RG2 - Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons (3 page)

I spotted the women’s restroom halfway down the hall but saw the
Closed
for cleaning
sign just as I was headed in. “Excuse me!” I called into the restroom.

A Hispanic woman appeared in the doorway and pointed to the sign. “It’s closed.”

“I
know
, but I really need to go,” I pleaded.

Pinching lips in disgust, she shook her head. “No, you go downstairs.”

I groaned as she spun around and dismissed me. I didn’t have time to hobble downstairs and find another restroom. The men’s restroom was next door. I glanced up and down the hallway. No one. Sticking my head in the doorway, I called out in a whisper-shout, “Hello! Is anyone in there?”

Silence.

Should I?
Could
I? Shoot, weren’t men’s restrooms just like women’s except for those little porcelain pots on the wall? Besides, I was sure I’d paid for at least one of them with my tax dollars. Not that I wanted to use a porcelain pot on the wall. The stall would work just fine.

Tiptoeing into the room, I closed my eyes and opened them a crack in case someone was really in there. Empty.

I hurried into the stall to do my business. As I was finishing up, someone shuffled in and stopped at the urinal next to my cubicle. I looked down and saw a pair of men’s dress shoes. My eyes widened and I picked up my feet, knowing that if whoever was out there saw my heels, he’d know the restroom had been inhabited by a woman. Unless I was a cross-dresser, which wasn’t likely in the Fenton County Courthouse on a Monday morning. But then again, what did I know about cross-dressing? I’d worn my first lacy bra and panties only about a month ago.

A cell phone chirped and I nearly fell off the toilet before I realized it was ringing outside the stall.

He answered the call while I heard a stream of water and grimaced at the thought. A few moments later, it was clear he’d finished his business but continued chatting on the phone. I restrained a groan. Didn’t he know I had to report to jury duty?

“No, don’t worry,” he said. “You’re gettin’ worked up for nothing.”

Being over thirty minutes late to jury duty qualified for something to get worked up about as far as I was concerned.

“This thing will never go to trial.”

I pulled out my cell phone and switched it to silent, checking the time. 9:34. Had they already sent the police out to arrest me?

And that’s when I felt it coming. A vision. I braced myself against the side of the stall.

I sat at a beat-up table in an old kitchen. Dirty dishes spilled out of the sink and onto the counter. My left hand held a pen, a half-finished crossword puzzle in front of me.

A cat jumped onto the table, nearly bumping over an ashtray with a burning cigarette. I heard a man say, “We have nothing to worry about.”

My hand picked up a piece of food and held it toward the cat. “Don’t you worry, Felix. They’ll never figure out who that lapel pin belonged to. How many pins got dogs on ’em with a bird and a tree?” I took a drag of the cigarette, blew the smoke out the side of my mouth, then put it down and picked up my pen. My left hand, which had a long jagged scar from my wrist to my forearm, filled in the word
buzzard
on the puzzle. I laughed. “We’re goin’ to get away with murder.”

My vision faded and I was back in the stall. “You’re gettin’ away with murder.” I clapped my hand over my mouth in horror. Had he heard me?

I froze, straining for any sound. He was no longer talking on the phone. I placed one foot on the floor without my heel clicking, then the other—not an easy task since my heel was flopping. Lowering my head, I looked for the man’s legs and found nothing. He’d left the bathroom.

With a long exhale, I opened the stall door and hurried to wash my hands. What had I just seen?

Had someone really committed murder, and was he going to get away with it?

Then again,
getting away with murder
was an expression everyone used. It probably meant nothing. So why was he talking about a trial?

I pulled my juror letter out of my purse and ran out of the bathroom. I didn’t want whomever it was to come back and realize I knew his secret, if he actually had one. Besides, I was already late and hoping to avoid getting arrested. I’m sure Officer Ernie would love to give me a strip search, looking for stray rolling pins.

In my haste, I didn’t look before I exited the restroom and ran into something hard. Stumbling backward, I screamed at the top of my lungs, tripping on my broken heel, and fell to the floor as papers floated around like a sudden snowstorm.

The murderer had come back to get me.

Chapter Three

“Watch where you’re going!” a voice snarled above me.

