Trace of Doubt Page 3

  I missed my family, but my decision was vested in love.

  Back inside, I reached inside my backpack and placed one of my treasured possessions on my nightstand. For my twelfth birthday, Dad had given me a kaleidoscope. He showed me how the pieces of colored glass formed intricate designs. I’d spend hours creating patterns and sketching them until interior design attracted my interest. That kaleidoscope went with me to prison. The intricacy of color helped me process the valleys and mountains of my life journey. I simply applied bright colors in place of dark and gray.

  A knock at the door startled me. Neither the sound of tires crunching pea gravel nor a car door slamming had given me any indication of a visitor. I walked to the window and took a look. A cowboy or cowgirl had paid a call. Not Officer Hughes, whom I’d nicknamed Bubba Valleysburg.

  I opened the door to a mostly white-haired man, more like premature white because only a few lines fanned from his brown eyes. “Can I help you?”

  A smile greeted me, framed by a salt-and-pepper mustache and a goatee. “Hey, I’m Denton McClure. I live on the other side of the woods.” A slow drawl rolled off his tongue. “I heard you’d moved in from Edie. Wanted to introduce myself. Give you my cell number in case you need something.”

  “How kind of you. I moved in late last night.” I glanced at my pajamas. “I apologize for my lack of dress.”

  “It’s early, and I’m sure you had a late night.” He inhaled deeply. “Oh, I smell coffee. For sure another day. You must have plenty to do, so I’ll leave you alone.” He handed me a folded piece of paper. “My number’s there, and your name?”

  Heat rose into my face for not offering it earlier. “Sorry. I’m Shelby Pearce. Pleased to meet you, but I don’t have a phone yet.”

  “Just text me when you do. That way we can keep in touch.”

  First I needed to buy a phone and figure out how to text.

  “We’re isolated here,” he continued, “and you don’t seem to have a car. I believe neighbors should look out for each other.”

  He said goodbye and rode off on his horse . . . sorta like one of the many John Wayne Westerns I used to watch with Dad. Denton’s dark eyes had studied me in a type of peculiar curiosity. Trust him or beware? I’d play it safe and not return the good-neighbor persona. The truth about me would rise like smoke signals soon enough.

  Someone had laid the foundation for trouble last night with a gunshot. Until I found out who was responsible, Officer Hughes and Denton McClure weren’t above suspicion.

  5

  Prison had given me hours to deliberate life. In my seventeen-year-old naiveté, I had never imagined Dad and Mom’s abandonment or a prison sentence. When first charged with murder, I’d thought my age would soften the judge’s heart. I’d land a few years in juvenile jail and lengthy probation linked with community service. In essence have my hands smacked. That didn’t happen. As the years inched by, I learned my parents protested my parole three times. I might never learn all the reasons why they chose to close the door on our relationship. Although I had confessed to a horrendous crime. Once I’d gotten past the feeling-sorry-for-myself syndrome, I chose to make the best of my circumstances by pursuing an undergrad and master’s degree in business.

  While the experience with my parents nipped at my heels, it had also shaped me into the woman I am today, sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of a cabin reflecting on what I’d learned from the past and how I planned to march forward.

  I rubbed the scar on my left shoulder from a knife wound . . . inflicted when I was barely eighteen from an inmate who liked girls. That part of my life was over. In prison I expected discrimination and prejudice to shoot poison darts from every direction, but God was my constant companion.

  I finished a third mug of coffee and basked in the flavor. The many singing birds and the quiet of nature with its intoxicating scents should have continued to relax me, yet a cloak of darkness threatened to destroy my joy. Instead of a song titled “Sweet Freedom,” memories of last night and this morning droned a cautionary tune into my thoughts.

  A distinct feeling of someone watching me prickled the hair on the back of my neck, an acquired safeguard from prison gangs and a few sleazy guards. I dismounted the steps and panned the area. “Who’s out there? What do you want?”

