Shadow of Doubt (12 page)

T
he doorbell didn't surprise Celia, for the local reporters had been trying to get a statement all day. “I might have to get out my rifle,” Aunt Aggie said as she got up and scurried to the front window to peer out into the darkness. Celia looked over her shoulder and saw Jill standing under the porch light. Quickly, she opened the door.

Jill was pale, tired-looking, and heavy tension lined her face. Celia stood aside to let her in. “Jill, what's wrong?”

Jill hesitated, stared at the floor for a moment, then wearily met Celia's eyes. “I'm sorry to hit you with this so late, Celia, but there have been a few developments in the case you should know about.”

“There have?” Celia asked hopefully. “What?”

Jill sat down on the chair in the foyer and rubbed her eyes. She hadn't had time to apply makeup this morning, and her eyes were red and bloodshot. “Tell me about Lee Barnett.”

Celia frowned. “What about him?”

“When's the last time you spoke to him?”

She shrugged. “Years. He's in jail. Killed a man in a barroom brawl.”

Jill was watching her, as if evaluating her for the truth, and Celia wondered why. What could Lee Barnett possibly have to do with any of this? “He got out a couple of weeks ago,” she said. “And he's in town.”

“In Newpointe?” Celia asked. “Why would he come here when he just got out of prison?”

“To be close to you.”

Celia's eyes narrowed and she took a step backward. “Wait.
What?
No, that's impossible. He doesn't care anything about me.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, why should he? I hadn't talked to him for a year or more even
before
he went to jail.”

“He called the house, though.” David had heard the exchange from the kitchen and came into the foyer now, dropping the statement like a lead ball that seemed to roll around in front of them.

“When?” Jill asked.

“Several times from jail. Asked for Celia, and I told him she didn't live there anymore.”

Celia gaped at her brother. “You never told me that.”

“I forgot about it. I knew you didn't want to talk to him.”

Celia looked troubled as she turned her eyes back to Jill. “So he got out just days before Stan was poisoned, and he came here to Newpointe? Jill, you don't think
he
poisoned Stan?”

Jill obviously didn't know what to think. “You've got to admit, Celia, that it's an awfully convincing coincidence.”

“So, did the police question him?”

“Oh, yeah. Then promptly let him go.”

“Let him go?” David asked. “Why would they do that?”

“Because they aren't convinced he's a suspect. They think, instead, that he was Celia's motive.”

“My
what?
Where did they get that?”

“The letter.”

Celia could see that Jill was watching her eyes for some reaction, waiting for a sign of guilt. But Celia was clueless. She had no idea what Jill was talking about.

“What letter?”

“The one that he claims you wrote him, telling him you rented him an apartment at Bonaparte Court and that you wanted him to come here.”

Celia could feel the blood draining out of her face. She struggled for the right words, but realized she needed to sit down. “Jill, you don't really believe that I wrote a letter like that…”

“I don't, Celia, but the police aren't so sure. And then there's the matter of the two checks written on your bank account. One written to him, and one to the apartment manager.”

“No! I didn't write those checks.” She got up and paced across the floor, thinking. Suddenly, she swung around to Jill. “Our checkbook disappeared a couple of weeks ago. We thought we had misplaced it, so we just started with the next set we had in the box. Stan always kept it above the visor in his car, but it was just gone. Whoever poisoned Stan must have taken it!”

Jill sighed. “Celia, they searched your house tonight.”

“Again?” Her nausea reasserted itself.

“Yes.” Jill's answer was clipped and matter-of-fact. “And I might as well just get it all out. They found something in your attic, Celia.”

“What?” she asked. “All we've got up there is junk, old clothes, stuff like that. What did they find?”

“Rat poison,” Jill said. “The main ingredient was arsenic.”

Celia shook her head and began backing away. “No. That was not in my house. We've never had a problem with mice. Why would we have rat poison?”

“Celia, I thought maybe the previous owners had left it there, but I talked to Sid and he said that it was a new box. It hadn't even collected dust.”

