Poppy Harmon and the Hung Jury

by Lee Hollis

  “Just let me do the talking, okay?” Jordan said, giving up arguing with her.

  After passing through security, Poppy followed Detective Jordan up to the second floor, where they found Glenda Felson shuffling through papers in her office. Before she could make time for them, she had to call a pool of jurors for a trial selection process. Once that was finished, and she excused herself to go get a candy bar from the vending machine because she was feeling tired and was in desperate need of a sugar rush to get her to five o’clock and quitting time, she was finally ready to entertain questions from Detective Jordan in her office.

  After a quick exchange of pleasantries, Jordan, who was already losing patience, got right down to business as Poppy listened intently a few feet away outside in the hallway.

  “Mrs. Felson, do you know Alden Kenny?”

  She blinked a couple of times as she seemed to roil the name over in her mind. “It sounds vaguely familiar. But as you probably know, I see a lot of different names every day. Some are so difficult to pronounce. Take this one, for example.” She picked up a jury card. “T-o-n-e. You might pronounce it like the music term. Tone. Or Tony. But no, she is Norwegian and very snootily corrected me, and said it is pronounced ‘Tuna’!”

  “That’s nice, but I want to talk to you about Alden Kenny,” Jordan said.

  Glenda shrugged. “No, I don’t think I know him.”

  “That’s strange because you called him twice for jury duty in one year,” Jordan said, taking a step closer, showing her the two summonses, crowding her to the point where it got uncomfortable for her.

  She took a bite of her candy bar, presumably to buy herself some time and get her story straight. “You cannot be called for jury duty twice in one year.”

  “I know, that’s why I’m here,” Jordan said.

  Poppy watched Glenda slowly start to crumble although she was still valiantly attempting to act completely innocent. “I’m sure it was just a technical glitch with the computer, nothing I did wrong.” As she spoke, she looked more and more guilty and she clutched what was left of her candy bar as if it were a lifeline.

  “I don’t believe you,” Detective Jordan said, folding his arms, staring down at her accusingly.

  The chocolate began melting and she quickly licked her fingers. “Well, I’m sorry about that but it’s the truth!”

  “Did someone pay you to call Alden Kenny for jury duty and make sure he was in the pool for the Tony Molina trial?”

  “Nobody paid me! I never took a dime! They said—” She caught herself and stopped talking. She popped the rest of the gooey candy bar into her mouth as if a face full of chocolate would be reason enough not to confess.

  Detective Jordan was not done putting the squeeze on her. “Stop lying, Glenda. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Work with me now, and I’ll try to go easier on you later. Now who is they?”

  Glenda’s sweet, breezy personality was melting fast. She was now a bundle of nerves and her whole body was spasming with fear. “I don’t remember their names. It was a man and a woman. . . .”

  “Who?!” Jordan shouted.

  Glenda hesitated. “I don’t remember!”

  Poppy guessed the couple who had paid a visit to Glenda might be Tony Molina’s married bodyguards, the ones she had met at Chef Cicci’s restaurant after the trial. Detective Jordan just had to get Glenda to admit it.

  “And they asked you to send out a summons to Alden Kenny?”

  Glenda stared at the floor, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Glenda, look at me!” Jordan barked.

  She did what she was told.

  “Did they pay you to call Alden Kenny for jury service?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, I already told you, I didn’t take their money.”

  “Then why did you do it?” Jordan asked, confused.

  “Because I love Tony. He’s so handsome and sweet and he’s got the voice of an angel. . . .”

  Poppy thought it was awfully lucky that Tony Molina had found an unabashed fan in the jury service office. Without the exchange of money, it was a cleaner bribe.

  Jordan looked at her, incredulous. “And so you just agreed to do it? Because you’re a fan?”

  “He was being railroaded! The district attorney was just trying to score political points by going after someone famous!” Glenda cried.

  “I bet Tony promised to meet you and personally thank you after all the hoopla died down,” Poppy said to herself, then realized she had spoken loud enough for Jordan and Glenda to hear because they were both looking at her. “Excuse me,” she muttered.

