Page 106 of Trace of Doubt
“You’ll get picked up at the airport.”
“Not a chance. I have my connections too. Call me by ten in the morning if we’re going to work this out.”
“You’re giving me a deadline?” Marissa’s voice sliced like a blade.
“I have a good offer in Europe, except they need an answer by eleven. Thing is, I’d rather work with you. We’re sisters and understand each other, but that’s your decision. You have what, twelve to fifteen people you trust? Or think you trust. You trained me for a lot of years how to get out of tight places, to read people, and commit the cleverest of crimes. We have much to teach each other. Give me a corner, and I won’t bother you.” I clicked off.
Shaking.
“You did a good job,” Mike said. “Convinced me.”
“But did I convince Marissa?”
63
For so many years, I’d buried my emotions and attempted to mold myself into someone else to find acceptance. First as a child to gain Marissa’s approval, then as a teen to gain my own approval, and on into prison years when I no longer cared. Those were the lost years before I met Jesus. The only approval and acceptance that mattered now came from my relationship with Him. Depression still knocked me down on occasion, but now I knew how to get back up. I’d made mistakes and grown from them. The difference between me and my sister was Marissa had never faced consequences.
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 10p.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 therethen. 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.”
