Trace of Doubt

by DiAnn Mills

  After her call, I stepped outside—with shoes on—and talked to God about my fears for my loved ones. And I couldn’t turn off my love for Marissa. I vowed to follow through with doing the right thing. I asked for forgiveness for covering up a crime. I prayed for those who’d been victimized and lost loved ones. I breathed out my prayer in sobs—God, help me bring truth and justice to so many tragedies.

  A memory crept in from when I was six years old. Unbidden, but one I needed to access . . .

  “Shelby, here’s your puzzle,” Marissa said. “We live in a two-story brick house, and your bedroom is upstairs. Mom and Dad alarm our house at 10 p.m. You went to bed at 8:30 but snuck out to play with your friends. It’s now 11:15. How will you get back inside without getting caught?”

  “Easy. Before I leave, I’ll toss a rope out the window so I can crawl back up.”

  “All you have is a jump rope, and it’s not long enough.”

  “I’ll use a bedsheet and tie it to the leg of my bed. Give me a harder one.”

  “Good job. Here’s a cherry Tootsie Pop. Your favorite.”

  As I grew older, Marissa had confirmed my foolproof plans with more praise. Winnings escalated to more games, nail polish, lipstick, and special time with her. I spent hours creating the perfect crime. The last game before she married pushed the current problem into perspective.

  “This may be your hardest game yet. You’ve robbed a bank and seriously wounded a security guard. All modes of transportation out of the city are guarded. Your face is plastered on the TV screen. Then the security guard dies.”

  “A little harsh,” I said. “Give me a moment to figure it out.”

  “We’re only playing a game, Sis.”

  I nodded. “When I planned the robbery, I outlined all that might go wrong. I studied the bank’s layout and found the entrance to an attic in a storage closet that also housed the alarm system. The attic exited onto the roof. Late at night, I climbed onto the flat roof. Nothing there to hide under. Disappointing, but I could haul two black tarps up there ahead of time, one to hide under and the second tarp to hide a disguise. If a helicopter flew over, nothing would look out of the ordinary. I chose winter, which decreased daylight hours. I’d rob the bank on a Thursday night when it was open until seven, buying me time and darkness. From experience, few customers or staff are there then. I’d take care of business and disable the alarm. I allotted fifteen extra minutes if I had to remove the opening to the attic. Once on the roof, I’d change clothes and disguise my appearance with what was left under the tarp. Under the other tarp is a portable—”

  “You’ve used a rope before. You need something different.”

  “For now a portable ladder.” Marissa smiled, and I jumped back into the game. “I make my escape from the rooftop and walk to where a car awaits. I drive to the next state and a city with an airport where I’ve already purchased a ticket under an assumed name. I’ll use my passport under the alias and fly to Denmark, where I’d invest the stolen money and live happily ever after.”

  “You forgot one thing.”

  I stared back at her. “Where to invest the money?”

  “You’ll need to learn about money laundering.”

  How hard to admit she not only manipulated but also despised me. If Mom were alive, I’d ask her to provide insight into Marissa’s behavior. But then again, I wouldn’t have risked upsetting her. She had two daughters whom she loved, and my questions would’ve drawn a dividing line between her affections. Oh, how I longed to spare Dad and Aria.

  My stomach growled with a reminder I needed to contemplate supper. Mike had stopped at a small grocery along the way and purchased potatoes, salad fixings, broccoli, bananas, and a gallon of milk—for himself. Not me. Even the color of it soured my stomach.

  He met me on the porch. “Did you call Denton?”

  “No.”

  “He’s worried about you, and his voice sounded like the look on your face.”

  I shook my head and connected with Denton. “I’m grilling deer steaks for tonight. Will you be here in time?”

  His familiar chuckle relaxed me. “I have enough hot s-t-a-k-e-s right here. Amy-Jo suspects we’re up to something.”

  “Were you at the café?”

