Trace of Doubt

by DiAnn Mills

  “And you?”

  “I wasn’t with him.”

  “Why not?”

  How did I answer that? “He had an errand to run.”

  “I’m so glad you’re safe, and please give Denton my best. We’ll be praying for him. I picked up Joy last night. She’s fine. She misses you, I’m sure.” Edie paused, and I heard the hesitancy in her voice.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Randy’s here, and I heard him yell at Timothy and Livy. Hold on while I check this out. I now have three kids to deal with.”

  I thought she’d told her brother to stay away. She must have given in.

  She returned within five minutes. “I banished one of them to his room.”

  “Which one?”

  “Randy. I’m mothering a forty-four-year-old man. Told him to go home until he could behave himself.”

  “I’m sorry.” But I smiled anyway.

  “I’ve been worried about you. Amy-Jo feels the same. Did you lie to us about visiting your mother yesterday, or are you so depressed that you had to get away?”

  “I saw my mom, and we had precious time together. Lots of love and closure for us. I’m doing my best to manage the depression.”

  “What about the rest of your family?”

  “As expected.” Closing my eyes, I searched for the right words. “Edie, I care about you, and I’ll do anything to keep you, your kids, and Amy-Jo safe. If necessary, I’ll avoid telling you the truth. The less you know, the better.”

  “My fears exactly. How will you protect yourself at the cabin? Your parole forbids your having a weapon.”

  “Maybe I’ll keep my location a secret for a while. I have money put aside for the rent, but staying hidden makes sense. Would you consider having your brother stay for your family’s protection until this is over? Probably a week. I know he tries your patience, yet the safety precaution is worth his sometimes-disagreeable nature.” The caller, if still alive, knew how to find those in the line of fire. “Edie, think about your kids.”

  She groaned. “No way. He drove me nuts today. But I might have another solution.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’ll ask Amy-Jo to stay with us. She can bring her trusty Smith & Wesson.”

  “Does she know how to use it?”

  Edie chuckled. “Without a doubt.”

  When the week ended, I’d beg her to keep Amy-Jo around until arrests were made.

  Back in Denton’s room, I eased into my former chair. This time I turned away from Isaac and Sheriff Wendall. Tears surfaced and needed to be private. My thoughts trailed to the misery in my life. If not for Jesus, I’d find no purpose. Yet I questioned if He was angry with me. My world continued to crumble, and people close to me met with the same destruction. I knew He was in the business of turning ashes into something beautiful, but enduring trials had to end soon.

  “Shelby?” Denton peered at me through sleepy eyes. “I should shake you for refusing protection.”

  “You’re the one who needs a safe house.” I swallowed my self-pity and reached deep for a facade of cheerfulness. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  A pitiful, bruised smile met me. “Yeah. You look good.”

  “Thank you. For the sake of conversation, I doubt your ability to shake me.” I touched the side of his bed. “I’ve been praying for you, thanking God you’re alive.”

  “Thanks, I guess. Where was God when you and Aaron faced shooters and I flipped my truck?”

  “Keeping us all alive.”

  “For what purpose? To smack us again?”

  “Trusting God doesn’t mean we have to understand why bad things happen.”

  His face clouded. “Shelby, how can you believe in a God who allows us to suffer?”

  “It’s about faith in a God I can feel. He’s given me peace about the things I can’t change. I trust His ways are best even though I don’t understand.” I peered into his battered face. “And hope for eternity.”

  “My parents and grandparents are believers.”

  “You’re not, or are you angry because life isn’t easy?” When he didn’t respond, I ventured one step more and whispered, “What kind of circumstances mold us into stronger people, the easy path or the challenges?”

  “How’s Aaron?”

  I’d hit a nerve, but I refused to retract my words. Instead I kissed my fingers and laid them on his forehead. Isaac and Sheriff Wendall walked to the opposite side of the hospital bed.

  “You asked about Aaron,” Isaac said. “He made it through surgery and is holding his own. Due to Shelby’s quick thinking, she kept him from bleeding out.”

