and if it’s the Jesus-thing, I’m happy for you. For whatever it’s worth, I don’t think you stole the money anymore.”

  I digested his words and held tightly to concealing my emotions. I’d learned from my online searches that his fiancée married his brother. That must have stung. “You’ve known me a week. Why would I believe you when this sounds like a tactic to earn my trust and save your ego?” I breathed in deeply for patience. “I’m a convicted murderer, but you want to be friends. How very noble.”

  “You’re right. No reason to believe me. But it’s all I have.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “To tell me if you’re hiding any informa
tion or protecting the person who’s threatened you. Let me find that person behind the crimes.”

  “I’d be an idiot to trust you.”

  “True. Guess I’ll need to prove my sincerity.” His attention bore into me, and his tone softened. “One more thing.”

  Now what? “Go ahead, Denton. You have five minutes left.”

  “I broke into your cabin.”

  I rose to my feet, fury boiling through my body. “So it was you. You found nothing, so you believe I’m innocent? Time to leave.”

  “I have four minutes left. Please, Shelby, sit.”

  “I’ll stand, thank you. Make your miserable excuse fast.” I gathered up Joy from her box. I needed something to hold on to.

  “While I was here, someone shoved an envelope under the door. I attempted to follow him or her but lost the trail.”

  “Where’s—?”

  “I opened it. Read it, a greeting card personalized to the Pearce family expressing sympathy regarding your suicide.”

  I was seldom taken aback by the depravity of human beings, but my mouth went dry. “I want to see the handwriting on the card.”

  “Sheriff Wendall has it.”

  “You gave my property to him?”

  Denton paused, and I assumed he was grappling for words. “Not intentionally. Your past shows an issue with acute depression, and I didn’t see any reason to trigger the problem again. I showed the card to him, told him of my FBI position, and he kept it.”

  I paced the room, too upset to pray. “You’re my keeper? Do you think by coming here tonight with this crazy story that I’d believe your nonsense? Or are you concerned if I gave in to suicide, you’d never be able to find the money?”

  “Nothing along those lines. I wanted to protect you from making a terrible mistake.”

  “Really? Is this a new method of FBI interrogation?” The man had hurt me. More like I’d allowed him to crawl inside my head . . . and maybe my heart. “What does Sheriff Wendall intend to do with my card?”

  “He’s investigating it.” Denton walked to the door.

  Why hadn’t the town’s good sheriff revealed that info earlier? “If I had a suspect for the threats, I’d tell the sheriff. You and Officer Hughes are a pair.” I gestured him out the door and secured the lock behind him.

  I would not get much sleep tonight. My kaleidoscope held so many shades of gray, a mix of life and death, that the idea of adding color to my life faded with each passing hour.

  25

  DENTON

  I had slept hard as though the adage confession is good for the soul applied to a weary body too. Not even a dream to interrupt my rest. Except I woke with guilt raging through me like a fever. I rode Big Red for an hour and thought about Shelby. If I were into God like my parents and grandparents, I’d do the prayer thing. But that would mean I’d stopped blaming Him for the mess of the world. The irony of it all lay in Shelby’s transformation. Had she morphed into the woman of today because of her own determination . . . or the Jesus-thing?

  My horse took me by Shelby’s cabin as though I needed to ensure she’d gone to work without any problems. I knocked on the door, and nothing greeted me but singing birds and a distant cow. Now what? If this were a regular case, I’d have my strategy memorized.

  Amy-Jo’s Café served up a tasty breakfast . . .

  An hour later, I sat in a booth and gave the waitress my order. Shelby stood behind the bakery case. Did she feel comfortable appeasing customers like she’d done in her younger days? Or did the memories bring back what she longed to forget? In the midst of the busy morning, Amy-Jo waved at me, and I waved back. Had Shelby told her about my deceit? Probably not, or the woman would have tossed me out of her café.

  My attention returned to Shelby. She gave the customer a tender smile, genuine but sad, and melancholia emitted from her blue-gray eyes. Her smooth face and haunting beauty hid her past and present fears. I caught her gaze, and her features tightened. She didn’t look my way again, and I couldn’t blame her.

  I wanted to offer her wisdom and encouragement, but what? How could one woman get under my skin in such a short time? Yet I’d known her for years, followed her every tragedy, new development, and change.

  The gift shop carrying Shelby’s jewelry raised my curiosity, and I ventured over there until my breakfast arrived. Last night Shelby had been working on her latest design, but asking her about them didn’t hit the appropriate mark. A necklace dangled from a display over Simply Shelby. The dark wire framing an amber-and-brown stone looked well-crafted to me. Each piece had a name and a corresponding Bible verse. Shelby struck me as a deep soul determined to show a new woman. I admired that.

