Shadow of Doubt (2 page)

T
he shrill ring of the telephone pulled Allie Branning from a deep sleep, and she slit open her eyes and waited for Mark to answer it. It took two rings for her to realize that Mark wasn't there—he was on duty tonight. Wearily, she rolled over to his side of the bed and groped for the telephone on his bed table. Her free hand automatically went to her eight-month pregnant belly as she brought the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Allie, it's me. I'm sorry I woke you, but something's happened.”

She reached for the lamp and turned it on, squinting against the light. Slowly, she sat up. “Mark, what is it?”

“It's Stan Shepherd. He's come down with some kind of illness, and he's in a coma. They're helicoptering him to Slidell.”

“A coma? I just saw him yesterday. He was fine.”

“It happened during the night. The thing is, Celia's showing a few symptoms, like she may have whatever it is, too, and they're taking her in the ambulance. She's really strung out, Allie. I'd go there myself if I wasn't on duty…”

“I'm getting dressed right now,” Allie said, sliding out of bed and pulling the phone cord into the closet with her. “Mark, what kind of illness is this?”

“I think it must be food poisoning,” he said. “We're not sure. I'm gonna call Aggie Gaston next. She'll want to be there with her niece. She may want to ride with you.”

Allie pulled on a pair of maternity jeans, then stopped and held the phone with both hands. “Mark, is Stan going to be all right?”

“I don't know, Allie. Pray on the way, okay? I'll be doing it from this end.”

“I love you,” she said, suddenly stricken at how fragile life could be.

“I love you, too. Call me from the hospital when you know anything. And be careful.”

Mark punched off the cell phone he kept with him in case Allie, in her delicate condition, needed to reach him, and called information for Aggie Gaston's phone number. When there wasn't a listing for Aggie herself, he asked for Dugas Gaston, her husband who had died over twenty years earlier. As he'd suspected, it was still listed under his name. Aggie, the eighty-one-year-old Cajun spitfire who played “Aunt Bea” to the firemen by bringing them at least two meals a day, was one of the town's staple citizens.

“Who you callin' now?” George asked him as he drove the fire truck back to the station.

“Aunt Aggie,” Mark said. Though Celia was the only one in town truly related to Aggie Gaston, everyone in town referred to her as Aunt Aggie, for she seemed like family to them all. “I hate to wake her up, old as she is.”

“You just afraid she'll be too tired to bring you some good eats tomorrow.”

Mark grinned. “And you don't care a whit about that, I guess.”

“Hey, I can cook 'em up myself.”

“Right. That's why you show up at mealtime even when you're off duty.”

The big Cajun laughed.

Mark dialed the number and listened as it rang once, twice, three times. Despite Aunt Aggie's vast wealth due to an inheritance that she'd invested in Microsoft before anyone knew who Bill Gates was, it was just like her to keep only one phone in the house. He pictured her getting up and pulling her robe on, as if anyone on the phone could see her, then turning on the light and making her way downstairs to the telephone in the hallway. As if he'd imagined it all just right, she answered on the fifth ring.

“Hello?”

“Aunt Aggie, this is Mark Branning,” he told the Cajun woman. “I'm terribly sorry to wake you, but I thought you'd want to know that Stan and Celia are being transported to the Slidell Hospital. They've come down with some kind of illness, and Stan is in a coma.”

“Oh, me, no!” she shouted. “Mark, how my Celia is?”

“Not that bad yet,” he said. “Look, I don't know that much, but I thought you'd want to go over there. I'm on duty, but if you call Allie, she can drive you.”

“I call her right now.”

The phone clicked, and he slipped it back in his pocket.

Dan came into the garage, a barbell in his hand. “Hey, Mark, do you know what Celia was talking about? Saying she'd seen arsenic poisoning before?”

“No. I don't have a clue. She hasn't been in Newpointe but a few years, and she doesn't talk much about her life before she came here. She must have had some experience with it then.”

“Yeah, I guess. Just seemed weird. Did you call Aunt Aggie?”

“Yeah,” he said. “She and Allie are on their way over there.”

He only hoped that it wouldn't be too late.

N
ot for the first time, Issie cursed the fact that Newpointe didn't have more than a noncritical care hospital and that they had to drive over twenty minutes to Slidell for any serious medical problems. But that, she supposed, was better than driving the forty miles to New Orleans. She hoped that Stan had awakened by now, that he was feeling better.

“How are you feeling?” she asked Celia, checking her blood pressure again as Steve drove.

“Fine,” Celia said. “I really don't think I'm sick. It was probably just nerves.”

“But this could be how it started with Stan.” She listened for a moment, then pulled the tips of her stethoscope out of her ears. “Your vitals are good. Blood pressure's fine. Stan was soaked with sweat, but you're not. Any stomach cramps?”