  Glenda didn’t deny it.

  “Could you identify the couple who approached you?” Detective Jordan asked.

  Glenda, who knew she had revealed far too much already, suddenly became defiant. “No! It was in the parking lot after work, and it was dark out, and I didn’t have my glasses on, so I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly tell you what they looked like.... But I do know they most certainly did not work for Tony Molina, of that I am quite sure. No, they had no connection to Tony at all. I have no idea who wanted Alden Kenny on that jury. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” Glenda insisted.

  The phone on her desk rang and she picked it up. “Yes? Okay, right away.” She hung up and started frantically shuffling through her jury cards. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work. Judge Hayes in courtroom four is ready to bring in some prospective jurors.”

  Detective Jordan pulled out some handcuffs. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Glenda, but I’m placing you under arrest.”

  “Whatever for?” Glenda asked, wide eyed.

  Jordan couldn’t believe he had to tell her at this point. “Jury tampering.”

  He snapped the cuffs on Glenda’s wrist and escorted her out of her office into the hallway, where Poppy stood watching.

  A younger woman, maybe in her midforties, suddenly appeared, her eyes big, her mouth open in shock. “Glenda, what’s happening?”

  “Nothing, dear,” Glenda said, refusing to accept the fact that she was being arrested. “I have a little personal issue I need to deal with. Can you cover for me for a few minutes?”

  The woman nodded and watched in horror as Detective Jordan led Glenda away. Poppy turned to the woman. “Just so you know, this might take more than a few minutes. Glenda is probably going to need to take some vacation time.”

  Poppy then hurried off after Detective Jordan.

  Chapter 31

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go to a movie tonight with Iris and Violet?” Poppy asked as Heather checked on her bubbling tray of turkey lasagna that was heating in the oven.

  “Of course not,” Heather said, sliding the rack back inside the oven and shutting the door. “This is just as much your home as it is mine. You don’t need to go anywhere. Would you please open the wine and let it breathe?”

  “Certainly,” Poppy said, picking up the wine bottle opener and screwing it down into the cork. “I just thought maybe you and Matt would like to enjoy some alone time without me hovering around all night.”

  “Please, hover. I want you to hover,” Heather said with a wry smile. “Matt is desperate to have a serious talk about our relationship and I’m just not ready to do that. I need you here as a buffer.”

  “You can’t put it off forever,” Poppy said as gently as she could. She popped the cork out of the bottle of Merlot and set it down on the counter next to three wine glasses that had been set out.

  “I know, but I just got out. I haven’t even met with my parole officer yet or gotten a job or applied to any schools. It’s very overwhelming. I need time to get my act together and sort things out before I can address any kind of future with Matt.”

  “I completely understand,” Poppy said. “I’m happy to gorge on your homemade turkey lasagna then.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” Heather said before reaching out and taking her mother’s hand. “Thank you for being here for me . . . for everyth
ing.”

  “You have no reason to thank me. It’s a mother’s job to take care of her children.”

  “Children, yes. But I’m past thirty. It’s rather embarrassing for me to be living with my mother at this point.”

  “There is nothing to be embarrassed about. Everyone goes through a rough patch. Look at what happened to me after Chester died and I found out I had nothing. It takes time to get back on your feet.”

  Heather let go of Poppy’s hand. “I’m going to work hard to make you proud of me.”

  “I’m already proud of you,” Poppy said.

  The doorbell rang and Heather crossed over to answer it. Matt, looking dashing in an open yellow shirt and blue blazer and bearing a bouquet of fresh flowers, leaned in for a kiss. Poppy saw Heather stiffen for a moment and hoped that Matt hadn’t noticed it when he landed a peck on her cheek. He then handed her the flowers.

  “They’re lovely, Matt. Thank you,” Heather said. “Please, come in.”

  Matt bounded into the apartment, waving at Poppy. “Hey, boss! I heard you were at the courthouse today when the cops arrested that woman for jury tampering.”

