Shadow of Doubt (31 page)

C
elia drove aimlessly, looking for David. If he'd gotten away without his car, he must be on foot. Maybe she would spot him.

But after some time, she realized that she wasn't going to find him. He was too good at this.

She sobbed into her hand, unable to believe that her brother was a killer. She didn't understand. Why would he do it? Why would he have killed Nathan six years ago? Why would he have set her up? Why, after all this time, would he have poisoned Stan? It made no sense at all.

She thought of her parents, who had shunned her at the funeral. He had eaten dinner with them tonight. They were still at the Newpointe Inn.

She didn't know why, but she decided to go there, to confront them.

Her hands trembled as she parked Jill's car in the parking lot and hurried inside. She stopped at the desk and asked for her parents' room number.

“I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to give that information.”

“Please,” she cut in, beginning to sob again. She dropped her face, tried to cover her mouth. “Look, they're my parents…the Bradfords. I need to see them…”

The woman looked like she felt sorry for her. “Look, I'm not supposed to do this, but if they're your parents…” She checked her computer, then turned back to her. “They're in 305.”

“Thank you.” Celia headed for the elevator.

She rode up, wiping her face and trying to decide what she would say to them when she saw them. Should she tell them that she suspected David? Would they even believe her? Would they know where he was?

She got off and found their door. She took a deep breath and knocked.

She heard voices inside, and knew someone was looking at her through the peephole. Would they pretend they weren't there, and hope she'd go away? She pressed her forehead on the door. “Mom…Dad…please let me in. I have to talk to you.”

The door opened, but she saw no one there. She pushed into the room, and turned to see who stood behind the door.

David grabbed her arm and closed the door behind her. She screamed, but he threw his hand over her mouth. “I have a gun,” he told her in a whisper. “Don't scream again.”

She swallowed as he let her go, and turned around to see the pistol he held pointed at her.

“David, why are you doing this?” she cried.

“Mom, Dad,” he called into the bedroom. “It's okay.”

Her parents came out with looks of terror on their faces. They looked at Celia, then at the gun he held on her.

“Be careful, David,” her mother said. “That thing could accidentally go off.”

She couldn't believe her ears. “Mom? Don't you see what's happening?”

“Don't talk to her, Mom,” David said. “Just get out. You and Dad get out of the room where you'll be safe. Call the police and tell them she's here.”

Suddenly, it was all so clear to her. David was the killer. And he had convinced her parents that she was. “Mom, Dad! It's him! He did all this!”

Her parents wouldn't listen. Instead, they opened the door and fled out into the corridor.

The door swung shut behind them. “Why, David?” she asked him. “Why?”

He laughed. “If I shoot you, I can claim we were fighting over the gun, and it went off. I've convinced Mom and Dad that you're certifiable. I'll convince the police, too. Even Stan will believe me when it's all over.”

“But…I don't understand. What did I ever do to you? Why do you hate me so much?”

“Why?” He laughed again. “I didn't hate you, Celia. I hated the way they felt about you.”

“Who? Mom and Dad?”

“You were their trophy child,” he said. “I was invisible.”

She backed away, trying to make it to the door. She turned the knob, but he came closer with that gun.

“David, that wasn't my fault. I didn't mean to make you feel that way. I loved you…”

“And then you grew up, and there you were with your husband taking an executive position in the company…”

“You got one, too,” Celia said. “Dad didn't overlook you!”

“He didn't value me, either. You were gonna get the lion's share of the inheritance, like you got everything else.”

“Then why didn't you kill me?” she demanded on a sob. “Why did you kill him? Why did you go after Stan?”

“Because,” he said through his teeth, “if I'd killed you, you'd have been a martyr. They would have built a shrine to you. Started a foundation. Grieved over you so hard that I still would have been invisible!”

“But David, it wasn't that way—”

“You have no idea how it was. But it changed, Celia. As soon as they thought you were a murderer, I wasn't invisible anymore. You weren't the trophy child; you were the embarrassment. And then the whole inheritance was mine, and I was the one who was going to take over the company some day…”

She couldn't speak. Sobs rose up in her throat as her heart broke.

“Then Stan started working on them about your birthday, and I saw them starting to pull out your pictures again, and I knew that they were going to forgive you. I had to remind them what you really were. I had to make you a murderer again.” He stepped closer to her, ran the barrel of the pistol across her throat. “But you know what? If I kill you now, you won't be a martyr. It won't hurt them a bit. You're a threat. An embarrassment. They'll be glad you're finally gone.”

She dropped to the floor, trying to sob silently. “David, I'm pregnant. I'm carrying your niece or nephew. You couldn't kill me, could you?”

