Trace of Doubt

by DiAnn Mills

  Over the next hour I zoomed in on pics to read Marissa’s body language. Visible tears, and she often touched her nose and dabbed beneath her eyes. The video of the scene outside the courthouse after Shelby’s conviction drew me to the wounded sister. Something I’d ignored previously. Her parents walked on both sides of her. With the camera on Marissa, she averted her gaze to the sidewalk. Her rounded shoulders indicated a broken heart. Nothing unexpected considering the enormity of the situation.

  I searched through more images, and the majority focused on Shelby. In the background of one photo, I zoomed in on Marissa, who’d faded into the shadows with the camera lens on Shelby. Instead of a grieving young pregnant woman, a hint of smugness met me. I wouldn’t have seen it if not for a closer view. Did she feel self-satisfaction in the verdict? Who could blame her? Or had she planned a better life at the expense of her sister’s conviction?

  The quandary about Shelby’s dislike of weapons mystified me. How angry had Travis Stover made her the day she shot him?

  Suspicions mounted against Marissa. First chance I had this morning after Clay and Aria left, I’d call Mike.

  56

  SHELBY

  If good times were snapshots of blessings, Saturday night with Dad, Aria, and Denton had filled my memory’s scrapbook. Aria and I cleaned up from supper while Denton took Dad to see Big Red. I knew the topic of their conversation, but I was confident in Denton’s explanation of the phone call. Sheriff Wendall arranged for two off-duty officers to keep an eye on the cabin.

  For a little while, I relaxed and allowed normal to seep into my heart and soothe the turmoil. If only I could make these hours last forever. As the evening wore on, Denton suggested a game called Scattergories. I’d forgotten how competitive Dad and I were at games, while Aria and Denton laughed at our antics.

  Once in bed with Aria’s soft, rhythmic breathing beside me, I tried to stay awake . . . just in case. My body had a mind of its own, however.

  Sunday morning, I woke early and tiptoed into the kitchen, where Dad and I swung into action with breakfast. Coffee sounded really good, so I took the grinder outside not to waken Aria or Denton. A police car was parked not far away.

  Comfort, treasured comfort.

  A few ideas had occurred to me about once more faking my death. But I had no time to ponder them now.

  Back inside, Dad grated potatoes, and I placed bacon into a huge cast-iron skillet. Edie must have thought Denton’s cabin needed the skillet to cook for a dozen people. We used Mom’s recipe for scrambled eggs, adding sautéed mushrooms and whipped cream cheese.

  Standing so close to Dad nearly brought on a gush of tears. “Thanks,” I whispered.

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for letting me feel like a father again.”

  I swallowed hard. “Are we able to move forward?”

  “Hope so.” He stopped kneading biscuit dough. “Your mother had plenty to say to me before she died. Things that seemed ludicrous at the time but are making more and more sense.”

  “I’m puzzled.”

  He sniffed. “Ever hear knowledge is horizontal but wisdom is vertical?” I shook my head. “For three decades, I used knowledge to live my life. Your mother chased after wisdom.” He stared into my eyes, his gaze a torrent of pain and grief. “She believed you loved your sister enough to take the blame for Travis’s murder.”

  My heart thudded loud enough to wake Mom and Travis from the grave. Doubt, worry, and the constant looking over my shoulder pressed on me. I would not put Dad through the agony of danger by admitting the truth.

  “You’re pale, little girl, and there’s no need to say a word. Marissa’s history and her abandoning Aria speak loud and clear.”

  “I confessed, remember?”

  “Sacrifice always has a price. Can you forgive this old man for using knowledge and lies instead of wisdom to seek the truth?”

  “Dad, we all have a journey to walk. I’ve never stopped loving you and forgiveness happened years ago. I shouldn’t have given up writing you in prison.”

  He picked up a biscuit cutter and pressed it into the dough. “Reality has hit us hard. Denton told me about last night’s call and details about the other threats and shootings. The person responsible will pay.” He focused on me, and I flushed hot. “Whoever it is.”

