Trace of Doubt

by DiAnn Mills

  He swore and kicked the door. Although it was thick and sturdy, it had a breaking point, just like everything and everyone else.

  Randy punched his fist through the window nearest the door. Glass shattered. Blood dripped from his knuckles. My home should be my sanctuary, not another prison. More glass cracked and fell to the floor. I hurried to the back door and flung it open. Safety lay ahead in the woods and bought me time.

  I found refuge behind an oak tree and studied the front of my cabin. Randy had disappeared, and I assumed he was inside. How long should I hide here before moving deeper into the woods? Two police cruisers slid up next to Randy’s truck. Four men exited with their weapons drawn, including Sheriff Wendall. Two of them jogged to the rear of the cabin.

  “Randy, come on out with your hands up,” Sheriff Wendall’s voice blared above the sounds of nature. “No reason to stay in there.”

  No answer.

  “Have you hurt Shelby?”

  “She took off.”

  An officer shouted they had Randy. Breathing my thanks, I walked toward Sheriff Wendall.

  I was safe. For now.

  50

  Randy fought the cuffs and swore at everyone around him. “I only wanted to talk, and you’re takin’ the side of a killer and a thief.”

  “Shut up,” Sheriff Wendall said, “or you’ll be facin’ more charges than a DWI, breaking and entering, and attempted assault.” The sheriff turned to me. “Shelby, are you all right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Anger, more like rage, burned in my stomach. “At least one of my windows is broken.”

  “We’ll look at the damages in a few minutes. Do you want to contact Edie? She’s worried sick.”

  “Sure.”

  “Edie won’t press any charges against me,” Randy sneered. “And she’ll bail me out of jail.”

  “Don’t count on it.” Sheriff Wendall huffed. “Why were you here when you’d been ordered to stay away?”

  “No law against having a conversation.”

  Sheriff Wendall stepped to Randy, nose to nose. “Looks like you’ve broken enough laws to spend several weeks in jail. Maybe you’ll dry out.”

  I trembled, the unfairness of it all pounding in my heart. “I don’t think you’re the one who’s been targeting me, but I think someone hired you. Who?”

  Randy spat at my feet. “I never murdered anyone.”

  I swallowed my pride, took a deep breath. “That’s right. Just like I faced charges, a judge, and paid my debt, you will do the same. Know what? For a moment, I nearly stooped to your level.” I faced the sheriff and the other three officers. “Thank you. I’ll assess my home for damages.”

  The sight of shattered glass brought hot tears. Thankfully my belongings and Edie’s cabin and furnishings had stood the test of Randy’s drunken violence.

  He reminded me of a male guard who used to corner me with threats if I didn’t give in to his advances. He made life behind bars even more frightening, but I was stubborn and never relented.

  Valleysburg was my home now, and I intended to stay.

  I talked to Edie and assured her Sheriff Wendall and his officers had Randy under control.

  “Did he admit to violating your rights in the past?” she said.

  Odd choice of words for the gal who’d hidden under her bed to avoid a bat. “No. Who knows what he’ll claim when he’s sober. I’m sorry. He’s your brother, and I should be more considerate.”

  “Shelby, I’ve seen him in action. When he’s drinking, his violence escalates. On top of that, you’re dealing with grief from your mother’s passing.”

  Sheriff Wendall joined me and I ended the call. I valued his concern and all my new friends who cared without knowing the truth. He sat on the sofa, and I took the chair I’d used earlier in the day when Denton visited.

  “From here, I’m heading over to Edie’s office. In her opinion, Randy needs to be locked up for his own good and the safety of others.”

  “Maybe he’ll get help.”

  “Kind of you to say so with his latest stretch of the law.” He laid his Stetson on the sofa beside him. “Do you have any evidence Randy is behind the threatenin’ calls?”

  I shook my head. “Outside, I reacted in anger, lashed out. But what I believe is if someone offered him cash to make my life difficult, he’d jump on it.”

