Trace of Doubt

by DiAnn Mills

  Fear gripped me. “Trained agents spend months, sometimes years learning the habits and personalities of a specific money-laundering organization before they’re able to work undercover. You have no idea the size of the operation or who else is involved.”

  “I have an advantage. I understand her conniving thought process.” She paused. “I’ll contact her, tell her life has gotten too hard, and I want in on whatever she’s doing.”

  My blood pressure shot up. “Pastor, tell her not to take on this investigation.”

  Up to this moment, Pastor Emory had not offered guidance on her outrageous idea. “With all things considered, Shelby has suffered more than we can imagine with her sacrifices. She acted and reacted out of love, which is exactly how Jesus instructs us. Our faith isn’t about allowing injustice to reign over us or watching crimes unfold. Sometimes we have to take a stand. No matter what any of us say, Shelby is going to act. All we can do is pray and help her make this possible. If you want all my scriptural reasons to support her decision, prepare for a lengthy sermon.”

  “She’ll get herself killed!” The roof nearly lifted with my outburst.

  Shelby leaned over and touched my arm. “You’re letting your feelings show.”

  “Amen.” The sheriff laughed.

  The pastor stifled a laugh, but I heard it.

  I didn’t appreciate their responses. “None of this is funny.”

  Her eyes stared into mine. “Help me stop Marissa.”

  “What makes you think she won’t kill you anyway? Mike believes she’s a sociopath. Can’t be trusted.”

  “I know how to play into her narcissism and warped conscience,” she said. “Without me, she wouldn’t have anything.”

  “But that changed when she took off to Phoenix.”

  “It’s a gamble worth taking. My role is to convince her I learned enough in prison to help her now. I claimed faith and kept my nose clean to appease the parole board. For a little leverage, I could threaten to take what I know to the FBI.”

  “She’ll get you alone and blow a hole right through you.”

  “Marissa is greedy.” She lifted her shoulders. “For too long I refused to believe her sweet temperament could possibly be woven with manipulation. The truth is, I let her blindside me.”

  “You won’t be alone in your pursuit.” Shelby held my heart in the palm of her hand. “I’ll do all I can to get others on board to help.” I rarely changed my mind, but she’d turned my life upside down. “Call your sister.”

  She grabbed her burner phone and pressed in numbers. “Hey, Sis, this is Shelby. We need to talk. Life’s gotten harder to manage. Denton, the sheriff, and the pastor who’s doing my counseling ganged up on me, accused me of embezzling the money. Call me back as soon as possible. Denton told me the FBI has evidence about your illegal activities and aliases. I don’t want to go into why you or Eli Chandler have targeted me, but it’s little sister’s turn for a piece of the pie.”

  I hadn’t fallen in love with a woman who had a shameful past . . . I’d fallen in love with a martyr.

  61

  Shelby’s words cemented the contract on her life. But she’d been on a hit list for years.

  She stood. “I’m making a pot of coffee and putting together sandwiches. Blueberry scones are not brain food. Besides, Marissa won’t call right away. She wants me to turn on anxious mode and worry about it all.”

  “Because of your experiences with her in the past?” I said.

  “Yes. My call will shock her since we talked face-to-face before Mom died. Game time. It’s her move.” She focused on Pastor Emory. “Your family, this community, needs you. Go home and fight my battle on your knees.”

  I admired Shelby’s decision to take control, even if I feared for her life. “She’s right. If this goes south, the truth will hold court. I believe it was Aristotle who wrote, ‘As often as we do good, we offer sacrifice to God.’”

  “Which is exactly why Pastor Emory needs to leave.” Shelby’s tone morphed into her stubborn mode.

  “Sheriff, what’s your choice?” I said.

  “I agree. My great-granddad was this town’s first sheriff. The Wendalls don’t back down from any fight. I’m not a prayin’ man, but I don’t discount a God who helps right wrongs.”

  The pastor protested, but the rest of us insisted he drive home. At the doorway, he faced us. “Stage an argument.”