The papers settled enough for me to stare into the angry blue eyes of a man wearing a dark suit, a white shirt and a crisp yellow tie. His dark blond hair was short but styled. He leaned down and I couldn’t help my involuntary squeak as I scooted back in fear.

“This is a courthouse, not a barroom brawl.”

“I… I’m sorry…” I stammered, caught off guard by his hostility. I reached for the paper closest to me.

“Don’t touch those!” He reached for the sheets, his shirtsleeves pulling back to reveal his wrists. No scars. He was scary enough without worrying that he was the man in the restroom.

Jerking my hand back, I got to my knees and grabbed the wall to pull myself up. “I was only tryin’ to help. No need to be nasty about it.”

His entire face puckered as he squatted. “You’ve helped quite enough.
Thank you
.” Even with his snotty tone, his cultured Southern accent was evident. He appeared to be in his early thirties, but his attitude and haughtiness reminded me of the women in the Henryetta Garden Club. The ones from old Southern money.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m late to jury duty—”

A throaty snort erupted. “Of
course
you are. Why am I not surprised?”

Indignation squared my shoulders. “It’s obvious that your mother raised you better than this. What do you think she would say, knowing you were treatin’ a lady this way? You should be ashamed of yourself. Mr…” My eyebrows rose as I waited for him to answer.

His jaw dropped halfway through my tirade and his cheeks pinkened, making him look younger and less hardened. “Deveraux.”

“Mr. Deveraux.” I pursed my lips in disapproval. Any properly raised Southern gentleman was terrified of his mother’s wrath. Especially when the combination of poor manners and women were involved. “I suggest you brush up on your manners.” I turned left and started down the hall only to realize, to my horror, I had gone the wrong way. I stopped midstep and squeezed my eyes shut. This whole morning had to be a nightmare, just a bad dream. Situations like this didn’t happen in real life.

Only, in my life, they did.

Sucking in a deep breath, I spun around and headed the opposite direction, teetering on my broken heel. With my jaw thrust forward, I tried to pass Mr. Deveraux with as much dignity as I could muster.

Mr. Deveraux, to his credit, ignored me as he continued to scoop up the papers and stuffed them into manila folders.

Just when I thought I was home free, I heard a smug voice behind me. “Fourth door on the right.”

The sound of my
click-thud
steps echoed off the hard surfaces in the hallway, but I continued walking, in spite of my billowing mortification. It’s hard to look dignified when you’re swaying like a sailor. Finally, I reached the fourth door. I glanced down at my letter to make sure I had the right room, not trusting Mr. Crabbypants, but my hand was empty.

I’d dropped the letter.

Closing my eyes with a sigh, I wondered how this day could get worse.

“Lose something?”

A groan escaped before I could squelch it. I opened my eyes and plastered on a smile.

Mr. Deveraux handed the paper to me with a smirk. “A gentleman always helps those less fortunate, Miss Gardner.” He tilted his head toward me before moving briskly down the hall. “You’re late. You better get in there,” he called out, looking straight ahead.

I closed my gaping mouth and opened the door.

The room was packed and a man in a police uniform stood in front. “… it’s your civic duty.” He watched me enter the room, along with about seventy-five other people.

When would I stop asking if things could get worse? “I’m sorry I’m late.”

The man gave me a stern, disapproving look. “Jury duty started at nine o’clock sharp, miss.”

“But I—”

“
If
you are chosen for jury duty, you will be expected to show up before the check-in time, which I have already told the other citizens who were considerate enough to show up when they were supposed to. Now if you will please take a seat.”

I hung my head in embarrassment. As I made my way to the back, a hand reached out and grabbed my wrist. I almost screamed again, choking to stop the exhale. In a coughing fit, I looked down at a middle-aged woman with short, fluffy red hair, sitting at a desk. “I need your juror letter,” she whispered.

I handed her my paper, and she marked my name off a list and handed it back, glancing over the desk and down at my shoe. Opening her desk drawer, she pulled out a small metal tube and handed it to me.

Super glue. At least something was going my way.

The woman leaned forward. “You can find a seat, darlin’. And fix your heel.” She winked.

“Do I hear talking?” the man in front asked.

The woman at the desk widened her eyes in mock surprise and grinned. When no one responded, he resumed talking.

