Love Crazed (The Corny Myers Series) (3 page)

We all shuffled forward in line. When my turn came to check in, the clerk was scary-efficient. She slapped the laminated badge on the counter, pushed the square toward me with her red-lacquered, two-inch-long nails and recited the same spiel I heard her tell all the potential jurors before me.

“Here you go. You’ll need to wear this Municipal Court Juror’s Identification badge at all times during your jury service. Please return the badge when your service is concluded. Go down the hall and wait in the jury selection room, the last room on the right.”

I did as I was told; I was scared not to. An attractive woman in her mid-forties with a silver pixie cut and choppy bangs, walked in. She scanned the room and closed the door. She got everyone’s attention with a clap of her hands.

“I’m the Senior Court Clerk. Please line up single file, starting with the lowest juror number, and ending with the highest.”

We all lined up like little soldiers, and proceeded to the courtroom. As juror number six, I was positioned in the middle of the row, on the lower bench. A side door opened and the judge walked in and sat behind her bench.

“Good morning all,” the judge said.

Next, a robust man around fifty, in a gray pinstriped suit walked in. He sat at the far table, popped open his briefcase and took out a stack of papers. He lined up the stack, used the sides of his hands, and tapped them into a perfect triangle of paper.

The door opened again and in walked his complete opposite. The woman’s pantsuit was a half size too small. The top three buttons of her lavender satin blouse could bust wide open at any moment.

Distracted by her appearance, I missed when the defendant shuffled in behind her. His face looked familiar, even though the guy sported several days of unkempt growth. His hair was greasy, slicked back on his forehead and he sported the standard bright orange jumpsuit. He caught me as I stared and he sneered back. Well, he told me, except I wasn’t the one on trial.

The judge cleared her throat and said, “Good morning, jury. Each attorney will ask you several questions and all but eight of you will be dismissed. Six for the jury and two alternates. Please answer their questions as honestly and completely as you can. The prosecuting attorney today will be Mr. Miley and the defendant, Mr. Dickers, will be represented by Ms. Gordon. Mr. Dickers is charged with one count of battery on a police officer, one count of resisting arrest, and one count for disorderly conduct.”

Holy crap! Mr. Dickers was known by his friends and enemies as Dick. That was where I knew that ugly mug from. He was the animal-hater, my dog friends left a special present for. I’ve tried to forget that incident.

“Mr. Miley, you may start with your questions for the jurors,” the judge instructed.

“Thank you, Your Honor.” He stood and faced us. “Does anyone personally know Mr. Dickers or have any firsthand knowledge of the events that transpired on February 10
th
2013?”

I could honestly say no. I wasn’t anywhere near that train wreck. I was safely at home with Steve; he could vouch for me. A sixty-five-year-old woman, whose head reminded me of a Q-tip, in both shape and color, raised her hand.

“Go ahead juror fifteen, and tells us what you know,” Mr. Miley said.

She cleared her throat and told her story in a three-pack-a-day smoker’s voice.

“I know old Dick there pretty well. I was his neighbor for three years. About six months ago, all the tenants in our apartment received notice that our building was sold and we had ninety days to move out. The building’s being torn down to build another parking garage—like Seattle needs another parking garage. Anyway, I was lucky because I had somewhere to go. My daughter moved me into her lovely home, with my grandchildren. I’m much happier living with them than I was in that crappy apartment.” She took a deep breath, coughed and continued, “When Dick got his notice, he threw a loud party and the next morning he put all his crap in the hallway. I told him to put his garbage in the dumpster, but he gave me the bird. I couldn’t believe that little creep flipped me off. My guess is he’s guilty.”

“Thank you, juror fifteen.” Everyone cracked a smile, even Mr. Miley.

Ms. Gordon spoke up, “I’d like to dismiss this juror, Your Honor.”

Before the judge could speak the lady said, “Fine by me. I’ve got better things to do with my time than waste it on Dick.”

The bailiff retrieved her walker, with florescent green tennis balls for wheels. She shuffled down the aisle toward the door as she grumbled, “Worthless little shit.”

We all snickered.

Mr. Miley and Ms. Gordon continued to ask questions. A few more jurors were dismissed. None of the questions pertained to me. I zoned out and wondered if Celeste’s plane landed yet. Would she drive straight to the station and ask Steve out for lunch? No, she’d probably go straight to her hotel, take a shower, put on fresh clothes, and then pay him a visit. On my first break, I wanted to call Steve and see if he’d heard from his ex yet.

“Is anyone related to or acquainted with a law enforcement officer?” Ms. Gordon asked.

