Trace of Doubt

by DiAnn Mills

  “Randy was fired yesterday morning,” she said. “Four years too late in my opinion, but Sheriff Wendall showed more patience with him than I ever imagined.”

  Her story mirrored what the sheriff had relayed to me. “I’m sorry your brother shadows you.”

  “Randy’s belligerent, and I never understood how he convinced his precious wife to marry him. She had no choice but to leave him after he became violent with her and one of their sons.”

  “Family dysfunction destroys relationships.”

  “Randy came after her, and their two sons pulled him off.” She clenched her jaw. “The younger one called the sheriff while the older one took a beating. The rest is immaterial except for the divorce, and that happened four years ago. And his fixation to watch over me and my kids as well as the community escalated into alienating him from his old friends. Our parents took him to counseling when he was a kid, even had him tested. He had learned how to tell the therapist what she wanted to hear. Nothing chemically wrong with him, just a bullying instinct.”

  “Have you seen him in the last few days?”

  “Oh yes. He stopped by the real estate office right afterward with the news, really angry and irrational.”

  “He blamed Denton and me?”

  “Exactly.” Edie glanced at her watch. “One more thing. I told him until he got his act together, not to come near me, the kids, or my tenants. I realize he has no one to talk to, but I pray this pushes him into seeking professional help.”

  “I’ll pray for him too.” I paused. “Edie, those who once chose violent means will return to the same behavior if they aren’t stopped or learn other means to control their behavior.”

  She studied me, and I assumed she thought about my past. “Your faith pulled you through.”

  “Yes. It’s all I have.” Someday I’d tell her about my journaling. “I asked the sheriff to return the bicycle.”

  “You walked to work?”

  “I found it refreshing.”

  “You won’t in another two months when the temps are a hundred in the shade. I’ll get you a bike.”

  “Please. It’s important for me to be self-sufficient.”

  “What about getting groceries and things?”

  I touched her arm. “I’ll be fine, and I’ll have another bicycle as soon as I’m financially squared away.” I stood to take my station behind the bakery counter.

  “Which means you’ll either walk or pedal to and from the café in suffocating heat.” She inhaled deeply. “Randy could be behind your threats, but I guess you’ve discussed the same thing with the sheriff. He’s lost his temper too many times for me to doubt his capability of shooting my tire and whatever else. Be careful, my friend.”

  “I’ve learned how to survive. But circumstances are getting harder. Some days I just don’t want to go on.”

  She paled, but it was the response I needed to keep her safe.

  29

  DENTON

  Last night I dreamed I’d missed something vital about Shelby. No idea if the “something” meant good or bad for her. But I couldn’t leave it alone. At least I didn’t have a stack of paperwork and other cases in my way this time.

  Since talking to Shelby before sunup, I fed Big Red, drank a pot of coffee, inhaled bacon and toast, and went over the videos and photos of the trial again.

  The sound of a car engine alerted me to a visitor. Randy Hughes slammed the door of his dark-green pickup, and I closed my laptop. He pulled back his shoulders and marched toward my front door. My mind stepped back to my pawpaw’s banty rooster that took out after everyone, sorta how Randy looked strutting his stuff toward the cabin. His boots pounded on the steps and porch, shaking the dishes in my cabinet.

  I opened the door before he knocked. “Hey, Randy. What’s going on?”

  “Occurred to me this morning you had a hand in getting me fired.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “You might have taken a few things I said seriously and pulled rank with your FBI buds.”

  “You managed to lose your job all by yourself.”

  “I’m the best man on the force.”

  “If you don’t calm down, man, you’re headed for a heart attack. And my CPR is a little rusty.”

  “I’ll calm down when a few people in this town start listening to me.”

  “Take a vacation. Clear your head and figure out what to do with your life.”

  The man before me interpreted the law according to his own views of justice, a miserable and unpredictable man. Pawpaw had wrung the banty rooster’s neck, and Mamaw fried him up. Not sure why I remembered the story, except Randy’s state of mind might move him to irreversible crimes. He still owned the ability to turn his life around.

  I thought he might throw a punch, but he stomped off and sped away in his truck. For sure the man was headed down a precarious road—if someone didn’t kill him, his body would give out. Until Randy broke the law or needed medical attention, how could anyone help him? For that matter, did he have any friends or family who cared?

  I continued on my repetitive review of Shelby’s years before and after prison. No one from her family had visited, only a chaplain. Interesting to find out if Shelby refused to see them or if they chose to write her off. I sent my request through the FBI.

  Two hours later, a response landed in my in-box. None of Shelby’s family had requested visitation. She refused to see the chaplain until the seventh year of her incarceration. The records included contact information, and I pressed in Pastor Donna Glades’s number. I introduced myself.

  “Is Shelby okay?” the chaplain said. “She planned to do whatever it took to regain her life.”

  “She’s a survivor. Someone is trying to run her off, even to the point of encouraging suicide.”

  The woman groaned. “Before incarceration and becoming a Christian, she battled depression. She’s emailed me, but nothing about any problems. Then again, I wouldn’t expect her to complain. That’s not her style. Why is the FBI investigating her?”