“No!” she shouted, steadying herself. “He's doing it again. He's setting me up! Just like last time with the…the journal entries…the computer…the arsenic they found that time…” She turned to the wall and covered her head, as if she could protect herself from the cruel onslaught. “This can't be. We didn't have arsenic in my attic, Jill. I would have seen it. I would have known, and I wouldn't want that anywhere near my house!” She swung around and gaped at Jill with helpless, hopeless eyes. “Jill, you believe me, don't you? He hasn't gotten you convinced, too, has he?”

“Of course I believe you,” she said, but Celia could see the doubt in her face.

“What about you, David?” Celia asked hopelessly. “Mom and Dad won't believe me, but you do, don't you?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“And Aunt Aggie? I'd die if you didn't believe me. I know the evidence looks bad, but—”

“I don't care about no evidence,” she said. “Don't now, didn't then. I know my niece ain't no liar.”

“Then what do we do?” Celia asked, wiping her face. “We have to start with the checks and the letter. It
can't
be my handwriting. If it looks like it, it must be forged.”

“The only handwriting is your signature on the checks. The letter was typed.”

“Well, see? Anybody could have written it! And the check could have been forged! If someone stole my checkbook, it wouldn't be that hard. All they'd need is my signature on something else, and they could copy it. They have to start by looking for my checkbook. Whoever has it is the one.”

Jill got up and began pacing across the floor. “Celia, they're getting a warrant. They're going to arrest you tonight.”

She turned back to Jill and shook her head frantically. “No. They can't. Not with those photographers out there. Everyone will know.” She covered her mouth and took a deep breath. “No, I've got to go there myself. Turn myself in, so they won't have to come after me. Maybe…maybe the judge will go easier on me, let me out on bond, if I do that.”

Jill nodded. “We can do that.”

“All right,” she said, wiping her face with trembling hands. “Then let's do it.”

J
udge Louis DeLacy was a deacon in the Calvary Bible Church, the same church where Jill and Celia were members. Everyone in the congregation called him Louis, because he thought of himself as just another member of the Body, no greater than anyone else just because of the power the city had wielded him. But more important than that was the calling God had given him, the calling to mete out punishments to those who chose not to abide by the law. Normally, his job was fulfilling—satisfying, even, for he'd been responsible for keeping a number of drug dealers off the streets, disciplining drunk drivers no matter who they were, and putting away thieves and vandals.

But he couldn't remember a day when he'd dreaded his job more than today. He had been prepared for Celia's case when he'd arrived in his chambers this morning. He'd heard about Stan's hospitalization yesterday, but when he'd learned that Celia was a suspect, he'd felt sick. Both Stan and Celia were good friends, and he thought a great deal of her. She had worked alongside him to build a Habitat House for a needy family last year after their trailer had burned, and she had served on a committee that he led to raise money for a new organ. He'd had dinner at their house several times, whether alone or as part of a Sunday school class, and he'd attended Promise Keepers rallies nearly every year with Stan.

The thought that Celia would be considered a suspect for attempted murder was beyond his comprehension. Still, as Jill brought her in for her arraignment, he had to keep the emotion from his face and treat her like any other defendant. He tried to avoid meeting her eyes and focused on Jill instead, as the bailiff announced the case. He wanted to know how Stan was, but he wondered if he should address either of them personally. After a moment of thought, he decided that everyone in the room knew he was close to both women, and it wouldn't surprise them at all to know that he cared about Stan's condition.

“How's Stan?” he asked.

Celia looked up, but deferred to Jill.

“Not good,” Jill said. “He's in a coma. Your honor, my client turned herself in the moment she heard of the warrant for her arrest. She had nothing to do with the poisoning. We'd like to request that these absurd charges be dropped.”

Part of him reacted as a sympathetic friend who had trouble believing that Celia could be guilty. The other part of him, the part that had to keep a certain decorum in his courtroom, reacted with slight resentment.

Troubled, he rubbed his temples. “Then her plea is…?”

“Not guilty,” Celia said. “Absolutely not guilty.”

“Judge,” the prosecutor, Gus Taylor, cut in in a lazy voice, as if the whole process was so obvious that it was an insult to have to spell it out. “We have a solid case here. And we ask you not even to set bond—not for any amount—because of her past record. Her first husband died of arsenic poisoning, the same poison that's killing Stan right now.”

