Juror #3(60)

Follow my gut.





Chapter 54



AT FIVE THIRTY on Tuesday evening, I locked up the office and headed to my car. Cary Reynolds was waiting for me at his used-car lot in Vicksburg.

And my used car was waiting for me on the town square. As I approached my old Nissan, something looked off: the rear passenger tire was low. Too low to ignore.

Crouching on the pavement, I prodded it with a finger, thinking. It would be reckless to drive on the highway with a tire in that condition. I couldn’t take a chance on being stranded in Vicksburg; I had to be in court at nine the next morning.

Fortunately, I had a friend in the business of car maintenance. I made a quick call, and ten minutes later I pulled into Roy’s shop. Oscar Summers stood beside the gas pumps, waiting for me.

He beamed as I emerged from the car. Extending a calloused hand, he said, “Ruby, I’m glad to see you. Darrien’s always asking after you.”

I squeezed his hand and gave him a quick hug, breathing in his workingman’s scent of motor oil. “How’s Darrien doing? Is he all settled in at Ole Miss?”

“Yes, ma’am. I talked to him on Sunday. Sounds mighty happy. He’s in a criminal procedure class. Says he raises his hand so much, he’s afraid he’s wearing the teacher out.”

I smiled; Oscar’s good spirits were contagious. “Darrien’s going to set the bar over there, Oscar.”

His eyes misted. “You tell Miss Greene how much we appreciate her getting that foundation scholarship for him.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

Turning to the car, Oscar squatted on his haunches beside my back tire. He frowned at it. “I don’t like the looks of this, Ruby.”

I didn’t much like it either. I watched with trepidation as Oscar stood and prowled around my vehicle, inspecting all four tires with a deepening scowl.

“What’s the verdict, Oscar?”

He shook his head. “Ruby, you’ve got four bald tires. I can see the radials.”

I could feel a lecture coming on, and I didn’t have the time to hear it. “Can you patch the back tire up for me? So I can get going?”

“You need a new set.”

“Yes, but Oscar, I’ve got someplace I gotta be. Can you patch it? Please?”

He gave me a stern look. “I’ll give it a temporary plug, but it’s only a Band-Aid. Are you just driving it around town?”

A convenient lie almost spilled out, but something about Oscar’s grave face made me swallow it. “I’ve got to drive to Vicksburg tonight. To see a witness.”

He slid into the driver’s seat. “This won’t take long. Wait inside the station. Tell Roy to give you a bottle of pop.”

Inside the station, I found an extensive selection of tobacco products for sale—including nicotine gum. By the time my car was ready, I was chewing a wad of Nicorette, riding a nicotine high. So much for my resolution.

When Oscar pulled my Nissan out of the body shop, I ran to meet him.

“What do I owe you?”

“Nothing, no charge. Don’t even ask.”

I didn’t dare argue. As I slipped behind the wheel, I said, “Oscar, you’re a lifesaver. Looks like my old car is going to make it to Cary’s Used Cars and Trux.”

Oscar’s eyes pinned me. Though I tried to shut the driver’s door, he held it open with an iron grip. “What’s that you say?”

“I’m meeting Cary Reynolds. He’s in the car business; do you know him?”

He began to speak, then stopped mid-sentence, as if choosing his words carefully. But he just shut the car door and bent to look through the window.

“Be careful,” he said.





Chapter 55



THE OCTOBER SUN was setting as I reached the Vicksburg city limits.

I followed the GPS route, but when the directions led me to Cary Reynolds’s business—Cary’s Used Cars & Trux—I worried that, in spite of Reynolds’s assurances to me over the phone, it might not be open. Though twilight approached, his sign wasn’t lit.

The only structure on the car lot was a converted mobile home with a sign above the door identifying it as the office. The businesses nearby were run-down: a payday loan operation to the left, a pawnshop on the right that had bars on its windows, as did Cary’s office. Seemed like a dicey neighborhood. I remembered Oscar’s warning.

I stepped out of my vehicle and took a look around. Though the lot itself was trashy, Cary had some fancy cars parked near the office. A Mercedes convertible, a Jaguar, a Hummer. From the condition of the lot, I would have expected Cary’s inventory to be broken-down junkers.

As I approached the office, I saw the shadowy figure of a man in uniform in the parking lot. I called out: “Hey! Is Cary inside?”

The uniformed man didn’t turn around to answer but sidled around the side of the building, out of view.

Fortunately, the office door opened when I turned the knob. The office was lit by a single lamp overhanging a desk where a man sat with his cowboy boots propped up on the desktop. He looked up. “Yeah?”

“Mr. Reynolds?”

“That’s me.”

I extended my right hand. “So nice to finally meet in person. I’m Ruby Bozarth.”