  My thoughts reached back to my last conversation with Mom . . . Aria’s concerns about Marissa . . . and the identity of the one person who feared what I knew and might not hesitate to kill me. If I’d figured it out, how much longer until everyone else realized the improbable was a reality?

  “I will have a long talk with Aria on the way back home.”

  “You might not appreciate what she has to say.”

  “I don’t care.” He wiped his hands on a towel and drew me into his arms. “I’ve missed you.”

  We sobbed together.

  Reconciliation was the most beautiful word in the English language. I leaned against the porch post and watched the car disappear with Aria and Dad. A profound loneliness settled on me, choking me like a thick cloud of dust. Each breath hurt. My chest ached. I’d been blessed beyond earthly understanding, and His favor humbled me.

  The door opened behind me. I couldn’t pretend emotion hadn’t overtaken my heart. Oh, the struggle to keep from crumbling.

  I swallowed.

  I blinked.

  I trembled.

  Denton touched my shoulder. “There’s no reason for you to go through this alone. The Pearce family took a giant step forward in the last twenty-four hours.”

  “I will treasure every minute for as long as I live.” A longing to face the man who’d inched into my heart coursed over me. Why his caring when my past lay in blackness with no hope for the future?

  “Shelby, tears are healing.”

  I turned and allowed him to hold me. He dropped his crutches and embraced me with both hands. The smell of him, the tenderness, the stroke of his hands in my hair all belonged to a more worthy woman. Not since my childhood and early teens had I experienced genuine caring without conditions attached. The joy and confirmation of no longer enduring abandonment by those in this world filled my wounded heart. He kissed my cheek, and the intimacy burst the dam of pent-up hurts.

  I have no idea how long I shed one tear after another, but when I stepped back with spirit-filled renewal, my foot bumped against a crutch. “I’m so sorry. You could have fallen.” I retrieved both crutches, and he slipped them under his arms.

  “Holding you was worth a fall.”

  I dug deep for words. “I—”

  He brushed my lips with a kiss. “I’m not apologizing.”

  Fifteen years without a kiss, and none of my teenage memories compared to the warmth of his lips touching mine. “You did tell me to ‘deal with it.’”

  “I love you.” He traced my lips with his finger.

  “I’m afraid you love me for the wrong reasons. Denton, you realized I’m not a thief, but I’m still a killer.”

  “I’ve determined more, but I’ll save it for another time.” He smiled. “If you’re not in a hurry, let’s sit and talk on the porch—not about us. Just a few moments to relax. Oh, Randy had a relapse at the bar last night, and he’s back in the hospital.”

  I eased onto a rocker away from his closeness with a wave of regret over the unknown. “Thanks for all you’ve done yesterday and today. Letting Aria and I grow close and inviting Dad and her to spend the night. We all invaded your privacy, and I’m so grateful.”

  He moved a little slower easing onto the rocker and positioning his crutches. “Felt good thinking about someone other than myself. What caused the change in your dad?”

  “I wanted to ask him. But when he didn’t offer an explanation, I assumed his reasons were personal. Other than the hurt caused by Marissa’s move.” No way could I go into our conversation without Denton probing into forbidden territory.

  “Where are you?”

  A loaded question on many levels. Too many thi
ngs about Marissa didn’t add up.

  The rhythm of the rocking chair blended with the incredible mellowness flowing through me. “My spirit has quieted from one end of the spectrum to the other.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The longer I believe in God and His grace, the more I feel His love. Growing stronger in my faith has caused me to hold on tighter. This very minute I’m weak, and I hope the renewed relationship with my family keeps the Pearces united. Yet I’m tired of fighting. I want to give up, but I refuse to admit defeat. If I lose, the enemy wins.” I gazed into Denton’s brown eyes, the ones my heart refused to forget. “In this instance, stubbornness is an asset. There is a way to bring justice to what’s happening.”

  “I have an idea.” He grabbed his crutches. “We’ll take our discussion inside.”