  “No. She paid me a visit. I’d never seen her dressed in black with a baseball cap—or packing. But the pink-and-green eye shadow were all hers. She had a feeling you were in trouble when the sheriff told her about you taking off. She demanded answers to where you’d gone.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Said you took off, violated your parole. She called me a liar and drilled me with questions. Relentless. I confirmed a few things of interest about our Amy-Jo. Right now she’s clueless, and I’ll do my best to keep that intact. We could have drawn her into our plan.”

  My face burned hot. “Denton, you’d have placed her in danger.”

  “Let me tell you about her past.”

  “I’m listening. Better make it good.”

  “She started the story with the words, ‘Honey, I may look like a chubby throwback from the eighties with an intense fondness for Cyndi Lauper, but this lady retired from the Army, rear-deep in black ops.’”

  “Whoa. You’re kidding, right?”

  “I confirmed every word. She backed it up by showing me her S&W and her permit.”

  I recalled the first time I’d met Amy-Jo—mango-colored hair, purple eye shadow, pink large-framed glasses, and ruby-red lipstick. Eccentric but not ex–black ops.

  “Shelby, have you fainted?”

  “Thinking about it. What else?”

  “We talked about some of the places in Europe where she’d worked, not specifics. She wants you to know she’s on your side, and she wished she’d been a part of whatever you’re doing. Claims you’d be safe with her, and she’s bored.” He laughed. “She’s ready for more excitement than burning a batch of cookies or stepping on the scales.”

  Amy-Jo’s confession sent me into laughter. Hysterical. Healing. Howling. Laughter.

  64

  Mom used to tell me nothing good happened after midnight. The clock on the wall displayed that ill-fitted hour, and if my mind listened to logic, it would shut down so I could sleep. Mike and I played Monopoly using pinto beans for houses and black beans for hotels. I lost more beans than I could count, and usually I cleaned up.

  “You should get some sleep,” he said for the third time.

  “Too many cylinders are firing in my brain.”

  “Try warm milk.”

  I’d run into people who surprised me with their unpredictable behaviors, like Edie’s fear of bats and Amy-Jo’s military background, but an FBI agent who wore a milk mustache and played Monopoly?

  “I’d rather forgo sleep. When do you plan to rest?”

  “I’m used to catching up when I can. Part of the job. You, on the other hand, need your mind and body in gear.”

  I protested, and we compromised. He’d stretch out on the couch for the first three hours, then I’d wake him. We closed the blinds, and I sat at the kitchen table with a dimly lit lamp from a bedroom. My insomnia gave me time to journal all I remembered about the afternoon Travis had died. Memories of the games with Marissa flowed into my thoughts too.

  Through Mike’s soft snores and rhythmic breathing, I wrote page after page of recollections until my hand cramped, a small price to pay for weeding out my thoughts. Closing my eyes, I replayed the conversation. Marissa claimed before I entered the house that Travis had threatened her. I hadn’t heard those words. In fact, I couldn’t remember him ever raising his voice to her.

  “Put the gun down,” he’d said after her outburst of hate. “We can talk this out.”

  “Too late, Travis.”

  I rushed forward to stop her, but she aimed and fired.

  I forced my mind to focus on their argument beforehand. Something about he forgave her. Travis had such a good heart. Those three words backed up many things Marissa could have d
one.

  At 4:30 a.m., I nudged Mike awake. By now I was ready to crash. He grumbled about me letting him oversleep, but I ignored him. I gave him my journal and asked that he made sure Denton got it.

  The idea of drifting off into oblivion seemed like an illusion. Were Dad and Aria safe? Had Marissa swallowed my story? Did she suspect the FBI were tracking her? If she refused my proposition, I had no idea how to proceed. Would she contact me before ten this morning? I expected her to linger until the last minute. Even so, the slow pace of time passing consumed me.

  At 9:59 a.m., Marissa called, using an unknown number, yet I didn’t expect her to use the same phone twice.

  “I’ve been thinking about your offer. I need help from someone I can trust. I’m spread too thin, been too hands-on.”

  Busyness must be her excuse for escaping motherhood. “Where do I fit?”

