“There’s been no change, Celia. Where have you been? Allie said you were filling out a police report, but we didn’t know it would take all night.”
A police report. Good for Allie, Celia thought. “I didn’t expect it to, either.” She went to the bed and leaned tentatively over Stan. “Has he been awake at all?”
“No,” Bart said. “Celia, if they kept you that long at the police station, you must know something. Do you know who could have poisoned Stan?”
Her eyes were misty as she looked up at him across the bed. “Bart, if I knew…oh, if I only knew…but I don’t have a clue.” She touched Stan’s face gently. His stubble was thick. It surprised her. It seemed to her that all of his body functions should have stopped out of respect for his state. Hair growth had no place on a face as pale as death.
Tears came to her eyes. “He’s not doing well, is he?”
“No, he’s not. Tell us what happened,” Bart said. “Last night, before they brought him in.”
She raked her hair back from her face, wishing for a shower. “He was just really sick. Throwing up, his throat was hurting, he was really weak. I thought he just had a virus or something. But then he got really sick, and he passed out, and I called an ambulance…” Her voice trailed off in fatigued defeat.
“Stan, wake up, honey,” she said close to his ear. “Wake up. Please, honey. It’s my birthday. All I want is for you to open your eyes.”
Hannah was still weeping, and she pulled a tissue out of the box on the table. “Happy birthday, Celia,” she said softly.
Celia wiped her eyes. “Thanks.” Distressed, she breathed in a sob. “Why won’t he wake up? Haven’t they done anything for him? Shouldn’t it be working by now?”
Bart came around the bed and pulled both women into a strong hug. “We don’t know,” he whispered. “The doctor isn’t sure how bad this is. It may have been a lethal dose.”
“He’s not gonna die,” Celia said, pulling back and looking into her father-in-law’s face. “Bart, he’s not. They caught it in time. They just had to.”
They all held each other and wept for a long time, until finally Celia urged them to go to the cafeteria and eat breakfast. They hadn’t left Stan’s side since he’d been brought to the room. Reluctantly, they agreed and left her alone with him.
When they had left, she sat beside Stan on his bed, talking to him and praying over him, stroking his chest and his face. But there was no response.
She tried to imagine his eyelashes fluttering, his eyelids opening, color coming back into his face. But the image was elusive. The fear of his death was so great that it couldn’t be overridden. She thought of Nathan lying dead on an emergency room gurney, how she’d flown into hysterics until they’d had to sedate her. Finally, before the coroner had taken him, they had allowed her a few moments alone with him.
People said it was easier to cope when you had closure—when you could see the death and experience the finality of it. But it had all come too soon, too unexpectedly. There was no such thing as closure. Even the shock and the sedatives hadn’t helped.
Now she clung to the sound of the heart monitor testifying to the life still left in Stan’s body, to the stubble that felt like sandpaper under her palm, to the feverish heat of his skin against her lips…heat that was so much better than cold.
She dropped her forehead on his chest and sank into her sobs, feeling the comfort of him even though he didn’t move. If he’d awakened, he would have held her while she cried, as he’d done so many times since he’d met her, when she’d been trapped by grief over Nathan, or her parents, or the fear of some evil still out there without name or face.
But now that evil had descended once again, claiming Stan as its next casualty. She couldn’t fathom how this could happen again.
After a while, Bart and Hannah burst into the room, startling her. Their faces had changed, and their eyes shone with rage. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Bart demanded.
She looked up at them, confused. “Tell you what?”
“About your first husband.” The words were uttered with horror. “That he died this way.”
Her face drained of all its color, and she felt the heart-deep fatigue from crying buckets of tears. “I was going to tell you.”
“Then it’s true?” Hannah asked. “We didn’t even know that you’d been married before. Did you lie to Stan, too?”
“No,” she said. “I didn’t lie to anyone. Stan knew the truth. I just didn’t think it needed to be broadcast all over the place. I came here to escape the gossip.” She left Stan’s bedside and faced them with teary eyes. “But gossip has a way of regenerating, doesn’t it? Who told you?”
“Simone, the 911 dispatcher,” Bart said. “We called to see if they had a suspect yet, and she said you were the only one!”
Celia sank onto the vinyl couch.
“We were good to you,” Hannah cried. “We treated you like our own daughter. How could you—” Her voice broke off, and she stepped closer to the bed. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
“Leave? Hannah, he’s my husband. I’m not going anywhere.” She got up and walked toward them, intent on making them understand. “Yes, I was married before. Nathan was murdered, this same way. Hannah, Bart, you have to understand that the same person who did that must have done this, too. They set me up last time, and now it’s happening again. You have to believe me. I didn’t do it.”
They both looked horror-stricken and confused. “I don’t know what to believe,” Hannah said. “Someone tried to murder my son. Simone says that you were charged with the first murder.”
“Charged but not convicted. Hannah, you know me! You know what kind of person I am! Have I ever given you reason to think I’m a killer?”
“We didn’t have all the facts,” Bart said. “If we’d known that you’d been accused of murdering your first husband…”
“What?” she cut in. “You would have stood in the way of our marriage? That’s why Stan decided not to tell you. You would have judged me unfairly. I’m innocent.”
“We can’t know that for sure,” Hannah whispered through her tears. “All we know is that our son is fighting for his life, and we just…we don’t know what to think about you anymore.”
“But Hannah!”
“Go home,” Bart said. “It isn’t good for you to be here.”
“I’m his wife! I need to be here.”
“But if you’re involved…” Hannah looked so distraught that Celia felt sorry for her. She was a tigress protecting her offspring. “Celia, we need for you to go home. Just…keep your distance for a while. Until we understand…everything.”
“I don’t want to leave him!” Celia cried. “Please, don’t make me do this! He needs me. When he wakes up, he’s going to look for me. He loves me, Hannah. Bart? Don’t you know that he loves me?”
“We’ve never questioned that,” Bart said, his lips trembling. “It’s just that…these secrets, Celia. We have to sort them all out.”
She suddenly felt nauseous, and her head hurt…and her heart ached.
She didn’t know how much more she could take. Part of her felt that if she left Stan now, he would just fade away, and she’d never see him again. The other part felt that her very presence created strife and grief and angst. Her in-laws were not judgmental people. They weren’t vindictive fault-finders.
They were just scared, and she couldn’t say she blamed them. If she’d had reason to think that either of them had hurt Stan, she would have reacted the same way.
Finally, she kissed her husband good-bye, and wept as she left the room.
Chapter Ten
Marabeth 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.
Chapter Eleven
Well, 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?”
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