RG2 - Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons

by Denise Grover Swank

  “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.”

  He sighed and gripped my elbow. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise. Judge McClary can’t really sentence you to thirty days. The most you’ll be there is five.”

  I sobbed even harder. Five
days? Locked in a tiny room? I fell to the floor, hyperventilating.

  The bailiff’s eyes bugged out and he swung his head around looking for help. Dealing with a hysterical woman who had flopped on the floor was most likely not part of a bailiff’s training. He was clearly out of his element.

  I sat on my bottom, snot and tears flowing when Neely Kate rounded the corner.

  “Rose?”

  “Neely…Kate…” I squeezed through my closed off throat.

  She knelt beside me while poor Bailiff Spencer looked more dismayed. “What happened?”

  “I’m going…to…jail.”

  “Why?”

  “Contempt of court,” the bailiff said. “She was investigating the case.”

  Neely Kate put her hand on my arm and rubbed. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because…he’s…innocent.”

  “Oh,” she sighed and pulled me into a hug, my head on her shoulder, and she rubbed my back. “There, there. Judge McClary is a hothead. Everyone knows that. He’ll change his mind. How long did he give you?”

  “Thirty…days.”

  “Oh.”

  “But he can’t do that,” the bailiff said. “The most he can give her is five.”

  Neely Kate leaned back and gave me a bright smile. “See? Things are lookin’ better already!”

  I nodded, trying to calm down. I’d brought this on myself. While I understood that fact, it didn’t make it easier.

  Neely Kate handed me a tissue from her pocket, which thankfully was unused. I wiped my face, sucking in big gulps of air. Bailiff Spencer gave me an impatient look.

  Neely Kate whispered in my ear, “You have to go, Rose. Are you ready?”

  I nodded, my body shaking. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  She helped me up while the bailiff watched, his face drawn tight with anxiety. He must’ve been worried I’d freak out in the tunnel.

  Thinking the same thing, Neely Kate clasped my hand in hers and looked at Spencer, her jaw set in determination. “I’m comin’ with her to the county jail.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

  We took small steps as we eased into the tunnel. Thankfully, it wasn’t very long and I could see the end within twenty feet. I kept my eyes on the other side and willed myself to put one foot in front of the other, squeezing Neely Kate’s hand so tight I was sure I’d cut off her circulation.

  Once we emerged, it was a short walk to the county jail, which I supposed came in handy when transferring prisoners to court. But I wasn’t ready to be locked up yet. How was I going to survive days and days of confinement?

  The rest of the process was a blur. Neely Kate had to leave me at the front desk. After handing over my purse and my ring, the only jewelry I wore, they took my picture against the height chart. I’m sure I looked quite the mess with my red nose and tear-streaked face, although it might have been better than some of my hideous elementary school photos. Next they took my fingerprints and let me use the phone.

  I wasn’t sure who to call. I would have called the attorney Violet hired when I was suspected of murdering Momma, but I couldn’t remember Deanna’s phone number. I briefly considered calling Joe, but he was up in Little Rock and I didn’t want him to take off work.

  Fresh tears welled in my eyes and my throat closed up when I realized I wasn’t going to go to Little Rock for the weekend. What would Joe think when I didn’t show up?

  In the end, there was only one person to call.

  She answered on the second ring, hesitation in her voice. I could only imagine what she expected based on Fenton County Jail showing up on caller ID. “Hello?”

  “Violet.” My voice was muffled with my tears.

  “Rose?” Panic laced her words. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “No, Violet.” I was crying harder and I forced myself to calm down so Violet could understand me. “I’m going…to jail.”

  “Jail? What on Earth for?”

  “For contempt…of court.”

  “What? How is that possible? Did you have a vision and blurt it out?”

  “No. That’s not it.” I gulped back the sobs about to break free. “I was investigating the case.”

  “You what?”

  “I was invest—”

  “Oh, I heard what you said. I’m just not believing it.”

  “Violet, it’s true. Can you call Deanna?”

  I heard her sharp intake of breath. “This is all his fault.”

  “Bruce Wayne Decker’s?”

  “Who in the world is that? No. Joe McAllister. Joe Simmons. Whatever his name happens to be this week. Who can trust a man whose name’s always changing?”

  My mouth dropped open. She was choosing now to go into this? “Violet, you’ve got it all wrong. Joe had nothing to do with this.”

  “Of course, you’re defendin’ him. You take his side over mine even after this.”