  Confusion punched me. “What?”

  “When the sheriff leaves here tonight, stage an argument with Shelby. That ensures whoever is watching—and you know someone is—observes you trying to get information about the missing money from her. Denton, take her home and at her cabin continue the argument.”

  “Good one, Pastor. What else?”

  “Let’s pray for divine guidance.”

  “And for the truth,” Shelby said. “I want to know what Marissa’s been doing the past several years.”

  After Pastor Emory prayed with us and drove back to town, I called Mike and updated him. I asked him to contact Houston’s FBI and relay our findings. With the new info, the bureau would be supportive.

  He thanked me with one of his favorite phrases—not suitable for kids or Christians. “I’ll arrange protective custody for Clay and Aria and dig into updates on Marissa. I’ll have the assigned agents tell Clay that he and Aria are in immediate danger.”

  “He may suspect Marissa.”

  “I’ll brief the agents to tell him nothing. If I’m going to spend my days before retirement on a case, you’d better keep me posted. Hourly. I’m leaving for Valleysburg as soon as I throw together a bag.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

  “I’ll call you every thirty minutes. I don’t like surprises. Look for me at your door.”

  While the aroma of freshly brewed coffee swirled around me, the sheriff paced, Shelby made notes in her journal, and I . . . I hoped I hadn’t lost my mind with a ridiculous plan.

  “We need a timetable.” The sheriff grabbed a sandwich and another blueberry scone along with a mug of coffee. “How’s this goin’ to play out?”

  “We’re looking at digging up facts, evidence, and how to interact with unpredictable people like money launderers—tonight. All based on Marissa contacting Shelby.”

  “With those odds, maybe we should have asked Pastor to stay. Put in a good word to God,” the sheriff said.

  We needed all the divine help available on the planet. “Mike is working on gathering intel. As soon as he has something, he’ll forward it to me. Basically, I’ll take Shelby home. When a plan’s in place, she’ll leave the rear of her cabin into the woods to a safe location. About six in the morning, I’ll check on her cabin with the excuse I was worried about her state of mind. Then I’ll call you with a missing person report. Notifying the paper and Amy-Jo of her disappearance gets the word out. One issue is James Peterson.”

  “My department,” the sheriff said. “I’ll tell him this is part of a plan to keep her safe, and the FBI is monitorin’ the situation.”

  She frowned. “Where will I go while I wait for Marissa’s call?”

  “I have a deer lease.” Sheriff Wendall crossed his arms over his chest. “Not fancy, but it’s a real cozy cabin.”

  “It’s not hunting season, right?” She smiled, but I knew she feared the worst.

  “And we intend to keep it that way. Problem is, I don’t have time to drive you there and get back to follow up on Denton’s call.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve got an idea.” Mike would earn his retirement.

  62

  SHELBY

  Timing, the crucial element of every sting operation. An exhilaration in my spirit gave me incredible energy, or perhaps the adrenaline came from my commitment to bring justice to light and honor Travis’s memory. With an hour left until I made my exit and met up with Mike Kruse, I showered and dressed.

  Alone in my cabin, my mind refused to slow down. I’d listened to Denton talk about money laun
dering and read FBI articles. I banked on Marissa’s delay to memorize what I needed to know.

  Marissa had attempted four times to persuade the parole board to review my case. Now I saw her persistence wasn’t for my benefit. If she’d taken off while I sat behind bars, I’d have nailed her. So I needed to be out of the picture. As a result she used Mom and Dad’s generosity as a cover, like she’d used the family bakery, church involvement, community activities, and at least one alias. Did she work for Eli Chandler or the other way around?

  Slow down.

  I tossed my inhalers, my journal, and a few clothing items into my backpack. Not a difficult task when my life’s belongings could be held in one hand. I’d entered the official world of minimalism.

  Not calling Dad needled me, but I’d given Denton my word not to contact him. The FBI were en route to transport Dad and Aria into protective custody. I longed to be with them, to hear their voices, and touch them. Soon . . . First things first.

