Shadow of Doubt

  Sid was losing his patience. He stood up and faced her. “Celia, who was tried for killing your husband?”

  She turned away from him. There was a moment of silence as he stared at her back, fighting the urge to shake her until the truth spilled out. “Celia, I’m askin’ you a question. I need a answer!”

  She spun back around. “Me, okay?” she yelled. “I was the suspect! But I…didn’t…do it…”

  Sid felt as if he’d been poled in the stomach.

  “What?” Incredulous, Allie got to her feet. “You were?”

  Aunt Aggie put her arms around Celia and sat her back down. “She didn’t do nothin’, Sid,” she said. “Stan knew, ’fore he married her. Celia was a victim, and they pinned her with the crime. The killer was never caught, and now it happened again.”

  Sid stood frozen, letting the words sink in.

  “Celia,” Allie said in a disbelieving whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me? When Mark was in the hospital, you told me about your first husband, that he’d been sick and died, but you never said—”

  “Why would I want people to know that I was arrested for my husband’s murder?” Celia asked through her teeth. “When I came to Newpointe, I half expected everyone to know. The news coverage in Jackson seemed so overwhelming that I thought everyone in the world knew. But no one knew in Newpointe, and it was so good to get away from all that. Stan was the only person I told, besides Aunt Aggie, and he loved me anyway.” Allie looked away, focusing on a spot on the wall. Sid kept his eyes fixed on Celia. “Allie, look at me. Sid?”

  They both met her eyes.

  “You know I couldn’t do something like that,” she said. “I love Stan. And I loved Nathan. I thought I’d never get over it. And then I was thrown in jail…” Her face grew more crimson with each word, and she began to sob, but she managed to spill all the words out on a rush. “…and they wouldn’t let me out on bond, so I was in jail for months and months…and my parents believed the lies and turned their backs on me…and the press wrote scathing articles about me…and I wanted to die more than anything in the world.”

  “But she didn’t die,” Aunt Aggie said angrily, lifting her chin high. “They let her off, and she come here to live with me. You know her, Allie, and you know what kind of person she is. You do, too, Sid. You know, don’t you?”

  Sid was shaking his head, expressionless, almost paralyzed by what she’d told him. His eyes were stinging, whether from grief over his poisoned friend’s plight, or mourning over what he was learning about Celia, he wasn’t sure. Was this news grounds for an arrest? If Celia wasn’t his friend, would he have already read her her rights?

  “Just listen,” she pleaded, as if she could read the thoughts reeling through his mind. “I just want to be with Stan. I just want to make sure he’s okay…Whatever you have to do, do it later, okay? You can wait. I’ll tell you everything that happened, even get you a transcript of the depositions and the trial, whatever you want. Just let me stay here with Stan. I need to be here with him.”

  Sid suddenly felt very old, like one of those Van Gogh portraits of wizened age and weariness. Maybe he’d been at this job way too long. He wished he could talk to Stan and ask what he would have done if the shoe had been on the other foot. The thought of arresting Celia seemed almost as painful as the knowledge that Stan could die. If he woke up, the arrest itself might kill him.

  He tried to run the facts through his mind. Arrests were made on the basis of current evidence, not past history. He didn’t know yet what the evidence was, since they hadn’t considered the Shepherds’ house a crime scene.

  Still, she needed to be questioned, not in a hospital waiting room, but at the police station where accurate records could be kept of what she said—where other law enforcement personnel who were thinking clearly could interrogate her.

  “Celia, I need to take you back to Newpointe. We’re gonna need to question you further.”

  “No!” she cried. “No, Sid, please. I have to know if he’s all right! Please! You know I didn’t do this!”

  “Celia, let’s do this easy,” he said, trying to keep his voice low, despite the fact that others in the waiting room watched attentively for the gossip to take back home, and the nurse stood at the receptionist’s desk, staring as if she watched some historical event unfold: Where were you the day Celia Shepherd was hauled in? Celia closed her hand over her mouth, half hiding, half muffling her sobs, and he hoped she wouldn’t make this harder for him.

