Shadow of Doubt (5 page)

M
arabeth Simmons dialed across town to Sue Ellen Hanover at the post office, and waited on hold until the postal clerk came to the phone. She tapped her inch-long nails on her Formica desktop, and straightened the sign at the front of her desk that said “Apartment Manager.”

“U.S. Post Office,” Sue Ellen said, though Marabeth knew that all she'd really had to say was “hello.” Sometimes Sue Ellen thought more of herself than she should, and that post office job didn't help matters.

“Sue Ellen, this is Marabeth,” she said. “Did you hear the news about Stan Shepherd?”

“What news?”

Marabeth could hear it in Sue Ellen's voice, the disappointment that Marabeth would have news that Sue Ellen hadn't gotten first. She delighted in the fact that this wasn't something Sue Ellen could have read in anybody else's mail. “He's half dead in Slidell. Poisoned.”

“He
what?
I'm sure I would have heard something…Where did you hear this?”

“From Simone. I reckon she'd know, don't you? Seein' how Celia called 911 last night and all. And speakin' of Celia…You'll never guess who they think mighta did it. Celia Shepherd! That's who!”

As Sue Ellen gasped, the door to the apartment office opened, and a tall man with sandy hair and fern-green eyes walked in. “Uh…gotta go, Sue Ellen. I have a customer.”

“But why would Celia poison her own husband?”

“Got me. Now, if you tell anybody I told you, I'll deny it. And don't let on that Simone told
me,
'cause she'd lose her job and then where would we be?”

She dropped the phone in its cradle and looked up at the good-looking man. Suddenly, she wished she'd flossed after lunch. “May I help you?”

His grin was charming.

“Yeah, I'm Lee Barnett,” he said in a voice that sounded remarkably like Elvis. “You're s'posed to be holdin' an apartment for me?”

She tried to think, but found that she was too flustered. She was too old for this, she told herself. At least twenty years older than the man…but she'd kept her figure and had just had her hair done. Maybe he did find her attractive. Hadn't she seen an older woman/younger man relationship on
Sally Jesse
just yesterday? Nervously, she thumbed through her files. “Oh, yeah. It's apartment B-5. It's all ready for you if you'll just sign here.”

He signed the lease, then glanced up at her. “Were you here when my friend chose this apartment?”

She shook her head. “No. I think our owner rented it through the phone. Musta been Monday, 'cause I'm off Mondays.”

“I see.”

She got the spare key off of the wall behind her and slid it across the desk, hoping he noticed her nails. “I hope you and your wife enjoy it.”

He grinned, making her heart melt. “I ain't married.”

“Oh.” She hoped he didn't hear the delight in her voice. “When will you be moving in, Mr. Barnett?”

“Lee. Call me Lee.”

Victory
, she thought. He liked her.

“I'll be movin' in right now. Is the apartment furnished?”

Strange days, she thought, when a person didn't even know if the apartment he'd rented was furnished or not. “Yes, it is.”

“All right, then. All I've got is a suitcase in the car. Guess I'll go on up.”

She watched as he started to walk out, and she leaned forward with a smile. “You holler if you need anything, you hear?”

“Thank you. Thank you very much,” he said with a wink, then left the office.

She sat back in her chair and sighed, then quickly picked up the phone and began to dial frantically. There was so much to tell, and so little time.

W
ell,
garçons
, does we order a pizza or does one o' you want to try out your hand in the kitchen?” George Broussard asked as he stood in front of the fire station's refrigerator, taking grim inventory of the sparse contents. Aunt Aggie usually brought her own groceries when she cooked for them.

“Guess we can do what every other fireman in the country has to do and learn how to cook,” Mark suggested.

Dan thought that over for a moment. “Pizza,” he said finally. “Maybe Stan will wake up and be okay, and Aggie'll be back cooking for us by supper.”

“What a selfish thought,” Slater Finch accused. Then with a grin, he added, “You think it could happen?”

The five firefighters, who'd spent most of the morning fighting a fire over at Barker's Furniture Store and had worked up some fierce appetites, erupted into a round of chuckles, but the amusement quickly faded as they seemed to collectively realize that they were laughing at their friend's expense. Stan Shepherd could really die.

“Anybody called the hospital in the last hour?” Dan asked.

Mark got up and got a glass down from the cabinet. “I just talked to Allie. She called and was told that he's still in the coma.”

“Man,” Slater said. “This is so bizarre. Anybody talked to Celia? She must be a wreck.”

Dan looked around, but no one seemed to know anything, except maybe Mark, who didn't meet anyone's eye.

“She's probably still at the hospital. Poor kid probably hasn't had a wink of sleep,” Slater continued.

Dan didn't comment.

They heard the side door open, and hoping it was Aunt Aggie, everyone got up to see. Nick Foster, the pastor of Calvary Bible Church and a fellow firefighter scheduled to come on duty tonight, hurried in. “Hey, guys,” he said.

Disappointed, most of them sat back down.

“Was it something I said?”

“No, not you,” Dan said. “We were kind of hoping you were Aunt Aggie.”

“Hungry, huh? I don't think she'll be coming today. Not until this thing with Celia is cleared up.”