  My flashlight kept me company until Mike texted me for the meetup. My God, who held the grand kaleidoscope, promised myriad colors for the future.

  The GPS on Mike’s car sent us in a northwestern route, an hour away.

  His stomach growled. “We should have grabbed some donuts.”

  I reached behind the passenger seat for a small box. “What’s your poison? Because I have a mixed dozen of day-old Amy-Jo’s specialties.”

  “Tempt me.”

  I pressed the light on my phone and flipped open the lid. “Glazed donuts. Chocolate-filled donuts. Blueberry scones. Sausage-egg bagel. Bear claws. Apple fritters—”

  “Sausage-egg bagel, then the apple fritter. Too bad we don’t have coffee.”

  “Next time I’ll pack it. Orange juice too.” I handed him his early morning breakfast.

  “Shelby, you’re a brave woman.”

  “Not really. I’m tired of playing the scapegoat. Praying this time the plan works.”

  “Relax, you’re sitting beside the best of the best.”

  I laughed. “Typical FBI mentality. But a little confidence is good.”

  “You must be talking about Denton. The man has fallen hard.”

  He wasn’t alone. “I’ve tried to talk him down. A supposed relationship has little chance of survival. He deserves a woman without a past.”

  Mike turned left down a country road. “You mean he needs a woman who’s selfish and doesn’t make sacrifices out of love?”

  “I’m not anything special. Change of subject, please.”

  He chuckled. “Denton was right.”

  “About what?”

  “You’re stubborn.”

  I could hear Denton saying those very words. That stubbornness had walked with me for as long as I could remember. “You bet. I stand my ground.”

  “If it doesn’t get you killed.” He pointed to his phone. “I have a copy of the handwriting on the suicide-sympathy card. Take a look to see if you recognize it.” He gave me his password.

  “Sure you should have given me your security info?” I said.

  He huffed. “I’ll change it when we arrive at the deer lease.”

  I peered at the screen and zoomed in to view it closer. How convenient if the handwriting had been Marissa’s. “Nothing familiar.” I’d had enough of gloom talk. “Do you have family?”

  “I’ll play hush-the-agent. Wife, two daughters, and three—” Mike glanced into the rearview mirror and swore. “Just like I suspected, we have a tail.”

  I swung a look behind us at a pickup gaining speed. It passed us, tossing rocks into the side of Mike’s car, raced ahead, then whirled around and blocked the road. Two men flew open their doors and stood on each side of the truck, both aiming rifles at us.

  “Brace yourself.” Mike stomped the brakes and spun into a one-eighty, heading back the way we’d come. Bullets pinged off the trunk of the car. “They must be tracking us. Did you bring both of your phones?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I—”

  He cursed again. “Keep the burner and toss the other one.”

  I obliged and craned my neck, expecting to see headlights speeding after us. “You think they know where we are because of my phone?”

  “Little late now, but we’ll manage.”

  I’d heard reassurance in the past, and the words always blew up in my face. The last time Denton, Aaron, and Isaac were nearly killed.

  Mike turned off his headlights and drove like a drunk teenager. Every road that turned, he took it. His pattern of losing the pickup swung left and right for the next several minutes. Not once did I see a sign of an oncoming or tailing vehicle. He pulled down a dirt road and cut the engine. After reaching across me to the glove box, he pulled out a gun. I said nothing for fear he’d send me walking. Not that I could blame him. Twenty minutes later he started the car.

  “We’re taking the long way to the deer lease.”

  I must be cursed. Their narrow escape from death was my fault.

  Sheriff Wendall’s deer lease looked like the perfect hiding place. But it was also the perfect spot to have a firefight without raising any attention. What else had someone tracked on Edie’s phone? And how had it happened? Surrounded by mesquite trees and flat land, the rustic cabin provided a look at nature without bringing nature inside . . . like the tank after a huge renovation. The pantry contained staples, and a small freezer held enough deer, in every form, to feed Mike and me for weeks.

