RG2 - Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons (17 page)

Mr. Deveraux turned to look at Mr. Yates with raised eyebrows as he gloated. “And how did your friend Bruce support his habit?”

“Huh?”

“Where did he get the money to buy pot?”

“Oh!” David’s face lit up with understanding. “Well, he had a job at the Burger Shack for awhile. Then he worked at the Piggly Wiggly, then after that—”

“Objection, your honor,” Mr.Yates shouted. “While it’s true that my client has a lengthy work history, it’s not necessary to go over every single place that he’s worked.”

“Sustained!” the judge shouted. “Let’s get on with this.”

Mr. Deveraux’s face turned pink and he paced. “Mr. Moore, did Bruce always have enough money from his varied
careers
to pay for his weed?”

“Huh?”

“Did he make enough at his
jobs
to buy his pot?”

“Oh…No.”

“And how did he get money to support his habit, er, how did he get the money to buy his drugs?”

“Sometimes he’d shoplift or steal small things from—”

Mr. Yates flew out of his seat again. “Objection! Hearsay!”

Deveraux walked toward the judge. “Your Honor, this has relevance, if you’ll bear with me.”

“Overruled. Ask your questions.”

Deveraux gloated again, an unbecoming feature on a grown man. “And how did you know that Bruce shoplifted or stole things?”

“He always told me or…sometimes I’d help him.”

“Did you ever break into houses?”

He shrugged. “A time or two.”

“And did you help Mr. Decker rob the hardware store the night Frank Mitchell was killed?”

“No! I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“Did Mr. Decker tell you that he saw the victim in the hardware store while he was there to rob it?”

“Yes, but—”

“And did Mr. Decker show you the murder weapon?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Did you in fact, Mr. Moore, help Bruce Decker hide the murder weapon under his house?”

David Moore frowned and looked down at his lap. “Yes.”

Mason Deveraux spun around to return to his seat wearing the hint of a wicked grin. “That will be all.”

Mr. Yates stood and approached the witness stand, now wearing a scowl of his own. The court was full of a bunch of cranky men.

“David, did Bruce tell you that he killed Frank Mitchell?”

The witness shook his head. “No, he said he didn’t kill him.”

“Did he tell you why he had the murder weapon?”

“He said when he got to the store, the back door was unlocked and he snuck in and heard two men arguing. One was Frank Mitchell, but he didn’t know who the other guy was. He hid behind some shelves and watched and then the other guy grabbed a crowbar and hit Mitchell.”

Deveraux leaned across his table. “Objection, Your Honor. Hearsay.”

“Overruled. Continue, Mr. Moore.”

David Moore looked at Mr. Yates, who nodded.

“So then what did Bruce say happened?”

“He said they scuffled around a little and then the other guy hit Mitchell in the head and he fell to the ground, bleedin’ everywhere. The other guy went into the office and then came back out and went out the back door. After the other guy left, Bruce freaked out and checked on Mr. Mitchell, but he was already dead. But Bruce figured they’d blame him for the murder and he took the crowbar with him when he left.”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“Well…” he looked at Bruce. Bruce nodded. “He was pretty stoned and wasn’t thinkin’ straight. By the time he got home, he realized he’d screwed up but wasn’t sure what to do about it. So he called me and we hid the crowbar under his house.”

“And why would you help hide a murder weapon? Did you know that helping Bruce hide the crowbar would make you an accessory to a crime?”

“No, I didn’t really think about that. I only knew that Bruce needed my help.”

Mr. Yates walked toward the witness box. “David, do you think that Bruce Decker killed Frank Mitchell?”

“Objection, Your Honor. The defense is asking the witness to hypothesize.”

“Your Honor, these two men have been friends for years. Mr. Moore knows the defendant’s character. His answer has relevance.”

“Overruled.”

It was Mr. Yates’ turn to gloat. The animosity between the lawyers convinced me that I was right about Mason Deveraux picking me for the jury just to tick off Mr. Yates. But the joke was on him, since I irritated Mr. Deveraux too.

“David,” Mr. Yates said. “Do you believe Bruce? Do you believe he’s innocent?”

“Yeah. He can’t even swat a fly without feelin’ bad about it. He could never kill anybody.”