He bent over her. “I can't let another trophy child be born. It would ruin everything.”

She wailed out a sob, and he yanked her to her feet.

“Now, here's how we're gonna do this.” He took her hand and closed it around his hand—the hand that held the gun. “We're going to struggle for the gun, Celia. And it's going to go off. And you're going to die, but they'll see the gunpowder on your hands, and they'll believe the evidence.”

“No,” she cried, trying to pull her hand away. “No!”

He grabbed her wrist and made her hold the gun, and suddenly, she realized that if she didn't fight back, if she
didn't
struggle, he was going to kill her. She closed her hand around the gun, and tried to raise it up, but he was stronger, and he overpowered her. He turned it in to her, but she pushed it away with all her might and prayed with all her heart.

S
tan saw Jill's car parked at the Newpointe Inn. “There's Jill's car,” he said, as Sid double-parked behind it. “That means Celia's here. And she's in trouble.”

He got out of the car, and Sid and Aunt Aggie got out behind him.

Stan saw Celia's parents standing at the front desk, talking frantically on the phone. They saw him and spun around. “Where's Celia?” he demanded.

“She's up in the room with David. We're calling the police.” Joanna looked up at Sid. “It's okay, though. David's got a gun.”

Stan didn't know he had such energy left in him as he bolted for the open elevator. Sid jumped on as the doors began to close, and he heard Joanna scream as Aunt Aggie came into the lobby.

The elevator opened, and Stan shot into the hall and ran to 305. He was out of breath and soaked with sweat, and felt as though he might pass out. As he ran, he pulled his weapon out of his shoulder holster.

Just as he reached the door, a gunshot shattered the silence. He bolted into the room and saw David and Celia struggling with the gun. David was overpowering her, pointing the gun at Celia's chest.

Stan aimed and pulled the trigger.

David flew back against the wall, then slid down into a heap on the floor.

Celia screamed and collapsed on the floor, holding her head with both hands and rocking back and forth. Stan went to her side and pulled her into his arms.

She couldn't stop screaming.

Sid looked stunned as he came into the room. He turned back to Celia and Stan, then looked at David.

Stan heard people running up the hall, and Vern and R.J. burst into the room.

Celia's screaming stopped and became desperate, gasping sobs instead.

“Get the paramedics up here,” Sid told them. “She may be hurt.” He went over to David, took his pulse. “He's dead.”

“Nooo!” she wailed. “Noooo!”

Stan only held her, trying to comfort her, trying to whisper soothing words into her ear.

Issie Mattreaux and Steve Winder ran in with a gurney and laid it down beside Celia. “Celia, are you hurt?”

She was shaking and sobbing, and Stan wouldn't let her go. “She's pregnant,” he said. “In her condition, this kind of thing…”

They pried his arms off her and tried to examine her, but she couldn't calm down. “Let's get her out of here,” Stan told them, helping her to her feet. “Come on, baby, let's go downstairs.”

Still wailing, Celia let him walk her out.

I
t took over an hour for Celia to calm down, but Stan wouldn't let them give her a sedative for fear it would harm the baby. Since he didn't feel sure enough that their own home was safe, he took her back to Aunt Aggie's house. There he tucked her into bed then lay beside her, holding her.

She didn't yet know that Aunt Aggie was alive. Her aunt and parents had been in a police car, out of harm's way, when they'd brought her through the lobby. She had been so distraught at the time Stan had decided not to tell her then. He'd been more worried about getting her to the hospital to make sure she was all right.

Now, he wondered if it was time to tell her. Maybe the news would pull her out of her despair. He knew that Aunt Aggie was downstairs with Jill and Stan's parents, chomping at the bit to come up and comfort Celia.

“Celia, honey, look at me,” he whispered.

She turned her swollen, red eyes to him, and he thought he would do anything in the world to put some joy back in those eyes. “Honey, there's something I have to tell you. Some good news.”

He knew she couldn't imagine any news being good after what had happened tonight. “What?” she whispered.

“Well, while you were in jail, some of us tried to come up with a plan to draw out the killer,” he said softly. “We had to figure out a way to get you out of jail so he could strike again. We knew he couldn't do something and blame you if you were in jail.”

She was listening carefully, trying to follow him.

“So…we had the idea that…if there was a death in the family…there'd be a good reason for you to get out…”

She frowned and sat up slowly, staring at him. He sat up, too, and framed her face with his hands. “Celia, Aunt Aggie isn't really dead.”

She caught her breath, got up, and gaped down at him. “Stan, this isn't funny.”

“It's not meant to be. Honey, she's alive. She's downstairs.”

She bolted to the staircase and tore down the stairs. Stan followed her.

