RG2 - Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons Read online

  “Rose.” Joe’s voice tightened and clipped the end of my name, the sign he was frustrated with me. “That doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “Of course it does. Someone right handed would have hit the victim on the left side, how could they all miss that?”

  “Rose, they were probably fightin’. Fights are ugly and they’d be moving around. The victim wasn’t just standing there waiting to get his head bashed in.”

  “I’m not stupid, Joe McAllister. I know that.” I growled in irritation—I’d just called him Joe McAllister out of habit.

  “I’m sure they’re reasoning that there was a scuffle. That’s why no one is questioning the placement of the wound. You may be right, though. If the murderer is left-handed, the wound is more likely to be on the right side. But Rose, that’s hardly enough to exonerate the defendant. Especially since they found the murder weapon on his property.”

  “Well, then what am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to do nothing and trust the system.”

  “I can’t let an innocent man go to jail, Joe.”

  “I’m not sayin’ you are, but for now, do nothing.”

  I sucked in a deep breath, fighting back my frustration. “Joe, that could have been me. If things had turned out different, I could be in jail right now, waiting to be tried for her murder. And I’d have been convicted, too. You know that.”

  “Rose, this isn’t you. And it’s not like this Bruce Wayne Decker is a fine upstanding citizen. You said he’d been arrested multiple times before.”

  “Yeah, for small crimes. Nothing violent. Nothing even close to this.”

  “But with his record—”

  “Oh. My. Word,” I exclaimed, hurt welling in my chest. “You’re just like them.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re prejudiced by his past.”

  “Rose, it plays a part in this.”

  “Joe! He’s innocent.”

  “I know you think your vision told you—”

  “You think I’m lyin’?”

  “No! Of course not. But maybe what you saw isn’t what you think.”

  I counted to ten, grinding my teeth into sawdust. “I think I need to go to bed now.”

  “Rose—”

  “Good night, Joe.”

  I lay on the sofa late into the night too angry and frustrated to go to sleep. After watching hours of HGTV I decided it was time to do something with Momma’s room, which had been originally decorated back in the 1970s.

  But why would I plan to redecorate a room when I was considering moving to Little Rock?

  My fight with Joe made me wonder how much I really knew him, but that wasn’t fair. Joe was a good man. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder: if Violet and Mike, who’d had the perfect marriage until a few months ago, could fall apart, how could I make it work with Joe?

  The next morning I woke to Muffy licking my face and daylight streaming in from the kitchen. Jerking upright, I grabbed my phone to check the time. 8:45.

  Oh, crappy doodles!

  Everyone in the courthouse would stink to high heaven within five minutes, so I saw no sense wasting precious time on a shower. I let Muffy out and brushed my teeth at the kitchen sink, watching her out the window. One of the boys from next door crept around the back corner of Joe’s house. I stood on tiptoes trying to see what he was doing when a blur flew toward Muffy and I heard yelping.

  I ran out the door faster than Mildred’s cat chasing a squirrel. Muffy yelped again, lifting her foot off the ground, trying to hobble to the door. A rock lay nearby. “You get your booty out here right now!” I shouted.

  The boy hid around the corner of the house, his blond hair poking out.

  Leaning down, I checked Muffy’s foot for signs of blood. “I see you and I saw what you did. Get out here right now and apologize to my dog.”

  Andy Jr. stepped around the edge, scrunching his face. “I ain’t apologizin’ to no dog.”

  “You most certainly are. Now get over here and do it right now before I march back there and drag you out myself.” I surprised myself. I wasn’t usually this assertive, but past experience proved I didn’t like people messing with my dog. Apparently, being a kid was no excuse.

  The boy walked around the corner, leery.

  “Go on now. I don’t have all day. As it is, I’ll be lucky if I don’t get arrested.”

  The boy’s eyes widened and he swallowed. “I’m sorry, dog.”

  I picked Muffy up and cradled her in my arms. “She has a name. Her name is Muffy. Say it again.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  Gritting my teeth, my eyes widened and I was sure I looked like a lunatic.

  The boys’ face turned white. “I’m sorr…rry, Muffy.”

  “Why would you do such a thing? What did this dog ever do to you?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno.”

  “Would you like it if I threw a rock at you?”

  He opened his mouth then glanced at me with fear and shook his head violently.

  “Nobody wants to have a rock thrown them, dogs included. Muffy might play with you if you’re nice to her.”

  His eyes lit up, but he sobered when he glanced my direction. “Really?”

  “Well, if you can be nice, I’ll let you play with Muffy sometime, but you’re gonna have to earn that trust. And I guarantee if I ever see you hurt my dog again,” I leaned forward and pointed at this chest, “you will regret it for the rest of your life, got it?”

