Juror #3(67)

Frantic, I said, “I’m not reassured. That’s not a guarantee of acquittal.”

“If he’s not acquitted in a fair trial, well—what does that tell you?”

My mouth fell open. What did she mean? Did Suzanne harbor doubts about Lee’s innocence? Or was she clinging to a Disney fantasy of the jury system?

Because anything could happen in this trial. Anything.

Suzanne moved away, swiping her debit card at the register, chatting with the cashier. As I waited, I caught sight of a blond head in the crowd.

Cary Reynolds was making his way toward the back of the diner, waving enthusiastically. I turned and saw the target of Cary’s greeting: my client.

“Oh, Lord, no,” I said, and elbowed my way back to the Greenes’ table. By the time I arrived, Cary was hanging over Lee’s chair, shaking hands with his father.

Cary saw me and said, “Hey, it’s Ruby Bozarth.” Sliding an arm around my shoulders, he said, “I shoulda known Lee would hire a looker for his attorney. Smart and pretty.”

Mr. and Mrs. Greene exchanged a glance. Their silence was deafening.

I edged away from Cary’s arm. “Cary, I’m delighted to see you—we all are. Thanks so much for coming. But Lee really can’t visit with you right now.”

“What? My old brother?” He looked injured.

I tugged at his sleeve. “There’s a policy: witnesses can’t discuss their testimony during the trial.”

“We weren’t! I was just saying hello.”

“I know, I know. But it’s best to avoid even the appearance of impropriety.”

I pulled him away from the Greenes and back into the diner crush. He looked over my head and gave a departing wave to the Greenes’ table.

“If you say so. It’s kind of crowded in here, anyway. Guess I’ll go back across the street.”

“Good idea.” I watched him leave, to be certain he didn’t change his mind and double back.

When I returned to Lee, his mother was talking into his ear. I heard her say, “I still don’t recall ever seeing that boy.”

Lee glanced over his shoulder, probably to see whether he could be overheard. In a low voice, he said, “Mama. He was a dropout.”

“Oh,” she said, sitting back in her chair. She pursed her lips.

Lee Sr. shook his head. “I could tell. That hair.”

Standing over my plate, I took three bites of meatloaf in quick succession, ignoring the pointed stare of Lee’s mother. I swallowed and said, “We need to head on back. It’s almost one o’clock, so Judge Ashley will be starting up again. Cary Reynolds is already over at the courthouse.”

Then it struck me. Today was Thursday.

I’d told Cary Reynolds to be in court on Friday. The subpoena I’d served made it clear: he was ordered to appear and testify on Friday.

What was Cary Reynolds doing in Rosedale on Thursday?





Chapter 60



BACK INSIDE THE courtroom, the jurors shifted in their seats, as if they sensed an undercurrent of excitement. Judge Ashley said to the DA, “You may call your next witness.”

Keet stood. “The state calls Cary Reynolds to the witness stand.”

And the nugget of dread in my chest exploded like a grenade.

But I didn’t let it show. My spine remained straight, my face noncommittal. Behind me, I heard Lee’s mother gasp and cough. She leaned forward, whispering, “Lee? Honey? Isn’t that your friend?”

Lee ignored her. I glanced at Mrs. Greene over my shoulder and narrowed my eyes at her. Her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulder, shushing her.

When Cary Reynolds’s cowboy boots clicked past me, I looked up. He met my gaze. His face was unreadable.

After Reynolds was sworn in, he sat on the witness stand, crossing his booted foot onto his knee. Isaac Keet smiled at him.

And Cary Reynolds smiled back.

Keet asked him to tell the jury about the evening of March twenty-second, when he’d met with Lee Greene in Vicksburg.

“I’d set up a meeting with Lee, to talk business. I’m a small businessman; I have a used-car lot in Vicksburg.”

“What did you and the defendant do on that date?”

“Well, I thought we’d maybe get some dinner, talk over paperwork. But Lee wanted to get a taste of Vicksburg. The nightlife, I guess. So, we met up at a bar.”

“And where exactly did you meet?”

“Roxy’s.”

I scratched a note onto my legal pad and shoved it toward Lee: Bar was your idea? Lee looked down, shook his head. But there was no time to confer; Cary was talking again.

“I’d printed out some paperwork that I’d emailed to Lee, thought I’d see if I had my ducks in a row, to file the articles of incorporation with the Mississippi Secretary of State’s office. Lord, I couldn’t hardly get ol’ Lee to look at it. He was on a roll. Wanted to get shitface drunk, just like back in college.”

With a sheepish face, Reynolds turned to the jury box. “Beg pardon, ladies. But it’s a quote.”

“How long did you stay at the bar?”

He tilted his head back as if trying to recall. “Two hours, maybe? He was doing some serious drinking. So I thought I’d best get some supper in him. I drove us to a barbeque place downtown. But I’ll be danged if Lee didn’t drink his dinner.”