Shadow of Doubt (27 page)

T
he visitation for Aunt Aggie was at the Cain and Addison Funeral Home the night before the funeral, and Aunt Aggie insisted upon attending. Jill tried to talk her out of it, but the old woman would not be swayed. She wanted to see how people would take to her death, she said. She wanted to see who her real friends were.

The funeral director, who was in on the sting, was able to change her mind, however, for he had no place adequate to hide her where she could see and hear what was going on, without being seen and heard herself. Finally, she convinced Jill to set up a camcorder in the room, stuffed in a spray where no one could see it. Jill promised that if Aunt Aggie stayed away, she'd show her the video the moment visitation was over. Aunt Aggie had reluctantly agreed.

Now Jill sat with the old woman as they played back the hardest two hours of Jill's life, during which David and his and Celia's parents, along with various and sundry other relatives that no one in Newpointe had ever seen before, stood shaking hands of well-wishers and teary-eyed friends. Aggie stayed in Jill's house with her, and no one knew she was there. Outside, Vern sat in his unmarked car, watching to make sure Aunt Aggie didn't slip away to fill Celia in somehow.

“I can't believe they don't have no open casket,” Aunt Aggie said. “Woman who preserves herself good as me at my age oughta have a viewin'.”

Jill wondered if the woman had finally gone senile. “Aunt Aggie, if we opened the casket, they'd see that you weren't there.”

Aunt Aggie's eyes danced with the possibilities. “I could be there,” she said. “Matter of fact, that might be the best way t' tell what's goin' on. Lay up in that coffin and hear what folks is sayin' 'bout me.”

“Aunt Aggie, they could see you breathing. What if someone touched you and you were warm?”

“I ain't been warm in ten years,” she said. “I freeze to death most times. Ain't the circulation, though, cause these arteries ain't got no clogs. It's just my tempa-ture. Feel of me, see if that don't feel like death.”

Jill took her hand and confirmed that it was, indeed, cold. “Aunt Aggie, what am I gonna do with you? I promise, at your next funeral, we'll open the casket.”

Satisfied at that, Aunt Aggie sat back and watched some more of the video. The firemen were coming in with red eyes and noses, not knowing what to say to the people they'd never met before who represented Aunt Aggie's family. “They shoulda let Celia out for the visitation,” she said. “So's I wouldn't be mourned over by a bunch of mealymouthed, greedy souls. Ain't seen most o' them in fifteen years. Ain't heard from 'em in ten. That one right there, old bat, she's my sister-in-law, Celia's
grandmere.
Turned away from Celia when all the others did. Crazy as a loon now, though. Don't know a shoe from a hat. What'd they do? Parked her in a nursin' home, waitin' for her to die. Don't know why they even brang her here.”

Jill looked at her, stricken. She had wondered who the old woman was with the vacant eyes, and now she was disappointed to see how detached Aunt Aggie was from all of them. “Don't you care, Aunt Aggie? Haven't you missed her? Your own sister?”

“Nope. I hold grudges, Jill. I'll hold this one till I die.”

Jill gazed at the screen. “I always wanted a sister.”

The old woman grew quieter. “Still wish Celia was there.”

“We talked about it, and didn't think it was appropriate, even if they had let her out a day early.”

“Not appropriate to come to her Aunt Aggie's visitation?”

“Of course it would be appropriate for her to attend under any other circumstances, Aunt Aggie, but since half the town thinks of her as a killer, she just didn't think it would be very comfortable. Besides, she's really torn up about your death. It would be hard for her to be there.”

Reminded of her niece's grief, Aunt Aggie's eyes misted over. “Bless her heart. I hate to put her through that.”

“I hate it, too. Oh, boy, you have no idea how I hate it. The lies, the deceit…it's not my thing.”

As the last of the visitors left the room, she heard the voices of the relatives that remained behind, milling around the small room. She heard the low voices of Celia's parents, and then David came over and put his arms on both their shoulders, hugged them tightly. Celia's mother was crying quietly.