Louis had read the account in the paper last night, but it still grieved him. This couldn't be true. It was too bizarre. What did she have? A double life?

“Your honor,” Jill shot back, “I object to the prosecutor's sneaky and underhanded attempt to cast a bad light on my client by using information that is absolutely irrelevant to this case. My client has never been, nor will she ever be, convicted of any crime. Gus, were you absent the day they taught about relevance in law school?”

Louis tried to shake the troubling allegations from his mind. “She's right,” he said. He cast a troubled gaze over the lot of them, from Jill to Celia to Gus, and then back to Celia again. There was more to this story, he told himself. If Celia's first husband had died of arsenic poisoning, that, indeed, was disturbing. But if there was no conviction, he could only determine that there hadn't been enough evidence. He didn't know what the evidence was here—now wasn't the time to hear it. His only purpose in this today was to set bond or deny it.

“Your honor, they also found rat poison in her attic. Its key ingredient was arsenic.”

“Judge, you probably have rat poison in your attic, too, and it probably never occurred to you that it contained arsenic,” Jill shot back.

He tried to think how he would have handled this case if Celia had been a stranger. Finally, he sighed. “I can't hold her,” he told the prosecutor, “not with a record that's clean—”

“But your honor—” the prosecutor piped in.

“Unless she was found guilty, then any previous arrest is wiped off the slate,” he said. “As far as the east is from the west, as someone said.”

Jill looked at her feet and tried to suppress her grin. She doubted Gus knew who that someone was or what book it was quoted from.

“However, I can't drop the charges. I'll let you out on a hundred thousand dollars bond, Celia, but with the condition that you must not go near Stan or contact him in any way, even when he wakes up.”

“What?”
she asked.

Jill grabbed her arm to silence her. “We appreciate it, your honor.”

He closed the file and handed it to the bailiff. “Next case?”

“But Louis,” Celia cried, fighting as Jill tried to drag her out. “His parents won't let me see him now, but if…when he wakes up, if he wants to see me, I have to go. He needs me!”

Louis shot her a miserable look, then turned his eyes to the next file. He couldn't let his emotions get tangled up in this. He had to be objective. He had done the best he could.

 

O
utside, Celia collapsed in a miserable heap on a bench against the wall, covering her head and wailing at the injustice of it all. Jill stooped down in front of her. “Celia, at least you can go home.”

Aunt Aggie, who'd been sitting at the back of the courtroom, had come out and was now standing over them. “Home, nothin”. Celia ain't gon' be a open target for that killer, whoever he is. She comin' back to my house.”

Celia was inconsolable. “Jill, you have to do something. You have to talk to the judge. I have to go to Stan when he wakes up.”

“You can't,” Jill said flatly. “Not until we get this cleared up.”

“Then I might as well stay here. I don't have a hundred thousand dollars, anyway.”

“That's not a problem. We'll get it from a bail bondsman. Celia, you don't want to stay here. At least if you're out we can find who did this. I need your help.”

“Why is God
doing
this to me?”

Jill wished she had the answers. Her instinct was to tell her to trust him, but that was easy for her to say. Jill had never been accused of murder.

C
elia Shepherd raised the candle as she walked into the black room. The flicker lit the room in a golden hue, and she saw the bed with the man lying on it. Her heart leapt, for she knew it was Stan, and she stepped closer, lifting the candle higher to cast the light on his face.

But he was dead.

She had known he was dead, even though her heart had chosen to deny it. She had believed the sheer power of her will would keep him alive, that her hopes would make him fight the poison in his blood. She had prayed so hard, wailing and begging and crying out to God…

“Celia! Celia! Wake up!”

Slowly, she emerged from the deep abyss of her sleep, and realized that she had been dreaming. There was no dark room, no candle, no body. Aunt Aggie stood over her, shaking her, and the afternoon sun radiated through her window.

“Celia, you got a phone call. Down to the hospital. They need to talk at you.”
Hospital
? Celia managed to get her eyes open and sat up, wondering when she had fallen asleep. No wonder God didn't answer her prayers, if she couldn't even forsake sleep for something so important. “The hospital?” she asked. “Is Stan awake?”

