Shadow of Doubt (14 page)

C
elia stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair up into a ponytail. She had no makeup on, and no inclination to use any, and her blue eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot from crying. The news over the last twenty-four hours seemed to have come in waves. The things about Lee Barnett and the letter and the checks and the apartment. Her arrest. Her pregnancy. Finally, the news about Stan.

She had tried twice to call his room, but his parents had refused to put her through. They had claimed he was sleeping, which may have been true. But she knew from the chill in their voices that they wouldn't put her through even if he was awake. Who could blame them? She had been arrested for his poisoning. His parents saw her as a threat to Stan's life. Until she could prove to them—to everyone—that she was innocent, she had no hope of getting through.

Her blood pounded through her veins, and she trembled as she pulled her sunglasses from her purse and shoved them on. Would anyone who saw her recognize her? Would they know her from her pictures in the newspaper? The notorious, murderous wife?

She almost didn't care who saw her, but part of her knew that it wouldn't pay to be seen. She had a mission, and she intended to carry it out.

She grabbed her purse and started down the stairs. Aunt Aggie had gone to the fire station to cook for the men who claimed to be starving to death without her, and David was moving and shaking the oil business by phone downstairs. Maybe she could slip out without being noticed.

But David was off the phone and was sitting at the telephone table, poring over a photo album that Aunt Aggie kept there. It was futile trying to slip past him, so she stopped and looked over his shoulder.

He was staring down at a picture of them as children, sitting in a sandbox with little plastic buckets. Above that were three pageant pictures of her at age four or five, made up like a starlet and striking a pose in a thousand dollar dress with layers of petticoats. She must have been a winner, because she was wearing a tiara.

“Little Miss Southeastern Hinds County Magnolia Blossom…or some such nonsense. What a racket.”

David nodded pensively. “You won everything. How many trophies did you have?”

“A roomful, for what it was worth. Does Mom still keep them out?”

He shook his head. “She boxed them up years ago.”

Though the idea of such awards seemed so silly, they had been her identity for the first eighteen years of her life. The reminder that she'd been relegated to an obsolete memory in the attic only strengthened her resolve to go where she had to go.

He looked up at her and frowned at her ponytail and sunglasses. “Celia, where are you going?”

“Out for a little while,” she said. “I just want to run a few errands, get some air.”

He stared at her for a moment, then asked, “What are you driving?”

She wilted. For all her planning, she had forgotten that she didn't have her car here. It was still at her house.

“Uh…Well, I guess I forgot…”

He reached into his pocket for his keys. “Take the Beemer. No problem.”

He tossed them up, and she caught them. “Are you sure it's all right?”

“Why wouldn't it be? Want me to go with you?”

She shook her head and wondered if she should tell him where she was going. It was only fair…But then she decided against it, because he would surely talk her out of it. “No, I want to be alone.”

“Okay. The court order didn't say you had to stay locked up in a house all day, did it?”

“No, it didn't.”

“You're not going to see him, are you?”

“Who?”

He frowned, as if her question surprised him. “Stan, who else?”

She rallied and shook her head. “No. Not yet.”

“All right then.”

She left him alone and went out the back way, got into the big car that was a far cry from her little Civic. There had been a time when she had driven a Mercedes Roadster. It had been her first car. Funny how she hadn't missed it at all.

She backed out of the driveway, thankful that the photographer seemed to have left. He was probably back at the newspaper processing new pictures of Aunt Aggie's front door, and manufacturing new stories to tell the people of Newpointe about what was happening behind it.

She headed for the Bonaparte Court apartments, where Jill had said Lee Barnett was staying. She had thought about this all day—about the fact that Lee probably wouldn't hang around forever, not unless the police had warned him not to leave. She had to get to him before he left Newpointe. It was crucial.

She pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex, found a space, then peered up at the doors and windows, wishing she had some idea which apartment he was in. No one had said.

She got out of the car and headed to the row of mailboxes beside the sidewalk, hoping to find some clue there. Most of them had last names on them, but some didn't. There wasn't a Barnett. Frustrated, she looked around the parking lot for something familiar, maybe his car…a Mississippi plate…

There it was, a Mississippi tag on an old silver Grand Am—the same one he'd driven when she'd known him.

It was in front of the B Building of eight apartments, so she went back to the mailboxes, found the Bs, and saw that only one of them didn't have a name. B-5. That had to be him, and if it wasn't, she'd just try another one.

She heard a door close downstairs, and Marabeth Simmons clomped down the walk back into the office. She hurried up the steps of the B Building before the woman could see her. When she was sure Marabeth had gone inside, she found B-5. Inside, she heard the sound of a radio. She knocked on the door and straightened her sunglasses.

“Yeah?” It was his voice. She would have known it anywhere. “Who is it?”

She shivered. “It's me, Lee. Open the door.”

He opened it quickly, and she stared up at him. He had changed since she'd last seen him. There was a tiny scar over his top lip, and his hair was cut shorter, and he seemed stronger, more muscular, as though he'd spent a lot of time working out.

She suddenly wondered at the wisdom in coming here.

“Celia?”

She took off her sunglasses and looked up at him, wanting him to look in her eyes and know for sure that it was she he was ruining—a flesh-and-blood human who didn't deserve what was happening. “Why are you here?” she asked him through compressed lips. “Why did you tell the police all those lies about me?”

He leaned out the door and looked from side to side. “Come in,” he said.

She breathed a furious laugh. “You've got to be kidding. I'm not coming in there. I want to know why you're setting me up, Lee. I want to know why you would want my husband dead…what he ever did to you…and I need to know if you killed Nathan, and why…why you would let me take the heat for it, why you would hate me so much that—”

“You're nuts,” he cut in. “I didn't kill Nathan, and I didn't poison this husband. And
I'm
the one being set up, not you! I'll hand it to you, Celia. I didn't know you had it in you. You're smarter than I thought, but not smart enough to make me your patsy.”

