Page 99 of Trace of Doubt
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 lost 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.