  My protector for the next several hours or days shared the same cautious gene I’d come to recognize in Denton.

  “This area is known for rattlers,” he said. “Wear your shoes and watch where you step.”

  His warning resembled the vigilance of my life.

  Mike and Denton exchanged phone calls. I learned the woman who’d named Dad as running a money-laundering operation had died of a barbiturate overdose. I assumed one of Marissa’s henchmen had forced the woman to take them. I’d grown cynical.

  Shortly before 3 p.m., my burner rang with an unfamiliar number. Mike studied me, as though we knew the caller. I pushed Record, not that it was admissible in court, but Mike and Denton needed it to prove my legitimacy to the FBI.

  I prayed for wisdom. “Let me guess who this is.”

  “Are you getting smarter after spending years behind bars?” Marissa said.

  “It’s amazing the schemes some of those women shared with me.”

  “What’s this all about anyway? You leave a crazy message about the FBI having evidence about my so-called illegal activities. Then you accuse me or Eli Chandler of targeting you? What kind of cash pie do you think I have?”

  I allowed a heavy pause. “I gave you fifteen years to be a good mother, and you walked out on your daughter.”

  “Is that why you’re hot?”

  “Actually, it’s the reason I want in your organization.”

  She laughed. “Organization, as in a business? You’ve lost your mind. I’ve met someone, and I intend to spend the rest of my life with him. Aria and Dad deserve each other.”

  “Who is he?”

  “None of your business. You know, little sister, I can call your parole officer and tell him you threatened me.”

  “He’d have to find me first.”

  “Are you in the States?”

  “None of your business, big sister. I picked up a lot of tricks from harder women than you’ll ever know. But if the Feds get to you first, then you can have special girl time too. Let’s talk about you. Everything points to you either as ringleader for a money-laundering business or entrenched in the operation with someone else. Possibly Eli Chandler since the Feds have pics of you at Stage 7 in Miami. Oh, by the way, they are on to your traveling alias, Janae Frosk. Denton showed them to me when he was fishing for leads to the money you stole from Travis’s nonprofit.” I allowed my words to sink in.

  “What do you want?”

  “What’s owed me. I paved the way for you to make millions.”

  “Maybe. Maybe I’m calling yo
ur bluff.”

  “Try this on. Arthur Shell and Stan Watson are dead. Nick Hanson is in custody. He said Eli Chandler hired him to eliminate me, and the big boss gave orders to kill.”

  “I’ve never heard of Hanson. That doesn’t mean Chandler’s boss is me.”

  “I can’t help you grow your organization if you aren’t honest with me.”

  “Even if I was interested, any positions I have involve a learning curve.”

  “Really? Check out my previous address. Who’s running your call center? Purchasing leads? Collecting the cash? What are you outsourcing?”

  “I can’t approve you.”

  “Yes, you can. Decide soon before I leave the country.”

  “You’ll get picked up at the airport.”

  “Not a chance. I have my connections too. Call me by ten in the morning if we’re going to work this out.”

  “You’re giving me a deadline?” Marissa’s voice sliced like a blade.

  “I have a good offer in Europe, except they need an answer by eleven. Thing is, I’d rather work with you. We’re sisters and understand each other, but that’s your decision. You have what, twelve to fifteen people you trust? Or think you trust. You trained me for a lot of years how to get out of tight places, to read people, and commit the cleverest of crimes. We have much to teach each other. Give me a corner, and I won’t bother you.” I clicked off.

  Shaking.

  “You did a good job,” Mike said. “Convinced me.”

  “But did I convince Marissa?”

  63

  For so many years, I’d buried my emotions and attempted to mold myself into someone else to find acceptance. First as a child to gain Marissa’s approval, then as a teen to gain my own approval, and on into prison years when I no longer cared. Those were the lost years before I met Jesus. The only approval and acceptance that mattered now came from my relationship with Him. Depression still knocked me down on occasion, but now I knew how to get back up. I’d made mistakes and grown from them. The difference between me and my sister was Marissa had never faced consequences.