Steve warned me that some attorneys wouldn’t want to keep me because of my relationship to a cop. A couple jurors raised their hands and explained their situation. I had time to decide how important jury duty was for me. Should I lie and maybe stay on the jury to do my civic duty and convict the bastard, or tell the truth and potentially get dismissed?

The judge cleared her throat again and said, “Jurors, you may take a ten minute break. The attorneys for both sides will finish up their questioning when you return.”

I’d gotten a short reprieve and needed to make up my mind, which made me think of Steve. I popped two Hershey’s Kisses and dialed his cell. His phone rang several times before the line was picked up.

“Hello,” a female voice answered.

I looked down at the screen. Did I have the wrong number? “Uh, hello,” I said, “I’m calling for Steve Spears.”

“He’s in the restroom. Can I have him call you back?” she asked.

Steve never let his cell out of his sight. How did this woman get his phone?

“No, I’ll call him on my next break or see him at home,” I said hesitantly.

“Oh, is this Corny?” the woman asked.

“Yes, I’m Corny Myers,” I mimicked her crisp, professional voice.

“This is Special Agent Celeste Williams. He’ll be right back. I assume he’s mentioned our past relationship.”

“Yes. Steve mentioned you were teaching the class he’s attending next week. He’s excited about the new drug detection program,” I replied.

“You do know that if I hadn’t put in a good word for Steve, he wouldn’t have been invited to attend the seminar, even though he’s talented?”

Was that a sexual innuendo?

“I know he appreciates the opportunity,” I replied. I wish she’d hang up already; I’d been nice long enough. But she continued on.

“I’m going to be reassigned back to the Seattle FBI office. I’m looking forward to Steve helping me get reacquainted with things again.”

“Really…?”

“Yes, really… Oh, I’m curious. Your name is very
unusual.
Is that some kind of nickname?”

When people say something’s
unusual,
in that tone of voice, they’re making fun of you.

“Corny is short for Cornelia. I’m named after my great-grandfather, Cornelius.”

“Cornelia?” She laughed. “How quaint.”

“I’ll talk to Steve later.” I was about to hang up when she continued.

“Corny, the class I’m teaching is intensive and I’ve told Steve to expect long hours.”

“Yeah, I know. Steve told me. We’ve already discussed this. He’s a professional; he’ll do what’s required of him.”

“Good. I heard you recently moved in with him. We lived together for over a year. If I hadn’t relocated… well, you never know what might’ve happened.”

“Well, nice talking to you… gotta go.” I hung up. I wouldn’t get catty, even if she did. I felt drained; I couldn’t believe Steve and Celeste had lunch together.

Screw jury duty, Steve needed me…

I settled back in my seat and watched Dick poke his attorney in the arm several times, but she ignored him.

Not getting a response from her, he crossed his arms over his chest, slumped in his chair and yelled, “I’m not guilty!” Then pounded his fist on the table.

“Mr. Dickers, please refrain from further outbursts,” the judge said in a stern voice.

Dick poked his attorney harder this time. She said, “Ouch!” and rubbed her arm. She scooted her chair a couple inches away from her client.

The judge smacked her gavel and said, “That’s enough, Mr. Dickers. Ms. Gordon, do you wish for your client to be put in restraints?”

Dick didn’t like that ide
a. He jumped up from his seat and began to strangle Ms. Gordon.

The judge banged her gavel and yelled, “Order in the court, order in the court!”

The two hundred and fifty plus pound bailiff grabbed Dick by the back of his jumpsuit and pulled him away from Ms. Gordon. Dick was taken away bloody and in more trouble than when he arrived.

“Ms. Gordon, do you need medical attention?” the judge asked in a concern voice.

“No, I’m okay,” she replied while she stroked her throat with her fingertips.

She’d have a nasty bruise on her neck by the end of the day.

“Ms. Gordon and Mr. Miley, do either of you have anything else to say before I dismiss the jurors?”

“No, Your Honor. Thank you for your time,” Mr. Miley said.

“No, Your Honor.” She looked to be on the verge of tears.

The judge smacked her gavel once, which got our attention and said, “Jurors, you’re dismissed.”

The day’s weather changed from a torrential downpour to drizzle with sun breaks. Instead of my umbrella, I put on my sunglasses and raised my face to the warm sunlight. You never knew what kind of weather March would bring in Seattle; snow could fall from the sky at any moment.

I wasn’t in a big hurry to get back to work. Maybe a new blouse would brighten my spirits. Nordstrom was three blocks away and I knew the ‘Semi Annual Sale’ was in progress.

