Page 14 of Trace of Doubt
Mr. Peterson leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over a trim stomach. “What’s your biggest concern right now?”
Honesty... “Someone wants me out of town in a bad way.” I told him about last night and earlier today, omitting my intuitiveness. “I have no idea who did it or why. Edie Campbell has helped me tremendously, and now she could be hurt by association. Officer Hughes gave the note to Sheriff Wendall. If he’s in his office when I leave here, I’d like to talk to him.”
“The sheriff’s a good man. He’ll untangle what’s going on.” Mr. Peterson picked up his cell phone and pressed in numbers. “This is Jim. Shelby Pearce is in my office, and she’d like to stop by. Will you be there for another hour or so?” He paused and laid the phone on his desk. “I’m going with you.”
Why was I so paranoid? I hadn’t done anything to warrant a nightmare trip back to prison.
“Is there anything I should know before we talk to the sheriff? A threat from inside or outside prison? I see you’d received severe beatings from fellow inmates.”
I pushed aside the memories. “I stayed to myself to avoid too many problems.”
“Your file says the same thing. Good record, Ms. Pearce. My concern is depression. If you need medical help, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Depression could be a formidable enemy. “Yes, sir. Sincebecoming a Christian, I’m much better equipped to handle my emotions.”
He smiled and stood from behind his desk. “My car’s in the rear parking lot.”
At the sheriff’s department, Sheriff Wendall surprised me with his short, thin stature and broad shoulders, as though he’d stopped growing in junior high. A gray felt Stetson sat on the corner of his desk, just like the cowboy hats in the Westerns I used to watch with Dad. Mr. Peterson and I took chairs opposite the sheriff’s uncluttered desk.
“Is there updated information on the two incidents?” I said.
“Well, little lady, we haven’t any leads on either one.” The sheriff studied me like I was a specimen under a microscope. “We’re on it. Looks like you’ve made an enemy or two.”
“If I had a name, believe me I’d give it to you.”
The sheriff rubbed his chin. “One thing to consider is the missing money.”
“Ms. Pearce wasn’t convicted of theft,” Mr. Peterson said.
“But plenty of folks believe she stole it.”
I drew in a breath to cover my frustration. “Sheriff, if I’d taken the money, would I be renting a cabin outside of town?”
“Doubtful. But someone might see it as the perfect cover-up.”
“Do you?” I’d had enough of the once-a-criminal, always-a-criminal status. “I’ve paid my debt to society. I didn’t steal from my sister and brother-in-law. Neither am I aware of what happened to their money. While in prison, one of the gangs did their best to find out about it. I couldn’t tell them what I didn’t know.”
I shook my head. “I’ve asked Edie Campbell to keep her distance until the problem is solved. Two crimes have been committed against me since my release. They weren’t coincidences, and my fear is whoever’s responsible has just started.”
“What about Travis Stover’s family?”
“Last night I checked online, and they are still missionaries inBulgaria. He was an only child. No immediate family.” I erased suspicions of his family being behind the threats.
“Then we’ll hold on to the possibility of someone from prison being responsible until this is over.”
The sheriff’s impassive stare left me questioning if he and Officer Hughes shared the same mindset.
“My job is to make sure the laws are obeyed and to protect others from harm,” the sheriff said. “If your rights have been violated, and it appears so, then I’m out to make an arrest.”
Dare I fight the opposition, or should I move to another town?
Would my past haunt me forever?
10
No one could ever appreciate the scent of freedom unless they’d been locked up. Wednesday morning, I pedaled into Valleysburg, drinking in the morning freshness. The five miles of nature-infused earth nurtured me, and optimism blossomed like the Indian paintbrush and bluebonnets blanketing the spring fields.
My first stop was Pastor Emory’s office. I wanted to thank him for his generosity, but his secretary reported he and his family were still down with the flu. I wrote him a note and included my cell phone number with a request for him to call when he felt better. I also scheduled my first counseling session for the following Monday. I’d dread the session every day until it happened.