  Finally, she got to her feet. Wiping her eyes with a trembling hand, she turned back to Allie. “Call his parents,” she said. “They need to be here. Somebody might have to give consent for treatment.” Her voice broke on a sob. “Tell them I’ll be back as soon as they’re finished with me. And…if he wakes up…tell him I love him.” Aunt Aggie wrapped her arms around her, and huddled together, they headed outside.

  As the car pulled off, Celia wailed in the backseat like a mother being separated from her young. He looked out the window and saw Allie standing at the emergency room door, staring at them, shocked, as they drove away.

  Chapter Six

  Allie watched through a blur of tears as the police car drove out of sight. The blue lights on Sid’s squad car had a haze around them, lending to the feeling that this was a dream and nothing more. But it was real, and Allie didn’t know what to do.

  For a moment, she thought of getting into the car and following them to the police station, but then she remembered Celia’s plea for her to call Stan’s parents.

  She tried to think in sequence, tried to make some sense of all the whirling facts, and finally decided to go to the pay phone.

  She needed to call Stan’s parents. She knew them from church. Stan’s father, a retired detective, was a deacon, and his mother was the organist. They lived on Bonaparte in that beautiful little house covered with jasmine and kudzu, and they had that dachshund that barked when cars drove by.

  Why couldn’t she think of their names? Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd. Burt and Hortense? No, but close. Bart…and Hester…Hannah…Yes, Hannah!

  She called for information and asked for the number, only vaguely realizing that she hadn’t needed their first names, for they were the only other Shepherds in Newpointe. She wiped the tears from her face as the phone rang, and after a moment, Bart answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Shepherd? This is Allie Branning. I’m sorry to wake you, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Has anyone called you yet?”

  “About what? What is it, Allie?”

  “It’s Stan. He’s taken sick and is at the hospital in Slidell. He’s not doing very well.”

  “Sick?” His voice was more urgent now. “Sick how?”

  “He’s in a coma, Mr. Shepherd. I think you’d better come.”

  “Where’s Celia?” he asked.

  “She’s…she’s busy…all the turmoil, you know. I thought I should call.” She closed her eyes and told herself that it would do no good to tell them about poison and murder and interrogations…not yet.

  “We’ll be right there, Allie,” he said quickly.

  She hung up the phone and pressed her forehead against the wall. Desperately, she tried to think of the next logical step. What could she do for Celia?

  Jill, she thought. She could call Jill, their good friend and the best lawyer in town. Jill would know what to do for Celia. Punching in her long-distance code, she called Jill. Jill, who frequently got calls in the middle of the night from drunk drivers who needed a lawyer, picked up on the second ring.

  “Jill Clark.”

  “Jill, this is Allie. If you’re lying in bed, you might want to sit up, turn on the light, and shake the cobwebs out of your head so you can hear what I’m saying.”

  Jill hesitated a moment. “Allie, what is it? Are you crying?”

  Allie took a deep breath and wished for a tissue so she could blow her nose. “Where do I start? Jill, tonight Stan Shepherd was poisoned with arsenic. He’s in a
coma.”

  “That’s not funny, Allie. Is this one of those jokes where you shock me with some horrible story so the real one doesn’t seem so bad?”

  “No joke, Jill. And it gets worse. Sid Ford just took Celia in for questioning.”

  “Celia?”

  “Jill, remember in the hospital earlier this year when she told us her first husband had died?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “What she didn’t tell us was that he had died of arsenic poisoning, and she was tried for the murder.”

  There was no answer on the other end.

  “Jill, are you there?”

  “Yes, I heard you.” The words came out strained, breathy. “Allie, are you sure of all this?”

  “Yes. She said she wasn’t convicted, and when they let her go, she came here to live with Aunt Aggie.”

  “So Sid assumes that she did this to Stan,” Jill said, as if talking to herself.

