Juror #3(34)

“I object to that,” Lafayette said. “I don’t like that.”

“I don’t care whether you like it.”

A timid knock sounded on the inner door. Grace opened the door just wide enough to poke her head through.

“Judge Baylor?”

“What?”

His voice was so loud that her head jerked back and hit the door frame. She spoke in a whisper. “The sheriff is coming. He needs to see you.”

“Good. Send him in.” In a more civilized tone, he added, “Thank you, Grace.”

We sat in silence for long minutes as we waited for Sheriff Stark to arrive. The heel of my shoe had developed a wobble. When I reached down to investigate, it fell off onto the floor.

Shit.

While I struggled to stick the heel back on, the sheriff walked in. When I saw him, the heel slipped from my fingers, unheeded by anyone, including me.

Stark was sweating, though the day was cool. Damp spots showed on the front and back of his tan shirt, and his armpits were soaked.

“We got the car.”

“Good. Where is he?” the judge said.

“No, not him. The car. It was deserted, sitting on a side road on the east end of town.”

The judge sighed, a soft exhale. “Well, I’ll issue a warrant. Contempt of court, leaving the trial when he’d sworn to serve. One of your deputies can try to run him down.”

He stood and picked up the black robe. “Let’s get back to court. Miss Bozarth, you can make your request on the record, but with all due respect, ma’am, I’m inclined to follow the DA’s recommendation. I believe I’ll declare a mistrial.”

The disappointment might have knocked me over, had I not been seated. I ducked my head, picking up my fallen heel. By some miracle, I successfully jammed it into place.

Sheriff Stark cleared his throat. “Judge, I impounded that car and did an inventory search of the vehicle. Like Tom told me.”

I glanced at Lafayette. He wouldn’t look at me.

“What did you find. Drugs? A million dollars? A dead body?” The judge pulled a face as he zipped up his robe.

“No, sir, Your Honor. Didn’t expect to find nothing. But in the trunk, I looked under the tire well. Danged if I didn’t see something strange.”

“What?”

He held a small trash bag. I’d been so busy with my shoe, I hadn’t noticed it. Reaching inside, the sheriff pulled out a clear plastic evidence bag.

“I think it’s one of those Mardi Gras masks.”

I leaned forward to get a better look. It was smashed in places, the worse for wear. But it was a green Mardi Gras mask, with the remnant of a blood-stained feather.

Just like the mask Jewel Shaw had worn at the Mardi Gras ball.





Chapter 30



IT WAS COLD outside the county jail. I pulled my suit jacket tightly around me as I lingered by the back door.

When I’d initially arrived at the jailhouse exit, I stood alone; but a crowd shortly began to gather. TV news vans pulled up to the curb. A local reporter for the Rosedale weekly paper hurried across the street, waving his arm.

I twisted my head his way, unable to discern whether the newsman was waving at me. A body slammed into me from the back, lifting me off the sidewalk and swinging me off the ground.

I let out a shriek. But when he set me on my feet, I was relieved to see that the unexpected embrace came from Oscar Summers. He was beaming. Traces of tears tracked down his cheeks. “You did it. You kept your promise.”

Oh, Lord—that promise. I’d never be so foolhardy again. But this time, I’d lucked out. I returned his hug, gasping as he nearly squeezed the wind out of me.

In the doorway of the exit, Darrien appeared. TV cameras zoomed in, and photographers pushed toward him. He searched the faces in the crowd, then Oscar shouldered through the media crush and clutched his son to his chest.

A reporter jostled me. “Can you give me your reaction to the judge’s decision?”

I hadn’t prepared anything clever to say. “I’m delighted,” I said, smiling, as Darrien moved through the crowd of press and extended his hand. I grasped it; he put an arm around me and we grinned like crazy at each other.

The reporter persisted. “Is that all?”

My head was muddled by the crazy day, but I pulled it together sufficiently to add: “My client’s innocence has been established. Judge Baylor entered a judgment of acquittal. Darrien Summers has been cleared. Today, justice has been served in Mississippi.”

They shouted more questions, begging Darrien for a statement, but he turned to his father and said, “I just want to go home, Dad.”

Oscar Summers gave a decided nod. To me, he said, “Miss Bozarth, some friends and family are coming by the house. We’d be proud to have you join us.”

I took his hand. “I’ll drop by later on, Mr. Summers. Y’all are so kind to include me. But a friend wants to meet me for supper first.”

Minutes later, I was maneuvering my battered car up the private drive of the Williams County country club. I entered the club and walked up a flight of stairs into the dining room.

The club manager, Bert Owens, was holding a whispered conversation with two men. When I walked into the room, he strode toward me.

“Ma’am, this club is for members only.”