Page 113 of Trace of Doubt
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DENTON
Patience wasn’t a virtue in my agent’s dossier, and the following Friday found me missing Shelby, aching to hear her voice instead of anticipating a text.
After Randy Hughes had suffered a heart attack, he spent three days in the hospital, then voluntarily checked himself into an alcohol detox center not far from Valleysburg. At the residential facility, trained professionals had designed a program uniquely for him to heal his mind and body. By forming new habits, Randy had the opportunity to step back into life with a solid support system. My thoughts for him were noble, and before putting God as a priority, I might not have hoped for his rehabilitation.
But would he agree to see me today after spending a few days in the program?
Inside the rehab office, I stated my purpose, displayed my FBI creds, and requested to see Randy. I waited at a table in aspring-flowering courtyard beneath a canopied table. Red pentas and purple petunias exploded into color alongside a white stone. As a kid, I’d pulled weeds from my grandparents’ flower beds with those same plants and colors. I relaxed a bit.
Over thirty minutes later, Randy greeted me without the typical scowl. He’d lost weight, and his skin color reflected a well-paved road to good health, providing he didn’t take detours.
“Thanks for seeing me,” I said. “They must be treating you right.”
“Better than I deserve. Haven’t felt this good in a long time.” He nodded at my crutches. “Fall off Big Red?”
“A truck ran me off the road.”
“Familiar story. Get the plates?”
“The driver forgot to attach the front one.”
“Shelby Pearce’s enemies?”
“Indications point in that direction.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s bad news. Curiosity is getting the best of me. Why are you here?”
His familiar disapproval clouded my intentions. “I have questions.”
“Shelby?” He frowned.
“I believe she’s innocent of embezzlement.”
Randy shook his head. “I’ve learned a lot about myself since my heart attack. Expect to learn a lot more. But hearing Shelby’s innocent? Not anything I expected. Neither do I believe it. Your questions?”
“What have you done since her prison release?”
He shrugged. “Guess it doesn’t matter. The same day Shelby arrived at the bus station, I got a call from a man who claimed to be Clay Pearce. He said he’d already talked to the sheriff, but he was afraid Shelby planned to come after him and his family. Needed my help to force her back into prison. I’d already argued with Edie about the idea of taking in an ex-con. Clay Pearce’s call cemented my commitment to run her out of town.” He lifted afinger my direction. “Yes, he talked to the sheriff about fear for his family, but his call happened a week before her release.”
“Did you shoot out the tire on Edie’s SUV?”
“Nope. But I placed a tracker app on the phone Edie gave Shelby and gave the account info to the caller.”
“What about Shelby’s burner phone?”
“Wasn’t aware she had one.”
“Arrange the first note under her door?”
“Guilty. Hired a young scumbag from one of the local bars to deliver it.” He snorted. “I broke the law to protect my sister and her family.”
“I need the name of the guy you paid.”
He nodded and gave it to me. “Sheriff Wendall asked me about the sympathy card you found. I don’t know a thing about it, and I didn’t write the newspaper article. I flunked junior English twice.”
“Do the names Arthur Shell, Stan Watson, Eli Chandler, or Nick Hanson mean anything to you?” I showed him the men’s pics.