  “I hate to say it, but it’s an easy assumption.”

  “Easy, maybe, but not necessarily right. How long ago did they take her in?”

  “A few minutes. They’re on their way to Newpointe. Aunt Aggie’s with her.”

  “Good,” Jill said. “I’ll be at the station when they get there.”

  “Thanks, Jill.”

  “Allie, remember something, okay? Remember the Celia we know. Don’t jump to the same conclusions that Sid did. I’ve seen a lot of cases that aren’t as they seem.”

  “Sure, I know. And she couldn’t have done it. She loves Stan.”

  But even as she said the words, confusion was taking root in the back of her mind.

  Chapter Seven

  The fire truck was just pulling into its garage as Jill Clark parked her car in front of the adjacent police department and got out. She heard her name called and peered across the lawn. In the light from the street lamp, she saw Dan Nichols heading toward her. He was tall, six-four, at least, and built like an athlete. Even in the darkness, his green eyes were startling. As always, the heaviness in her heart lightened at the sight of him, and she waited with a smile on her face while he cut across the grass.

  “Hey, Counselor,” he said in that deep voice of his before he pressed a kiss on her lips. They’d grown close over the last few months, though they were taking things slow. Dan’s reputation as a love-’em-and-leave’em type kept Jill on her guard. “You didn’t tell me you’d be making a trip over here tonight.”

  “Didn’t know. Something’s come up.”

  “Does it have anything to do with Stan Shepherd?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “Have they determined if it was poisoning?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Then…do they know who did it?”

  “Not yet. They’re bringing someone in for questioning.”

  He took a step back and regarded her shadow-laden face in what there was of the light. “You’re not representing somebody who would poison a police officer, are you?”

  She sighed. “Dan, I don’t really think I can talk about this right now. I haven’t been asked to take the case yet. But this particular person is innocent—there’s not a doubt in my mind.”

  He frowned. “It’s someone you know, isn’t it? Who, Jill? I’ll find out soon enough.”

  She thought about telling him, then decided against it. Yes, he would find out, but until she knew for sure that Celia was a suspect, the words weren’t going to come out of her mouth.

  Just then a squad car with lights flashing pulled to the curb, and Sid Ford got out. “I’ve got to go, Dan,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”

  He stood there watching as she hurried across the lawn to the car. Celia got out, followed by her Aunt Aggie, and Jill glanced back over her shoulder. Dan was standing there watching them, clearly trying to determine if Celia was the suspect. She didn’t have time to worry about Celia’s reputation now.

  “Celia!” she said as she approached her friend with a hug. “Allie called me, and I came right down.”

  “Oh, thank goodness!” Celia’s eyes were red and her nose was stopped up from crying. She was trembling. “Jill, I didn’t do this! I didn’t do it! I just want to get back to Stan and be with him—”

  “Celia, I believe you. Do you want me to represent you?”

  “Yes! Oh, please—”

  She was beginning to sob again, and Aunt Aggie, who looked very tired, put her arm around her. “Don’tcha worry about money, Jill. I’ll pay arrything.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” Jill said, almost offended. She looked up at Sid, who looked almost as troubled as Celia. “Sid, I need to consult with my client.”

  “All right,” he said. “Take the interrogation room.”

  “Let’s go on in,” Jill said.

  As they walked up the sidewalk to the police station, Jill saw Dan standing in front of the door. “Celia?” he asked tentatively.

  Jill shot a pleading look up at him. “It’s all a mistake, Dan. Please don’t let word get out. We’ll have it all cleared up before daybreak.”

  “I won’t say anything,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Pray,” Jill said as they went through the glass door.