  I told her the truth. “Aside from recovering the money and if she had a hand in it, she’s become a victim. I no longer believe she had a thing to do with the theft.”

  “Agent McClure, I assure you, Shelby is innocent of stealing from her family. She had told me about the money and how she wished the orphans had received the funds. Shelby told me once she was out of prison, she intended to search for who stole it. She also worried about her sister, Marissa, raising her child alone.”

  “Have you ever talked to her parents or sister?”

  “Her father. According to Clay Pearce, Shelby is dead to him. Her feelings for her family have never changed. She loves them dearly.”

  “In your conversations with her, was there ever a mention of anyone other than her immediate family?”

  “Not at all. Shelby is introverted, incredibly smart, and creative. She’s carrying a heavy load and I believe secrets. I have no idea about whom or their nature, but they are destroying her.”

  “Do you think she’d resort to suicide?”

  Pastor Glades sighed. “Her faith is solid, and she knows Jesus, but who can say where the depths of depression could lead her. She internalizes everything.”

  “A pastor here is counseling her.”

  “Yes, I’ve chatted with Pastor Emory, but he hasn’t broken confidentiality.”

  “Those who’ve befriended her have become loyal in a short while,” I said. “The café where she works has a little gift shop. Her jewelry is there on consignment, and already she has orders. I understand you taught her the craft.”

  She chuckled. “I showed her the basics, and she did the rest. Shelby has a natural skill in my opinion.” The chaplain paused. “If she knew the location of the money, she’d have told the authorities where to find it.”

  “Do you have any information that could help identify the person behind these threats, someone from prison?”

  “Possibly, but I have no proof.
I can’t state something without backing it up.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me? I want to eliminate the threats and let her put an end to the past.”

  “She’s a strong young woman and has overcome incredible obstacles. Shelby understands and practices sacrifice. You’re an investigator. Look beneath the surface for the truth.”

  30

  SHELBY

  Creating something beautiful from raw materials seemed to be my purpose. I felt God’s presence, encouraging me to express my love within the context of my heart, mind, and fingers. I polished the stones on two completed necklace and earrings sets. Tomorrow I’d deliver them to Amy-Jo for customers who’d placed orders. The name and Scripture reference for each item gave them meaning. Satisfaction swirled through me, much like in high school when I selected furniture, fabric, and room designs, pasted images of them in a scrapbook, and stored them in my closet for a future in interior decorating.

  But the time to fashion a jewelry piece also caused my thoughts to dive into dark places. God helped me there too. My resolve to find out the name and reason someone wanted me dead refused to budge. One of the things I’d learned in prison was those allowed to bully continued their insatiable quest until they were stopped.

  My burner phone rang—Sheriff Wendall. I hoped he didn’t plan to stop by. Although the time only read 7:03, I was ready to catch up on the sleep I’d missed the previous night.

  “Shelby, I have a bit of bad news for you. Your father called. Your mother is in stage 4 of pancreatic cancer. Critical condition. She’s home and under the care of hospice. Askin’ to see you.”

  An image of my strong mother, weak and dying, seemed wrong. A horrible mistake. “Dad chose not to contact me?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “He made himself clear of my status with the family a long time ago. My guess is he’s against a visit, but Mom’s insisting.” When the sheriff didn’t respond, I took a breath while treasured memories of my mother touched my heart. “I want to see her.”

  “Okay. I suggest contacting Denton instead of Edie or Amy-Jo to drive you.”

  “Why? My dad has a mind like a steel trap. He’ll recognize Denton’s name.”

  “Does it matter? If anything, Denton’s presence means the FBI believes in your rehabilitation.”

  Then it hit me. “This is an opportunity for Denton to see if the threats are coming from here or Sharp’s Creek. We know I’m being watched. But, Sheriff, a smart person wouldn’t show his face and risk arrest here or there.”

  “Depends on the person’s desperation.”

  I thought about Randy’s state of mind and the logic of staying away from him. “I’d rather have someone with me who knows how to defend himself.”

  “We’re rollin’ along the same road.”

  His encouragement gave me a nudge toward optimism. I must cling to a better tomorrow. “I’ll talk to Denton. I wish I trusted him more. Amy-Jo scheduled my regular day off for Monday. I’ll see if anyone will switch Friday with me. With Mom in hospice care, I don’t want to wait.”

  “Good. Work it all out and let me know the plan.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get some sleep, and don’t open the door to Randy. If he shows, call me. His truck’s parked at a local bar, and he doesn’t hold his liquor well. I’ve posted an officer to keep an eye on him.”

  “What about the safety of his ex-wife and sons?”

  “I’ve warned them and Edie.”

  At least I understood the enemy in prison. Randy Hughes was a wild card.

  “Shelby, what if a trip to Sharp’s Creek gave you an opportunity to carry out your fake suicide? Think about layin’ the groundwork with Amy-Jo and Edie startin’ tonight. Use your original cell phone to contact them. I know it means changin’ plans in midstream with little time to finalize, but takin’ advantage of the trip sounds good to me.”

  “Not sure if the drug dealer will be at the café tomorrow. If not, most people won’t have a problem believing I had access to his goods. But Edie does know I’m feeling down.”