“I don't know. Come on downstairs. They been waitin' a long time. I couldn't wake you up!”

For a moment she just sat there, paralyzed, her mind reeling with dread. What if they
weren't
calling to tell her he had awakened? What if he had died, just like in her dream? Slowly, she forced herself to get out of bed. She glanced at the clock on her bed table. Three P.M. She had lain down to pray and hadn't meant to fall asleep. She went barefoot down the stairs to the one telephone at the bottom of the staircase. By the time she reached the telephone, the cobwebs had sufficiently cleared themselves from her brain, and she was beginning to cry.

Her hand shook as she took the phone.

“Mrs. Shepherd? This is Frank Dupree at the Slidell Memorial Hospital Lab. We did some blood work on you Tuesday night?”

Her heart leapt, then took a nose dive. “This isn't about my husband?”

“No, I'm sorry. Actually, it's about you. We've finished running all of our tests on you, and we thought you'd like to know that one of them came up positive.”

Her mind was still on Stan's condition, groping to find its way back to the phone call. She sat down in the chair next to the telephone table. “Wait…what?”

“Your blood test, Mrs. Shepherd…”

“But they said that night that they hadn't found arsenic in my blood.”

“No, there's still no trace of arsenic. But the doctor ordered several tests. It's the pregnancy test that came up positive.”

Celia's breath caught in her lungs, and her hand immediately fell to her stomach. “The
what?”

“You're pregnant, Mrs. Shepherd. That explains the nausea.”

She and Stan had been trying to have a baby for over two years, and now her heart raced at the thought that it was finally coming true. She had dreamed of this moment, when she got the news and would throw her arms around Stan and call him “Daddy.”

Then she wilted as she realized that her baby may never know its daddy, because Stan might not wake up from his coma…that even if he did, the child could be born in prison and taken from her at birth.

She suddenly felt sick again. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate your letting me know.”

She didn't know how she managed to get the phone back in its cradle and make it to the bathroom on time. When she emerged, Aggie was waiting with a worried look on her face. “What they said, T-Celia? You been poisoned, too?”

Celia shook her head. She was shaking as she raked her hand through her disheveled hair. “No, Aunt Aggie. I'm pregnant.” The word choked out on a wave of tears, and Aggie's face brightened, then instantly darkened.

“Why you cryin'? Ain't that what you want?”

“I want to tell Stan,” Celia wept. “I want him to celebrate with me. We've waited so long for this moment, and I don't
understand
why it has to be like this…”

Aggie held her and let her cry, then walked her into the parlor and set her down on the sofa. “It's gon' be awright,
sha,”
she said. “I know it is. Somehow, this baby gon' make everything okay. Can you just see yourself sittin' in front of that jury with your belly out to here? Can only help in the sympathy department.”

“I don't
need
sympathy. I need for them to catch the killer. I need for Stan to wake up and recover.” She sat sideways on the couch, with her feet tucked beneath her, and dropped her face on the back of the sofa. “Oh, Aunt Aggie, what is he going to think when he does wake up? When he hears that his wife has been charged with his attempted murder? When he hears that he almost died of arsenic poisoning? Will he know that I didn't do it? Or will he doubt like everyone else is going to?”

“He'll know,” Aunt Aggie said. “He'll fight tooth and nail to clear your name. You'll see.”

She just wasn't sure. She wouldn't know until she talked to him, heard his voice, heard him defending her to those who would string her up. “Will you call the hospital and see how he's doing?”

“I just did 'fore I got you up. No change.”

She groaned and wept into her hands for a moment longer. Finally, she said, “Aunt Aggie, I don't want anyone to know about the pregnancy. Not until I can tell Stan. I don't want him to read about it in the papers or hear about it from someone who thinks I did this. I want to tell him.”

“Awright,” the old woman said. “I won't say nothin'.”

“You won't say anything about what?”

They looked up to see David standing at the doorway to the parlor, and Celia wiped her eyes and reached for a tissue in the gold tissue holder on the end table.

“Hey, David.”

“What's going on, Celia? Something happened.”