  He pressed his lips together. “Did you let Denton know what happened?”

  “Haven’t talked to him.”

  “I’ll call him on the way to see Edie and ask him if he’s available to stop in. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  Protest jumped into my throat, but I held back. No need to tell the sheriff about Denton’s and my last conversation.

  “Have you neglected to relay information about other crimes against you?”

  “Not sure.”

  The sheriff frowned. “Not sure? What are you keepin’ secret?”

  He’d never understand how protecting loved ones ruled every breath. “I’m sure I’ve told you everything. I’m a little shaken right now.”

  The sheriff studied me. “All right, but you know I’m available day or night.”

  He didn’t believe me. “Thank you.”

  “Maybe the guilty person is taking a break until after your mother’s funeral. You’re right—Randy couldn’t be behind all of this.”

  Dad must have Sheriff Wendall’s attention too. I despised all the free time anticipating my enemy’s next move or arrest. It boggled my mind, and with Randy Hughes in custody, I sensed the suspect list narrowing.

  Activity outside captured my attention. Two officers supported Randy and laid him in the rear of a cruiser. “Sheriff, looks like Randy might have collapsed.”

  “Probably passed out.”

  We both rushed outside.

  “He’s having a heart attack,” one of the officers said.

  “Get him to the hospital.” The sheriff rushed to his car. “Shelby, do me a favor and call Edie.”

  51

  DENTON

  Women handled emotional trauma in bewildering ways, and Randy’s stunt added to Shelby’s burdens. I had no idea if she’d kick me off her porch or let me help. She opened her cabin door wearing an exasperated frown. I’d seen bad guys more excited to see me.

  “Have you heard anything about Randy’s condition?” she said.

  “Partly. He’s stable. Edie and Pastor Emory are with him. The mix of high blood pressure and alcohol shoved him into a heart attack.”

  “Maybe he’ll get professional help now.”

  “He has to admit a problem first.” I jumped in with the hard task. “Sheriff Wendall thought you should stay at my place until your window is fixed.”

  “Edie’s already arranged for a repairman. He’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

  “Then I’m spending the night on your sofa.”

  “You still look like you’re the one who needs protection, and I’m not in the mood to cook.” She raised her chin, and I saw the little girl who’d given her parents sleepless nights.

  “That’ll give me a job to fill my time. And if the wrong people show up, I’m mean with these crutches.”

  Shelby’s stomach growled and I grinned. “Are you going to invite me in so I can whip up a semi-gourmet meal?”

  “The last two agents who attempted to keep me company were shot.”

  I stared at my feet for a few beats. “So I hear.”

  “Another one had surgery and will be on crutches for weeks.”

  “I heard about him too. I’m one of the good guys, remember?”

  “Are you going to behave yourself?” She bit her lip and revealed a spark of humor.

  “Nope.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “Me either. I’m bored and angry. Neither are a good combo for an ex-con.”

  After Shelby poured us freshly squeezed lemonade, I suggested we sit on the front porch. “I’d have driven you to your mother’s funeral.”

  Shelby stroked Joy, who�
�d followed her outside. “I know, Denton.” She’d morphed from a rebellious little girl to a sad woman.

  “We’re spending tomorrow together. I’m not leaving you alone.”

  She slowly nodded. “I’d like that. It will be a tough day.” She stared out at the narrow road. “I’m going back to work on Saturday morning.”

  “The bad guys are still out there. You’d be easy to pick off on the road. No one would ever know who did it or why.”

  “Whoever’s responsible could have eliminated me on the other days I’ve walked to and from work. Besides, I’ve already made a commitment to Amy-Jo, and I’m tired of hiding.”

  “What else have you vowed to do?”

  She gave me a sideways glare. “It won’t be a surprise.”

  “Try me.”

  “Find who is responsible for embezzling the money, the threats, the shootings, and two hit-and-runs. All I know at this point is Eli Chandler is involved. I want to know how he fits in with my dad.”

