Trace of Doubt

by DiAnn Mills

  “Good. Mahatma Gandhi has a saying about women like Shelby, ‘The real ornament of woman is her character, her purity.’”

  I sobered. “Took me a long time to see that. Thanks. As soon I hear back from the FIG, I’ll forward the report. If all this checks out with evidence pointing to Shelby’s innocence, I’ve got to confront her.”

  I pocketed my phone and hobbled back to the cabin. Having Shelby close brought back all my thoughts of one day having a wife and family.

  Later, Denton. Save her life first.

  Shelby wore her hair in a ponytail, fresh and downright appealing. Her rare smile tempted me to act on my feelings. But not yet. She might level me, and I’d be no match on crutches.

  She worked on her jewelry pieces, intently concentrating. I studied her. A beautiful woman who took my breath away. She must have sensed my scrutiny because she glanced up.

  “What?”

  “Just watching you in artistic mode. Sorry.”

  She sighed. “You are so funny.”

  I scowled, knowing exactly what she meant. “Funny? In what context?”

  She tilted her head. “You’re so obvious.”

  “I’ll try to do better.”

  A shadow passed over her face.

  “Shelby, has something happened?”

  “I’m thinking. Marissa dis—”

  My phone buzzed with an email from the FIG.

  “Take it. We’ll talk when you’re finished.”

  The FIG’s fast response surprised me. I entered my secure password and opened the document. When I finished, I made additional requests and forwarded it to Mike before I steadied myself on the crutches. “I’ve got to make another call.”

  “Tell Mike I said hello.”

  I nodded and made my way to the porch, then closed the door behind me.

  “Nearly finished reading the report,” Mike said. “Back then we searched in the logical places, just not in the right ones. Looks like the FBI has footage of Marissa and Chandler entering Stage 7 restaurant in Miami, the one criminals use for meetings. The surveillance target at the time was Chandler.”

  “Why hasn’t the FBI checked into her background?”

  “She’s in the background, and I enlarged the image. Opened my eyes to her activities.” Mike cleared his throat. “Dinner costs more than a month of her bakery wages. I’ve requested security camera footage to see if she’s been there previously.”

  “Since I sent you the report, I’ve learned she’s used the name Janae Frosk for flight reservations, hotel, and paid for her and Chandler’s evening with a credit card under the same name. We’re looking at her dropping several grand.”

  Mike swore. “Is Janae Frosk simply an alias, or did she assume the identity of someone else?”

  “Frosk died twelve years ago. It’s near the end of the report.” I typed into my phone. “Checking to see how long Marissa has used the woman’s Social, match up dates, bank accounts, and see if she’s calling the shots for crimes other than suspected money laundering.”

  Mike drew in a deep breath. “Add murder to the list.”

  “When Clay and Aria were here, Shelby was happier than I’ve ever seen her, and I hate to spoil those memories. But she has to know what we’ve uncovered.”

  “She was happy with her dad and niece, not Marissa. Think about it. She’s thrilled her dad is back in her life, but remember the tough emotions are just below the surface with her mother’s death, the threats, all of it. She could view our findings as an act of animosity.”

  “Right. I need to be careful, to form my words so she doesn’t think I’m ganging up on her.”

  Mike huffed. “Honestly, do you think she’d admit Marissa’s part after serving time for murder in her stead?”

  “She may have endured enough. Doing time so her sister could raise her daughter and then Marissa abandons her?”

  “Stand down, Denton. The timing’s not right. Let’s dig for more evidence against Marissa.”

  His insistence went against my resolve. Yet Mike reacted from years of experience, and I had the heart-thing going. We needed solid proof. “I’ll hold off. Will call later after I’ve done more research.”

  I hesitated before opening the cabin. Shelby faced me, and she’d been crying. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve lived a lie for so long, wandered through a fog until I believed my own claims.”

  I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  She swiped beneath her eyes. “Please call Sheriff Wendall and Pastor Emory and ask them if they’d stop by later on. Tell them it’s important.”