  Was it just my imagination? I’d sensed danger too many times to ignore the signs. I set my coffee on the porch step and walked the perimeter of the cabin. The windows were locked from the inside as well as the rear door. Still, those precautions never stopped a serious intruder. I calmed when I didn’t see any footprints in the rain-soaked earth.

  But the ground would dry. I gathered pine cones and sticks from the woods and laid them in a pattern no one could avoid. Primitive but that would be my watchdog.

  After rinsing the mud from my bare feet with an outside hose, I put my apprehension on hold and indulged in a hot shower. The water massaged my entire body—lavender-scented soap, shampoo, and conditioner delivered the fragrance of a new morning. I stayed longer than I’d been allowed in years. I slathered on real body lotion and body spray that matched the lavender scent, another gift from Edie. She’d used some of the money I’d sent to buy a few clothing pieces, and the jeans and soft sweatshirt against my skin gave me a surge of new normal.

  I removed a notepad and pen from my trash bag. On the bus I’d jotted a list of jewelry-making tools and supplies I needed to get started. Pastor Emory’s check helped speed up the process in moving me down the road of self-sufficiency. I must thank him properly and repay him ASAP. On Thursday I’d begin work at a local restaurant, requiring another note of gratitude to Edie and the pastor.

  Tears crested. I had to succeed. I would not disappoint my new friends and hoped Officer Hughes didn’t discredit me in their eyes.

  I wasn’t alone anymore. My surroundings proved it.

  Tires crunched over gravel. A quick peek out the window showed Edie was right on time, and I met her on the porch. The Shelby before prison would have bombarded her with a hug. But this Shelby asked for permission first.

  She drew me into an embrace. “If you ever ask me again if a hug is okay, I might have to smack you.”

  “Deal. I see your tire’s fixed. Have the authorities made an arrest?”

  “Not yet. My brother dug a 9mm bullet out of it. He’s working on the who and why.”

  No doubt. “Is there anything I should know?”

  “Not to my knowledge.” She sniffed. “Do I smell maple syrup? Peanut butter? Chocolate?”

  “My first prison-free breakfast was my favorite as a kid and teen—chocolate chip pancakes smothered in peanut butter and warm syrup. Not just any pancakes, but a recipe from my dad.” I raised a finger. “Don’t remind me of the calories, and yes, I have two left for any taker.”

  She moaned. “Best keep them for yourself. Peanuts give me hives, and I tend to wear pancakes on both my thighs.” She patted her legs for emphasis.

  “Coffee? An incredible woman bought me an incredible grinder, coffee maker, and beans that brew an incredible taste straight out of heaven.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Add a little half-and-half, please.”

  “Kindly have a seat on my beautiful pecan-colored leather sofa.” I gestured into the living area. “Ready to see my jewelry designs and help me with my business model?”

  Edie wiggled her shoulders. “I’ve thought of little else. You hit my hot button with the word jewelry.”

  I reached for a mug inside a cabinet. “Denton McClure stopped by on his horse earlier.”

  “Good. We all need friends. Last week he visited me while the kids were doing homework. Timothy was struggling with algebra, and Denton spent an hour helping him. Afterward, Timothy claimed no one had explained algebra so thoroughly before. But Denton is a math teacher.”

  Maybe Denton was a good guy. I handed Edie a mug of coffee the way she liked it. We sat side by side on the sofa while I showed her my few pieces made in prison—six nec
klaces, five pairs of earrings, and two bracelets.

  “These are gorgeous, Shelby. So well crafted. I love the green-and-blue labradorite pendant in antique brass. Oh, and look at how you’ve woven the wire to look like lace.”

  “Thanks. I owe your friend, the chaplain, for showing me how to create jewelry.”

  “Donna told me you were good, but I had no idea how beautiful the design was until now.”

  “You should have opened the box when she mailed the pieces here.”

  “Wouldn’t have dreamed of it.” Edie examined the back of the pendant.

