Free Shadow of Doubt by Terri Blackstock Page B

pageant dress and striking a pose. “Where’s Aunt Aggie?” he asked.
    â€œShe’s gone to the hospital to see how Stan is doing.”
    He set the picture back down. “How is he?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she said. “News hasn’t changed. All we can get is that he’s still in a coma. His parents don’t want me there.”
    He slid his hands into his trouser pockets and settled his troubled eyes on her. “Who would do this? It’s so weird. Stan was just at the house yesterday. He looked great. And he did a great job with Mom and Dad, Celia. You would have been so proud of him. He did what I haven’t been able to do in all these years. He brought them around.”
    â€œUntil this morning, when they reverted back to believing the worst about me.”
    â€œThey’re in shock, Celia. We all are.”
    â€œTell me about it.” She rubbed her temples and shook her head. “The police questioned me for hours this morning, trying to reconstruct yesterday—everywhere Stan may have eaten. David, did he eat anything when he was visiting yesterday?”
    David thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, he didn’t eat anything. Cook brought out some cookies, but if I remember, he didn’t take one. He mentioned having a sour stomach. He did drink some tea, but so did we all, and it all came out of a common pitcher. The police were still there when I left. Guess they have to test every place Stan was yesterday. Isn’t arsenic the poison you can get from eating almonds or something?”
    â€œNo, that’s cyanide,” Celia said. “Did you see him eating almonds?”
    â€œNo, but I thought maybe he had picked some up on the way home. Did the police check his car for fast-food bags or anything?”
    â€œYes, they checked everything.”
    â€œWell, maybe there was a receipt in there that would tell us where he stopped, what he might have bought…”
    â€œThey’re working on tracing all those leads, but his car was pretty clean. There wasn’t much to go on. It was after midnight before he got really bad,” Celia said.
    â€œThen it would have to be something he ate at home, wouldn’t it? Just before he went to bed. Are you sure he didn’t get up after you were asleep and eat something?”
    â€œHe didn’t feel well when we went to bed. I don’t think he would have eaten. Besides, they’ve tested the food we had in the house. Nothing had arsenic. No, wherever he got it, it wasn’t at home,” Celia said with certainty. “He got it on the road somewhere. During my trial, there were toxicology experts who said that arsenic could take up to twelve hours to work, so he could have gotten it almost anytime yesterday. But it’s not a coincidence, David. Two of my husbands would not be poisoned with arsenic by accident. Somebody’s trying to kill him, and we’ve got to find out who it is before they pull it off.”
    Â 
    A cross town, Jill Clark sat at her desk, rubbing the ache at the back of her neck as she held the phone to her ear. Someone at Judge Spencer’s office in Jackson, Mississippi, had put her on hold almost ten minutes ago, but still, she waited.
    While the Muzac played out an organ rendition of “Sweet Caroline,” she scanned the legal pad on which she had taken copious notes at Aunt Aggie’s house. Celia had easily answered all of her questions, holding nothing back. It was as if she thought that giving her enough puzzle pieces would help her to see the whole picture and quickly clear things up.
    The Muzac stopped, and Jill sat up.
    â€œJudge Spencer’s office.”
    Frustrated, she rolled her eyes. “I was on hold for the court reporter,” she said. “I’m calling in reference to a case Judge Spencer presided over. Jackson versus Celia Porter. It was six years ago.”
    â€œHold,