Page 87 of Trace of Doubt
“When this is over, I’ll tell you.”
That night I lay awake on her sofa, not because of the plywood nailed over the window and the living room chair against the door, but because of my growing feelings for Shelby and the threats against her.
The agony in my battered body caused my eyes to water. Hard to concentrate when I couldn’t figure out how to end this. Tonight we’d grilled chicken, tossed a salad, and baked potatoes for supper. We stood much too close for a man who’d admitted the pangs of love. Rather pathetic because I lacked the skill to handle myself personally.
I gave in to taking half a pain pill and slept.
Four hours later, I grabbed my laptop from Shelby’s kitchen table. The FIG had my latest inquiry about Travis Stover and Eli Chandler. If the two men were connected before Stover’s death, the investigation might lead to the missing money. I wanted coffee, except grinding the beans made too much noise and Shelby needed sleep.
An hour later with sunrise on the brink of bursting across the sky, I closed the laptop and my eyes.
No leads.
Just an aching heart and leg.
52
SHELBY
Working at the café kept my mind off my messy life and those who’d been hurt because of their association with me. Saturday morning customers lined up for donuts and pastries or one of Amy-Jo’s Southern-style breakfasts. Later on I rearranged the bakery case for afternoon snackers, which meant a 20percent discount on everything. Amy-Jo used Mom and Dad’s cookbookPearce Bakery Favorites, and the thought of her using recipes I’d memorized as a kid filled me with tender memories of Mom and Dad. Since Amy-Jo had started making Mimi’s cinnamon bread, a recipe from Grandma Pearce, customers had to place orders ahead of time or risk Amy-Jo running out.
“Are you Shelby Pearce?”
I glanced over the counter to a slight teenage girl. Her long blonde hair and blue-gray eyes resembled... No, impossible. “Yes. How can I help you?”
“I’m Aria Stover.”
I forgot how to breathe and gripped the top of the bakery case. Myriad questions littered my mind. Where did I begin? I looked to see if anyone familiar had entered the café.
“Who is with you?”
“No one, Aunt Shelby.”
The last two words shook me to the core. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Grandma told me.” Aria started to say more but pressed her lips together.
“How did you get here?”
“Some friends were going to New Braunfels for the weekend, and I asked them to drop me off.”
A dozen fears for Aria twisted in me. “Your mother must be worried sick.”
“She’s on one of her rest weekends. I left Granddad a note for when he gets home from the bakery. Normally I’d be there working with him, but I told him I wasn’t ready. He left at four this morning, and my friends picked me up at four thirty. He’ll know where I’m at, and I have my cell phone.”
“He’ll be really upset, especially after the funeral. Why have you come, Aria? I don’t understand.”
“To talk.” She punched the two words out. “Can we do that?”
“Of course.” I looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes until my break. “Have you eaten?”
“Not today.”
I gestured to a nearby table. “Order whatever you want and tell the server the bill goes to me. By the time your food arrives, I’ll join you. In the meantime, call your granddad. He deserves to hear from you and be assured you’re safe. Tell him I’ll notify the sheriff and my parole officer.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you in trouble?”
I shook my head. “The sheriff is a friend, and my parole officer must be notified of everything that can potentially be a problem. The communication keeps me out of prison.”