“No, none.”

“Good.”

“Issie,” Celia said, touching her shoulder and making her look at her. “Is Stan going to be all right?”

“I hope so.”

“Even if it's arsenic?”

That question again. Issie stared into her face, trying to read her eyes. “I'm real doubtful that it's arsenic, Celia. But even if it is, they can save someone who's been poisoned with arsenic, depending on how much he ingested and how long it's been in his system.”

“It could have been in his system for hours and hours,” Celia said. “Arsenic doesn't work immediately.”

Issie shook the chill that came over her. “Celia, how do you know about arsenic? Was that in a book you read?”

“No. Nothing like that.” Looking distressed, she raked her fingers through her fair hair and looked away. “I just knew someone…He had…real similar symptoms, and he died.”

Issie kept her eyes locked on Celia's. “But lots of things cause stomach cramps, nausea, diarrhea…”

Celia wiped her tears away with a shaking hand. “Lots of things don't cause respiratory problems, burning throat, coma…and cyanosis.”

Issie wondered if Celia's trembling had more to do with her own symptoms than Stan's. “Celia, I want you to lie down. We're almost there, and I'll wheel you in.”

“No!” she said, as if that was ridiculous. “Issie, I'm not sick. I want to be with Stan.”

“But you might be
getting
sick. We need to run a few tests.”

“
After
I've seen Stan.”

“No, Celia. Now! I don't want to wait until you've gone into coma, too.”

The ambulance stopped. Steve got out of the rescue unit and opened the back doors. Celia didn't wait for the gurney. Instead, she jumped out and headed inside.

“Celia!”

“I'll give them whatever they want, Issie!” she called back. “But first I'm going to see my husband!”

A
llie and Aunt Aggie rushed into the emergency room and looked around for Celia. She wasn't there, so Allie went to the front desk and asked about Stan.

“He's being examined,” the uninterested receptionist told them. “Just take a seat and we'll let you know something soon.”

Aunt Aggie wasn't easily dismissed, so she pushed Allie aside and leaned over the desk, her eyes only inches from the receptionist's. “Take me to him,” she ordered. “I wanna see him.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am. That's impossible.”

“Then where my niece is? Celia, his wife. You don't take me to her, you gon' be all over this floor.”

The receptionist got to her feet and seemed to struggle with whether or not to take this elderly spitfire seriously. Allie would have been amused if the situation weren't so grave.

“Mrs. Shepherd is in an examining room,” the receptionist said. “I guess you can go on back.”

Aunt Aggie didn't wait for directions. She headed through the double swinging doors with missile-like speed, and Allie followed on her heels.

Celia was having blood drawn in an examining room, but other than looking pallid, she seemed okay. “T-Celia! There you is!” Celia looked up at her aunt and eagerly accepted her desperate embrace. The
T
prefix—Cajun for little—was one she used only on those she loved the most.

Allie touched her chest and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God you're all right.”

But she wasn't, not really. Allie could see the terror in her red eyes as she looked up at them. “He's dying.”

“Is that what the doctor said?” Allie asked.

“No,” Celia said. “They haven't told me anything.”

“Then you don't know that he's dying. The question right now is, how are you?”

Celia rolled her eyes as if that was incidental. “I'm fine except for a little nausea that comes and goes. But Stan can't breathe, and he's in a coma.” Aunt Aggie's bony hand reached out to grip hers as the nurse finished drawing her blood, and Celia turned her troubled eyes to the old woman. “Aunt Aggie, what if he dies?”

The old woman pulled her niece against her as if she were a child and stroked her pale blonde hair. “He won't,” she said.

“God wouldn't do that to me twice, would he?”

“If there was a God, I know he wouldn't,” Aunt Aggie evaded.

Allie's heart melted with compassion as she remembered that Celia had lost a husband before. “Celia, I forgot you lost your first husband. I know that makes you more afraid that you'll have to suffer that again. But he's in good hands.”

“Nathan was in good hands, and he died.”

Allie didn't know how to answer that. She assumed Nathan had been her first husband, but since she didn't know how he'd died or why, she was at a loss for words. How could she comfort Celia? She didn't know. At this point, she could only pray.

S
id Ford found Celia, Allie, and Aggie in the waiting room when he arrived at the hospital. He was just trying to get an update on Stan when a doctor dressed in scrubs came through the double doors and found them.

“Mrs. Shepherd?” he asked, and Celia sprang to her feet.

“How is he?”

“Still critical. But I wanted to let you know that we have been able to confirm that your husband's been poisoned with arsenic.”

“Arsenic?
” Aunt Aggie's reaction resounded in the big waiting room, and the handful of others waiting to be treated turned to look. “You tellin' me
this
is arsenic?
Celia!”

Stunned, Sid watched Celia sink back into her chair and cover her face with both hands.

