“But I have to be at the courthouse for jury duty and I’m running behind already, if you could just—”
“We only give change to customers.”
A trail of sweat trickled down my neck and I lifted my hair to take advantage of the cool air. “But I was a customer a little over a month ago, for my momma’s funeral. Agnes Gardner.” If she didn’t remember me, I knew she’d know about Momma. Her death had been big news. It wasn’t everyday someone was murdered in Henryetta, let alone with a rolling pin.
The girl shook her head with a disapproving glare. “You’re not Mrs. Gardner’s daughter. I remember when she came in to order the funeral flowers. She was a dowdy thing.”
She was right. When I’d come in to order the flowers, it was before Aunt Bessie had cut my hair. Before I’d bought all new clothes that didn’t make me look like an old lady. And before I’d decided I’d wasted my entire life trying to make my momma happy.
That Rose seemed like a totally different girl.
I lowered my hair and self-consciously tugged at the waist of my floral skirt. “It was me, I swear it. I’ve just changed since then.”
“Customers only.”
“Fine,” I dug into my purse and pulled out my wallet. “What’s the cheapest thing you have?”
“You can buy a carnation for a dollar.”
After I handed her two dollars, she handed me a white carnation and change.
“Have a nice day,” she said as she turned and walked to the backroom, but her tone didn’t sound like she meant it.
I opened the door and found a police officer standing by the parking meter, writing out a ticket.
“Wait! I was gettin’ change.” I waved the coins at him.
He turned around to face me and my mouth dropped open before I quickly closed it. The policeman writing my ticket was the same one who’d tried to handcuff me after Momma’s murder. He would have done it, too, if Joe hadn’t stopped him. “You,” the officer said, narrowing his eyes and bending over his tablet. “Once a lawbreaker, always a lawbreaker.”
His glare caught my breath before I wheezed out, “I didn’t have any quarters. I had to get change.”
“Then why do you have a flower in your hand? Looks to me like you thought you could park here illegally, pop into the store to make your purchase then leave, stiffing the city of Henryetta.”
“No! That’s not it at all and even if I did, it’s only a quarter.”
“Sure, it starts with a quarter today and the next thing you know you’re a drug addict robbing the Dollar General to get your next fix.” He lifted his chin, a hard gleam in his eyes. “The law’s the law, Ms. Gardner.” He ripped the ticket off his tablet in an exaggerated motion and handed the paper to me. “But like I said, once a lawbreaker, always a lawbreaker.”
I took the ticket and he walked back to his car, which he’d illegally parked behind mine. “But I wasn’t a lawbreaker! I was innocent of my momma’s murder and didn’t do anything wrong this time.”
He stood next to his open car door and pointed at the curb. “The parking meter says different. Have a good day.” Then he got in and drove away, watching me in his rearview mirror.
“Why does everyone keep sayin’ that when they don’t mean it?” I stomped my foot and my ankle collapsed. The heel of my shoe had broken and flopped to the side. “Crappy doodles!”
Three blocks from the courthouse, I hobbled a half block before I finally caved and took off my shoes, carrying them in my hand. I pulled out my cell phone to check the time. 9:05.
Half running and half jogging, by the time I reached the majestic steps to the old stone courthouse, I was a sweaty mess. The reflection in the window told me my hair had fallen from the stifling humid air, and the sweat on my forehead plastered the strands onto my face.
After passing through the massive wooden front doors, I stopped at security. An elderly security guard lifted a hand in warning. “You can’t come in without shoes, ma’am.”
I waved my heels. “I have shoes.”
“You have to be wearin’ shoes.” He raised his bushy eyebrows.
“Don’t I have to send them through an x-ray machine?”
The man leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “This ain’t the airport, ma’am.”
“But my shoe’s broken.” I demonstrated the floppiness of the heel.
“No shoes, no entrance.”
“But I’m due for jury duty at nine!”
“Then you’re in a heap o’trouble. You don’t show and they’ll issue a warrant for your arrest. As it is, you’re already late.”
