Shadow of Doubt (3 page)

A
llie 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.

T
he 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.

 

B
y 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.

 

I
t 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?”

“You're free to go anytime you want, but I'd appreciate it if you'd wait til we've examined the evidence they got from your house.”

“What evidence?”

“The food. The dishes that were in the dishwasher. That kind of thing.”

Jill, who looked as tired as the rest of them, checked her watch. “Sid, I want a copy of the lab report as soon as it's ready. Have you called to see if arsenic was found?”

“We didn't tape off their house till just a few hours ago. The evidence we collected ain't even at the lab yet. It just opened.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Jill asked. “If you really care about Stan, and if you ever cared about Celia, you'll get the evidence over there. If there's no trace of the arsenic in their food or dishes, then you'll know that he got it somewhere other than home. If you do find a trace of it there, maybe we can figure out where the food was bought. You remember how to do police work, don't you? Stan isn't the only one around here who knows how to investigate a crime, is he?”

Sid bristled. “Insultin' me ain't gon' get you nowhere, Jill. I know you're tired, but I am, too.”

She blew out a frustrated breath and leaned back hard in her chair.

“Has anyone called to check on Stan?” Celia's question cut through the petty exchange and reminded them what this was about.

“Aunt Aggie has. No change.”

“Maybe he needs to be in New Orleans. Maybe their facilities would be more up-to-date.”

“I'm sure the doctor will have him transferred if it becomes necessary, Celia.” Jill took in a deep breath. “While we're waiting for the lab results, I think my client needs to make a few phone calls.”

Celia looked up at her. “What phone calls?”

“Isn't there anyone you want to call?” Jill asked. “Your parents? Your brother, maybe?”

She closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips on her eyelids. “Oh, no. It's my birthday. They were supposed to come to see me today. The first time they've ever seen my home. I was so hopeful…” She looked up, suddenly alarmed. “I need to call them before they leave Jackson. I don't want them to get here and find out that it's all happening again. They went years without speaking to me. It wasn't until a few months ago that we even spoke by phone. And then, yesterday, I thought we were about to reconcile completely.”

Jim and R.J. exchanged looks, as if her estrangement from her family was the evidence they needed that she was a cold-blooded murderer.

“What happened yesterday?”

She groaned. “I told you, Jim, that Stan went to see them to try to convince them to come visit on my birthday. He thought it would make me happy.”

“You told me he'd visited with your parents, but you didn't mention why.”

“I didn't think it was relevant. My parents are John and Joanna Bradford, from Jackson, Mississippi. They own Bradford Oil.”

“The rich Bradfords?” R.J. asked indelicately.

“Yes, they're the ones.”

R.J. and Jim exchanged looks again. “Stan never told us you was rich,” R.J. said. “You didn't seem to live no higher than any of us other police officers.”

“I'm
not rich,” Celia said. “Didn't you hear me? I said that they turned against me during the last trial. They disowned me completely. Considered me dead.” Angry new tears burst to her eyes as she spoke. “But I missed them. And Stan and I wanted to start a family, and I wanted my kids to know their grandparents.”

Jill touched her hand, and she closed her eyes and tried to pull herself together.

“I had gotten them to talk to me, but things were still strained. Then Stan started calling them, and they listened to him. A couple of weeks ago, my brother came for a visit, and Stan asked him to help set up a meeting with my parents. He wanted my birthday to be special, so he went to see them yesterday. He got them to call me. We had a good talk, and I thought they were forgiving me—”

“Forgiving you for what?” Jill asked.

“For…for embarrassing the family name. For bringing shame on them. I don't know.”

“So they called…” Jim prompted.

“They were going to visit me today—them and my brother, David, and I was so nervous and excited about it. I wanted everything to be perfect…” Her voice trailed off, and she wiped her eyes again. “I guess I'll have to call them and tell them, and they'll wash their hands of me again.”

“I'll get Aunt Aggie to call,” Jill said.

Celia shook her head. “She won't want to. Aunt Aggie's my great-aunt, and my mother is her niece. She hasn't spoken to her since the trial.”

“But she can make her understand.”

Celia shook her head. “No. They'll never buy it. They didn't the first time. It's taken years for them to get to the point where they'd even admit I was alive. Aunt Aggie and my brother were the only two family members who supported me.”

“Your brother didn't have any clout with them?”

“Apparently not. He tried, but they're very proud and stubborn people.”

Jill couldn't believe they could be so stubborn as to turn their backs on her again.

“Guys, could you leave her alone here and take a break until I get back from getting Aunt Aggie to make the phone calls?”

“I could use some breakfast,” Jim said, standing and stretching.

“So could she,” Jill said. “Why don't you get her something to eat?”

“I can't eat,” Celia said. “I'm not feeling very well.”