Juror #3(48)

“Daddy, I know Ruby. She’ll be fine. She’s a junkyard dog.”

I found the description oddly appealing.

Lee asked: “Ruby, have you met with Cary Reynolds? About what his testimony is going to be?”

Lee’s mother turned away from the elder Greene; she had been fumbling to tie the pink silk with shaking hands. In a high-pitched voice, she said, “The Reynolds boy? Was he the one you had dinner with that night?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Was he your fraternity brother? I don’t know him.” Her eyes were glassy, slightly unfocused.

“Of course you do, Mama. You’ve just forgotten. I was his pledge father in Sigma Nu.”

To Lee, I said, “We’ve talked on the phone, more than once. But I’m running him down tonight, in Vicksburg, if I have to. I won’t let Cary Reynolds get on the witness stand until we’ve met and talked in person. I’ll nail down everything, every detail he remembers about the night. He’s the last person who saw her alive, other than you.”

Lee nodded, silent. His shoulders slumped.

It was true; it was imperative that we nail down the facts about the night of the murder through Cary Reynolds. We had to be entirely clear about what Reynolds, Lee’s old frat brother, recalled.

Because Lee Greene Jr.—the former pride of Jackson, Mississippi’s social elite, the crown prince of southern gentility—still couldn’t remember a thing about the incident.

Not a damn thing.





Chapter 42



I KEPT A close eye on the clock.

Lee and his parents were walking across the street to the county courthouse, but I needed a quiet moment before I joined them in court.

I punched in Cary Reynolds’s number on my cell phone and waited. It went to voice mail after four rings. I dropped the phone into my bag, ignoring the invitation to leave a message. I’d try again later, when the court took a recess.

I locked up the office and pocketed the key. I knew I should head straight to court, but the blinking neon bulbs of Shorty’s diner, just around the corner on the town square, beckoned to me. Shorty could provide me with a powerful boost, and I needed one this morning.

I made my way to the diner at a trot. The brass bell hanging over the door jingled at my entry. I felt my tight shoulders relax at the powerful smell of coffee brewing and bacon grease.

And the sight of the proprietor.

Shorty looked up from the grill and beamed at me. “Ruby, darlin’! You got time for a bite of breakfast?”

Making my way to the counter, I shook my head. “I just have time for a sip of coffee.”

Shorty turned around and grasped the coffeepot by the handle. “Do you want me to pour a cup to go?”

“No—thanks, hon. Just give me a cup and I’ll chug it down right here.”

After he poured it, he leaned across the counter and gave me a quick kiss. “Don’t burn your mouth,” he said with a wink.

I took a swallow of the brew. It was just right: hot but not scalding.

He squeezed my hand and rested his elbows on the counter. “Will you come by the house tonight? I can have a plate of fried chicken waiting for you.”

Shorty’s fried chicken was a temptation. But I had another date.

“I have to drive to Vicksburg tonight. I’m determined to run down a witness.”

“Shoot. I’m hungry for a little piece of your valuable time.” He flashed a quick smile. “I’ve got something important to tell you. Well, to ask you, I guess.”

“Is it about your research? Did you get a nibble on your article?”

“It’s not that. It’s better.”

The clock was ticking. I took a final sip of coffee and grabbed my briefcase. “Later. Wish me luck.”

As I left the diner and strode to the courthouse, a thought hit me. What important matter did he want to ask me about? Was it the apartment? My apartment had a six-month lease, which Shorty knew was coming up for renewal. Did he want me to move in? I wasn’t ready. Didn’t want to go there.

The last time I’d rushed into a serious relationship, it had been a disaster. And now that I was representing Lee Greene, I was confronted with the reminder of my folly on a daily basis.





Chapter 43



AT THE COURTHOUSE entrance, there was a line to get through security, but I bypassed it. The courthouse buzzed with activity; murder trials were an uncommon occurrence in our little town. Once inside, I dodged through the crowded hallway to reach the courtroom.

I’d just turned the doorknob when my phone started to buzz. It took a protracted moment to unearth it, but when I looked at the screen I was glad I’d taken the trouble.

“Cary? Mr. Reynolds?”

“Who’s this?”

“Mr. Reynolds, it’s Ruby Bozarth—Lee Greene’s lawyer. We’ve talked before, about the murder trial. How you doing?”

He cleared his throat. “Fine, good. But I’m worried about my brother. How’s my boy Lee getting along?”

It was reassuring to hear him refer to Lee as “his brother.” “Lee’s pretty tense right now, I’d say. The evidence starts this morning. I’ll have to be in court in a minute.”

“That right? Damn.”