  “Anyone else? James Peterson, Edie, or Amy-Jo?”

  “Their support sounds wonderful except what I have to say might put them in the sights of a shooter.”

  “Have you received another threat?”

  She shook her head. “Denton, I’ve been a fool.”

  59

  SHELBY

  Pastor Emory’s presence eased my trepidation, but I needed courage to move ahead. The pastor’s compassion for others emitted from his every breath, his faith a pillar of strength. The irony of the three gathered in Denton’s living room at my request brought a smile to my lips—the FBI agent, the sheriff, and the pastor with an ex-con. What a motley crew. If only the circumstances were a Sunday evening dinner on-the-grounds kind of celebration. Instead, confession of the hardest kind.

  Sheriff Wendall pulled a chair from the kitchen. Pastor Emory sat on the sofa beside me, and Denton sprawled out in a recliner, his crutches leaning on the chair arm. These were my friends, and gratefulness washed over me.

  God, help me to hold tightly to You.

  Coffee and the fixings sat on a trunk Denton used for a table, and I added a plate of blueberry scones.

  “I know y’all are wondering why I asked you to meet here this evening.” Would they even believe me? “I’ve called you together for a reason. What too many innocent people have faced has to end before any more blood is shed. I beg of you, what’s said tonight must be confidential. If you can’t keep my words private, best you leave now. But I hope with what I have to say, justice will be served.”

  “None of us have any thought of walking out,” Pastor Emory said.

  The others chimed in and I braved forward. “Thanks. Pastor, would you open us in prayer?”

  His words, simply spoken, asked for God to bless their time together and to give everyone wisdom in whatever transpired.

  I rested my half-full cup of coffee on the table. Who should I focus on? Denton, who’d been a part of the tragedy for nearly as long as I had? The pastor, whose prayers requested peace? Or the sheriff, who swore to uphold the law?

  “Denton, I’m directing my words to you because I owe you my most sincere apology for the sacrifices you’ve made on my behalf.”

  “That apology works both ways. I’ve followed you for years, back when I was a rookie agent and you’d confessed to murder. Later, here in Valleysburg, I’ve observed you, listened, looked for discrepancies in your actions, and searched online for information about what happened fifteen years ago. In a short while, I’ve learned to trust you and your statements of faith.” Denton faced Pastor Emory. “You’ll be pleased to know God and I are squared away. A few days ago, I had a come-to-Jesus meeting, as my grandparents used to say.” Pastor Emory congratulated him, and Denton continued. “The four of us have a stake in righting wrongs, and we are people of integrity.”

  My mouth went dry. My stomach soured. What I planned to say would take me off his admirable list. Maybe I shouldn’t confess and break my promise to Marissa. But something whispered to me otherwise.

  Denton’s brown eyes peered through to my soul. “Something else I noted—Shelby, when I broke into your cabin and read a note in your Bible, you penned ‘only God knows the truth.’ During the time the shooters unloaded on the safe house, Isaac told me you refused to touch Aaron’s gun, even if a killer opened the door. He also said you froze in the hotel stairwell. Isaac had los
t his gun, and you couldn’t pick it up. Your dad confirmed your aversion to weapons. The incidents kept me up all night. Did you promise God never to touch a firearm again?”

  Heat blazed from my neck into my face. I’d relied on deceit for so long that a black hole permeated my soul. Now Dad faced investigation for an inconceivable crime after he wanted me back in his life. Until all the facts surfaced, he’d be a person of interest in a money-laundering organization based on some woman’s testimony who’d offered his name in an FBI interview. I sensed everyone’s eyes on me.

  Once again I was in a cell of my own making.

  “Shelby, you’re like a daughter to me,” the sheriff said. “We have the resources to handle whatever’s goin’ on. But we need the facts.”

  “We want to help.” Pastor Emory’s counseling tone mingled with his prayerlike voice.

  At least he didn’t say, “The truth would set me free.” I’d long abandoned the verse knowing my confession led to harm for those I loved. Did these three men suspect the truth?