Mark and Dan jerked their eyes up to his, warning him to shut up, but it was too late.

“What thing with Celia?” Slater asked.

Silence fell over the room as the men who didn't know looked around at the eyes of those who seemed to. “Nick, what you're talkin' about?” George asked, closing the refrigerator with a jolt.

It was evident that Nick knew he'd spoken out of turn, and he looked from Dan to Mark, then back to George. “Uh…nothing. I meant…”

“Celia's sick, too?” George asked.

“No. She's just…upset. You know.”

Slater narrowed his eyes and got slowly to his feet. “Are they suspectin' that Celia did this?”

“No, I'm sure they don't. It's just routine.”

Dan rolled his eyes. The pastor was trying to tap-dance his way out of it. Dan felt sorry for him. It wasn't easy being a bivocational shepherd, and in a small town like this it was hard to know what was confidential and what was common knowledge. Nick would be beating himself up for days.

“So is Celia in jail?”

Dan decided to speak up, for he had talked to Jill earlier and knew they had let her go. “No, she's not in jail. Don't go getting all excited about this. They just questioned her about it. But there's no evidence that she knew a thing about it. Jill's got them testing his coffee cup at work and taking food samples from the cafe he stopped at on his way out of town yesterday, and she's even got them searching Celia's parents' house in Jackson since Stan was there yesterday.”

George sat slowly down in his seat. “You know, I gotta say I waked up more'n once durin' the night thinkin' how she knowed it was arsenic. How
did
she know?”

There was dead silence from Nick, Dan, and Mark. Finally, Mark spoke up. “It's probably going to hit the paper tonight,” he said. “So I'll tell y'all, but I expect you to keep it under your hats. Got it?”

They all agreed.

“It turns out Celia was married before, and her first husband was poisoned to death. Arsenic. Now, that doesn't mean—”

“She killed her first husband?” George asked on a whisper.

“No!” Dan said. “See what you've done, Mark? She was acquitted.”

“Did Stan know about this?” Slater asked.

“She said he did,” Mark told him.

“Course, we won't know for sure till he wakes up,” Slater pointed out.

“Look what you're doing!” Dan got up, angry. “You guys know Celia. You know she wouldn't do a thing like that. Already you're doubting her.”

“Dan, what we really know about her?” the big Cajun asked. “Arrybody knows she ain't been in town that long.”

“She's been here longer than you have! What do you want?”

“But I growed up here,” George defended. “I knew most arrybody.”

“And she came so mysteriously,” Slater added. “Nobody knew nothin' about her except that she was Aggie's niece.”

“That was enough! We all know and trust Aunt Aggie. And besides, Celia was a sweet, soft-spoken, gentle woman, and most of us liked her instantly.”

“That had a lot to do with the fact that she's one of the prettiest gals in town,” Slater said. “But for all we know, she could have been a cold-blooded murderer with a pretty face. For all Stan knew, either. And now look at 'im.”

Nick intervened. “Guys, please. You can't burn her at the stake before you even hear all the facts. Celia's got a sweet heart, and it isn't capable of murder. You know it, and I know it.”

“Doesn't matter,” Dan said bitterly. “It makes juicy gossip, so they're going to run with it. If she gets hurt in the process, who cares, right, Slater?”

Slater swung around, red faced. “Yeah, Nichols? I guess you're just feelin' all superior because you had inside knowledge. Is Jill representin' her?”

“As a matter of fact she is. And I
don't
have inside knowledge. I just happened to be outside last night when Celia was brought in. I knew better than to say anything.”

“Come on,” Nick said in a sterner voice. “That's enough. We don't need this!” He turned to George, then to Mark and Dan, members of his church, all of whom seemed to be seething for one reason or another. “Celia is our sister. She's part of our congregation. She needs our prayers, not our indictments.”

“Then she
has
been indicted?” Slater asked.

Dan wanted to hit him. “No, you fool, she
hasn't
, so why
don't
you just keep your mouth shut about it?”

Nick moaned as Slater got up, and the pastor reached out and grabbed the back of Slater's collar before he could react to Dan's fighting words. “Stop it, both of you!” he shouted. “We're coworkers here, and Dan, you should know better. I'm disappointed in you!”

Dan didn't like being treated like a child, so he just turned and headed out of the room. Behind him, he could hear Slater cursing his back.

A
unt Aggie would never have left Celia alone, but when Jill assured her that she'd canceled all of her appointments for the day and needed to spend the afternoon with Celia anyway getting all the information she could on the first trial, Aggie decided, with Celia's blessings, to go to the hospital in Slidell.

She was glad she'd gotten a few hours' sleep, at least. Now maybe she wouldn't try beating up any more cops. She grimaced at the thought of how she'd slammed her purse into Sid Ford's head. If she hadn't been an old lady who'd been up all night, he probably would have thrown her in the slammer. Being old did have its perks, she supposed.

She pulled into the parking lot of the Slidell Memorial Hospital, carefully avoiding the “senior citizen” spaces marked near the wheelchair spaces close to the door. There was no reason she couldn't walk like everybody else, she told herself. The day she surrendered to her age was the day they would bury her.