“What about Celia?” Allie asked the doctor. “Was she poisoned?”

Sid looked up at the doctor, waiting for the crucial answer.

“No, she wasn't. We didn't find any traces of arsenic in her blood or urine. Just in his.”

“Then look again,” Aunt Aggie insisted. “She been throwin' up. Don't take a genius.”

“We're running some other tests on her, but the lab isn't very well staffed at night, and they're concentrating on Stan right now.”

“Yes,” Celia blurted. “That's what they should do. You can save him, now that you know, can't you? There's got to be an antidote…”

“We're giving him dimercaprol to bind the arsenic, and we're treating him for dehydration, shock—”

“Shock?” Sid cut in.

The doctor looked back at Sid over his shoulder, seeing him for the first time.

“His body's been traumatized,” the doctor explained. “We're also treating him for fluid on the lungs, and we're watching his kidneys because arsenic will sometimes cause kidney failure. It's too early to tell. We may have to put him on dialysis before it's over. There's also a danger of liver damage, but we're monitoring that, as well.”

“Doctor, is he going to die?”

Sid held his breath, waiting for the verdict on everyone's mind.

“We're doing everything we can, Mrs. Shepherd.”

It wasn't the answer Sid had hoped for, and his heart plummeted. The idea that his friend could die was too much to bear. He choked back the emotion in his throat as the doctor left them. Arsenic. Stan had been poisoned. As the truth sank into his heart, he understood that the case had just changed from personal illness to attempted homicide.

Someone had tried to murder Stan Shepherd.

He turned his eyes back to Celia and watched her lean back against the wall. Aggie seemed to be in shock since hearing that it was arsenic, and now she stared at Celia with eyes that said there was more to this than Sid knew.

A million questions rushed into his mind, but one seemed to flash urgently in neon colors, demanding an instant answer. How had Celia known? Sid stooped in front of Celia. His voice trembled. “Celia, I need to ask you a few questions. And I need you to be honest with me.”

There was a certain resignation in her expression, an expectation that disturbed him.

“Celia, how did you know he was poisoned with arsenic?”

“I
didn't
know.” She wiped her tears and squeezed her eyes shut. “Not for sure. But I've seen this before. All the symptoms…”

“That's what you said.” He tried to keep his voice gentle, realizing it wouldn't pay to put her on the defensive. But his heart was pounding, and his breath was rapid. “When, Celia? When have you seen someone else poisoned with arsenic?”

Celia's mouth twisted as she tried to hold back her tears. She averted her eyes, unable to look at him.

Allie was sitting on one side of her, stroking Celia's hair, waiting for a response that made some sense, but even she seemed to be struck by Celia's struggle. Aunt Aggie, on the other side of Celia, looked as miserable, as expectant, as her niece.

“Tell him,
sha.
” Her voice broke on the Cajun endearment that bore little resemblance to its French root,
chere.
“He gon' find out anyway.”

Celia covered her face with both hands and sat frozen for a moment. Sid waited, holding his breath, trying to imagine what it was she had to tell him. It took more physical effort to wait, motionless, than it would have to throw her across the room. The force of his will prevailed.

Slowly, she slid her hands down her face, swallowed back her tears, and looked Sid in the eye. “I was married before,” she said. Her lips quivered as she got the words out. “My first husband died…of arsenic poisoning.”

Sid's face went slack as he stared at her, and Allie caught her breath. For a moment, he couldn't speak, but somehow he managed to find his voice. “Who poisoned your first husband?” he asked finally.

She closed her eyes again, and Aunt Aggie's face got tighter. Allie seemed to wait for a pat answer that Sid suspected would not come. “I don't know.”

“You don't know?” he prodded. “They never arrested nobody? They never had a suspect?”

“No,” Aunt Aggie interjected. “Now, leave her alone. She upset. Can't you see?”

Sid forgot his resolution to speak gently. Through his teeth, he said, “Aunt Aggie, there's been a murder attempt on a Newpointe police officer. I wanna know who did it, and I wanna know as soon as possible. Now if this is connected to the first murder, I need to know everything. I either have to ask her here, or at the station. Which do you want, Celia?”

“I'm callin' a lawyer,” Aunt Aggie said, getting to her feet. “I'm callin' Jill Clark.”

Sid looked up at her, frowning. “Why would she need a lawyer?”

“Because I see where this is goin', and she—”

Celia grabbed Aggie's hand to stop her. “Aunt Aggie, I can handle this!” She turned her big, pale blue eyes back to Sid. “There was one suspect,” she said as her face reddened. “And one arrest.”

“And was there a conviction?” Sid asked.

“No. The suspect didn't do it. It was all a mistake. There was never a conviction.”

“Mistakes don't repeat theirselves like this, Celia.” Sid's tone was growing louder. “Who was it? Maybe they're at it again.”