I turned the corner of Third and Pike, while I contemplated whether I looked better in solids or prints, when I recognized a couple familiar voices. I ducked back around the corner before Steve and Celeste saw me, but close enough to hear what they talked about.

“Oh Steve, I’m glad to be back in Seattle. The sun’s out and I can clearly see Mount Rainier. What could be better?” Celeste asked.

I personally thought, Celeste back in D.C. could be better, but no one asked me. Celeste leaned in and kissed Steve on the cheek. I wondered if Steve would mind if I scrubbed his cheek with Soft Scrub.

“Yeah, I agree. Seattle’s a great place to live,” Steve replied.

He didn’t look thrilled, but he didn’t turn away either.

“Hey Steve, you are looking great these days,” she purred.

This time Steve took a step away from Celeste.

“Bye, Celeste.”

Celeste turned and walked back into the restaurant, with a triumphant smile on her face. I waited until Steve headed back towards the cop shop before I relaxed my fist. My nails left indentations in my palm.

There was no way I could wait until I got home to hear an explanation for what I witnessed. I dialed Steve again as I fastened my seatbelt. His cell went immediately to voicemail. “Hi, Steve. I’m heading back to the office. Call me when you can, please.”

CHAPTER SIX

After my stress-filled morning, I needed a luscious, raspberry-filled cupcake from the Mighty-O Cupcake Shop. I also wanted a nap, but I needed to put in a few hours of work first. When I was a teenager, I splurged on a cupcake a day. After my body learned the word
metabolism
I had to slow down on the sugar—which depressed me. I created a technique to cut down on a few calories and still eat my favorite food. The technique required clean, dry fingers and a delicate grip. Hold the cupcake gently around the base, and grasp the frosting-coated top, with index finger and thumb. Twist the top to the right, a quarter turn—while holding the bottom in place. Throw away the bottom and you’ve reduced your calories by two thirds. The tops are the best part anyway.

I purchased a half a dozen cupcakes and ate two before I reached the parking lot of Green Hornet Investigations. I couldn’t get the picture of Steve and Celeste out of my mind. Did she really think she could swoop in and steal Steve away from me? If so, she had another think coming.

I pushed open the door to my business and instead of a bell that chimed or a buzz, the
coo-coo
of mourning doves sounded. Brenda wasn’t at the front desk, but she hurried out of the conference room, and straightened her shirt and blouse. John followed shortly after.

“Hi guys,” I said.

“Hi, Corny. I’ve got to get going. See you tonight, Brenda,” John said as the
coo-coo
of the door announced his departure.

I left Brenda to get her thoughts collected. She giggled and peeked her head around my office door; she reminded me of a much larger Pete.

“John stopped by to see how my first day was going. We stepped into the conference room for a quick kiss, which might’ve lasted a couple minutes. I promise, cross my heart, that’s all we were doing, and I could hear the door and phone at all times,” Brenda insisted.

“I believe you. Anything new and exciting happen while I was gone today?”

“Yeah. Halo got a phone call from Uncle Chuck. She ran out the door saying, ‘Uncle Chuck can’t find Fifi. He thinks she’s been stolen by the mob.’”

“Uh-oh. The whole mob thing doesn’t sound good. Can you get Halo on the phone for me please?”

“I’ve tried, but she’s not answering.” Brenda twisted a lock of her hair around her finger, a sure sign she was nervous.

“Keep trying,” I said.

“I will. I didn’t expect you back today. What happened? Did you get dismissed or did you tell them, ‘hang ‘em high’?” Brenda asked.

“I didn’t have to; the guy was guilty as sin. He blew a circuit and attacked his lawyer. We were dismissed.”

“I wish I’d been there to watch,” Brenda said.

Crap, I want another cupcake. But, I had Halo’s safety to worry about. My cell rang, and Steve was on the line. I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of his lunch date.

“Hi, Steve. Thanks for calling me back.”

“Hi honey. What happened today? When did you talk to Celeste? She called me and said she was upset over a phone call. Why would you call her?” he asked.

This wasn’t how I pictured the conversation. That sounded like
I’d
done something wrong.

“My jury service is over. Let’s talk about Celeste. She’s a real piece of work, is all I have to say. She answered
your
phone when I called today. Since when do you let people answer your phone?” I wasn’t ready to talk about what I saw yet.

“Celeste answered my phone? When I got up to go to the bathroom, she insisted she needed to make an important phone call and that her phone was dead. I’ll have to ask her why she answered my phone. Funny… she made it sound as though you called her.”