The condition of the Shepherd’s house was just as they’d left it in the wee hours of the morning. Sid Ford looked around at the kitchen, cluttered with food containers and zip-lock bags that the police themselves had left out. “We’ve already done a pretty thorough search through the food,” Sid told the three cops with him. “This time, we’re lookin’ for anything that has arsenic in it. Rat poison, bug spray, whatever we can find. Chad, you take the attic. Vern and T.J., you take the garage and the utility room, then search the rest of the house with me, under sinks, in cabinets…I’ll concentrate on the laundry room. It’s not a big house, so we can lick this pretty quick if we try. Remember, whatever you find, let me know. If it’s the slightest bit suspicious, it’s relevant.”
They dispersed to their assignment areas, and Sid began to remove the contents of the cabinets in the laundry room one by one. He checked the ingredients of each box of detergent, smelling and feeling to make sure it was what it claimed to be. Because the laundry room was only large enough to hold the washer and dryer and a cabinet overhead, he finished quickly.
He went into the bedroom and saw the bed still unmade, and Celia’s robe and pajamas in a heap on her closet floor, where she’d changed clothes quickly in hopes of flying to Slidell with Stan. He went to the closet, searched the floor, and saw only a few pairs of shoes. Standing, he checked the top shelf, and saw several white shirt boxes stacked there. He pulled one down and looked inside.
A baby’s knitted sweater with matching booties and blanket were folded there. Lying on top of the little clothes was a pacifier with a ribbon and clip attached. Sid frowned. Were these for a baby gift? He could think of several church friends who were pregnant, including Allie Branning. It could have been intended for any of them. He set the box back in its place and reached for the next box. This time, he pulled out an expensive white christening gown with the price tag still attached. Unusual, he thought, for Celia to give such an extravagant gift.
He groped for the bag behind the boxes and looked inside. Several rolls of yarn the color of the knitted sweater were there, along with knitting needles and several other craft items he couldn’t identify. Celia had knitted the sweater, booties, and blanket herself. He whistled under his breath. It was an odd paradox, he thought, that someone caring enough to knit an entire set like that for a friend would also be a killer.
Then he realized that the baby clothes might not be for a friend at all. Maybe they had been for her. If so, if she and Stan were planning to have a baby, why would she want to kill her husband?
Troubled, he put the bag back, restacked the boxes, and stared at them for a moment. It didn’t add up. But he’d seen things that didn’t add up before. Crazy people did crazy things for crazy reasons.
“Sid, I got somethin’!” ”
Chad’s voice was coming from the attic stairs in the hallway, and Sid dashed toward it. “Whatcha got, Chad?”
“Just what we were lookin’ for,” Chad said victoriously, and brandished a box of rat poison.
Sid felt the blood flushing from his brown face, and he rubbed his jaw roughly. As much as he’d wanted evidence, the right evidence to convict Celia if she was guilty, he realized now that, in the back of his mind, he had wanted to find something, instead, that would prove to him that she wasn’t the culprit. But the evidence was there.
With his gloved hands, he took the box from Chad and examined the ingredients. Arsenic trioxide was one of the first ones listed.
“That’s it,” he said in a dull voice. “The smokin’ gun. Man, why would she do it?”
Chad looked as thrilled as if he’d just solved the Hoffa mystery. “Anybody else find anything?”
“Not yet.”
Sid bagged the poison, and kept staring at it, trying to picture a scenario in which Celia would spoon this into Stan’s food, then hide it in the attic. As clear as it was, it still didn’t add up.
“What is it?” Chad asked.
Sid shrugged. “Nothin’. Just thinkin’ how I hate this job sometimes.”
“Not me,” Chad said. “When things come t’gether like this, ’at’s when I know I couldn’t do nothin’ else.”