“You'd almost think they
cared
I was dead,” Aunt Aggie said. “But they're jes waitin' for probate.”

“Do you think?” Jill asked.

“Can't be nothin' else,” Aunt Aggie said. “They never picked up the phone to call me when I was alive.”

Jill grinned at her use of the past tense. “It seems to me that you wouldn't have taken it real well if they had. Don't forget I was there the last time you spoke to Celia's mother. I wouldn't want to get on your bad side, Aunt Aggie. You do have a bite.”

Aunt Aggie pshawed. “Aw, that's only 'cause I can't stand her.”

Jill watched the woman in the video crying harder. “She obviously does care about you. Maybe she's not such a bad person.”

Again, she harrumphed. “She's selfish and mean-spirited, and she don't care nothin' about her daughter. That says it all to me.”

“What about when she was younger, before she had children? Did you two get along then?”

Aunt Aggie grew pensive, as if trying to remember. “We did,” she said. “She was a cute little ole thing, and I loved her. It wadn't till she turned her back on her own kin that I turned my back on her.”

She watched as the camera recorded her niece and her husband wiping their eyes and crying quietly. “She's pretty,” Jill said. “I can see where Celia gets her looks.”

“Purty on the outside, maybe,” Aunt Aggie said. “That's about it.”

“You know, she didn't have to come for the visitation
or
the funeral. She didn't have to stand there listening to all the well-wishers. She could have just shown up at the last minute before the funeral, paid her last respects, and left.”

“I tole you why she's here. Probate.”

Jill didn't want to be quite that cynical. “Maybe David made her realize how much she needed to be here. Maybe he's working on a reconciliation between them and Celia.”

“Maybe,” Aunt Aggie said. “Reckon he's a good boy, after all.”

“After all?”

“He's a little greedy. Cares a little too much about money. Means too much to him, all them things. Money never did make me no better 'n nobody else, but don't ever'body know that.”

“Maybe now that you're supposedly gone, and everybody's grieving and hearts are broken, maybe this will be the start of something new. Maybe Celia's parents will come to see that she isn't guilty, and they'll reconcile, and you can let go of your grudge and forgive them…”

“I ain't holdin' my breath,” the old woman said. “I wouldn't advise you to.”

C
elia avoided the second visitation that was held before the funeral the next morning. She was released from jail a couple of hours before, and went to Aunt Aggie's house to shower and change. The sight of the old woman's things—everything she loved—created a fresh void in her heart. She ached with the pain of it.

David was there with her, and Jill was staying in one of the guest rooms. Already, dozens of friends had brought food over, and the firemen had contributed greatly to the wealth of culinary delights. It seemed that they had appreciated her cooking for them so much, that now in her death, they felt they owed it to her to bring food for them. She wondered if they had realized that she was getting out of jail for the funeral, or if they expected David to eat it all alone, since her parents were staying in a hotel.

She wept in the shower as she got ready for the funeral, then threw up in the toilet as she got out. This grief wasn't good for the baby, she thought.

She looked in the mirror and saw how pale she was, saw the dark circles under her eyes. People would look at her and think she was certainly a murderer. If only Stan could be there. But that was one of the conditions of her release. She could have no contact with him while she was out. The idea upset her terribly. But there was nothing that could be done. Besides, she'd been told that Stan needed to rest, that he had no strength or energy to come to the funeral, anyway. She remembered how he had come to her cell just yesterday, how weak and breathless he'd been. She hoped he wasn't taking the death too hard.

She went downstairs and saw David pacing across the living room floor, back and forth, back and forth. It had been a trying time for him, she thought. He'd lost almost a week of work already, no small feat in a job as high-pressured as his, and had stood by her wholeheartedly now for Aggie's death. He'd had to take care of all the arrangements, all the food being delivered, all the flowers, all the well-wishers. She wondered if it was taking its toll on him.