“Aunt Aggie!” she called, and suddenly the old woman came out of the kitchen and ran into her arms.

“I ain't dead,
sha!”
Aunt Aggie said, bursting into tears. “It was just a hoax to draw the killer out. We didn't know it was gon' be David.”

Celia began to weep again, clutching her as if she'd never let her go. Hannah and Bart came out of the kitchen and watched quietly, and Jill came, too. They all watched as Celia crushed the old woman against her and cried out what was left of her tears. Finally, Celia stepped back and looked around at all of them. “I want to know whose idea this was!” The words came out through her teeth, and her face was red as she looked around at them. “Who decided to tell me my Aunt Aggie was dead?”

Jill stepped forward. “It was my idea, Celia. It was the only way I could think of to—”

Celia slapped her face. Jill brought her hand to the print on her cheek and took a step back. “Celia, I'm sorry. So sorry.”

Celia fell into Aunt Aggie's arms again. “It ain't her fault,” Aunt Aggie told her. “If it weren't for her, you'd still be in jail. And David, he'd still be foolin' all of us. Stan might be dead…”

Stan stepped forward and touched Celia's shoulder. “Honey, I know you feel betrayed…”

“Everybody betrayed me!” she cried. “Everybody!”

She let Aunt Aggie go and fell back into his arms. He held her, stroking her hair, squeezing her against him.

Slowly, his parents stepped up to her, touched her hair tentatively. “Celia, we hope you can forgive us someday,” Hannah said.

Bart was beginning to cry himself. “We're so sorry.”

She stepped out of Stan's embrace and looked at her in-laws through teary eyes. For a moment, he thought she might slap them, too, but instead, she just reached out for them. They hugged her desperately.

After a moment, she turned back to Jill. She looked at her, shaking her head, then reached out for her, too. Jill hugged her like a sister. “Oh, Celia,” she whispered.

“I'm sorry I slapped you,” she said. “I should be thanking you…for sticking by me.”

“It's okay,” Jill whispered.

“Let's get you some eats,” Aunt Aggie said when the two women had let each other go. “You eatin' for two now. And this has been a rough night. Got to calm you and the baby down, let him know arrything gon' be awright.”

Celia laughed for the first time in a long time and followed her aunt into the kitchen.

After she'd eaten Aunt Aggie's cooking, the pall that had hung over Celia seemed to be lifting. Aunt Aggie sat across the table from her and Stan, and Celia just stared at her. “Aunt Aggie, there's something I have to say to you,” she said.

Aunt Aggie touched her hand. “Say anything you want to.”

She breathed in a deep sigh. “Aunt Aggie, when I thought you were dead, I couldn't even take comfort in knowing I'd see you again when I die, because we're not going to the same place, Aunt Aggie.”

Aunt Aggie's face changed.

“Aunt Aggie, I'm not gonna leave you alone until you love Jesus like I love him. I'm sorry, but I just can't. You're gonna have to get used to me harping on you all the time, because I don't ever want to have to go to your funeral again and sit there despairing that you never knew him. And beating myself up with guilt because I didn't work hard enough. God's given me another chance, and if it kills me, I'm gonna use it.”

Aunt Aggie didn't know what to say to that. “You do what you gotta do, darlin',” she said. “Don't mean I'm gon' listen.”

“You're a stubborn woman, Aunt Aggie.” She got up and went around the table, and hugged the old woman again. “But I love you. And I don't want to lose you again.”

Stan couldn't help smiling at the joy he saw on his wife's face as she held her dear Aunt Aggie.

 

A
unt Aggie slept until almost noon the next day, so exhausted was she from the ordeal of the night before. When the doorbell downstairs rang, she pulled herself out of bed, slipped on her robe, and looked out the window to see who it could be. Had anyone found out that she was alive yet? Was it time for the party to begin?

And then she saw the Bradford's BMW parked out front. She opened her door quietly and walked out to the staircase, listening. If they had any cross words to say to Celia, they would have her to answer to.

Instead, she saw something that surprised her.

Celia stood at the door, staring at her parents. “Mom? Dad?” she asked hesitantly. “Come in.”

Aunt Aggie thought that Celia was a better person than she was. She would have thrown them out the minute she laid eyes on them.

They came into the house and Celia closed the door. Stan was behind her in a moment, watching with anticipation.

Joanna's face twisted with emotion, and tears came to her tired, puffy eyes. “Celia, we need to ask your forgiveness. We're so sorry for the way we've treated you all these years. We want to explain, but there isn't a good explanation. Not one that can make up for six years when we should have been there for you. Can you ever forgive us? He told us such lies…and we believed him. We believed all of it…”

Tears rolled down Celia's face.