  The sheriff nodded at me. “I’m not surprised. She’s smart and cares about others. Maybe too much.”

  Denton’s gaze met mine. His confusion over God changed to tenderness, and the change penetrated my heart.

  “Thanks, Shelby. Aaron’s like a dad to me. Him and Isaac. They remind me of the characters in the movie Secondhand Lions.”

  “I saw that movie with my dad. And you’re right. Note, we agree.”

  “Thing is,” Isaac said, “I have yet to figure out if I’m Robert Duvall or Michael Caine.”

  “Maybe the lion.” I smiled.

  Denton gave me a thumbs-up with his non-IV hand. “While I’m in a coherent mode, update me on the two attacks.”

  Isaac told him about identifying the shooters from the security camera through facial-recognition software and the dead man’s criminal record. “We learned his name was Arthur Shell. You’ll probably find more info with your FBI security. Your clearance outranks mine. The driver who took off was Eli Chandler. He drove a dark pickup minus the front license plate.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Not that I’m aware.”

  Denton reached for his phone on the nightstand and typed. His impassive look gave no signs of his reaction to what he’d learned. He peered at Isaac and Sheriff Wendall. “I can’t share some of what I learned with Shelby, but I have a couple of questions for her first.”

  My heart thumped. “Go ahead. Then I’ll walk to the cafeteria. A Coke sounds good right now.”

  “Take one of those officers posted outside my door.”

  “I think you’re the center of attraction.”

  He tried to scowl but it obviously hurt. “Did you recognize the dead man? Or does the name Eli Chandler mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  Denton showed me a photo on his phone of a dark-haired man. “Ever see this guy?”

  “No. Is he Chandler?”

  “Right.”

  “My turn,” I said. “Where is he from?”

  “Miami.”

  “Do you think our attacks are connected to the missing money?”

  “Maybe it’s not about the money,” Denton said.

  Isaac cleared his throat. “The sheriff and I have been discussing the same thing. The answer could lead to the crimes we’ve experienced of late.”

  “I’ve spent brain cells on this, and I have no suspects.” I thought about the possibilities. “I had enemies inside prison, and they were interested in the money. But this doesn’t feel right. Too many people involved. But you might be right.”

  Sheriff Wendall closed the hospital room door. “Can’t be Randy unless he’s gotten mixed up with the wrong guys. Known him a long time, and he has a short fuse. Sometimes I think he fell off a wagon headfirst—he’s all about doing the job, not digging a hole to bury someone else.”

  Isaac secured our attention. “My opinion is it’s a waste of time to consider anything but a situation with the money. While the amount doesn’t seem significant in contrast with what’s happening, the thief might be worried Shelby can ID him. If he invested it, either legal or otherwise, he has a tidy sum to protect.”

  Denton closed his eyes, no doubt weary and in pain. “I’ll handle the FBI checking everything we’ve discussed.”

  “Good,” Sheriff Wendall said. “I’ll talk to Edie and Amy-Jo about Shelby
needing a few days to herself.”

  I thanked him. “My new friends need protection. I just wish I knew from whom.”

  The sheriff’s phone buzzed, and he read a message. “If that don’t beat all. Highway patrol found the truck Chandler was driving. Abandoned about a mile from the trailer. Set on fire, but it matches the description.”

  “Let me guess,” Isaac said. “Wiped clean.”

  40

  DENTON

  With Shelby out of my hospital room and sharing the company of one of the officers, I shared some of what I’d learned. “Arthur Shell was a local. In and out of jail. Eli Chandler, on the other hand, is a murder suspect in Florida and California. Not enough evidence to arrest him. Did eighteen months in Kentucky for assault and robbery. Had a string of arrests.” I paused. “He gets around, and we lost our chance to question him.”

  “For now,” Isaac said. “I have a personal reason for bringing him in.”

  Sheriff Wendall paced. “I pulled up that much. What are you keepin’ from Shelby?”

  “Clay Pearce hired Chandler after Shelby was sentenced. He worked at the bakery for six months.”