  57

  DENTON

  How could Shelby and I shove her stalker into the open without risking her life? A revisit to the original plan seemed like our best option, and we agreed one more time to implement a fake suicide. Other matters connected with the case bothered me. She agreed to lie low for a few days while the FBI dug deeper into their expanded money-laundering investigation. And I had concerns about Marissa that needed to be analyzed.

  Shelby reached across the sofa and touched my hand. “I believe in your plan.”

  “This time it will work. I’d like for you to stay here through tomorrow.”

  “For many of our friends, the arrangement looks like we’re having an affair.”

  “Don’t I wish.”

  “Denton, I’m serious.”

  I wiped away my grin. “I am too.” Guessed I needed to restrain my thoughts about sex now that I’d become a Christian. “The sheriff said he’d work with us. Another night of protection gives us time to form a backup.”

  “Then tonight we put it into place?”

  “Right. You can’t go to work—”

  “But Amy-Jo counts on me, at least for today.” She paused. “But this will keep her and others from danger.”

  I gave her my best encouraging smile. “Where do you go for good memories, happy times?”

  “Other than last night with Dad and Aria, I’d say growing up with Marissa. Memories of our childhood kept me sane in prison.”

  I took her hand in mine and gestured for her to begin.

  “All right, but then your turn. She’s five years older, and we were close. Even when I was the bratty, irritating little sister, she had patience with me. We’d play school, and she taught me so much. Sometimes she’d dress me in her clothes, shoes, and do my makeup. I could be annoying when her friends were around, but she showed more kindness than I deserved. Marissa had the good-girl, love-Jesus gene, and I embraced trouble with a wild streak. Imagine my surprise when she asked me to be her maid of honor.” She paused. “I really missed Marissa living at home.” She stopped. “Except I liked Travis. I’m sure that sounds odd.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Go on.”

  “Although I fought rules and laws, my sister encouraged me to take my love of creativity to the next level, go to college, and settle down. I listened until one day, and then I destroyed her world and mine. She must resent Aria. My fault too.”

  Had Shelby contrived the story about a loving relationship with her sister? What was I missing in this picture? “When you were small and played school, what did Marissa teach you?”

  “Math. She loved word problems. Other times we’d make up stories, little mysteries that forced me to figure out how bad guys conducted crimes and got away with them. Our creative stories became prophetic. Our pretend games fueled my later rebellion.” She inhaled. “Even pleasant moments from my childhood have a way of haunting me.”

  An unexpected chill accompanied a deeper suspicion. “You and Marissa planned crimes?”

  Shelby nodded. “She urged me to be more intricate and to look at her scenarios like the hardest jigsaw puzzle in the world.”

  “When you later acted out those stories, did she have a reaction?”

  “Marissa believed our games had become a reality to me, and she blamed herself. Incredibly sad. She forgot I owned my own choices. I hot-wired cars. Snuck out to date bad boys my parents despised. Incredibly stupid behavior.”

  “Did you read back then?”

  “You mean together?”

  “Sure.”

  “When I was five, she read Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew stories to me.” She paused. “For my eighth birthday, she read to me Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood. After that, she and I read true crime together.”

  Sickening dread chilled me for what Shelby had been exposed to as a child. I had work to do, and I couldn’t get to it fast enough. “I nearly forgot to feed Big Red, and I owe Mike a call.”

  “You haven’t told me what makes you happy.”

  “Being with you.”

  “Cheesy, Denton.” She pointed to the door. “Go ahead, unless you need help. The kitchen needs a little attention.”

  I grabbed my crutches. “I won’t be long. Today starts a new chapter, and I don’t want to waste any of it.”

  58

  I sensed I’d stepped into a nightmare, and the only way to resolve it was to take action. I navigated my crutches to the small barn while Shelby stayed inside the cabin. I contacted the FIG with my questions about Marissa. Clay had stumbled onto something too—I could feel it.