  “Our instinct was right. It was not a clerical error. Tony Molina wanted to make sure Alden Kenny got selected for that jury, and the young man did his job. He made sure the judge was forced to declare a mistrial. Of course, with Glenda Felson refusing to identify Tony’s bodyguards as the two who approached her, the police can’t prove anything yet.”

  “I’m going to put these in water,” Heather said, thoroughly uninterested as she crossed back to the kitchen carrying the flowers.

  Poppy started pouring wine into the glasses while Heather filled an empty green vase with water from the sink.

  “I was listening to the news on the way over here. Molina has gone on the offensive,” Matt said. “He swears that he has no idea who Glenda Felson is and that he is one hundred percent innocent and will sue anyone who suggests otherwise. Can you believe that?”

  Poppy shook her head. “He sounds desperate and scared.”

  “He should be. The prosecutor is on the warpath and has promised to retry the assault case against him, and not only that, she plans to pile on a bunch of new charges, including the jury tampering,” Matt said, crossing around the island to Heather’s side. “Can I help?”

  His sudden presence next to her startled Heather, who gasped, and then turned and smiled at him. “No, I have everything under control. You talk to Mother.”

  Poppy finished pouring the wine and handed them each a glass and then picked up hers and raised it. “I would like to propose a toast. . . .”

  Heather and Matt also raised their glasses.

  “To my daughter, Heather, who we are so happy to finally have home again,” Poppy said, choking back tears.

  “Here’s to that,” Matt said happily as he took a gulp of wine.

  Heather smiled shyly, not one to enjoy being the center of attention, and took a small sip before setting the glass back down and tending to her lasagna, which she pulled out of the oven using a pair of mitts. She set it down on a rack on the counter to cool and then opened the refrigerator and took out a wooden bowl with greens in it.

  “Why don’t you two take a seat at the table and I’ll serve the salad,” Heather said.

  Poppy and Matt did as instructed while Heather picked up some tongs and began tossing the greens in the wooden bowl after adding some homemade dressing.

  “So Tony Molina gets his goons to convince Glenda at the courthouse to call Alden Kenny for jury duty, but why him? Why pick the guy who was having an affair with your wife?” Matt wondered, then gulped down some more wine.

  “That’s the big question, but once Glenda Felson figures out the DA has an airtight case against her, she will hopefully finally cooperate and identify the couple who came to see her and ask her to help Tony,” Poppy said.

  Matt leaned forward. “Do you think Tony had Alden Kenny killed in order to make sure he never talked about what he had done, you know, as a way to tie up a loose end?”

  Poppy nodded confidently. “That sounds exactly like what a typical mafia don would do, and if Tony Molina reminds me of anything, it’s a mafia don. I’m sure Detective Jordan will have this whole thing wrapped up in no time.”

  Heather appeared with salad plates and set them down in front of Poppy and Matt. Poppy suddenly felt bad about talking business.

  “No more shop talk. Let’s enjoy this lovely meal Heather has prepared for us,” Poppy said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Matt said, swallowing the rest of his wine.

  As they made their way through the salad course, Poppy tried steering the conversation back to Heather and her plans, but Heather answered in one-word sentences or with a simple shrug.

  Matt put a hand on top of Heather’s as she set her salad fork down. “Whatever you decide to do with your life, I’m sure you’ll be a huge success.”

  Heather withdrew her hand from underneath his just as Poppy had done with Rod recently. Matt looked down at the table, crestfallen. Poppy felt terrible for him. He had stayed so loyal to Heather throughout the duration of her incarceration, but she clearly was struggling with her feelings for him. But she also understood this was a very difficult and vulnerable time for her daughter and she was determined to support whatever path she took.

  Matt tried lightening the mood by moaning rapturously after taking his first bite of Heather’s turkey lasagna. Heather seemed to appreciate the reaction. Poppy followed suit, and Heather started to feel more comfortable and started to open up and share stories about just how awful the food was in prison, describing one particularly stomach-churning mystery meat served in a bland, tasteless stew twice a week. They were on safer ground now, not talking about Heather’s feelings for Matt, or vice versa. The evening took a turn for the better and became almost celebratory over the fact that Heather’s worst days were behind her and she had much to look forward to, and Poppy felt dinner was going to end on a high note.