  The sheriff stopped. “Fired or quit?”

  “Fired.”

  “You indicated Clay Pearce is a rule keeper . . . so much his shoes squeak. Is this his cover?”

  “Sheriff, if he’s our man, he’s done a good job of covering it up. I saw the exterior of his bakery, his car and house. Impossible to believe he’s linked to a money embezzlement scheme.”

  The sheriff eyed me. “I used to have a dog, sweetest little boy you’d ever want. But at night he killed my chickens and whittled down my cat population. Thought I had me a coyote or a fox. Took me a long time to figure him out ’cause I didn’t suspect him.”

  He made sense. “I’ll dig deeper as soon as I get out of here.” Once they left, I’d contact the FIG—Field Intelligence Group—for any and every trace of information available on Eli Chandler and Clay Pearce. And any links between them and Travis Stover.

  “Denton, we’re taking off.” Isaac frowned. “You need your rest and trust me when I say, you look like roadkill.”

  “I’ve heard the same thing from a couple of others. Are you heading to Houston?”

  “Right. Taking Shelby with me. I can protect her while she’s concerned about Aaron. I need to check on him, be there with his wife and son until he’s out of the woods.”

  “Give them my best.”

  “Sure.” Isaac paused. “One more thing. I’ve been thinking about a remark Shelby made last night. When she called me about the firefight and Aaron’s condition, I told her to take his gun and use it to protect herself. She said she didn’t know how.”

  I startled. “Impossible.”

  “Right. How does a person kill a man and not know how to use a gun?”

  “She has the faith thing going on, so maybe she vowed never to touch one again. But her answer was strange.” I stuck this tidbit into a process-later file, the one labeled Unusual Info about Shelby Pearce.

  After Shelby, Sheriff Wendall, and Isaac left, and before I gave in to summoning Nurse Giggles for another shot of relief, Mike Kruse called me. At first I thought he’d heard about the accident, but his reason to reach out took me down a different path.

  “An agent approached me today, an old friend. He’s been working on a money-laundering case. Hasn’t made an arrest. A woman charged with identity theft offered info in exchange for a lesser charge. She said a money-laundering operation had roots in Sharp’s Creek. The agent probed deeper, and she gave a name. That’s when he came to me because it concerns one of our old cases.”

  “Which one?”

  “Shelby Pearce. Ready for this? Clay Pearce is a money-laundering suspect.”

  “Are you kidding?” I told him about my hospital stay, the goings-on, and Eli Chandler. “I was in Sharp’s Creek yesterday, drove Shelby to see her mother. She’s dying of cancer and requested to see her daughter. Anyway, I don’t care for the guy, but if Pearce is involved in money-laundering, he’s smarter than I gave him credit for.”

  “Points to him taking the $500K from Marissa and Travis Stover and cleaning it up for himself.”

  “Yep. When did he intend to use it? Stuff it in his casket?” I missed something in talking to him, and it aggravated me. “I’d like to see the report.”

  “Figured so. I’ll make sure you get it when we’re finished talking.”

  “Have you talked to Pearce?”

  “Another reason for my call. Since we worked the Pearce case, good old Clay might feel more comfortable if we conducted the interview.”

  “He hasn’t won the Most-Likable Citizen Award.” I definitely could live my days without talking to him. “When do you want to go?”

  “Monday?”

  Gave me an extra day to recuperate, possibly get something to manage the pain without the nondrowsy additive.

  “It’s no coincidence Clay Pearce’s name is connected to more than one crime,” Mike said. “Where is Shelby now?”

  “On her way to a hotel in Houston. Isaac will have an adjoining room.” I drew in a ragged breath, accompanied by an agonizing throb in my leg, and gave him the latest news. “Shelby is one stubborn lady. She insists she’s okay. Her belief is Isaac’s nighttime stay at the hotel is all the protection she needs.”

  “We obviously have a lot of catchin’ up to do. Tomorrow I’ll drive to Austin, pick you up, then on to Valleysburg. We’ll leave early Monday morning.”