She blew her nose. “No, nothing. I'm just…a little depressed.”

“Come on, Celia,” he said, coming to sit next to her on the couch. “It's me. You've got me worried to death. Now, what is it?”

She looked at Aunt Aggie, and her aunt nodded, urging her to tell him. Finally, she realized that she wanted to. She wanted to share the news. At least she could tell those closest to her. She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. “I'm pregnant.”

There was no joy in his eyes as he gaped at her. “Pregnant?”

“Yes. That's why I've been sick off and on…” Her eyes filled again at his reaction. “David, what is it?”

“Well, it's just…” He got up and looked at Aunt Aggie, then turned back to Celia. “Celia, the timing couldn't be worse. Stan lying in a hospital, you being charged with his murder, a probable indictment…”

“I know that,” she said, growing impatient. Did he really think she didn't know?

“Celia, you can't have this baby.”

She looked up at him, stricken at the declaration, as if he'd made the decision and it was a done deal. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can't. It would be cruel to bring a child into the world in the middle of this.”

She stared up at him. “David, are you suggesting abortion?”

“I'm just saying that this is going to complicate your life miserably.”

“I can handle it.”

“No, you can't. What do you think Stan will do when he finds out? Or his parents, for that matter?”

“Stan will defend me when he wakes up,” she said with certainty. “And when I tell him about the baby, he's going to be happy.”

“Right. And when they start feeding him all the lies about you, you think he's still gonna want you to have his baby? Celia, if you terminated it this time and waited until this was all cleared up and you and Stan were back together, it would be so much better.”

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her hand went to her stomach again, and a burst of love surged through her. “God didn't make a mistake with this, David. This is my baby, and I've been praying and waiting for it.”

“Did you pray to be a single mom? What if Stan dies, Celia?”

“That's enough!” Aunt Aggie got to her feet and stepped between them. “David, leave the child alone. She got enough worry.”

“Aunt Aggie, you must agree with me. How can you condone this?”

“She had nothing to do with it!” Celia said, her voice rising. “It doesn't matter if she condones it or agrees with you. Neither of you has the right to decide anything for me.” She got another tissue, blew her nose again. “I thought you might be happy, David.”

“
You're
not even happy. When I came in here, you were sobbing, Celia. Don't tell me you weren't.”

“I was crying over the circumstances. Not the baby. The baby is wanted. He or she is an answered prayer.”

David seemed to realize he wasn't getting anywhere with her. He sank back onto the sofa. “It seems very romantic, Celia. But you're the one who'll be most hurt.”

“I'm willing to take that chance.” She wiped her face and looked down at her feet. “If you're going to support me, David, you'll have to support me in this, too. And you can't tell anyone. Either of you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want Stan to hear about it from me.”

He stared at her as if struggling with the words, then finally gave up. “Okay, if that's what you want.”

The phone rang, startling her, and Aggie went into the foyer to answer it. “Hola?”

Celia could hear her muttering something, and she reached for another tissue to blow her nose again. In a moment, Aggie was back in the doorway, fairly dancing as she got out the words. “He's awake, T-Celia! That was Allie, down to the hospital. She said he woke up!”

“Oh, thank God!” Celia got to her feet and began to weep, harder and deeper than she had all morning. “Oh, thank God!” She fell into Aunt Aggie's arms, then pulled David into the embrace with them. “Oh, I can't believe it. What did she say? How is he?”

“She wasn't sure,” Aggie said. “But she knew you'd wanna know.”

“Oh, I want to see him! I want to look into his eyes and tell him about the baby…”

“You have to,” David said. “You have to get in there somehow and tell him. As long as you're not there, and his family is feeding him lies, he might believe them. You have to go see him.”

“But I can't. The court order.”

“Yes, you can, Celia. Stan needs to know about the baby.”

He was right, she thought. She had to see him, to touch him, to kiss him. She had to tell him about the baby, and watch his eyes smile, and feel his arms around her. Then he would know that she couldn't have tried to kill him. Then he would tell them, and it would all be cleared up, and she could be with him as the baby grew…

“I'll figure out a way,” Celia said on a whisper. “They won't be able to keep me away from him for long.”