“Who?”
“Celia.”
“No,” Jill said. “There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake, Jill. Y’ask me, your client’s got some explainin’ to do. You should know that we’re tryin’ to get a warrant right now, Jill. We got no choice but to arrest her.”
“Sid, there’s a killer out there laughing at how stupid you guys are!”
“All right, Jill, that’s enough.”
“You’re right! It is enough!”
“Hey, I didn’t have to tell you. You oughta be thankin’ me.”
She clicked off the phone and flung it across her car, screaming with frustration. How was she going to tell Celia? She wasn’t sure, but she knew that she had to tell her before the police showed up to arrest her.
Feeling even more drained than before, she went back into the deli. Dan, Mark, and Allie all looked hopefully up at her. Dan slid over, and she plopped into the booth.
“Celia’s about to be arrested,” she said, “so I’ve got to get over there.”
“Oh, no.” Allie’s face became as pale as Jill imagined hers was.
Mark and Dan stared at each other across the table.
Finally, Dan spoke. “Jill, why? Have they found more evidence?”
“Looks that way.”
“They found arsenic, didn’t they? That’s what R.J. was hinting at, wasn’t it?”
She didn’t answer. “This is Celia we’re talking about. There’s some explanation.”
“What?” Dan asked. “I mean, her first husband is dead of the same thing; there was enough evidence to indict her for it the first time—”
“An indictment is not a conviction,” Jill said through her teeth, her face turning red. “She wasn’t convicted, and no one has the right to try her right here in Maison de Manger because of a box of rat poison that may have been there before she and Stan even bought the stupid house!”
“Is that what she said?”
“I haven’t talked to her about it.” She slid out of the booth. “I’ve got to go.”
“Hey, come on,” Mark said. “Dan didn’t mean—”
“I can speak for myself,” Dan cut in, irritated. “Jill knows I don’t think Celia did it. All I meant was that people will think she did.”
“You know what?” Jill bit out. “I’m going to prove all of them wrong, and when I’m finished, I’m not sure if Celia and Stan can go on living in this town. Celia will want to go where she can depend on people, and Stan won’t want to be around people who think so little of his wife.”
“Hey, calm down. You’re strung a little too tight right now, acting like we’re the enemy.”
“You’re right,” she snapped. “I’m sorry. Just…I’ve gotta go.”
And as they stared after her, she rushed out to her car.
“Go after her,” Allie told Dan as the door closed behind her.
Dan shook his head. “No way. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“She’s just tense and upset,” Allie said. “This whole thing is on her shoulders.”
Dan muttered, “You ask me, Stan’s the one we ought to be feeling sorry for. Not Jill.”
“Chill out, Dan,” Mark said. “I know she ticked you off, but it’s not worth ruining the whole relationship over.”
“What relationship?” Dan asked.
Mark gaped at Allie. “What relationship?” Allie repeated. “Dan, don’t give us that. You’ve broken your three-date limit with her, and you know it.”
“There you go,” he said. “You take someone out more than three times, everybody assumes you’re a couple. Well, we’re not a couple. I’m still a free agent. A happy free agent!”
“Seem real happy to me,” Mark observed.
“I’m going home,” Dan said, disgusted, and slipped out of the booth.
Allie and Mark just looked at each other as he slammed out of the cafe.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The doorbell didn’t surprise Celia, for the local reporters had been trying to get a statement all day. “I might have to get out my rifle,” Aunt Aggie said as she got up and scurried to the front window to peer out into the darkness. Celia looked over her shoulder and saw Jill standing under the porch light. Quickly, she opened the door.
Jill was pale, tired-looking, and heavy tension lined her face. Celia stood aside to let her in. “Jill, what’s wrong?”
Jill hesitated, stared at the floor for a moment, then wearily met Celia’s eyes. “I’m sorry to hit you with this so late, Celia, but there have been a few developments in the case you should know about.”
“There have?” Celia asked hopefully. “What?”
Jill sat down on the chair in the foyer and rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t had time to apply makeup this morning, and her eyes were red and bloodshot. “Tell me about Lee Barnett.”
Celia frowned. “What about him?”
“When’s the last time you spoke to him?”
She shrugged. “Years. He’s in jail. Killed a man in a barroom brawl.”
Jill was watching her, as if evaluating her for the truth, and Celia wondered why. What could Lee Barnett possibly have to do with any of this? “He got out a couple of weeks ago,” she said. “And he’s in town.”
“In Newpointe?” Celia asked. “Why would he come here when he just got out of prison?”
“To be close to you.”
Celia’s eyes narrowed and she took a step backward. “Wait. What? No, that’s impossible. He doesn’t care anything about me.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, why should he? I hadn’t talked to him for a year or more even before he went to jail.”
“He called the house, though.” David had heard the exchange from the kitchen and came into the foyer now, dropping the statement like a lead ball that seemed to roll around in front of them.
“When?” Jill asked.
“Several times from jail. Asked for Celia, and I told him she didn’t live there anymore.”
Celia gaped at her brother. “You never told me that.”
“I forgot about it. I knew you didn’t want to talk to him.”