She checked with the information desk to see where Stan was and found out he was on the sixth floor. The elevator took her there, and she got off and saw the crowd of off-duty police officers, a few firemen, the preacher, and a few people she didn't know, spilling out of the waiting room. No wonder Stan didn't want to wake up, she thought. A crowd like that would keep anybody in a coma.

Bypassing them, she headed straight for his room. After all, she was his wife's aunt, so if anyone was allowed in his room, she was. She reached his door and hesitated, wondering if she had the right room. There was an armed guard standing outside it, and she wondered who had hired him. With an air of authority, she walked right past him and pushed the door open.

He reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her. “May I help you?”

“I want to see Stan,” she said, indignant. “I'm his
tante.”

“You'll have to wait,” he said. “I'll check with his parents.”

His parents, she thought as he stepped inside the room. The ones who threw her Celia out. She had a bone to pick with them while she was here.

She waited for his parents to invite her in, but instead, the guard came back out. “Mrs. Shepherd said to tell you to wait in the waiting room with the others.”

“What you mean, ‘with the others'?” Aggie protested. “I ain't one of them others. I'm flesh and blood, practically.” Realizing she was getting nowhere with the guard, she pushed past him, anyway. When he tried to grab her arm again, she felt for her purse and considered using it. Jerking away, she pushed into the room.

Bart and Hannah sat side by side on the vinyl sofa next to the bed, and she consoled herself with the fact that Hannah, who was at least twenty years her junior, looked worse than she. She stood up as Aggie entered, and Aggie started to tell her to sit down and rest before she keeled right over of natural causes.

“I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd,” the guard said behind her as he took Aggie's arm again. “I didn't think she would be so pushy. Looks can be deceiving.”

“It's all right,” Hannah said, prompting him to let go of her in the nick of time.

The guard disappeared back out the door, and ignoring both Hannah and Bart, Aggie went to Stan's bedside. He still looked as white as death, and had a breathing tube under his nose. An IV ran fluid into his veins, and a cardiac machine monitored his heart rhythm. Several other machines were attached to him, but Aunt Aggie couldn't identify them. She touched his forehead, pushing the hair back from his eyebrows. He needed a haircut, bless his heart. She should have brought her scissors.

“Aggie, don't touch him. Please.” Bart's voice was just above a whisper.

“Please, Aggie,” Hannah whispered across her son. “We want you to wait in the waiting room.”

“What you're whisperin' for?” Aggie demanded loudly. “Ain't the goal to wake him up? No wonder he still in a coma.”

“Aggie, please,” Hannah said again. “Don't make us call the guard back in. You really need to leave.”

Aggie gaped at them, indignant. “I got as much right in here as y'all got. I love this boy arry bit as much as y'all do!”

“He doesn't need visitors,” Bart whispered harshly.

“Is it 'cause of Celia?” Aunt Aggie demanded. “Cause what you done to that girl, sendin' her home like you done…oughta be a law. Now you tryin' to thow me out?”

“I'll call the guard if I have to.”

Aggie wondered if this was the day she'd surrender to her age—and the burial part, too—as her heart began whamming into her chest. “You oughta be ashamed!” she threw back at them. “You know my Celia didn't do this!
She
saved his life! If she wants him dead, she'd have waited to call the ambulance! Let him croak, then act like she tryin' to save him.”

“She lied to us,” Hannah said through her teeth.

“How? When she told you a lie?”

“It's what she didn't tell us,” Bart returned. “She didn't tell us that she'd killed her first husband!”

Aggie felt the weight of her purse and wondered if she could hit them with it from across the bed. She clutched her chest, as if that would slow her racing heart, and through her white caps said, “My Celia ain't never killed a bug! She ain't
never
lied to you! She didn't tell you she was
accused
of Nathan's death, 'cause she knowed folks like you wouldn't wait for the firin' squad. You'd mow her down before the words was even outa her mouth!”

“She betrayed us,” Hannah said, livid tears springing to her red eyes. “Stan may die. He's our only son!”

“Read my lips,” Aggie said through her dental work. “She…didn't…do it! 'Stead of bein' mad at her, be mad at the po-leece who's stopped lookin' for the killer. He still's out there, you know, the monster what really tried to kill Stan. It ain't the likes o' me that guard needs to keep out!”

“Until the police tell us differently, we want Celia to stay away,” Hannah said. “And we aren't allowing any visitors at all.”

“Well, ain't that con-
ven
-ient? She been good to y'all people, and she make your son happier than he ever been. And this what you do to her!”

“Bart, do something,” Hannah said.

He headed for the door and got the guard to come in. “Get her out,” he ordered.

Aggie swung her purse like a lasso, aiming right between the guard's eyes. “You lay one hand on me, I'll lay you out just like him,” she said, referring to Stan. “I
know
the way out.” Then, straightening her dress and picking a dot of lint off of her skirt, she made her way to the door.

Just before she left the room, she turned back. “You be sorry for this one day,” she said. “Destroyin' somebody never did nothin' but love your son. Someday she'll be the mama of your grandchildren.”

Hannah didn't answer. She only turned back to her son.