  “First of all, let’s be clear about one thing. If you’re out to steal from me or turn me in to the Feds, you’re dead. That includes Dad and Aria. They appear to be hiding out somewhere, which is useless with my network of connections.”

  My stomach churned. “No problem. I’d expect it. I’m sure you know Aria showed up where I worked, and Dad retrieved her.”

  “Bet he unloaded.”

  “More than once.”

  “They disappeared soon after. You don’t want to know what happened to my man assigned to watching Dad. At first I suspected you arranged protective custody, but the news claims you violated your parole and there’s a warrant for your arrest.”

  “Right. I’m tired of living like this when there’s more to life than one paycheck to the next.”

  “Mom talked to you privately. Anything I should know about?”

  “She wanted reconciliation.”

  “That’s our mom,” Marissa said. “She accused me of lying about my RA getaways. Other things too. I thought I’d have to eliminate her myself, but cancer took care of the problem. Right now, you have the benefit of the doubt.”

  Only a monster conceived the idea of murdering her own mother. “Where do we meet?”

  “Miami. Once you’re here, I’ll make contact for the next step.”

  “Good. I’m incredibly bored.”

  “I have the perfect job lined up.”

  65

  Mike demanded I review money-laundering facts all the way to a Houston hotel near the airport. He handed me a carry-on containing a prescription for an inhaler with four refills, passport, ID, credit card, extra burner phone, plane ticket to Miami under the name of Ellie Whyte, and a change of clothes with a short, perky dark wig. My new look matched the images on the photo IDs. I’d officially become clandestine.

  “Shelby, you don’t have to go through with this. You’re not trained.”

  “You’re wrong. I’ve prepared for this since I was four years old. My stupidity allowed her to commit more crimes than we will ever discover.” I drew in a breath to calm my shaky voice. “She will face justice for all those she’s victimized.”

  His soft-blue eyes emitted gentleness. “Intel suggests her operation is expanding internationally.”

  “We suspected she had overseas accounts. How widespread is her network?”

  “I’ll keep you posted. My point is you’re walking into a potential trap.”

  “The FBI is aware of all this, and I won’t be arrested once I land in Miami?”

  “You’re covered.”

  “Thanks, Mike. I owe you big-time. I believe God will see me through this. If He takes me home in the middle of it, I’m confident Marissa will be stopped.”

  “I see why Denton is in love with you. You have many admirable qualities and compassion for others, but don’t substitute courage for the role of a fool. And don’t get yourself killed before you and Denton can have a life together.”

  I smiled and kissed his cheek.

  Alone in the hotel room until an early morning flight, I called Marissa and updated her on my travel plans.

  “What are you wearing?” she said.

  “Jeans, yellow T-shirt, short dark wig. Are you picking me up?”

  “No. Someone who works for me.”

  Walking into a trap crossed my mind, a reminder of prison life. “A need-to-know basis?”

  “That’s how I operate.”

  Supper held no appeal, but I needed food for strength. I ordered vegetable beef soup and bread, but the taste escaped me. I tried to sleep. A useless endeavor. The circles beneath my eyes resembled craters. Sometime after midnight I drifted off. At 4:45 a.m. the alarm sounded.

  Showtime.

  Denton texted me with emojis, one with praying hands.

  Infiltrating a money-laundering operation frightened me when my knowledge of how it worked resided in games played long ago and online research. I couldn’t right any of Marissa’s wrongs—or even my own—but I could do my best to stop the crimes.

  After exiting the aircraft in Miami in the central terminal, I bought coffee and watched the clock. The acid burned my stomach, and I dumped it. Forty-five minutes later, a text instructed me to walk to the west walkway that crossed to the Dolphin Garage from Terminal D.

  I sighed, longing for the days and weeks ahead to speed by. Denton claimed working my way into Marissa’s confidence might take months. The scales tipped in her favor. She possessed the skills and experience of the operation. The contacts and analysis of when and how to move the money and the intricate, underhanded methods were second nature to her. Could I ever match her in a new game of wit?