  “Then what?”

  “Make sure the guilty ones face a judge and jury.”

  “We’re in this together.”

  “Next time you might not be so lucky.”

  I deliberated her words. “I’d rather sacrifice my life to keep you safe than attend your funeral.”

  She blinked. “What am I to do with you?”

  “When this is over, I’ll tell you.”

  That night I lay awake on her sofa, not because of the plywood nailed over the window and the living room chair against the door, but because of my growing feelings for Shelby and the threats against her.

  The agony in my battered body caused my eyes to water. Hard to concentrate when I couldn’t figure out how to end this. Tonight we’d grilled chicken, tossed a salad, and baked potatoes for supper. We stood much too close for a man who’d admitted the pangs of love. Rather pathetic because I lacked the skill to handle myself personally.

  I gave in to taking half a pain pill and slept.

  Four hours later, I grabbed my laptop from Shelby’s kitchen table. The FIG had my latest inquiry about Travis Stover and Eli Chandler. If the two men were connected before Stover’s death, the investigation might lead to the missing money. I wanted coffee, except grinding the beans made too much noise and Shelby needed sleep.

  An hour later with sunrise on the brink of bursting across the sky, I closed the laptop and my eyes.

  No leads.

  Just an aching heart and leg.

  52

  SHELBY

  Working at the café kept my mind off my messy life and those who’d been hurt because of their association with me. Saturday morning customers lined up for donuts and pastries or one of Amy-Jo’s Southern-style breakfasts. Later on I rearranged the bakery case for afternoon snackers, which meant a 20 percent discount on everything. Amy-Jo used Mom and Dad’s cookbook Pearce Bakery Favorites, and the thought of her using recipes I’d memorized as a kid filled me with tender memories of Mom and Dad. Since Amy-Jo had started making Mimi’s cinnamon bread, a recipe from Grandma Pearce, customers had to place orders ahead of time or risk Amy-Jo running out.

  “Are you Shelby Pearce?”

  I glanced over the counter to a slight teenage girl. Her long blonde hair and blue-gray eyes resembled . . . No, impossible. “Yes. How can I help you?”

  “I’m Aria Stover.”

  I forgot how to breathe and gripped the top of the bakery case. Myriad questions littered my mind. Where did I begin? I looked to see if anyone familiar had entered the café.

  “Who is with you?”

  “No one, Aunt Shelby.”

  The last two words shook me to the core. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Grandma told me.” Aria started to say more but pressed her lips together.

  “How did you get here?”

  “Some friends were going to New Braunfels for the weekend, and I asked them to drop me off.”

  A dozen fears for Aria twisted in me. “Your mother must be worried sick.”

  “She’s on one of her rest weekends. I left Granddad a note for when he gets home from the bakery. Normally I’d be there working with him, but I told him I wasn’t ready. He left at four this morning, and my friends picked me up at four thirty. He’ll know where I’m at, and I have my cell phone.”

  “He’ll be really upset, especially after the funeral. Why have you come, Aria? I don’t understand.”

  “To talk.” She punched the two words out. “Can we do that?”

  “Of course.” I looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes until my break. “Have you eaten?”

  “Not today.”

  I gestured to a nearby table. “Order whatever you want and tell the server the bill goes to me. By the time your food arrives, I’ll join you. In the meantime, call your granddad. He deserves to hear from you and be assured you’re safe. Tell him I’ll notify the sheriff and my parole officer.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you in trouble?”

  I shook my head. “The sheriff is a friend, and my parole officer must be notified of everything that can potentially be a problem. The communication keeps me out of prison.”

  “Okay, I will. I’m starved.” She gave me a thin-lipped smile. “Grandma told me we looked alike.”

  I leaned on the counter. She might have weighed ninety pounds, so much like me at her age. “Yes, we do. Aria, I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked to see you.”

  “I feel strange too. I mean, we’re seeing each other for the first time, but I had to find you.” She sighed. “Grandma said only you had answers.”