  Marissa, the role model and older sister, had challenged Shelby with math word problems, which developed analytical skills, creative thinking, and to effectively handle life’s problems. Add to that, challenging her ability to solve critical issues in a story setting and her mind expanded to . . . a step-by-step process for whatever Marissa devised for Shelby to do. Just a theory or reality?

  I fed and watered Big Red before I yanked my phone from my jean pocket.

  Mike answered on the first ring.

  “Do you have time for me to run a few things past you?”

  He agreed, and I shared the happenings over the last two days. In short, I questioned if Marissa had everyone fooled and if Shelby hadn’t shot her brother-in-law.

  “Whoa, you hit me broadside. Have you been drinking?”

  “No, Mike, my thinking makes sense.”

  “When you told me Shelby refused to handle a weapon, I couldn’t shake it. Let me get this straight. You’re proposing that at an early age Marissa urged Shelby to develop critical thinking by manipulating her to commit crimes under the pretense of games? It’s speculation, but I can’t discount it either. Then again, if Marissa pulled the trigger and took the money, why wait all these years to upgrade her lifestyle?”

  “The high-dollar question,” I said. “With Shelby in prison, Marissa might have expanded her business and needed the cover. Or if she is guilty of murder and she took off, would Shelby reveal the truth? If Marissa is driving the threats, I see why she’d encourage Shelby’s suicide before moving on to murder. After all, Shelby is her sister and perhaps paid the price with her freedom. The voice distortion could be Marissa’s, but I don’t think so. If she’s behind the crimes, then she’d have someone else do the dirty work, like we’ve already seen. One more bit of information to process is Marissa’s sudden move to Phoenix. Aria mentioned it to Shelby, and Clay confirmed it.” I relayed all I knew about Marissa abandoning her family.

  “Strange there were no goodbyes or taking personal belongings. Don’t you find it interesting Clay made a turnabout with Shelby?”

  “Yep. No explanation, and Shelby didn’t ask.”

  “Why? Nervous dear old dad might change his tune, or something else?”

  I leaned against a horse stall. “Spot-on, in my opinion. I think he may suspect the truth and it’s too much for him to handle. I’ll find out.”

  “Maybe Marissa has met somebody, and she’d rather be with him.”

  “Except she first claimed to have taken a few days to rest due to her health and abruptly decides to leave the state. Why now? Medical records would give us mor
e insight,” I said.

  “I’ll see about gaining access to her medical history. Interesting your theory indicates Marissa could be a narcissist, a high-functioning psychopath.”

  “I’d forgotten about your psychology degree.”

  “Comes in handy.” Mike chuckled. “But if true, she would implicate her dad.”

  “From my one time meeting with her, she’s charming and kind. She demanded the right to talk to Shelby and did so, but later she cowered to Clay. Shelby told me she’d asked Marissa to make amends with him. If that was another Marissa ploy, those traits bring cunning to the table.”

  “Give me a moment to piece this together.” Finally Mike spoke. “Sociopaths are very good at what they do, and often victims don’t know they’ve been used until it’s too late. But don’t jump to this until we have more evidence. We still have the testimony from the woman who identified Clay as part of a money-laundering business, but she could have been under orders to ID him. I’ll have her brought in for another interview.”

  “I contacted the FIG to see if they have anything on Marissa, specifically any links between Eli Chandler and her. The voice distortion wasn’t in their database, and Chandler’s voice is there.”

  “Denton, if what you’ve uncovered is legit, Marissa is the one who should have suffered in prison for fifteen years. I realize that’s a no-brainer.”

  “Glad to hear I’m not losing my mind.”

  “Because you’re falling for Shelby?”

  “I’m pleading the Fifth.”

  “At least you’re not in full denial. Have you detected any arrested development issues in her?”

  “Such as?”

  “Considering her age during incarceration and the need to find ways to cope with the trauma, has Shelby shown you a rough or distant personality? Even another means demonstrating a lack in emotional processing?”

  I considered my conversations with her and her behavior. “A little distant or, should I say, cautious at times, but nothing unexpected. She’s in counseling.”