  “Every piece has a tiny wire twisted into a cross on the back.”

  “Is this your logo?”

  “Yes. You beat me to it.” I turned a few pages in my sketch pad. “Here is an area where I need advice and guidance.”

  “Don’t you have a master’s in business?”

  “Yes, but not experience.” I set the open page on her lap. “With my logo I want women to see how God is in the redemption business through a wired cross that isn’t a perfect traditional one. Airy. Whimsical. And imaginative.”

  She touched the sketch as though it might leap from the page. “The cross is intricate, symbolizing beauty in the ugly mess of our lives.”

  “We might have to take up preaching,” I said.

  “Don’t get me started.”

  I giggled like a schoolgirl. “Some names for the business keep running through my mind. Such as Classy-Chic Jewelry Designs, Your Jewelry Designs, and the third is Klassy-Kreations written with Ks instead of Cs. But I don’t want it to be cutesy either. This morning Simple Pleasures came to me.”

  Edie tapped her chin. “What about Simply Shelby in a flowing script?”

  “Simply Shelby,” I whispered. “Sounds like me. Perfect.” I flipped to another page in my sketch pad and pointed to my card creation. “On one side of a business-size card, I’d print Simply Shelby in the middle with a twisted cross in the left-hand corner and a thin gold border framing it. On the opposite side, I plan to name each design and add a corresponding Scripture verse. That means an investment in card stock because the back of each piece would reflect a distinctive style and verse.”

  Edie let out a dramatic sigh. “You could tie your name in with all promotional items.”

  “True. I’m also thinking the online logo could have fluidity to build anticipation for showcasing the jewelry.” I turned a page in my sketchbook. “My target buyers are women from ages thirty and up who enjoy one-of-a-kind designs. One thought is to have selections for the younger woman. Another thought is to create smaller pieces for the young teen or petite woman. All medium priced to make this affordable but not to give my jewelry away.”

  “We need to get you established on the various social media platforms to reach online buyers.”

  “I need help with the social media part. All of it.”

  “No problem. I can teach you.” Edie gestured for me to continue. “Keep talking. My mind is sparking ideas like firecrackers.”

  “Perhaps a blog focusing on how each piece is created and tips on how wearing them would create interest. I’d like to stage them, take photos to show versatility. Even videos once I learn how it’s done. Of course, I need a website, but that development will need to wait until I have the funds. Do you think my past will hinder buyers?”

  “Oh, stop it. Do you plan to announce it?” Her fun personality was fantastic. “We can work around every issue you can toss my way. My web designer is amazing, and he could help you with everything online, including marketing and promotion. And don’t forget an online catalog. Facebook, Pinterest, and Instagram are all good for you. Not every person hangs out on the same platform.”

  I rubbed my palms together. Last Christmas I’d hoped for a new friend who wouldn’t mind giving me business advice. Fanciful dreams didn’t compare with the excitement bubbling inside me. “I’ve made out an order. I just need you to call it in.”

  “Which reminds me, I bought a new phone a few months ago. You can have this one, and you can access Wi-Fi from it too. Randy looked at it this morning and told me it was in good shape.” She reached into her monster bag and presented me with a cell phone.

  My fingers trembled. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I believe in your heart, Shelby. The chaplain and I are high school friends from my San Antonio childhood. She believes in you too.”

  I rolled the phone over in my hands, holding it like a precious jewel. “Will you show me how to connect and text?”

  We both laughed at my helplessness. “I’d love to.”

  For the next hour, Edie tutored me in how to set up my phone, text, and access the Internet. She jotted down websites for me to learn about social media, marketing, branding, and other foreign topics. “You’re a fast learner. Just call—”

  A swish near the door turned our attention to an envelope sliding under it. I rushed over and flung the door open in time to see a man bolt into the woods.