Mr.Yates faced the jury and smiled.

David Moore left the stand and Bruce looked relieved until Mr. Deveraux called the next witness. “Elmer Burnett.”

Bruce’s face paled and I turned to get a look at the witness who’d caused him so much distress. My own face must have turned white when I caught a glimpse.

Limping down the aisle and leaning on a cane was Frank Mitchell’s neighbor. The one I’d talked to the night before.

Oh, crappy doodles
.

Elmer Burnett took the stand and was sworn in while sweat trickled down my neck. I sat in the front row, stuck in the middle. There was no way he could miss me. Anxiety prickled every hair follicle on my body.

Mr. Deveraux began to pace. “Mr. Burnett, how did you know the victim, Frank Mitchell?”

“I was his next-door neighbor for forty-two years.”

“And you also know the defendant, Bruce Decker?”

“You already know all this so why’r ya askin’ me?”

Mr. Deveraux’s eyes bulged with irritation.

A few people in the audience snickered, including the juror on my right. Who still needed a shower.

Judge McClary banged his gavel several times. “Order in the court. If you can’t restrain yourself from such sophomoric behavior I’ll toss every last one of ya outta my courtroom.
Got it
?” The judge glared at Mr. Yates, who suddenly found the notes in front of him interesting. He looked down at Mr. Burnett in the stand. “Mr. Burnett, I know this might seem redundant to you… I mean it might sound like it’s been said before.”

“I know what redundant is. I’m not a half-wit.”

The judge looked aghast that anyone dared to speak to him in such a hateful tone. “No one’s saying you are. But you have to answer the questions, no matter how ridiculous they seem.” He pointed his gaze at Mason Deveraux. “Or no matter how many times the lawyers object.” He smirked as he looked at Mr. Yates. “You need to act like no one’s ever heard this before.”

“I done already told him everythin’ I know. This is cotton-pickin’, boll-weevil-rotting—”

“I understand your frustration,” the judge said in a tight voice. “But you still have to answer the questions.”

“Then let’s get this over with.”

“Yes, let’s.” Judge McClary agreed.

“Mr. Burnett.” Deveraux’s tone was icy. “How do you know the defendant, Bruce Decker?”

“I’ve known Bruce since he was a baby. He growed up a few houses down from me, the house on the corner. He lived with his parents, that’s them right out there.” He pointed to a middle-aged couple who were suffering from a serious lack of sleep, judging from the dark circles under their eyes. “He lived with them until a month or two before he killed Frank Mitchell.”

Mr. Yates jumped out of his seat like his pants were on fire. “Objection, Your Honor. Speculation.”

“Sustained.” The judge faced us. “The jury will disregard the witness’s last statement about the defendant murdering Mr. Mitchell.” He turned back to Mr. Deveraux. “Continue.”

Deveraux shook his body, just a smidge, as if trying to shake off cooties. “So Bruce Decker moved out?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why he moved out?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Hearsay.”

Mr. Deveraux looked like a bulldog with a fresh bone he didn’t want to let go of. “I believe the witness has information he received directly from Bruce Decker’s parents.”

The judge sighed. “Overruled, but rephrase the question.”

“Did Bruce Decker’s parents tell you why he moved out?”

“Yeah, they sure did. They kicked his sorry ass out because they was tired of all the trouble he kept getting into.”

“You mean his criminal record?”

“If it weren’t one thing, it was another. That boy mooched off of them his entire life and his parents were tired of it.”

“Do you know where he moved to?”

“I ain’t got a clue.”

“Did Mr. Decker know Frank Mitchell?”

“Of course he did. They were neighbors! What kind of fool question was that?”

“Did Mr. Decker ever steal from his neighbors?”

“Bruce kept to his side of street.”

Mr. Deveraux crossed his arms. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Questions. Questions. That damned nuisance,” Elmer Burnett pointed his finger at Bruce, “killed Frank Mitchell, yet instead of sendin’ him to jail like he deserves, all you people are doing is asking questions!”

“Mr. Burnett!” Judge McClary banged his gavel.

“I’m sick of answering yer damned questions. Hell, even that girl over there came snoopin’ around asking questions last night!” He pointed his finger at me and all the blood in my body rushed to my toes.