  “I’ll make sure the right story is spread, and James Peterson is aware.”

  When the conversation ended, I phoned Denton on my burner and explained the situation. We agreed to leave Friday morning at five. My next call went to Edie as Sheriff Wendall suggested. If my stalker had tapped into my phone, he might hit the overconfidence button and expose his identity. I told her about my mother.

  “If I can make arrangements at the café for Friday, Denton will drive me.”

  “Shelby, I’d like to take you. It—”

  “You told your brother you’d keep your distance until this ended. Your kids need their mom.”

  Edie sighed. “All right. Let me know as soon as you two head home.”

  “Sure.” I paused. “This will be hard. Mom’s dying. Dad disowned me, and my sister . . . Some days I struggle to live.”

  “God’s with you. And I’m your un-biological sister. So is Amy-Jo. Hold on tight to that truth.”

  I sniffed. I’d confessed more truth than a lie. “Thank you, my friend.”

  Amy-Jo answered on the first ring. One more time I explained about my mother’s failing health.

  “Don’t worry about your shift. One of the gals asked me for more hours, so I’ll offer her yours. How are you holding up?”

  “I feel like I’ve fallen into a well, and it’s impossible to climb out.”

  “This might be an opportunity to begin the healing process with your family.”

  “Unlikely, Amy-Jo. Some relationships are irreparable.”

  “Do you feel up to working tomorrow? I can get someone to cover you.”

  “I need to keep my mind occupied.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Call me if you want to talk. I can come out there and spend the night.”

  “Thanks. You are really sweet.” I hadn’t lied to my friends about my tendency toward depression. In essence I had two enemies—whoever threatened me and the depression.

  With God’s help, I’d overcome both.

  31

  I did nothing to conceal my departure with Denton on Friday morning. His FBI training should allow him to detect someone following us, but I stared at the passenger-side mirror for my own peace of mind.

  Fifteen minutes into our drive, I brought up my fake suicide and how Edie and Amy-Jo had been alerted to my dwindling mental condition. “Normally I chat with Amy-Jo and Edie at the café, but yesterday I avoided them. I regret the ruse, but I have no clue how else to credibly expose who’s responsible. My Bible is in my backpack, and the note is written and in my purse.”

  “What if we learn the culprit is someone you know? Like your dad?”

  The thought had darted in and out of my mind, unbidden and despised. “We had a strong father-daughter relationship before . . . the shooting. He adored Travis, the son he never had. I don’t mean I was jealous. Travis was like a brother to me, kind, funny, and a good listener. Anyway, I won’t dwell on Dad either stealing the money or threatening me. The man I remember chose family, honor, and integrity above himself. One vile deed in the family is enough.”

  “People we trust often fail us. Wants, presumed needs, motivations, greed, and all those deeply rooted internal workings drive us all to consider ourselves first or see life skewed.”

  He spoke as if he had personal experience. No headlights loomed behind us. Just a dark road. “Selfishness is a human trait. The choices we make show how far we’ve grown or fallen. Are you a man of faith?”

  “Not really.”

  “When I looked up from my shame, no one was there but a chaplain to show me Jesus. Not since my dad had I experienced caring and acceptance, which is why I refuse to believe Dad is involved. He’s a good man.”

  “Maybe we should hang a shingle outside our cabins saying, ‘Counseling Upon Request.’”

  “In small print we’d add, ‘Therapists—FBI Agent and Ex-Con.’”

 
“In the finer print, ‘Neither trusts the other but you can trust us both.’”

  His last statement struck me as funny, and laughter rose from my toes. Denton joined in, and the wall between us dropped a few bricks.

  “Your laughter is musical.” He sobered. “Do you believe in fate?”

  “Depends.”

  “I wonder why we’ve been thrown together. Mostly our strange attraction when we should hate each other.”

  “What are you saying, Denton?” Had he read my mind? Discovered my most personal thoughts?

  “Not sure why I said that. Delete it, and I steered us off topic. I’ve done some legwork too. But I want to hear your thoughts.”

  “Sheriff Wendall thinks we should use this trip to accomplish the fake suicide. The problem will be avoiding cameras. Public places will video us, and a disappearing act from me looks hard. I think the best solution is to walk away from my parents’ house. I could say I need to clear my head before I ride home. Their address hasn’t changed, and their neighborhood was starting to run down years ago. It’s less likely I’d be seen by home-security cameras. Is it possible one of your undercover buds could pick me up?”

  “I prefer an exchange on a back road. I’ve arranged a safe house for a few days. You’ll be okay during the investigation. I’ll bring Joy to my cabin until you return.”

  “Thanks. She’s a sweet puppy.” I swung my attention his way. “You realize I won’t stay at a safe house more than three days. I’m in this with both feet.”

  He palmed the steering wheel. “Please, Shelby, sit tight while the FBI and Sheriff Wendall trap this guy. You could wind up violating your parole. Have you considered going back to prison?”

  “I sat tight for fifteen years. I can handle it. Besides, you’re not surprised at my reaction.”

  “Not in the least.” He tossed me a glance. “You’re not fooling me. Your voice is quivering. What are you hiding?”