  I thanked him, and we ended the call. Hard for me to wrap my brain around Clay Pearce as a kingpin in a money-laundering scheme. That was as far-fetched as I could imagine. I replayed my brief encounter with the man who claimed the role of a beaten and grieving man. I’d justified his ill temperament . . . felt sorry for him even if I didn’t like him. Something didn’t add up, and it would take a lot to convince me Clay had money tucked away somewhere. But I’d follow up. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d spent time and energy on a false accusation.

  Worn-out and hurting, I hit the call button, and my giggle angel of mercy agreed to pain meds. With any luck when I wakened, the FIG might have the requested information.

  41

  SHELBY

  I despised having nothing to do. The idle time in the hotel room reminded me of prison. Reading, studying, thinking, TV, crafting jewelry in my mind, and occasional online time bored me until I thought I’d go crazy. I paced and hoped the room below me didn’t complain to the management.

  Last evening, Isaac had checked us in as father and daughter with adjoining rooms. Where he conjured up the fake names was beyond me. I bet in Aaron’s and his preretirement days, they were a formidable pair. Still were. They were a bit comical together . . . short, stout Isaac and tall, thin Aaron.

  Concern for Aaron nipped at my conscience . . . my fault. He’d made it through the night, a plus for his recovery status. I’d like to see him, thank him for his sacrifice, but showing up at the hospital put him in as much danger as at the tank. His family might not be thrilled to see me either.

  Denton . . . how did I feel about him? He occupied way too much of my thoughts. He’d deceived me, but he’d given me a sweet puppy. He’d lied to me, but now he claimed to believe me innocent of taking Travis’s money. He’d paid for Isaac and Aaron to protect me. He’d driven me to see my dying mother—and nearly got himself killed.

  The compassion in his eyes told me he cared.

  He’d hinted at the two of us being an item. “I wonder why we’ve been thrown together. Mostly our strange attraction when we should hate each other.”

  A ruse?

  I shook my head. No point in letting my heart stray until this was over. Denying my attraction to Denton offered no consolation to my plunging emotions.

  After checking every TV channel, including Spanish, Asian, and Arabic, I gave up. I tagged myself as officially bored. Descending six floors to the restaurant for dinner crossed my mind, but I’d been there ear
lier for lunch. If my stalkers were watching, I didn’t need to play into their hands.

  The last two days crashed against my mind, rolled, and repeated. A ghastly suspicion made me physically ill. Dad had taken my purse before he left me alone with Mom. Had he removed my inhaler? He knew how an asthma attack leveled me. God forgive me for thinking such a despicable thought.

  I prayed my spare inhaler sat at the cabin or had fallen out of Denton’s truck.

  Edie had downloaded several e-books on her old phone, so I chose a romantic comedy. Not sure why since happily ever after fell into the same category as fairy tales. The story put me to sleep.

  A pounding on the door separating my room from Isaac’s jolted me awake. I stumbled to it, but caution stopped me from flinging it open.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Isaac. Were you expecting Santa Claus?” The familiar growl left no confusion to his identity. “Open the door.”

  I obliged and gasped. Blood spattered his shirt. “Are—?”

  “Grab your stuff. We need to get out of here.”

  As I whirled to snatch my backpack and purse, myriad questions longed to erupt. I slapped my room key on the TV table.

  “Now!”

  My gaze flew to his face. He swiped at a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth. I hurried through his open door. No need to ask if we’d been found.

  Isaac yanked my arm down the hall. “The stairs. One of ’em is on the elevator.” We raced toward the red Exit sign. He opened the door and pulled me behind him. We hurried down the concrete stairwell.

  One flight to the fifth floor.

  Second flight to the fourth. A door above me opened and slammed, and the pounding of footsteps grew closer.

  Midway down to the third floor, the stress on my lungs shortened my breathing. The door swung wide in front of me. A man wearing a ski mask bolted through.

  A feral scream burst from my throat. I spun to see if the person following us had made it to the landing. A masked man towered above and raised his weapon.

  The man in front of us raised his gun.