Rage filled her, and it burst out as her hand swung up to slap his face. It surprised him, and he grabbed her arms and jerked her against him. She lurched free.

“Get your hands off of me!”

“Hey,
you
slapped me!” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Why did you send for me, Celia? Why me? Why not some other chump? I never did anything to you.”

“I
didn't!”
she cried. “I didn't send for you. I don't even know who did. I don't know where my checkbook is, and I don't know who wrote those checks, and I don't know who sent the letter, and I don't know any Catholic priest, and
I didn't poison my husband!”
She was weeping now, hating herself for it. She heard a door close downstairs and wondered if Marabeth had come back out.

She stepped back out of his reach and lowered her voice. “I just came here to tell you one thing,” she said. “If my husband dies, they can do whatever they want to with me. I won't care. But I want you to know that I'll move heaven and earth to make sure you pay. You won't get away with it.”

He stared at her, and the confusion in his eyes registered in her heart. A long moment of electric silence screamed between them. “You really
didn't
send the letter or the checks, did you?” he finally asked.

“No!
Why would I
do
something so destructive?
I love my husband!”

He looked down at his feet, working through the facts. And suddenly she understood. Lee Barnett was innocent, too. Could it be that they had both been framed?

“Celia, you're in a lot of trouble. I guess I am, too.”

“Then why don't you just leave? Get out of town? Why are you still here?”

“Because the cops told me that I couldn't leave town until they'd finished investigating. I don't want to do anything that's gonna land me back in jail. And I've got this apartment paid for for a month…”

“But don't you see? If you're telling the truth, they
want
you to stay here. It was planned. Whoever it is, they
want
you here, because it makes people think all sorts of things about me. Can't you stay in town but go to a hotel or something? Get another apartment?”

“Why?”

“Because a killer set you up in this one! So far he's made you play into his hands. Don't you worry about that?”

She could see that he hadn't thought of that. “Well, maybe I could move. But I don't have much money left, and no prospects for a job.”

She wiped her face again and shook her head with disbelief. She didn't know why, but she believed him. She had known him well, years ago, and while he was on the wild side, he wasn't conniving. She couldn't imagine that he was lying to her now.

“What can I do, Celia?” he asked. “Tell me what to do. I could go to the police and tell them that I talked to you, that you told me you hadn't sent the letter or the checks, but under the circumstances, they'd just think I was covering for you, that we had something going.”

“Don't do anything,” she said. “Please, don't do anything. Just stay out of it. Don't make it worse.”

She was getting a headache and starting to feel nauseous again. She thought about the baby and touched her stomach. More tears pushed into her eyes. “I have to go,” she said.

“You believe me, don't you?” he asked.

She dared not admit that she did. “I don't know what to believe,” she said. “Just leave me alone, okay? Don't come near me or my husband, and don't ask about me or talk about me. Don't even say my name.”

“What if I find something out? Can't I call then?” “Call the police,” she said. “But you won't find anything out. He's too smart. He's too good at what he does. He knows how to nail me. I just can't figure out why someone who hated me so much wouldn't want to kill
me
instead of my husband. But I guess that would be too kind. This way he can watch me suffer.” She looked up at Lee, her eyes intense. “I don't know if you're the guy, Lee, but so help me, if you are, may the wrath of God fall on you so hard that you never find a place to hide from it.” She turned and stumbled down the steps, back to her car.

 

O
ut in the parking lot, Vern Hargis, who had been assigned to watch Celia, saw Marabeth duck back into her apartment. He wondered what she had heard. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and fingered the camera in his lap, wondering why his heart felt as if it had been punctured. He'd had a remnant of doubt about her guilt, but this certainly changed his mind. From what he'd seen, it looked as if they'd had some kind of lover's quarrel. Celia had slapped him, but the intimacy in their conversation had spoken volumes. It made him sick. Sid's instincts were right, as usual. Celia was no good.

He watched her get into the BMW that must belong to her rich brother, and she sat there for a moment before cranking it up. As he waited for her to pull out, he opened the shutter door of the camera and pulled the film out. The thought of processing the pictures didn't appeal to him. But it had to be done. Cops were about solving cases, and as far as he was concerned, this one was solved.

Poor Stan.

He wondered how he would take this.

He followed her at a distance and pulled his cell phone out of his glove box. Quickly, he dialed information and got Marabeth's number. He hoped she had call-waiting.

“Hello?” she said, breathless. “Sue Ellen?”

“No, Marabeth. It's Vern Hargis. You weren't by chance on the other line, were you?” He smirked even as he asked.

“Well, yes, I was.”

“So what's the scoop? I know you just overheard a private conversation.”

She hesitated. “Is this police business?”

“Well, yes, it is.” His tone was mocking, but she didn't seem to notice.

“Well, you're just not gon' believe who just paid a visit to Mr. Lee Barnett.”

“Marabeth, I already know. What did you hear?”

“Well, they were talkin' in low voices, see, so I couldn't hear too good.” She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “But I heard her askin' him to go to a hotel. Reckon she was gon' meet him there?”

Vern frowned. “What else?”

“They were talkin' about what to tell the cops. He said he was gon' tell y'all that she didn't send the check for the apartment. I'm almost sure that's what he said. And he told her he'd cover for her, because they had somethin' goin'.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be. Vern, why aren't those two in jail? I'm not gon' be able to sleep tonight, worryin' that they'll find out I heard and come cut my throat.”