Oh, crappy doodles
.

Everyone fell silent as every eye landed on me.

Then the courtroom burst with shouting.

“
Her
?” Mr. Deveraux shrieked, pointing to me.

“Objection, Your Honor!” Mr. Yates shouted.

“You and your damned objections!” Mr. Burnett growled, now pointing his cane instead of his finger. “Stuff your objections up your—”

“Order in the court!” Judge McClary banged his gavel repeatedly. “
I said order in the court
. The next person to say a word is not only thrown out but thrown into lockup.”

I tried not to hyperventilate.

The judge glared at me. “Mr. Burnett, are you saying you spoke to that juror in the middle of the front row last night? The one wearing a blue dress?”

“That’s her. She came snoopin’ around Frank’s house asking a pissload of questions.”

Someone in the middle of the audience gasped.

The judge banged his gavel, his face turning red. “I warned you, not one word! Bailiff Spencer, take that man from the gallery down to county lockup.”

Now I was terrified, my body vibrating like an unbalanced washing machine.

Judge McClary’s eyes turned to me. “Were you at the victim’s house last night?”

I couldn’t lie. For one thing, Mr. Burnett would say I was and for another, I was under oath and would be perjuring myself. I had to come clean. “Yes, Your Honor.”

A few people covered their mouths with their hands in an attempt to stifle their surprise.

The judge’s face turned beet red.

“Your Honor, your blood pressure,” the bailiff said in a low voice.

“Bailiff, throw yourself in lockup!”

“Judge McClary?” the bailiff wheezed.

“I warned you all!” His voice bellowed throughout the room. He turned his attention back to me. “Did you or did you not know what you were doing was against the law?”

“I did, Your Honor.” I squeaked.

“What? Do you think you’re Angela Lansbury?”

“
Who
?”

“Angela Lansbury.
Murder She Wrote
.” His face turned darker, a nice purpley-red shade, when he saw the confusion on my face. “You don’t know about
Murder She Wrote
?”

I shook my head.

“What in the Sam Hill is happening to our country when young people don’t know who Angela Lansbury is?” He took a deep breath, then narrowed his eyes. “What made you decide to investigate this case, Ms. Gardner? Was Mr. Deveraux not presenting enough evidence for you to find a conviction so you decided to find your own?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Then why?”

“I think he’s innocent.”

“
You what
?”

The room erupted in chaos, jail time be damned.

Judge McClary banged his gavel so hard it flew out of his hands and through air, smacking Mr. Yates in the middle of his forehead.

“
Order in the court
!”

Mr. Yates crumpled to the ground with a thud.

Someone in the audience began screaming.

“
Order in the goddamned court
!” the judge shouted at the top of his lungs. “Someone find my damned gavel!”

Several people scurried around, looking under the tables and chairs.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed your fun,” the judge hollered over the roar of the voices. “Because that’s the last fun you’re gonna have for awhile. Ms. Gardner, I hold you in contempt of court and sentence you to thirty days in county jail. Spencer, get her out of my courtroom!”

Chapter Fourteen

After a lot of chaos and confusion, the bailiff took me out of the courtroom. He didn’t handcuff me, but I suspected he was too upset that he was getting incarcerated himself. Against my better judgment, I snuck a glance at Mr. Deveraux, expecting to see him gloat. Instead, he looked horrified. And guilty. Guilt over what?

I was too upset to give it much thought since my worst nightmare was coming true. The entire time I’d been suspected of Momma’s murder, I’d fretted about being thrown in jail. And here I was being tossed in the slammer for tampering with a case.

What was Joe going to say?

Oh, crappy doodles. What was
Violet
going to say?

Bailiff Spencer took me down to the basement and for once I was glad for the slow elevator. It bought me a good five minutes. He led me through the hall and stepped into the entrance of a tunnel. The gaping hole reminded me of a dungeon and my claustrophobia kicked into high gear. My heart raced. I dug in my heels, grabbing hold of the edge of the wall, and started to cry.

“No! I can’t go in there…I’m…”

The usually uptight bailiff must have been shaken up by his own pending doom. His grimace fell away and he gave me a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. It’s just a tunnel. We’re walking through it to the county jail.”

“But…they’re…gonna lock… me up.”