  “I’ve lied to all of you,” I whispered.

  “Your hesitation and pale features show years of suffering and pain.” Pastor Emory patted my shoulder.

  A torrent of emotions flowed unchecked and challenged me to transparency. To live behind a mask of deception meant eventually the facade became reality. The thought frightened me . . . almost as much as the truth. “Pastor, I made a promise.”

  “Promises are virtuous and God-honoring if they follow His ways.”

  I gripped my trembling hands. “And where does unconditional love fit?”

  “For every person on the planet. We are instructed to love but not to lie.”

  “Breaking my promise means destroying the lives of my dad and niece.”

  Pastor Emory nodded. “What would they say if they were here now?”

  The cliché of my heart pounding in my ears fit. While my gaze stayed fixed on him, his face blurred from my tears.

  “What haunts you, Shelby?” the pastor said. “How have you lied?”

  I breathed in, a prayer for courage. “I didn’t pull the trigger on Travis.”

  Silence swept around the room. The words had never been uttered until now. Yet freedom lifted the burden I’d carried for so long.

  “Why confess to a crime in which you were innocent?” Pastor Emory’s voice continued to calm me.

  “To protect Marissa and her unborn baby. My rebellious past made my confession credible. I was convinced my sister was a good person. She deserved the opportunity to raise her child outside of a prison cell.”

  Denton took over the conversation. “Was the admission of guilt your idea?”

  “No. Marissa begged me to help her. I walked in on her aiming the gun at Travis, but I couldn’t stop her before she fired. She told me he threatened to hurt her and the baby, and she panicked. She rubbed her fingerprints off the gun with a towel and gave it to me. The only time I’ve ever touched a firearm.”

  “I see. You agreed and took the blame. Back then, Mike and I were unable to identify the smudged prints. Who besides your sister knows what happened?”

  “Only you in this room.” I gripped my hands tighter and stared into the pastor’s face. “Today Denton and I had a conversation about what makes me happy. I told him about girlhood games with Marissa. Voicing them caused me to see my childhood in a different way. While Denton was outside, I remembered the conversation I overheard the day of the shooting but must have blocked out. Marissa had told Travis she’d never loved him and she deserved happiness. He couldn’t stop her.”

  I hesitated but I’d come this far. “The more I thought about her words, the more ambiguity existed between the lines. Yesterday my niece shared with me Marissa’s lack of mothering skills. Now Marissa has taken off to Phoenix without telling her daughter or Dad goodbye. Reality of being played is hard for me to admit, but my sister is a manipulator. It’s possible she’s aware of all the threats and attacks that have happened since my release.”

  I struggled to say what had shaken me to the core, haunting words I couldn’t shed. “Of all the people who have the most to fear and lose from my prison release, it’s Marissa.”

  60

  DENTON

  I’d been convinced Shelby was innocent of embezzlement and suspected she might not have killed Travis Stover, but to hear it from her lips stunned me. Each time I considered Marissa setting up Shelby for those crimes, the more I saw the older sister’s maniacal mind. She must have despised Shelby. From the lack of response from Sheriff Wendall and Pastor Emory, they shared my same shocked reaction. I never expected Shelby’s confession to be my way of reconciling her past.

  “You believe my story?” Shelby said.

  “Yes.” Pastor Emory broke the silence. “The moral, spiritual, and legal implications of taking the blame for a horrendous crime you didn’t commit have me baffled.” He studied me. “Denton, were you aware?”

  “Earlier today, she expressed the childhood games that Marissa initiated. The control over Shelby caused me to rethink what might have happened fifteen years ago. But this is news to me too.”

  Sheriff Wendall stood and paced. “Hold on. What kind of games are we talking about?”

  Shelby shared what she’d told me and a few details not spoken of previously. “I’ve never stolen, but I have sold drugs, not for money but to prove I could get away with it.”

  “You studied robberies, murders, even kidnappin’ to figure out how to commit the perfect crime?” the sheriff said. When she nodded, he blew out his obvious anger. “Little lady, where were your parents?”