  But then, out of the blue, Matt’s phone buzzed. He couldn’t resist pulling it out of the back pocket of his pants and glancing at the screen. His face suddenly went pale.

  Poppy held her wine glass close to her mouth but stopped before taking a sip. She knew something was wrong. “Matt, what is it?”

  He looked up from his phone. “It’s a breaking news alert.”

  “What? What’s happened?” Poppy asked.

  Matt set his phone down on the table and looked at both of them, stunned. “Tony Molina’s wife, Tofu, was just found in their home here in Palm Springs . . . shot to death.”

  Poppy dropped her glass and it shattered on the floor as splashes of red wine stained her dress.

  Chapter 32

  His hands were shaky as he read from a statement. He looked tired, worn, haggard, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He was dressed in a jacket and tie and stumbled a bit as the reporters surrounding him with their microphones jostled him to get a little bit closer.

  “Tofu was my life, my everything. I cannot imagine going on without her. This is an incomprehensible loss to me, to my family, and in the days and weeks ahead, as the reality of this unthinkable tragedy sinks in . . .” Tony Molina wiped his tear-stained right cheek with his hand. “I’m sorry. . . .” He cleared his throat and tried to continue, but he couldn’t. He crumpled up the paper and stuffed it in his coat pocket and then pushed his way out of the throng of reporters and through the yellow police tape and back inside his house.

  A handsome Asian reporter stepped in front of the camera. “There you have it. Tony Molina, clearly a broken man, unable to speak to reporters after a housekeeper found his wife’s body, shot to death. Although the police are not talking, and there has been no press conference as of yet, our source who is close to the investigation is reporting today that Mr. Molina was not at home at the time of the shooting. According to our source, Mr. Molina was playing golf with some longtime friends at the ti
me of his wife’s murder, and thus is not being considered as a suspect. This is Ralph Kim reporting live from Rancho Mirage. Back to you, Tanya!”

  A raven-haired beauty in a bright pink blouse beamed into the camera as if she had just been watching a heartwarming piece about a dog rescue adoption center. “Thank you, Ralph. A local Cathedral City man hiking the Gene Autry Trail learned the hard way that snakes are not friendly household pets. . . .”

  Violet scooped up the remote and shut off the TV. “And the Oscar for Best Actor goes to . . .”

  Poppy stared glumly into space, still in shock over the unsettling news. “So you think he was lying?”

  “I hate judging anyone before all the facts are in, but I’m struggling to buy that loving husband act!” Violet said.

  Iris, who was sitting on the couch with Poppy, shrugged. “He struck me as sincere, Violet.”

  “This is such a switch. You’re always telling me how I am the most naive and trusting person you know!” Violet said, shaking her head. “How you are more worldly and skeptical, and naturally trained by experience to detect a man’s real character, but just because you are a fan of Tony Molina’s music, you’re willing to believe anything he has to say!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Violet! The man has an alibi!” Iris argued.

  “He knew he was going to need an alibi to cover his tracks! The police always start by looking closely at the spouse!” Violet said. “He could have hired an assassin to do the dirty work for him!”

  “A professional assassin? In Rancho Mirage?” Poppy asked with a raised eyebrow. “You really need to stop reading so many John le Carré novels, Violet.”

  “I agree!” Iris piped in.

  Violet threw her arms up in the air. “You call me Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, say I always see the best in people, and turn a blind eye to the realities of the world! Well, this one time, Iris, I’m looking at that man on TV and I’m telling you, he is guilty!”

  Poppy stood up. “After sitting through two days of testimony at his trial, I have no illusions about Tony Molina. I don’t think he is a good person, I think he pals around with a lot of shady people, and I think he is capable of a lot of criminal activity, including assaulting Chef Cicci and tampering with a jury, but seeing him on TV talking about his wife, I just don’t think he was faking it.”