  I recognized my driver instantly from the photo Denton had shown me in the hospital. Eli Chandler. Thick brown hair and large eyes scrutinized me. Although physical attractiveness meant nothing in Marissa’s line of work, I saw him as eye bling for her vanity.

  “We meet again.” I faced him squarely. “Are we on the same side?”

  A wide smile and arctic-white teeth greeted me. “At the moment.”

  I’d met his kind before in female form. He could kill me and walk away, easily done with a weapon hidden under his jacket.

  We crossed the walkway to the Dolphin Garage. Were FBI agents watching me in case Eli pulled a gun? We stopped at a black Mercedes.

  “Get in.”

  We drove to the North Coconut Grove area of Miami, light-years from Mom and Dad’s neighborhood back in Sharp’s Creek, Texas. Eli slowed in front of a gated condo complex, several stories–high white stucco trimmed in terra-cotta. Eli pressed in a series of numbers, and the gate opened. The driveway led to a parking garage where he wound the car to the top parking area and parked.

  So far I’d escaped death.

  “You’ve known Marissa for many years, even worked at the bakery for a while,” I said.

  He shut down the Mercedes. “We had good times before and while you were in prison.”

  “But now I’m out and I’m a whole lot smarter than you are.”

  66

  Marissa lived in a world beyond my wildest imagination. But not a fairy tale. Her penthouse overlooked the bay, and the skyline had a million-dollar view. The interior design of white, cream, glass, and chrome oozed with sophistication. Perfectly staged. Perfectly decorated. No hint of personalization. The penthouse resembled what I once had envisioned as my own. I shared those ideas with Marissa, and she’d stolen every detail. Instead of irritation, I felt a deep sense of pity. Could it be my sister always took from others?

  Eli opened a glass door from a large open living room, dining room, and kitchen onto a balcony. He gestured for me to step through to the massive area where a light breeze bathed my face. Marissa sat in a robe beneath a canopied table, her attention devoted to something on her phone, or so she wanted me to believe.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  She lifted her head and smiled. Even without a hint of makeup, she rivaled the beauty of her surroundings. “Hey, Sis. Glad you’re here. Join me and let’s chat.” She nodded at Eli. “Thanks for picking up my sister.”

  He disappeared .
. . a deadly errand boy. Two other men, stoic as pieces of furniture, stayed inside. I assumed they were bodyguards.

  “Breathtaking view.” I took a chair facing her. “Gorgeous penthouse.”

  “Thanks. It’s not my only hideaway.”

  “This isn’t home?”

  “Home is where my money grows. My favorite spot is in Cyprus.”

  My mind quickly drew upon research. Those who fought against money laundering had the eastern Mediterranean island country of Cyprus on their radar. The island hailed as an international financial center inviting foreign clients to operate freely. Although some official reports claimed a crackdown on the practice, the revenue into the city took precedence. “I’d like to see it.”

  “We will, little sister.” She gazed out over the bay. “Feels good without the old pretense. I used to wonder what it would be like to have you with me, to experience the pleasures of life without thought of money. We’ve led separate lives, and yet this has always been our destiny.” She studied me. “Where are your thoughts?”

  “With my sister, seeing our girlhood games play out in an amazing story.”

  “Well said. We have so much to discuss, but I’m hungry. Business matters canceled my breakfast, and I’m incredibly hungry. Do you mind sitting here while I grab some clothes? I’ll have my men take us to a phenomenal restaurant for brunch.”

  “Sounds great, and I’ll enjoy the view.”

  “Anything to drink? Water? Coffee? Soda? The coffee at the restaurant is incredible.”

  “No thanks.”

  She peered at me. “You still have the gun issue?”

  “Yes. I use brains, not bullets.”

  “More like fools, not firearms. Time to change your little-girl fears.”

  “I’m on parole, remember? Can’t risk getting caught.”

  “How about getting killed?” She laughed. “By the way, the taller man is Lee and the smaller is Jess. Outstanding bodyguards.”