I scanned the back of the room, searching for an empty chair. I found one in the second to last row, between an elderly man in overalls and a girl who looked close to my age. She had long blonde hair, with curls all over her head that had probably taken forever to curl, and a little more makeup than she needed. But she smiled at me as I made my way down the aisle toward her.

“He’s got a corn cob stuck up his butt today, don’t he?” she whispered as I sank into the chair.

“I guess…”

“Do I hear talking in the back?” the man called out, scanning the room. His eyes rested on me for half a second. I stared straight ahead, pretending to latch onto his every word.

When he seemed certain he had everyone’s attention, he continued lecturing. “Your pay will be eight dollars for the
day
. No, that is not eight dollars an
hour
. There will be no complaints that this is below minimum wage. Not only is this your civic duty, but it is a privilege.” He looked at his watch and cleared his throat. “That’s it. I’ll turn this over to Marjorie Grace.”

The woman, who had checked me in, walked to the front of the room. “Thank you, Bailiff Spencer, for fillin’ in for Judge McClary at the last minute.”

But Bailiff Spencer didn’t hear a word. He’d already rushed out the door.

“Judge McClary usually comes in to address the potential jurors. But the judge was detained in chambers so Spencer had to come and brief y’all instead. It’s supposed to be like a pep talk, but he seems to have put the fear of God into everyone instead.”

I looked around the room. Mostly I saw the backs of people’s heads, but the few faces I could see looked shell-shocked.

Marjorie Grace tried to lighten the mood. “Well, now, looks like Bailiff Spencer forgot he was addressin’ jurors and not the defendants.”

A nervous laughter spread throughout the room.

“I assure you that we in the Fenton County court system welcome you and thank you for volunteering your time to make our system of democracy the best in the world. Now, if I can ask you for your patience as we wait to see if there are any cases to be tried today. You may get up and walk around but don’t wander too far. We’ll need to call you back in to let you know what’s going on.”

Marjorie Grace walked back to her desk, and the buzz of hushed voices filled the room.

The girl next to me held out her hand, her fingernails painted in a bright pink. “Neely Kate Rivers.”

“Hi, I’m Rose.” I shook her hand, purposely omitting my last name.

She didn’t seem to notice. “I live outside of Henryetta, but I work here at the courthouse, which is how I know all about Mr. Corn-Cob-Butt.” Neely Kate giggled.

“Can you get picked for jury duty if you work here?”

“Shoot no, but I figured I’d get out of a morning of work so I didn’t try to get out of it. My boss Frank has been crabbier than usual lately, so I could use a morning off with pay. It doesn’t matter anyways. They aren’t goin’ to pick anyone for jury duty. The only trial on the docket this week is an armed robbery and murder. The defendant is sure to plea-bargain. I checked.”

“Oh. Can you do that? Check on a case?” The phone conversation in the restroom came back to me, reminding me that I’d been fleeing before I ran into Mr. Crabbypants. The mystery man had mentioned a case not going to trial.

With a playful grin, she leaned forward and whispered. “What some people don’t know don’t hurt ’em.” She sat back up. “What do you do?”

My imagination was working overtime. How many murders were running around Henryetta, scot-free? Hopefully, none since Daniel Crocker was in jail. “What? Oh, I work at the DMV.”

Neely Kate’s perky nose scrunched up. “Eww.” Then her eyes flew wide in horror. “Oh, my stars and garters! I am
so
sorry. My momma says I don’t have a lick of sense, just sayin’ whatever pops into my head. She says I need an internal censor.”

I waved my hand. “That’s okay. I don’t like my job, and I dislike my new boss even worse. I keep thinking I’ll get another one, I just can’t figure out what I’d like to do.”

She rested her hand on my arm. “Honey, you have no idea how much I understand your situation. I work down in the Property Tax department, and it ain’t no picnic these days, so don’t you be worryin’ about where you work. Everyone in the courthouse has been a bear to work with since human resources announced last year that the county pension money was lost in bad investments. Some of ’em were like fools hangin’ laundry on the line when a storm’s coming, pretendin’ like nothing happened, but just last week they made the official announcement that it’s all gone.” Her frown turned to a big grin. “But I’m getting married next month. See?” She thrust her left hand in front of my face, showing me her diamond engagement ring. “After I get married, I’m hopin’ to quit, so I don’t need to worry about a pension.” Neely Kate patted my hand. “So, what about you? Are you married?”