  I returned to the booth and eyed the breakfast before me. Hungry as a growing boy, I finished bacon, eggs, hash browns, and two flaky biscuits oozing with apple butter. The food filled my belly with more satisfaction than I deserved.

  Outside in the sunshine, I tried to breathe in the fresh air. But a cloud of remorse for the times I’d upset Shelby hovered over me, and I couldn’t leave without apologizing. I retraced my steps and waited until the last customer received his pastry.

  Shelby blinked. “What would you like?” Cold and formal.

  “I’m sorry. Right from the beginning when we met face-to-face, I’d misjudged you, and I violated your privacy.” I paused to pull together a shred of professionalism. “I repeat, I believe you’re innocent of embezzlement.” I left the café a second time, not needing her reply, only to be heard.

  I dropped by Sheriff Wendall’s office and relayed last night’s conversation with Shelby. He complimented me on my adherence to the truth. Not sure how I felt about his attaboy, but I thanked him anyway.

  “The card left at Shelby’s cabin is minus any identifying fingerprints.” The sheriff eyed me with a generous dose of disdain, which I deserved. “For the record, and I’m tellin’ you this out of the kindness of my heart, I requested the FBI to do the handwritin’ analysis.”

  I could request the report through my secure access. “Thanks. I’ll keep you posted on what happens on my end.”

  “That would be an improvement.” He chuckled and I joined him. “Ya know, Denton, I was raised to believe a man has two choices—right or wrong. Nothin’ in between. Officer Hughes will no longer work any incidents related to Shelby.”

  I understood perfectly.

  Outside, Randy Hughes stopped me in the parking lot, wearing his typical frown and bad-cop swagger. He had watched too many cop movies depicting law enforcement as worse than the criminals. He nodded at the building housing the sheriff’s department. “Why were you here?”

  “Personal.”

  “My house, my business.”

  “Not when my taxes pay your salary.”

  Hughes swore. “I can make life real hard for you.”

  I turned. “It’s FBI Special Agent McClure. I wouldn’t advise threatening a federal agent.”

  Hughes’s face reddened while satisfaction swirled through me.

  A nudging urged me to call Mike Kruse, my former partner. Fifteen years ago, we worked the embezzlement side of Shelby’s case. We’d talked several times over the years—more like I contacted him when I needed his input. He now worked the civil rights division in Dallas. Mike responded on the first ring. We swapped small talk about life, his approaching retirement, family, and golf games until he asked for the real reason I’d called.

  “Unless you’re dying or getting married, something’s speaking louder than your words.”

  “Shelby Pearce.”

  He moaned. “How many times do we need to go over this? Have you dug up new evidence?”

  “I’m living in the same town as Pearce, working another angle of the case. Perhaps an aspect we missed.”

  “You’ve had plenty of years to come up with a dozen. Since you’re living there, I’ll listen.”

  I explained the happenings, including the threats. “She had no part of embezzling the money. I’m sure of it.�
��

  “Never expected to hear ‘innocent’ from your lips. Why the change of heart?”

  “When she went to prison, parole was a possibility for the future. So why refuse to acknowledge embezzling the money when she might never have access to it? Years ago, you asked me the same thing. Except I wouldn’t listen. I believed in the accomplice theory, and I should have listened to you.”

  “I’m marking this on my calendar—Denton McClure admits he’s been wrong. What about her has changed your mind?”

  “More than what I could verbalize.”

  “Try me.”

  “Another time, Mike, when I’m able to weigh the girl then and the woman now. Looking at what we’ve learned over the years, what was your gut reaction to her during the trial and interviews?”

  “She confessed to murder. But something never seemed right about the theft, and the prosecuting attorney did his best to get a name or her accomplice from her. You’ve worked this case sporadically since it happened. Anyone else grab your attention? Anyone in her hometown come into a sudden cash flow? I know you’ve monitored reports from the area.”

  “No one from Sharp’s Creek. Her parents still own the bakery, and her sister works in the family business.”

  “Who has Shelby kept in contact with over the years?”

  “Zilch.”

  “Do you have suspects for the threats?” Mike continued.

  “Possibly a Valleysburg local motivated by a need to protect folks from an ex-con.”

  “Keep your eyes open, Denton.” Mike paused. “Poke around. When you get concrete evidence, call me. Back then we found unidentifiable smudged fingerprints on the murder weapon. Maybe we can find a match.”

  26

  SHELBY

  If I could discover my enemy’s motivation, I could reverse engineer the reasons and confront the culprit. Tuesday afternoon, thoughts from last night’s conversation with Sheriff Wendall and Denton anchored me to explore luring my enemy into a trap. With what had happened since arriving here, I gave the person no leeway—someone had a definite agenda.