“David, you look tired,” she said from the staircase.

He turned back to her, stared at her for a moment.
“You
look like death warmed over. Are you sick again?”

“Just a little. It'll pass. It always does.”

“You know, this isn't going to be easy,” he said. “You have enough stress with the funeral and Stan and the murder charges, without all this nausea. Celia, I know you hate it when I bring this up. But be realistic. Think of your health. I checked, and I found out that Newpointe has a Planned Parenthood clinic.”

She was too tired, too depressed, to realize what he was suggesting.

He sighed. “They could see you today, Celia. I could take you there, and at least that part of this ordeal would be behind you. You wouldn't have to worry about what was going to happen to a baby that might be born in prison…”

She stared at him, stricken, as if he'd just poured alcohol on an open wound. She touched her stomach. “David, this is your niece or nephew. How could you suggest that to me again?”

“Celia, a person can only take so much. You may think you're Wonder Woman, but you're not.”

“I'm stronger than you think,” she said. “And I trust God with this baby.” Her mouth quivered with the words, and she turned back to the table to get her purse together. She swallowed a sob, then whispered, “Not another word about that, David. Not one more word.”

He looked as if he didn't know if he could agree to that. “All right. I just hope you don't start throwing up at the funeral. It's going to be very hard, once you get there with the family—”

“I know,” she told him. “I'm gonna get there, and Mom and Dad will either ignore me completely or comment on the gall it took for their killer daughter to show up for their aunt's funeral.”

“They won't,” he said. “I've already talked to them.”

“Oh, then you expected it to happen, too?”

“Well, the thing about where you were gonna sit at the funeral…all that stuff.”

Her expression crashed. “You mean they didn't want me to sit with the family at the funeral?”

He hesitated, as if he hadn't meant to spill the beans. “Look, I nipped it in the bud, okay? I let them know that you had more of a right to be there than they did. You were her favorite.”

“I wasn't her favorite,” she said. “I was just the one who needed her most.”

“Yeah, Aunt Aggie was real big on need. She liked the way you needed her.”

She didn't want to think about how adept Aunt Aggie had been at filling those needs.

Jill came down the stairs, dressed in black and wearing makeup for the first time in days. “Ready to go?” she asked.

Celia nodded and opened the door. Immediately, she was assaulted by a reporter and a photographer who stood on the front lawn. Quickly, she pulled back into the house and closed the door. “What are they doing here?”

“They must have heard you were getting out,” David said. “They were at the funeral home last night, snaking around asking everyone questions about their opinions of these murder attempts.”

“You're kidding! People were talking to them? My friends?”

“Celia, I don't know if you still have any friends in this town. Not any real ones, anyway. And yeah, a few were talking to them. It's in the paper today.”

“Oh, no. Where is it?”

“You don't have time to read it,” Jill told her. “Come on, Celia, we're just gonna have to walk through them. Just hold your head up and ignore them.”

David opened the door again. She stepped out onto the porch. The camera began to flash again, and she turned her head and started toward the car.

“Celia! Is it true that your aunt died of arsenic poisoning?”

She swung around.
“What?”

“Is it true that arsenic killed your aunt?”

She looked at David, then at Jill, as if wondering if the suggestion bore some truth. “No!” Jill said. “She died of a heart attack.”

“That's what we were all told, but rumor has it that they're just calling it a heart attack to cover for the arsenic.”

“And of course you're suggesting that I did it?” Celia asked.

“Did you?”

Amazed, she got into the car, slammed the door behind her, and locked it. David got in on the other side. Jill went to her own car.

“How could they think I could kill my poor dear aunt with arsenic?”

“Well, they think you killed your poor dear first husband with arsenic.”

He was irritable, she could see, and she wrote it off to fatigue and stress. He'd had enough of this, and he hadn't deserved any of it. In the back of her mind, a niggling thought came. What if David was doubting her, wondering if she was guilty, questioning his support of her?