  “Violet, I have no earthly idea what you’re sayin’. Can we please talk about this later? I don’t have much time.”

  “What do you mean you don’t have much time?” Her breath came in short gasps. “Oh, my Lord! They’re executing you for investigating a case?”

  “No! Violet, please! I need you to call Deanna.”

  “Surely they won’t execute you today!”

  “No one’s getting executed!” I shouted in exasperation. “I’m runnin’ out of time on my phone call. Violet, listen to me! I need you to call Deanna.”

  “Oh.” She seemed to have regained her wits. “I’ll call her right away.”

  “And then I need you to call Joe. Otherwise, he won’t know what happened, and he’ll worry himself sick when I don’t show up or answer my cell phone.”

  “You expect me to call that man after what he’s done to you?”

  “Violet! He hasn’t done anything to me. He wasn’t part of this at all. Please, Violet. I need you to do this for me.”

  The guard pointed to his watch. “Time’s up.”

  “I have to go. Please take care of Muffy. I’m gonna be in here for thirty days.”

  “What? Thirty days? I’m calling Deanna right way. She’ll get you out.”

  “And call Joe.”

  “No, that man deserves—”

  The phone went dead and I looked up at the guard in horror.

  He shrugged. “I warned you.”

  As he marched me to my cell, my dismay that Joe wouldn’t know what happened to me almost overwhelmed my fear of getting locked up. What would he do?

  The guard stopped in front of a room with bars across the front and slid the door open. “Here’s where you’ll be staying.”

  I stood in the entrance, my feet to be glued to the floor. Thankfully, the jail cell wasn’t as dingy as I expected. It held a cot and a toilet. But there weren’t any windows and three of the walls were a light gray concrete. I wasn’t sure how’d I survive five days in there, let alone thirty.

  “How am I supposed to go to the bathroom?” I pointed to the toilet. “There’s no doors.”

  The guard laughed. “You’ll figure it out.” He put his hand on my back and gave me a small push.

  My feet dug in and I resisted. “There’s been a terrible mistake.”

  “The only mistake I heard about was you deciding to play detective when your job was supposed to be juror.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, and I also couldn’t resist his firm push. I stumbled into the cell. The door slammed shut behind me. Spinning around, I sucked in a deep breath as panic swamped my head.

  It’s just a room. Just an ugly room.

  A room with a locked door. You’re trapped in here.

  I sat on the cot, taking deep breaths to stave off my brewing anxiety attack.

  About an hour later, the guard brought me a metal tray with sandwich and a bottle of water. “Lunch time.”

  “Already?”

  He chuckled and handed the tray though a slot on the door. “Time flies when you’re having fu
n.”

  I glared. There really was nothing funny about incarceration. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You better eat anyway. Dinner time’s not for another six hours and there ain’t any snacks.”

  I stood and pulled the tray through the slot. “Has my attorney shown up yet?”

  “Nope. The only person who’s been asking about you is a blonde-headed woman who won’t stop talking. She’s asked to see you about ten times and we keep telling her no, but she’s a persistent thing.”

  I couldn’t resist my smile. “Neely Kate.”

  “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “Just tell her I’m okay and I’ll call her later. She might leave then.”

  “I think Scott was about to cave and let her back.”

  That didn’t surprise me. Neely Kate was a force to be reckoned with.

  “No one else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I sat down on the cot with my tray and lifted a slice of bread. Bologna. And nothing else. I hadn’t eaten a bologna sandwich since I was a kid. Wrinkling my nose, I set the tray on the mattress and leaned my head back against the wall. I decided to look on the bright side. Maybe I’d lose weight.

  “I hear some inmates are repeat offenders just to come back for the bologna sandwiches.”

  My head jerked up in surprise. Mason Van de Camp Deveraux III stood in front of my cell, one hand gripping a metal bar. His usually neat hair looked a little ruffled. His jacket was missing and his tie hung loose, the top button of his shirt undone.

  “You here to gloat?”

  His mouth pursed and he leaned his forehead against the bars. “Nope. No gloating here.”

  “Then what are you doin’ here?” Why was I always so hateful to this man?

  His other hand wrapped around a metal bar. “Something’s been bothering me all morning.”

  I swallowed an ugly retort and raised my eyebrows instead. “And?”

  He sighed and looked down at the floor before leveling his gaze on me. “You came to see me yesterday, but then we had our little run-in.” He paused, swallowing. “I can’t help but wonder why you were there. Especially in light of this morning’s revelations.”