Page 46 of Trace of Doubt
“What about getting groceries and things?”
I touched her arm. “I’ll be fine, and I’ll have another bicycle as soon as I’m financially squared away.” I stood to take my station behind the bakery counter.
“Which means you’ll either walk or pedal to and from the café in suffocating heat.” She inhaled deeply. “Randy could be behind your threats, but I guess you’ve discussed the same thing with the sheriff. He’s lost his temper too many times for me to doubt his capability of shooting my tire and whatever else. Be careful, my friend.”
“I’ve learned how to survive. But circumstances are getting harder. Some days I just don’t want to go on.”
She paled, but it was the response I needed to keep her safe.
29
DENTON
Last night I dreamed I’d missed something vital about Shelby. No idea if the “something” meant good or bad for her. But I couldn’t leave it alone. At least I didn’t have a stack of paperwork and other cases in my way this time.
Since talking to Shelby before sunup, I fed Big Red, drank a pot of coffee, inhaled bacon and toast, and went over the videos and photos of the trial again.
The sound of a car engine alerted me to a visitor. Randy Hughes slammed the door of his dark-green pickup, and I closed my laptop. He pulled back his shoulders and marched toward my front door. My mind stepped back to my pawpaw’s banty rooster that took out after everyone, sorta how Randy looked strutting his stuff toward the cabin. His boots pounded on the steps and porch, shaking the dishes in my cabinet.
I opened the door before he knocked. “Hey, Randy. What’s going on?”
“Occurred to me this morning you had a hand in getting me fired.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“You might have taken a few things I said seriously and pulled rank with your FBI buds.”
“You managed to lose your job all by yourself.”
“I’m the best man on the force.”
“If you don’t calm down, man, you’re headed for a heart attack. And my CPR is a little rusty.”
“I’ll calm down when a few people in this town start listening to me.”
“Take a vacation. Clear your head and figure out what to do with your life.”
The man before me interpreted the law according to his own views of justice, a miserable and unpredictable man. Pawpaw had wrung the banty rooster’s neck, and Mamaw fried him up. Not sure why I remembered the story, except Randy’s state of mind might move him to irreversible crimes. He still owned the ability to turn his life around.
I thought he might throw a punch, but he stomped off and sped away in his truck. For sure the man was headed down a precarious road—if someone didn’t kill him, his body would give out. Until Randy broke the law or needed medical attention, how could anyone help him? For that matter, did he have any friends or family who cared?
I continued on my repetitive review of Shelby’s years before and after prison. No one from her family had visited, only a chaplain. Interesting to find out if Shelby refused to see them or if they chose to write her off. I sent my request through the FBI.
Two hours later, a response landed in my in-box. None of Shelby’s family had requested visitation. She refused to see the chaplain until the seventh year of her incarceration. The records included contact information, and I pressed in Pastor Donna Glades’s number. I introduced myself.
“Is Shelby okay?” the chaplain said. “She planned to do whatever it took to regain her life.”
“She’s a survivor. Someone is trying to run her off, even to the point of encouraging suicide.”
The woman groaned. “Before incarceration and becoming a Christian, she battled depression. She’s emailed me, but nothing about any problems. Then again, I wouldn’t expect her to complain. That’s not her style. Why is the FBI investigating her?”
I told her the truth. “Aside from recovering the money and if she had a hand in it, she’s become a victim. I no longer believe she had a thing to do with the theft.”
“Agent McClure, I assure you, Shelby is innocent of stealing from her family. She had told me about the money and how she wished the orphans had received the funds. Shelby told me once she was out of prison, she intended to search for who stole it. She also worried about her sister, Marissa, raising her child alone.”
“Have you ever talked to her parents or sister?”
“Her father. According to Clay Pearce, Shelby is dead to him. Her feelings for her family have never changed. She loves them dearly.”