Celia looked troubled as she turned her eyes back to Jill. “So he got out just days before Stan was poisoned, and he came here to Newpointe? Jill, you don’t think he poisoned Stan?”
Jill obviously didn’t know what to think. “You’ve got to admit, Celia, that it’s an awfully convincing coincidence.”
“So, did the police question him?”
“Oh, yeah. Then promptly let him go.”
“Let him go?” David asked. “Why would they do that?”
“Because they aren’t convinced he’s a suspect. They think, instead, that he was Celia’s motive.”
“My what? Where did they get that?”
“The letter.”
Celia could see that Jill was watching her eyes for some reaction, waiting for a sign of guilt. But Celia was clueless. She had no idea what Jill was talking about.
“What letter?”
“The one that he claims you wrote him, telling him you rented him an apartment at Bonaparte Court and that you wanted him to come here.”
Celia could feel the blood draining out of her face. She struggled for the right words, but realized she needed to sit down. “Jill, you don’t really believe that I wrote a letter like that…”
“I don’t, Celia, but the police aren’t so sure. And then there’s the matter of the two checks written on your bank account. One written to him, and one to the apartment manager.”
“No! I didn’t write those checks.” She got up and paced across the floor, thinking. Suddenly, she swung around to Jill. “Our checkbook disappeared a couple of weeks ago. We thought we had misplaced it, so we just started with the next set we had in the box. Stan always kept it above the visor in his car, but it was just gone. Whoever poisoned Stan must have taken it!”
Jill sighed. “Celia, they searched your house tonight.”
“Agai
n?” Her nausea reasserted itself.
“Yes.” Jill’s answer was clipped and matter-of-fact. “And I might as well just get it all out. They found something in your attic, Celia.”
“What?” she asked. “All we’ve got up there is junk, old clothes, stuff like that. What did they find?”
“Rat poison,” Jill said. “The main ingredient was arsenic.”
Celia shook her head and began backing away. “No. That was not in my house. We’ve never had a problem with mice. Why would we have rat poison?”
“Celia, I thought maybe the previous owners had left it there, but I talked to Sid and he said that it was a new box. It hadn’t even collected dust.”
“No!” she shouted, steadying herself. “He’s doing it again. He’s setting me up! Just like last time with the…the journal entries…the computer…the arsenic they found that time…” She turned to the wall and covered her head, as if she could protect herself from the cruel onslaught. “This can’t be. We didn’t have arsenic in my attic, Jill. I would have seen it. I would have known, and I wouldn’t want that anywhere near my house!” She swung around and gaped at Jill with helpless, hopeless eyes. “Jill, you believe me, don’t you? He hasn’t gotten you convinced, too, has he?”
“Of course I believe you,” she said, but Celia could see the doubt in her face.
“What about you, David?” Celia asked hopelessly. “Mom and Dad won’t believe me, but you do, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he said.
“And Aunt Aggie? I’d die if you didn’t believe me. I know the evidence looks bad, but—”
“I don’t care about no evidence,” she said. “Don’t now, didn’t then. I know my niece ain’t no liar.”
“Then what do we do?” Celia asked, wiping her face. “We have to start with the checks and the letter. It can’t be my handwriting. If it looks like it, it must be forged.”
“The only handwriting is your signature on the checks. The letter was typed.”
“Well, see? Anybody could have written it! And the check could have been forged! If someone stole my checkbook, it wouldn’t be that hard. All they’d need is my signature on something else, and they could copy it. They have to start by looking for my checkbook. Whoever has it is the one.”
Jill got up and began pacing across the floor. “Celia, they’re getting a warrant. They’re going to arrest you tonight.”
She turned back to Jill and shook her head frantically. “No. They can’t. Not with those photographers out there. Everyone will know.” She covered her mouth and took a deep breath. “No, I’ve got to go there myself. Turn myself in, so they won’t have to come after me. Maybe…maybe the judge will go easier on me, let me out on bond, if I do that.”
Jill nodded. “We can do that.”
“All right,” she said, wiping her face with trembling hands. “Then let’s do it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Judge Louis DeLacy was a deacon in the Calvary Bible Church, the same church where Jill and Celia were members. Everyone in the congregation called him Louis, because he thought of himself as just another member of the Body, no greater than anyone else just because of the power the city had wielded him. But more important than that was the calling God had given him, the calling to mete out punishments to those who chose not to abide by the law. Normally, his job was fulfilling—satisfying, even, for he’d been responsible for keeping a number of drug dealers off the streets, disciplining drunk drivers no matter who they were, and putting away thieves and vandals.
But he couldn’t remember a day when he’d dreaded his job more than today. He had been prepared for Celia’s case when he’d arrived in his chambers this morning. He’d heard about Stan’s hospitalization yesterday, but when he’d learned that Celia was a suspect, he’d felt sick. Both Stan and Celia were good friends, and he thought a great deal of her. She had worked alongside him to build a Habitat House for a needy family last year after their trailer had burned, and she had served on a committee that he led to raise money for a new organ. He’d had dinner at their house several times, whether alone or as part of a Sunday school class, and he’d attended Promise Keepers rallies nearly every year with Stan.