I bet Officer Barney Fife would volunteer to carry that warrant out. Once a lawbreaker, always a lawbreaker echoed in my head. “Fine,” I muttered, bending down and slipping my feet into my shoes. I limped past the guard.
“Hold up there! You can’t just go in. We need to examine your purse.”
I handed it over with an exaggerated sigh.
The guard looked me up and down before putting it on the conveyor belt. “Come around this way.” He waved to the end of the machine.
I walked over and waited as he ran the belt back and forth, back and forth, until he finally rolled my purse out and examined the contents.
“If you could just hurry a bit.” I said. “As you already know, I’m late for jury duty.”
His face lifted from studying my purse and he watched me for a second. “Security can’t be rushed, ma’am. Are you wanting me to hurry ’cause you’re tryin’ to hide something?”
“No! No! I swear, I’m just so late—”
He closed my purse and pushed a button on his radio strapped to his shoulder. “Ernie, I’m gonna need some assistance. Gotta 10-66. Over.”
“Copy that. I’ll be there in five. Over.” The radio crackled.
“Ma’am, if you could have a seat.” He waved to a plastic chair against the wall.
“What? I can’t go?”
“No, I need to do a patdown and I need another officer present to ensure that you’re not sexually harassed.”
“What?”
“Ma’am, take a seat or I’ll be forced to inform the judge that you’re obstructin’ justice.”
I flopped in the chair, indignation rising. He was discriminating against me because of my shoes. After sitting for several minutes, I realized I hadn’t been to the bathroom since I’d gotten up, and I’d had two cups of coffee. “Do you think I could go to the bathroom really quick?”
He shook his head. “Nope. The restrooms are located in a secure area.”
The entryway was hot and I waved my hand to try to cool off with little success while I crossed my legs back and forth. Thinking about having to go only made it worse. I watched the minute hand on the industrial wall clock move slowly around the face. Over ten minutes had passed and no Ernie. I stood. “Look, I really need to go report for jury duty. If you could just let me go—”
“Sit.”
“You can even pat me down, I swear I won’t sue you.”
“Sit.”
I was about to protest when I heard a familiar voice. “Well, well, well. It didn’t take you long to get into more trouble.” The police officer who’d given me the ticket hooked his thumbs into his belt and rocked back on his heels with a smug smile. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
The security guard pointed toward me. “You know this one, Ernie?” His voice rose.
“Oh yeah, I just gave her a ticket for illegally parking.”
“I was gettin’ change,” I huffed.
“Then last month, there was the whole business with her mother’s murder.” He half-whispered the last word.
The security guard raised his eyebrows and appraised me with the new information. His hand rested on the butt of his gun.
“I was innocent! Daniel Crocker killed Momma.”
“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to stand and spread your feet and hold your arms out, away from your body.”
I considered protesting. This was
unfair, but I figured if I put up a fuss Officer Ernie would be only too happy to haul me down to the police station, a place I had no intention of going back to. “Hey,” I said as the guard started patting my sides. “This is the county courthouse and you’re a city police officer. What are you doin’ here?”
Ernie shifted his weight. “Robbie is off with gout so I’m dropping in to help Ol’ Matt when he needs assistance. Not that it’s any of your business.”
The guard moved down my legs and finally dropped his hands. “She’s clear.”
“You sure?” Officer Ernie asked. “She’s a sneaky one.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”
Ernie stuck out two fingers in the shape of a V and moved them from his eyes to me and back again. “I’m watchin’ you.”
Rolling my eyes, I picked up my purse up off the end of the conveyor belt and hobbled to the elevator. The postcard said to report to room 226.
As luck would have it, the elevator moved slower than Ol’ Matt performing his security checks. By the time I reached the second floor and opened the door to the room, it was nine-thirty and I was about to pee my pants. Since I was already late, a couple more minutes wasn’t going to hurt anything.
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.
Suckin
g 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.
RG2 - Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons Page 2