“We don't have a right to your forgiveness,” her father went on. “But we need to ask. We had to let you know that we know David was guilty. We should have seen it.”

Celia wasn't able to speak. She just put her arms around both of her parents, and they clung to her and wept.

From her place at the top of the stairs, Aunt Aggie wiped her own eyes.

“I'm gonna have a baby,” she heard Celia tell her parents.

“We know,” her mother said. “Aunt Aggie told us last night.” She let her go and patted her daughter's stomach. “We're finally gonna have a grandbaby. To think we almost missed it.”

“You didn't miss it,” Celia said. “You're just in time.”

Aggie watched, overcome, from the top of the staircase. Slowly, she sank down onto the top step and leaned against the post. What she had just witnessed was so different from what she would have done, and yet it was so sweet.

Was this something God had enabled Celia to do? Was this the empowerment Celia had spoken of? Was that what kept prodding Aunt Aggie now, ever since the funeral?

The battle is not yours, but God's.
Wasn't that what Celia said God had told her that night in jail? And hadn't it turned out to be true? If there was a God, he'd worked it all out. He'd won the battle, so Celia had won. But remembering their night in jail, Aggie realized that Celia had won before they'd determined David to be the killer. She had peace and joy, even in the worst of circumstances. How could that be?

She didn't know, but she did know that it was too hard to admit she was wrong after so many years. She could fake it, she supposed, for Celia's sake. She could go downstairs and tell Celia that she had accepted Jesus, that she had changed, that she would go to church with her now, just so Celia wouldn't cry and worry.

But that wasn't Aunt Aggie's style. She may lie about death, but she wasn't going to lie about anything like that. Still, she wondered if, indeed, there was a God, working on her soul right at that very moment, pulling her to him. She didn't know if she had it in her to confess, to repent of all the things she'd never thought of as sins. She'd always fancied herself a good person. One who did the right things.

But if there
was
a God, then in his eyes, she must be an awful disappointment.

She got up and went back into her room, wiping away the tears. She hardly ever cried. Hadn't done it in years before this whole mess had started, but in the last few days it seemed that the fountain wouldn't stop flowing. Her tears were never going to end.

She sat down at the secretary in her bedroom, stared down at the wood grain. Was the Lord speaking to her? Was he the one putting this heaviness in her heart, this emptiness in her soul, giving her this hunger that she didn't know how to fill? Was it him, or just the circumstances, the emotion, of the last few days?

She didn't know. All she did know was that when she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn't like what she saw so much anymore. She wondered what God saw.

And then she realized that, for the first time in her life, she was thinking of God as if he were real. She didn't know how to take that.

She began to cry even harder, and put her wrinkled hands over her face, wishing that none of this had ever happened, that she'd never been convicted, that she'd never had to break her niece's heart. She'd never planned to have to look God in the face, but she supposed if Celia was right, she would have to someday, when every knee would bow and every tongue confess. Wasn't that what Celia always quoted? “Even you, Aunt Aggie,” she had told her once. Aunt Aggie hadn't believed it then. Now, she thought maybe it was true. One day, her knee would bow. One day, her tongue would confess. It was her choice whether she did it too late.

Slowly, she got off her chair and got down on her knees. It wasn't a comfortable place to be. She figured her bony knees would be bruised when she got back up, and she might limp for a while. But she stayed there, as tears rolled down her face, and she folded her hands together like a child in prayer and looked up at the ceiling.

“I don't know who you are or what you want with me,” she said. “But I'm startin' to think that maybe you're really there. And if what Celia says is true about you, well, then I reckon I oughta listen.” Her voice broke and she sobbed against her hands. “I guess what you see down here's a mighty wretched person. I can't do nothin' about the past, but I can tell you how sorry I am. And I can start from today. That's what Celia says you do anyhow. Just start folks right where they are.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head as sobs tore from her throat. “Oh, Jesus, don't ever make my Celia have to grieve like that again. Help me know you before my time really comes.”

It was at that moment that the gentlest peace she'd ever known in her life washed over her, and Aunt Aggie looked at the ceiling, frowning, wondering why in the world he would answer her prayer—the first one she'd ever prayed. But he had. And just as clear as she knew her heart was still beating, she knew that Jesus had accepted her prayer.

Something was different now. Something had changed.

She thought of running down to tell Celia what she had done. But some part of her wanted to be alone with him just for a little longer, to bask in that comfort and that peace, and especially that love. She had loved many people in her life and had received love from many others. But never had she experienced a love quite as grand as this. She wasn't ready to break the moment. She didn't know how this Christianity thing worked. She supposed she'd have to start going to church now to find out. But for now, she just wanted to bask in the love that God was showering over her. For now, she just wanted to spend a little more time with him.