  “Hey!” I raced after him on a winding path. He wore a ball cap and a black T-shirt. He ran like a deer, and his long stride and pace lengthened the distance between us. My breathing came in short, painful spurts. Dratted asthma. He disappeared into the thick woods, and I stopped to grasp my knees until I gained control of my air-depleted lungs.

  Edie.

  She could be hurt. Fighting for every breath, I rushed back to the cabin. She stood on the porch, her phone in one hand and the envelope in the other. I swept my gaze over the perimeter and back to the item in her hand.

  “Are you okay?” she said.

  I gestured my thumb and finger like an inhaler and retrieved it from inside. She followed me in. I inhaled the medicine deeply and waited for my lungs to cease their protest. “I’m all right. He outran me. I feared he was circling back to you.”

  “You chased him when he could have turned on you?”

  “He meant no good, and I acted instinctively.”

  Her features softened. “Did you recognize him?”

  “Never got close enough.”

  She held up the envelope. “Obviously this was an important delivery.”

  “Wash your hands before I open it. He could have laced it with poison.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not in the least. I heard a few tales in prison that would make your skin crawl. Scrub for thirty seconds with lots of soap and water.”

  Her face pale, Edie returned shortly afterward.

  We walked several feet beyond the cabin for two reasons—if the envelope held deadly contents, I’d rather contaminate the outside of the cabin than the inside. Also, if the sender watched me, I wanted him to know I’d opened it. I gingerly lifted the envelope’s flap and tugged on a folded, typed note.

  You’re not wanted here.

  6

  At my trial the prosecutor laid the groundwork for first-degree murder. He alleged that Travis had discovered I’d hacked into his bank account and embezzled five hundred thousand dollars, but the defense claimed a third person had to have been involved. Where would a seventeen-year-old stash so much money? And how? The prosecuting attorney claimed I had an accomplice, but lack of evidence helped to eliminate those charges.

  The note shoved under the cabin door threw me back to the days when suicide looked inviting. Depression had stalked me like a shadow for as long as I could remember, and the two incidents since I’d been released coaxed me into a well of despair.

  Officer Hughes stepped into my personal space and waved the note in front of my face. He conveyed his contempt without opening his mouth.

  He whirled to Edie. “I warned you about spending time with an ex-con. You’re risking you and your kids’ lives for a stupid be-like-Jesus mission.”

  As much as I disliked the man, he raised a good argument. “Officer Hughes, I agree Edie needs to keep her distance from me until the issues are resolved.”

  “More than six feet,” he said.

  Edie
stood from the sofa. “I won’t be told what to do.”

  My new friend had a bit of naiveté going on. “We can’t be seen together as friends. You and your children take priority, whether the threats are connected to me or something else.”

  Her countenance fell. She closed her eyes—not for drama as much as helplessness. “You’re both right. I’ll stay away until an arrest is made.”

  “We’ll visit in person when this is over. You’ve been a tremendous source of encouragement, Edie. Because of you, I have a plan and can move forward.”

  “Shelby, you have a job, and I planned to help with the transportation.”

  “Never have I expected you to cater to my needs. I have two good legs, and I can take care of myself.”

  She shook her head. “It’s five miles each way, and—”

  “I’ll loan her my bicycle,” Officer Hughes said. “Anything to keep you two apart.”

  Edie braced her hands on her hips. “You’ll bring it today?”

  “I suppose.”

  What a good turn for the day. “I’ll store your property inside the cabin until I purchase a lock and chain. And I’ll take good care of it until I can buy my own bicycle.”

  “What about your online research?” Edie said. “We were going to work on your business plan together.”

  “I’ll use a computer at the library, and we have our phones.”

  Officer Hughes huffed. “Great idea, Shelby.” I despised the way he spoke contempt into my name. “That way you won’t be imposin’ on anybody. Make sure you don’t take matters into your own hands, or I’ll have to pick you up.” He focused on Edie. “You’ve listened to reason, so wrap this up. We have no idea who could be watching the place.”

  “Sundays,” Edie said.