“Apparently they are!” she cried, getting to her feet and moving away from him. Crossing her arms across her stomach, she sucked in another sob. “But not the person who was tried for it. Maybe the person who really did it, but since the police stopped looking and never found the real killer, we never knew…”

Sid was losing his patience. He stood up and faced her. “Celia, who was tried for killing your husband?”

She turned away from him. There was a moment of silence as he stared at her back, fighting the urge to shake her until the truth spilled out. “Celia, I'm askin' you a question. I need a answer!”

She spun back around. “Me, okay?” she yelled. “I was the suspect! But I…didn't…do it…”

Sid felt as if he'd been poled in the stomach.

“What?”
Incredulous, Allie got to her feet.
“You
were?”

Aunt Aggie put her arms around Celia and sat her back down. “She didn't do nothin', Sid,” she said. “Stan knew, 'fore he married her. Celia was a victim, and they pinned her with the crime. The killer was never caught, and now it happened again.”

Sid stood frozen, letting the words sink in.

“Celia,” Allie said in a disbelieving whisper. “Why didn't you tell me? When Mark was in the hospital, you told me about your first husband, that he'd been sick and died, but you never said—”

“Why would I want people to know that I was arrested for my husband's murder?” Celia asked through her teeth. “When I came to Newpointe, I half expected everyone to know. The news coverage in Jackson seemed so overwhelming that I thought everyone in the world knew. But no one knew in Newpointe, and it was so good to get away from all that. Stan was the only person I told, besides Aunt Aggie, and he loved me anyway.” Allie looked away, focusing on a spot on the wall. Sid kept his eyes fixed on Celia. “Allie, look at me. Sid?”

They both met her eyes.

“You know I couldn't do something like that,” she said. “I love Stan. And I loved Nathan. I thought I'd never get over it. And then I was thrown in jail…” Her face grew more crimson with each word, and she began to sob, but she managed to spill all the words out on a rush. “…and they wouldn't let me out on bond, so I was in jail for months and months…and my parents believed the lies and turned their backs on me…and the press wrote scathing articles about me…and I wanted to die more than anything in the world.”

“But she didn't
die,”
Aunt Aggie said angrily, lifting her chin high. “They let her off, and she come here to live with me. You know her, Allie, and you know what kind of person she is. You do, too, Sid. You know, don't you?”

Sid was shaking his head, expressionless, almost paralyzed by what she'd told him. His eyes were stinging, whether from grief over his poisoned friend's plight, or mourning over what he was learning about Celia, he wasn't sure. Was this news grounds for an arrest? If Celia wasn't his friend, would he have already read her her rights?

“Just listen,” she pleaded, as if she could read the thoughts reeling through his mind. “I just want to be with Stan. I just want to make sure he's okay…Whatever you have to do, do it later, okay? You can wait. I'll tell you everything that happened, even get you a transcript of the depositions and the trial, whatever you want. Just let me stay here with Stan. I need to be here with him.”

Sid suddenly felt very old, like one of those Van Gogh portraits of wizened age and weariness. Maybe he'd been at this job way too long. He wished he could talk to Stan and ask what he would have done if the shoe had been on the other foot. The thought of arresting Celia seemed almost as painful as the knowledge that Stan could die. If he woke up, the arrest itself might kill him.

He tried to run the facts through his mind. Arrests were made on the basis of current evidence, not past history. He didn't know yet what the evidence was, since they hadn't considered the Shepherds' house a crime scene.

Still, she needed to be questioned, not in a hospital waiting room, but at the police station where accurate records could be kept of what she said—where other law enforcement personnel who were thinking clearly could interrogate her.

“Celia, I need to take you back to Newpointe. We're gonna need to question you further.”

“No!” she cried. “No, Sid, please. I have to know if he's all right! Please! You know I didn't do this!”

“Celia, let's do this easy,” he said, trying to keep his voice low, despite the fact that others in the waiting room watched attentively for the gossip to take back home, and the nurse stood at the receptionist's desk, staring as if she watched some historical event unfold:
Where were you the day Celia Shepherd was hauled in?
Celia closed her hand over her mouth, half hiding, half muffling her sobs, and he hoped she wouldn't make this harder for him.

Finally, she got to her feet. Wiping her eyes with a trembling hand, she turned back to Allie. “Call his parents,” she said. “They need to be here. Somebody might have to give consent for treatment.” Her voice broke on a sob. “Tell them I'll be back as soon as they're finished with me. And…if he wakes up…tell him I love him.” Aunt Aggie wrapped her arms around her, and huddled together, they headed outside.

As the car pulled off, Celia wailed in the backseat like a mother being separated from her young. He looked out the window and saw Allie standing at the emergency room door, staring at them, shocked, as they drove away.