  “They didn’t know. Marissa called our time together secret-sister games.”

  “More like secret-sister crimes.” The sheriff crossed his arms over his chest. So typical. “Your dad deserves the truth.”

  Shelby’s face paled. “He’d be devastated.”

  I shifted to ease the agony in my leg. “He and Aria planned to talk on the way back to Sharp’s Creek. Don’t you think from the way he took time to heal your relationship that he suspects at least part of it?”

  She covered her mouth and stared over my head into the kitchen. “When I saw Mom for the last time, she asked if Marissa had shot Travis. I stood by my original confession. Mom might have mentioned her doubts to Dad. I’ll call him.”

  I didn’t think Clay could handle derogatory info about Marissa. “Not a good idea. Clay Pearce deserves to hear this face-to-face from his daughter. His phone or Aria’s might be bugged, putting them in line for a death order.”

  She leaned back against the sofa, trembling. “If not for Aria’s visit and where my thinking led, I’d have continued the ruse. I believed Marissa was perfect.” She buried her face in her hands. “I see now how she fostered my rebellion and how she used me to accomplish her own agenda. I’m incredibly hurt . . . and angry.” She stared at me. “I have no proof of my innocence.”

  “You served your sentence. You’ve been victimized. And now Marissa has abandoned her daughter. The FBI needs your official statement.”

  “All right.”

  Sheriff Wendall summoned our attention. “Makes sense Marissa took the $500K and claimed it had been embezzled. Would you recognize your sister’s handwritin’? I have the sympathy card, although the FBI didn’t find a match.”

  “I could identify it,” Shelby said, “and if it’s a match, then the FBI has reason to bring her in for questioning. She’s supposed to be in Phoenix as recommended by her RA doctor. Is her medical condition even legit? Aria doesn’t think so.”

  “Maybe not. I’ve learned more about her actions.” I told them about the photos of her and Eli Chandler in Miami, the restaurant’s reputation, and the use of an alias in her travel. “I requested medical records for her earlier today, and I’ll contact Clay about the dates she claimed to be resting. Doubtful she left anything incriminating behind at your dad’s, but the FBI has cause to issue a search warrant and sweep her room.”

  The sher
iff cleared his throat. “Denton, if big sister’s on to what you’ve uncovered, we’re low on time. My guess is she’s on her way out of the country. Has the FBI red flagged her alias?”

  “If she’s made flight arrangements using that name, she’ll be arrested at the airport.”

  “No, she won’t,” Shelby said. “Our games included numerous cover-ups of all kinds. We often made up aliases.”

  The idea of Marissa manipulating a child fueled my anger. “How many years did you play these games?”

  “Years, from the time I was four until I turned sixteen when she married.”

  “A lot of indoctrination.” I wanted to say a lot more, but she might grow hostile.

  “It took lots of careful planning on her part, to say the least,” she said. “Marissa has my burner phone number, and she’s texted me with it. Before Mom passed, she wanted to meet with me about a threat on her life and planned to drive here for us to talk. She asked me to keep the trip a secret.”

  “When was this scheduled?”

  “The Thursday before Mom’s funeral. But given what happened, she canceled with the intention of rescheduling. I haven’t heard from her since. How noble of my sister to push suicide so she’d not dirty her hands.” Shelby lifted her chin.

  “We must be careful until we find Marissa or Eli Chandler,” I said.

  “I know how to end this madness.”

  “How, Shelby? By doing something crazy?”

  “Yes.” Her voice held a wild tone.

  I tightened my hands into fists. “I don’t like the daredevil look in your eyes.”

  She smiled. “Forget the fake suicide, especially if Marissa can’t be found. I can infiltrate her organization.”

  “Impossible. You know nothing about money laundering, organized crime, or what your sister is capable of doing.”

  “I agree,” Sheriff Wendall said. “It assigns a bullet to you.”

  “And you think hiding from her hired guns is safer?” Shelby raised a finger. “How easily you forget what’s already happened.”