  “About your dad?”

  She shook her head. “My mom.”

  I experienced the longest fifteen minutes in history, but I called Sheriff Wendall and James Peterson with the happenings. Finally I sat across from Aria. She poured syrup over pancakes and scrambled eggs . . . I used to sweeten my eggs with syrup too.

  “Did you talk to your granddad?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s not happy, but he’s glad I’m safe.” She stared down at her plate. “He has a worker who will close up the bakery today. He’ll be on his way in the next few minutes. Which means you and I have plenty of time together.”

  I folded my hands and asked God to put the right words into my heart and mouth. “You’ve been told what happened to your father.”

  She stared into my eyes, and a mirror looked back at me. “Yes. Mom told me.”

  “What are your questions? I’m fairly certain Marissa gave you the facts.”

  She swirled a forkful of pancake on her plate. “She said as a teen you shot my dad and went to prison for it. And she let me read the court transcripts. You were always in trouble and broke Grandma and Granddad’s hearts.”

  How sad for my niece to be aware of the family’s black sheep. “Then you know everything. I’m sorry you’ve grown up without a father. He was a godly man. You have every reason to despise me, and still you’re here. If you’re after vengeance or have hate to spew, I understand.”

  Her face clouded. “I used to hate you until I found Jesus and forgave you. Grandma always took me to church, but I didn’t know the stuff I kept inside was hurting me until Jesus and Grandma helped me see it.”

  “I’m a Christian too.”

  “Grandma told me.” She eyed me with a tilt of her head. Eerily familiar. “You don’t understand. There’s more going on since you were sent away.”

  Weird choice of words for prison. “I’m listening.”

  “Mom has never loved me. She’s told me I’m a burden. If someone is around, she puts on an act to look like the perfect mom. And it hurts. Always has. Granddad and Grandma raised me since Mom seemed to be sick a lot and needed time away to rest.” Aria took a long drink of water. “She’s supposed to have rheumatoid arthritis, but she doesn’t take any meds. I’ve looked everywhere. When I asked the name of her doctor, she said it was none of my business. I talked to Grandma about my mom to find out what’s wrong with me. Grandma cried. We�
��ve always been able to talk about anything.”

  Aria drew in a breath. “She told me Mom’s behavior had nothing to do with me. She said life isn’t always what it looks like, and I should seek out the truth—from you.”

  “Was this conversation before or after I visited Sharp’s Creek?”

  “Both. She said you promised to find the truth.”

  I gazed into her young face. I’d always believed Marissa was a perfect mother. So many reasons for her rejecting Aria, from guilt of killing Travis to having me take the blame. But it wasn’t her daughter’s fault. Maybe Aria had inherited more than my physical likeness. Perhaps my curiosity streak. What else explained her visit and accusations against Marissa?

  “Why does Mom make everything about her?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Aria worried her lip. Rats, I did the same thing. Were the similarities why Marissa might have held back on her love?

  Aria glanced around us as though someone might be eavesdropping. “I overheard two conversations lately. Mom was talking on the phone and didn’t know I’d come home from school early. I have no idea who was on the other end. She said, ‘Shelby’s release has to be short. Do what’s needed to eliminate her.’”

  I fixed an impassive expression on my face. Yet my pulse sped. “There’s no way for me to judge the conversation without hearing all of it. Perhaps she feared for you or she was concerned I’d try to contact the family.”

  “The only thing Mom fears is not being the center of attention.”

  Harsh, but I didn’t contradict her.

  “The second thing happened when I overheard Mom and Grandma talking. Grandma knew you didn’t kill my dad.” Aria gasped. “She asked if Mom pulled the trigger.”

  Mom had confronted Marissa? “Aria, my fingerprints were on the firearm.”

  She stared at me as though she saw into my soul. Emotions swept over her face—disbelief, confusion, grief. I longed to reach out and hug her, but I dared not. She must be convinced I killed her father.