My voice softened. “No, I’m not moving to Little Rock.”
“But Joe wants you to?”
I hated to put a deeper wedge between them, but I wasn’t going to lie. “Yes.”
“See! I knew it!” The tears in her voice softened her accusation.
“Violet, I told him that it’s too soon. We’ve only just started datin’. But I can’t promise that I won’t move to Little Rock someday, just like you can’t promise you won’t.”
“I most certainly can promise that! Mike’s takin’ over his father’s construction business when he retires next year. We were born in Henryetta and we’ll die here.”
I sighed. “Well, it must be nice to have your life planned so nicely.” The uncertainties of my own life were exasperated by Violet’s carefully laid-out world.
She gasped again, which caught me by surprise. I’d been genuine—I hadn’t meant to hurt her.
“I have to go, Rose.” Violet sounded like she was choking.
“Wait! I have to tell you something first.”
“What?” The icy tone was back.
“I’m going to spend the weekend in Little Rock with Joe. I’m leaving tomorrow after jury duty and I’ll be back Sunday night.”
Her silence was frightening. After several seconds, she cleared her throat. “I see. And what do you plan to do with Muffy?”
“Well, I plan to take her with me.”
“To a condo? Doesn’t Joe live in a condo in downtown Little Rock?”
I wasn’t sure why I was so surprised that she’d paid that much attention to Joe’s details. “Well, yeah, but we’ll take Muffy for walks.”
“Muffy will hate drivin’ in a car for hours.”
“I think she’ll be fine.”
“All right. Fine. I’ll watch her.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. “What? I didn’t ask—”
“That dog gets left inside that hot box you call a house all day long while you’re at work and then you plan to stuff her into a car and drive into the concrete jungle?”
“Little Rock is not a concrete jungle.”
“How would you know? You’ve never been there.”
Violet always knew exactly how to hurt me, even when she wasn’t trying. “No, Vi. I haven’t. But I’m goin’ this weekend. And I’m staying at Joe’s and guess what? I’m sleeping with him!”
“Rose Anne Gardner! What in tarnation has gotten into you?”
I had a sexual innuendo on the tip of my tongue but wisely chose to keep it to myself. “I’m old enough to make my own choices. If I want to dye my hair purple, I’ll do it. If I want to spend the weekend in Little Rock, I’ll do it.”
“I’m not entitled to an opinion?”
“Of course you are. And sometimes I want your opinion. But there’s a difference between an opinion and ramming your agenda down my throat.”
Her voice softened. “You’re not really gonna dye your hair purple, are you?”
I sighed, then laughed. Leave it to Violet to worry about that. “No.”
“Oh, thank God, because I really don’t think I could be quiet about that.”
I caught the emphasis. “So you’re gonna let me make my own decisions about Joe?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“But I still think I should watch Muffy. Ashley will love having her here.”
I almost couldn’t bear to leave Muffy for two days, but Violet had a point. “Okay.”
“Why don’t you bring her over before you go to work in the morning? No sense in her staying in that house all day by herself.”
“I have jury duty tomorrow, but that’s a good idea. I have to be at the courthouse at nine so I’ll bring her by beforehand.”
“Okay.” She was silent for a moment. “So you really like this guy?”
I smiled. “Yeah, I really do.”
“Just be careful.”
I knew she didn’t just mean the two-hour drive. “I’ve spent too much of my life being careful. I’m trying to live, Violet.”
“I know. That’s what worries me. I love you, Rose.”
“I love you too.”
We hung up and a heaviness settled in around me. I hated when Violet was cross, especially with me, but I knew given her recent behavior that something else was going on. Maybe I’d take her out to lunch next week and try to get her to talk.
My thoughts drifted to Joe and how Violet felt threatened by him. I couldn’t help worrying that sometime in the future I’d be forced to choose a side. The question was, which side would I pick?
Chapter Thirteen
Thankfully, Marjorie Grace called bright and early on Friday morning to say that we were to report for jury duty. Otherwise I probably would have called in sick to work. The jurors were doing better, although still feeling a little peaked. The air conditioning was working, but Judge McClary said he’d recess the trial if the jurors got gastrointestinally distressed.
Nothing stood in the way of justice in Fenton County. Not even Mrs. Baker’s breakfast casserole.
Dropping Muffy off at Violet’s was unsettling. Violet and I tiptoed around each other, but we seemed to have reached a truce. Ashley and Mikey hopped around Muffy with glee and usually she would have joined in, but she seemed to understand that she wouldn’t be leaving with me. She stood at my feet whining and I bent to rub her head. Leaning into her ear, I whispered, “You be a good girl and I’ll be back on Sunday.”
Her chin lifted and she stared at me with her pitch-black eyes, breaking my heart into pieces.
I left the house in tears, which was silly. Muffy was just a dog and I’d hardly had her any time at all. But she was my dog, and I was gonna miss the dickens out of her.
By the time I got to the courthouse, my sober mood had lightened, especially since I found a parking spot less than a block away. I couldn’t wait to leave Henryetta after court. I was beyond curious about what Joe’s condo looked like and excited to see Little Rock. But mostly I just wanted to be with Joe.