She wept silently as they drove to the funeral home and parked in the back. Already, the parking lot was full. Jill got out of her car and walked in with them. When Celia stepped into the hallway, she saw the dozens of people standing there. They all turned to look at her when she came in. She saw faces that used to be friendly, but this time they were hostile, and they turned away and began whispering. Jill gave her a hug and joined the crowd. Celia followed David into the family room, but was immediately confronted by her parents sitting on a bench across from the door.

She stopped cold. Their eyes met, and she felt the chill from both of them. “Mom, Dad?”

“Hello, Celia,” her mother said, and her father only nodded.

It was as if they were strangers, she thought, as if her mother had never changed her diaper, patched her skinned knee, sung her a lullaby when she couldn't sleep. It was as if her father had never taught her to ride her bike or tie her shoes, or helped her with her geometry. As if her mother had never delighted in taking her shopping, or teaching her to put on makeup, or brushing her hair. She turned away, not willing to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. There were other relatives in the room, relatives she had seen occasionally over the years, and they, too, looked at her as if she were a malignancy in the midst of their family.

She thought of running back out into the hall, but she couldn't face those people again. She was trapped.

When Nick came in, he shot straight to her. “Celia, how are you?”

Relief flooded over her like a soothing tide. She reached out and hugged him desperately.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “So very sorry.”

She turned her wet face up to him. “The worst part is that she didn't know Christ,” she whispered. “I didn't work hard enough to lead her to him. I thought there was plenty of time.”

“So did I,” Nick said. “Believe me, I haven't slept a wink since I heard about her death. I've been beating myself up like you wouldn't believe. Don't do that to yourself. The truth is, it was her choice. We both tried.”

She sucked in a sob. “But it's so tragic.”

“That it is,” he said. “This is gonna be the hardest funeral I've ever done.”

He hugged her quickly again, then whispered in her ear. “Stan said to send you his love.”

The words were like an injection of hope and promise, of joy and peace, and even comfort. “How's he doing?”

“He's doing well,” he said. “He's really tired and weak, and the doctor apparently advised him to stay at home. I hear he got out a little too much yesterday and was seen around town a couple of places. It must have taken a lot out of him. The doctor warned him that he was gonna put him back in the hospital if he didn't start taking it easier.” He looked at her with concerned eyes. “How are you doing?”

“I'm fine,” she said. “Just a little tired. And my family…well…they're not too thrilled to have me here.”

“Yeah, I know. I've kind of encountered that, already.”

She hated the fact that her own preacher had to know of her family's indifference toward her. Nick let go of her and stepped toward her parents. “If you're all ready, the music has begun and all of the congregation are filtering in. If you don't mind, I'd like to lead us in a prayer.”

Her parents were not praying people, she knew, but in a time like this, she supposed that everyone prayed. She wondered if they ever prayed for her.

They formed a circle, but it was a broken circle. No one was bound by held hands. Even their eyes did not meet. Nick led them in a prayer that was short, but poignant, and Celia found herself crying again, harder. She didn't know when the tears were ever going to end.

When it was time, they walked into the chapel and took their places in a secluded section of the room where people couldn't stare at them. She was thankful for that. She sat at the end of the row, next to David, with no one on the other side of her.

She wished for a Kleenex. Had Stan been here, he would have had some in his pocket. He always remembered to bring them to funerals and weddings, because he knew how easily she cried. He would have held her close and reminded her that she was loved. He would have helped unwind the knots in her stomach, and nursed the bruises on her heart. He would have made the pain easier to bear.

But he wasn't here, and no one had brought Kleenex for her. No one held her hand. No one offered comfort.

So she returned to the silent, strong arms of the Creator who'd comforted her last night in places too deep for human love to reach. And in his arms, she found hope and peace where she'd been certain there was none.