Juror #3(4)

I smiled politely. Life had been good to the judge. By his appearance, with salt-and-pepper hair and a trim physique, I’d thought he was younger than that.

He smiled back. “Got my undergrad degree there, too. Oxford is a grand old town. Beautiful campus.”

“Beautiful,” I echoed.

“I was a Sigma Nu, back in undergrad. How about you, Miss Bozarth? Which sorority did you pledge?”

Was there a murder case, or had he called me in to take a trip down memory lane?

God, I wanted a piece of Nicorette. My hand itched to reach down and dig for the box inside my briefcase.

I said, “No sorority. Not my scene. Your Honor, your clerk said—”

He tilted back in his chair and propped his feet on the shiny desktop. “How’d you happen to come to Rosedale to hang your shingle?”

I answered by rote. “I like small towns, sir. Grew up in them.”

Actually, one of the places I’d lived as a kid was right here in Rosedale. But I wasn’t inclined to tell him the whole story.

I also did not confide that I’d had a cushy job lined up after graduation at a big law firm in Jackson. A generous offer that disappeared when I broke off my engagement with my ex-fiancé, Lee Greene, whose family knew a whole lot of people in Mississippi.

It still gave me satisfaction to recall the shocked look he wore when I threw the diamond ring in his face. The Coach briefcase he gave me, though, was another matter. A woman has to be practical.

“Whereabouts?”

“Sir?”

“Where’d you grow up?”

Was he digging, or just being polite? Was there a chance that he knew I’d spent time in Rosedale? I shifted my weight in the uncomfortable chair. “All over. We moved around Mississippi. Even spent a while across the river in Arkansas.”

I fell silent but tried to send him a telepathic message: Don’t you dare ask me what my daddy did for a living. Because the fact was, I didn’t know. I was the product of a one-night stand following a concert. Mom was taken with my biological father because she thought he kinda looked like Garth Brooks. “That’s where you get your shiny brown hair,” she’d say, and kiss the top of my head.

“Well, Miss Bozarth, y’all being new to town puts you in a prime position for the Summers case. You’ll be more comfortable handling the defense, since you don’t have a history with the victim and her family.” He shook his head, his mouth turned down in an expression of deep regret. “Jewel Shaw was a Kappa at Ole Miss.”

Finally. “Exactly what kind of case are you talking about, Your Honor?”

“State v. Darrien Summers. He’s been charged with the murder of Jewel Shaw. It happened over at the country club, if you can believe it.”

I was poised so close to the edge of my wooden seat that I was in danger of falling onto the floor.

“But Judge Baylor, what’s this got to do with me?” When he frowned, I added hastily, “Sir, I don’t mean to sound impertinent. But I don’t represent Mr. Summers.”

“Oh, yes you do.” He dropped his feet back onto the floor. “I appointed you this morning.”

A wave of panic washed over me and I let out a nervous laugh.

“Your Honor, I’m not qualified. I’ve only tried one case before a jury—it was a misdemeanor. I’ve never handled a felony defense.”

While I spoke, he began to smile at me. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. My clerk tells me you’ve been begging for appointments.”

It was true. I had—but not appointments like this. “For guardianships. I told your clerk I wanted to serve as guardian ad litem in family law matters.”

“In fact, Grace told me you’d been complaining about it, saying it was downright unfair that I hadn’t given you an appointment yet. Now I am.” He smirked.

I should have known that his clerk would repeat my rash words. But I’d been angling for GAL work for months, and he kept handing the guardianships to the same two lawyers. “Judge, if you have a guardianship, I’m more than ready to take it on. But not a murder. I don’t have any background in that kind of case.”

“Miss Bozarth, if you want to learn how to swim, you’re going to have to jump in the water.” His tone was benevolent.

My heart beat so fast, it was hard to breathe. “I have to decline. Respectfully. I respectfully decline.”

The kindly expression disappeared. “You, ma’am, are a member of the Mississippi Bar. And when you became a member, you swore an oath.” He tossed a file at me. “I expect you to honor your obligations as an attorney licensed to practice law in this state.”

I picked up the file with a shaking hand. Opening it, I skimmed through the judge’s docket sheet.

“Your Honor, it says here that Darrien Summers is represented by the public defender.”

“Was. Was represented. The public defender withdrew. Look at the most recent docket entry. The defendant is represented by you, Miss Bozarth.” The judge turned to the phone on his desk and pushed a button. “I’m ready for my next appointment, Grace. We’re all wrapped up here.”

Clearly, I was dismissed. I stood, my briefcase in one hand, the file in the other. Judge Baylor gestured toward the file I held. “You can keep that copy. It’ll bring you up to date.”