When I walked into the courthouse foyer, I set my purse on the counter and an older man greeted me with a smile.
“Morning, miss.”
I grinned. “You must be Robbie. How’s your gout? Are you feeling better?”
His eyes widened in surprise before he began to check the contents of my purse. “Why, I sure am. Thank you, miss. How’d you know?”
“Matt was eager for you to come back.”
Robbie shook his head with a laugh. “Is that right now?” He ran my purse through the scanner and handed it back. “You have a blessed day now.”
I beamed. “Thank you, Robbie. You too.”
As I waited for the elevator doors to open, I wondered if maybe I would. Although I was embarrassed about seeing Mason Deveraux III again, I knew he would ignore me in the courtroom. Violet and I weren’t fighting. I’d discovered a clue to help clear Bruce Wayne Decker. And I was going to see Joe. How could things go wrong?
The juror’s room was tense when I walked in. The people who’d gotten sick from the breakfast casserole were giving Mrs. Baker the silent treatment. She sat in the back corner dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Marjorie Grace squatted next to her, patting her arm and talking in hushed tones.
Just as I was about to go check on Mrs. Baker, Bailiff Spencer walked in and announced that it was time to go to court. I was first in line, eager to see if any new evidence would be presented to help prove Bruce innocent. I hated to think about him sitting in a jail cell all weekend.
We took our seats and waited for the judge to enter the courtroom. Mrs. Baker rested her hand on her leg, trying to hide her shaking.
I covered her hand with my own. “Don’t worry. Everyone will forget all about this by Monday.”
Her chin trembled and she whispered, “One of the jurors said that Judge McClary was fit to be tied that he had to recess the trial because of… you know.” She sniffed and glanced around. “Especially since the air conditioning finally
got fixed. He said…” She wiped the tears streaming down her face with a damp tissue. “He said the judge was gonna arrest me for contempt of court.”
My eyes widened in surprise and I leaned closer, trying to ignore the overpowering cat food smell. “Oh, you’re worryin’ for nothing. He can’t do that!”
She bit her lip, tears pooling in her eyes. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Positive.” Mostly.
I had to admit Judge McClary was a cranky old coot, but surely poisoning most of the jury wasn’t grounds to arrest someone.
Oh, wait.
We all stood as the judge entered the courtroom, his face twisted into a grimace. That didn’t bode well for poor Mrs. Baker. I cast an anxious glance in her direction. Her face was as white as Suzanne’s hair after a beauty school flunky had bleached all the pigment out.
After we were all seated, the judge banged his gavel with extra force. “This court is now in session.” He glared at Mrs. Baker and I reached my hand over to hers and gripped tight.
“Since we’ve had a day and a half recess due to a toxic-laden casserole”—if possible, his eyes narrowed even more—“we’ve got a lot of time to make up. Plan on staying late, people.”
His voice echoed around the room. Dismayed at his announcement, I dropped my hold on Mrs. Baker. I suspected this was going to interfere with my Little Rock trip. I tried to swallow the ill will I’d begun to feel toward her.
“Call the first witness!” Judge McClary barked.
Mr. Deveraux slid out of his seat, and assumed his usual lemon face. He’d purposely avoided looking at me, but as he stood and adjusted his suit coat, he turned his head to the side as if he was stretching his neck and his eye caught mine. If possible, his face scrunched up more. His bad mood rivaled the judge’s.
“The state calls Mr. David Moore.”
A man in faded jeans and a wrinkled dress shirt walked toward the front of the courtroom. His bushy, dirty-blond hair covered his ears and the top of his collar. The short steps he took, along with the fear in his eyes, suggested he was approaching a torture-filled interrogation, not a witness stand.
After he was sworn in, Mr. Moore squirmed in his seat. Even more than Bruce Wayne, and that was saying something.
“Mr. Moore,” Mason Deveraux said in a deep voice. “Tell the court how you know Bruce Decker?”
“Um…” David shifted in his seat from one side to other while his hand drummed on the witness stand ledge. “We’re friends.”
“And how long have you known the defendant?”
He looked up, wide-eyed. “Who?”
Mr. Deveraux sighed and spoke slowly. “Bruce Decker.”
“Oh…” He looked around the room and stopped when his gaze fell on Bruce. “Since we were kids.”
Bruce’s usual squirming had stopped, his full attention on the witness box.
“And you two are friends? Good friends?”
“Yeah.”
“And what types of things do you and Mr. Decker do?”
“Uh…”
“Would it be accurate to say you two smoke marijuana together on a regular basis?”
Bruce’s attorney burst out of his seat like someone had pinched him in the butt. “Objection, your honor! Mr. Deveraux is leading the witness.”
I fought to keep my mouth from falling open. Mr. Yates was actually making an attempt to defend his client.
“Sustained.” Judge McClary turned to the assistant DA and glared.
Mason Deveraux’s mouth formed a thin line, but after a moment he lifted his chin and gave the witness a fake smile. “What did the two of you do together?”
“Oh, you know…video games…hang out in my parents’ basement…smoked weed.”
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.”
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