  By daybreak, Aunt Aggie Gaston looked almost as bad as Stan did lying in a coma. Though she had not been allowed in the interrogation room while Celia was being questioned, she had waited on a folding chair outside it. Stewing, she watched the buzz of minor activity in the squad room as drunk drivers were brought in, and a couple of kids arrested for disturbing the peace. One drunk driver was Mildred Bellows’s husband, a fact that she stored away and decided to keep to herself. She recognized one of the kids as Lois and Jake Mattreaux’s boy. He would probably call his Aunt Issie, one of the Newpointe paramedics, to bail him out so that he could keep it from his parents. Knowing Issie, she would comply. But Aggie made a mental note to let his parents know as soon as she had the chance, and to find out who the other boy was. He had probably told them he was spending the night with him, which accounted for them being out all night.

  What was this old world coming to? she asked herself wearily. Kids staying out all night, husbands drinking till they almost killed someone, somebody poisoning another of her nephews-in-law…

  The door to the interrogation room opened, and Sid came out and looked down at her. “You look awful, Aunt Aggie. Why don’t you go on home and get some sleep?”

  “I look awful ’cause I’m eighty-one years old.”

  “Not you, Aunt Aggie. You’re the best-lookin’ senior citizen in town, and you know it.”

  “Don’t flatter me. I ain’t buyin’. And I ain’t goin’ home till Celia come with me.”

  “Then it’s gonna be a long wait, Aunt Aggie.”

  “Then you probably better avoid them mirrors, ’cause you won’t be likin’ what you see. Why you’re tormentin’ her this way, when all she want is to be with her husband?”

  Sid looked more drained than before and leaned back against the wall opposite her. “Aunt Aggie, you know I’m not tormentin’ her. I’m just doin’ my job. I’m tryin’ to figure out who poisoned my friend. How is he, anyway? Do you know?”

  “’Course I know. I’m callin’ the hospital ever’ hour.” She looked away, as if to end the conversation, then without looking at him, added, “Still in a coma.”

  Tears came to her eyes, and angry at the vulnerability, she wiped them away.

  “We gotta get the prayer chain activated,” Sid said quietly. “We gotta get people prayin’. Wonder if anybody’s called Nick Foster.”

  Aggie shook her head in disbelief. The prayer chain. What a useless waste of phone calls. She had always suspected that the prayer chain was just a ruse for passing gossip, though she supposed that some of them were sincere. If it made those few feel better to think people were praying for them, she supposed there was no harm in it. And what good could Nick Foster—the bivocational pastor/firefighter—do? “Somebody called him by
now, since half the fire department was at Stan and Celia’s house.”

  “I might check just to make sure,” he said.

  “You don’t want the prayer chain to miss this, do ya?” she asked, her wrinkled face tightening. “Fact that Celia been brought in for poisonin’ her husband. Prayer chain got a right to know.” The sarcasm was thick in her tone, and she noted with satisfaction that it seemed to sting him.

  He set his hands on his hips and glared down at her with those big black eyes of his. “Aunt Aggie, do you honestly think I’m enjoyin’ this? That I liked questionin’ the wife of my best friend, and that I can’t wait to tell everybody?”

  “Wouldn’t think it, if you listened to reason. He gon’ strike again, you know. The killer. Still out there.”

  “I don’t expect you to suspect your own niece,” Sid said. “It’s commendable that you’d back her up. I don’t want to suspect her, either.” He pushed off from the wall and started to go back into the room.

  “What you’re gon’ do next, Sid? Drive them bamboo shoots up her fingernails? No matter how many times you ask her, the story ain’t gon’ change!”

  “See you later, Aggie,” he said.

  The fact that he had dropped the “Aunt” from her name gave her some satisfaction, for she didn’t want anybody who was an enemy of her niece calling her that.

  She looked through the glass doors on the front of the building and saw that the sun was coming up. She couldn’t believe they were still here.

  Leaning her head back on the concrete wall behind her, she closed her eyes, but sleep did not come.

  It was after eight A.M. when Sid and Jim Shoemaker, the police chief, finished questioning Celia. News was that Stan was still comatose, so part of the puzzle—the part only he could fill in—was still missing. When they began to leave the interrogation room one by one, Celia asked Sid, “Can I go back to the hospital now?”