The thought that Celia would be considered a suspect for attempted murder was beyond his comprehension. Still, as Jill brought her in for her arraignment, he had to keep the emotion from his face and treat her like any other defendant. He tried to avoid meeting her eyes and focused on Jill instead, as the bailiff announced the case. He wanted to know how Stan was, but he wondered if he should address either of them personally. After a moment of thought, he decided that everyone in the room knew he was close to both women, and it wouldn’t surprise them at all to know that he cared about Stan’s condition.
“How’s Stan?” he asked.
Celia looked up, but deferred to Jill.
“Not good,” Jill said. “He’s in a coma. Your honor, my client turned herself in the moment she heard of the warrant for her arrest. She had nothing to do with the poisoning. We’d like to request that these absurd charges be dropped.”
Part of him reacted as a sympathetic friend who had trouble believing that Celia could be guilty. The other part of him, the part that had to keep a certain decorum in his courtroom, reacted with slight resentment.
Troubled, he rubbed his temples. “Then her plea is…?”
“Not guilty,” Celia said. “Absolutely not guilty.”
“Judge,” the prosecutor, Gus Taylor, cut in in a lazy voice, as if the whole process was so obvious that it was an insult to have to spell it out. “We have a solid case here. And we ask you not even to set bond—not for any amount—because of her past record. Her first husband died of arsenic poisoning, the same poison that’s killing Stan right now.”
Louis had read the account in the paper last night, but it still grieved him. This couldn’t be true. It was too bizarre. What did she have? A double life?
“Your honor,” Jill shot back, “I object to the prosecutor’s sneaky and underhanded attempt to cast a bad light on my client by using information that is absolutely irrelevant to this case. My client has never been, nor will she ever be, convicted of any crime. Gus, were you absent the day they taught about relevance in law school?”
Louis tried to shake the troubling allegations from his mind. “She’s right,” he said. He cast a troubled gaze over the lot of them, from Jill to Celia to Gus, and then back to Celia again. There was more to this story, he told himself. If Celia’s first husband had died of arsenic poisoning, that, indeed, was disturbing. But if there was no conviction, he could only determine that there hadn’t been enough evidence. He didn’t know what the evidence was here—now wasn’t the time to hear it. His only purpose in this today was to set bond or deny it.
“Your honor, they also found rat poison in her attic. Its key ingredient was arsenic.”
“Judge, you probably have rat poison in your attic, too, and it probably never occurred to you that it contained arsenic,” Jill shot back.
He tried to think how he would have handled this case if Celia had been a stranger. Finally, he sighed. “I can’t hold her,” he told the prosecutor, “not with a record that’s clean—”
“But your honor—” the prosecutor piped in.
“Unless she was found guilty, then any previous arrest is wiped off the slate,” he said. “As far as the east is from the west, as someone said.”
Jill looked at her feet and tried to suppress her grin. She doubted Gus knew who that someone was or what book it was quoted from.
“However, I can’t drop the charges. I’ll let you out on a hundred thousand dollars bond, Celia, but with the condition that you must not go near Stan or contact him in any way, even when he wakes up.”
“What?” she asked.
Jill grabbed her arm to silence her. “We appreciate it, your honor.”
He closed the file and handed it to the bailiff. “Next case?”
“But Louis,” Celia c
ried, fighting as Jill tried to drag her out. “His parents won’t let me see him now, but if…when he wakes up, if he wants to see me, I have to go. He needs me!”
Louis shot her a miserable look, then turned his eyes to the next file. He couldn’t let his emotions get tangled up in this. He had to be objective. He had done the best he could.
Outside, Celia collapsed in a miserable heap on a bench against the wall, covering her head and wailing at the injustice of it all. Jill stooped down in front of her. “Celia, at least you can go home.”
Aunt Aggie, who’d been sitting at the back of the courtroom, had come out and was now standing over them. “Home, nothin”. Celia ain’t gon’ be a open target for that killer, whoever he is. She comin’ back to my house.”
Celia was inconsolable. “Jill, you have to do something. You have to talk to the judge. I have to go to Stan when he wakes up.”
“You can’t,” Jill said flatly. “Not until we get this cleared up.”
“Then I might as well stay here. I don’t have a hundred thousand dollars, anyway.”
“That’s not a problem. We’ll get it from a bail bondsman. Celia, you don’t want to stay here. At least if you’re out we can find who did this. I need your help.”
“Why is God doing this to me?”
Jill wished she had the answers. Her instinct was to tell her to trust him, but that was easy for her to say. Jill had never been accused of murder.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Celia Shepherd raised the candle as she walked into the black room. The flicker lit the room in a golden hue, and she saw the bed with the man lying on it. Her heart leapt, for she knew it was Stan, and she stepped closer, lifting the candle higher to cast the light on his face.
But he was dead.
She had known he was dead, even though her heart had chosen to deny it. She had believed the sheer power of her will would keep him alive, that her hopes would make him fight the poison in his blood. She had prayed so hard, wailing and begging and crying out to God…
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