  He nodded, wide-eyed and properly terrified.

  I stifled my smug grin. Assertive Rose, who knew?

  Muffy stopped whimpering by the time I got her inside and set her down. She padded around with only a slight limp and I considered icing her leg, but didn’t have time. I was going to be late enough as it was.

  After a glance in the bathroom mirror, I understood why Andy Jr. looked so terrified. My hair stuck out all over my head. Mascara was smudged under my eyes, and foamy toothpaste hung from my lower lip.

  I looked like a rabid Frankenstein’s bride.

  Throw in my threats and my talk about getting arrested, and I had just become the neighborhood crazy lady.

  There was only time for a quick scrub on my face with a washcloth and a brush through my hair as I ran out the door to my car.

  Oh, Lordy. I hoped to dear God I didn’t get arrested. Could you rot in jail for being late to jury duty? I was about to find out.

  I found a parking spot two blocks away, and half jogged to the courthouse, working up a sweat by the time I entered the courthouse. “Good mornin’, Matt.” I tossed my purse on the counter.

  Matt checked my bag, then handed it back to me with a suspicious look.

  Since the elevator was so slow, I ran upstairs, breathless when I burst into the juror room at nine-fifteen. “I’m sorry I’m late! Please don’t arrest me!”

  Marjorie Grace held up her hands. “Whoa there, slow down. No one’s gettin’ arrested. The judge is deciding whether to postpone the trial until the air conditioning is fixed.” She pointed to the back of the room where everyone gathered around a table. “In the meantime, everyone has been eating a lovely breakfast casserole that Mrs. Baker brought.” The way she lingered on the word lovely was enough to tell me to steer clear, no matter how much my stomach growled.

  Bailiff Spencer walked through the door, hands on his hips. “The judge has decided to press on and try to get this trial over with.”

  My stomach flip-flopped. A man’s life hung in the balance, an innocent man, and they were more worried about getting out of the heat and into air conditioning.

  The morning dragged on. Mr. Deveraux called two witnesses who’d seen Bruce Wayne getting in and out of his crawl space. Bruce Wayne had made so much racket in the middle of the night that he’d woken several neighbors. There was also testimony from the crime scene investigator, who reasserted that blood that matched DNA from the victim was found on the crowbar, along with the d
efendant’s fingerprints.

  As the evidence piled up, my frustration mounted. When was Mr. Yates going to defend his client?

  We broke for lunch and I told Neely Kate all about my evening with Violet and Austin Kent and my subsequent fight with Joe, although I glossed over the details. Not that it stopped Neely Kate from trying to get information about the trial.

  “Come on, Rose. Just give me something!”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Don’t you know I could go to jail for telling you? And if I get thrown in, what’s to stop them from keeping me in there and letting me rot like poor Mr. Decker?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You know something. Spill it.”

  I shook my head. “No. No way. I didn’t say anything.”

  “But you just said—”

  “Neely Kate. I can’t.”

  She puckered her mouth into a pout, but I had learned enough about her to know it was merely for effect.

  As soon as I returned to the jurors’ room, I could tell something was wrong. The smell, a mixture of sulfur and vomit, hit me first. I covered my face with my hand and found Marjorie Grace tending to a juror who hunched over his legs, his face pasty white.

  “What’s going on?”

  Marjorie Grace looked up with a frown. “Five jurors have thrown up and three more are hiding in the bathroom, taking care of business on the other end, if you know what I mean.”

  Unfortunately, I did. “What happened? How did they all get sick at the same time?”

  “Three words: Mrs. Baker’s casserole.” She walked over to another juror and adjusted the wet paper towels on his forehead. Turned out that wet paper towels were a staple in Marjorie Grace’s ancillary medical care.

  “Food poisoning?”

  “I’m no doctor, but that’s my best guess.”

  It was also the best guess of the doctor who showed up thirty minutes later.

  Court was adjourned until further notice, and I realized I had time to get some answers. The first place I planned to look was the hardware store.

  I was gonna pay a visit to the murder scene.

  Chapter Eight

  I was smart enough to know I needed an excuse. I couldn’t just walk in and start asking questions. But as luck would have it, Archer’s Hardware was the only hardware store in town and just last night I’d thought about redoing Momma’s room.

  Was redecorating your house a crime?

  After I pulled into the parking lot, I watched the front entrance, the car’s air conditioning blasting my face as I pondered this decision. If I went in, the judge might consider it a crime. But Archer’s was the only hardware store in town. Surely I didn’t have to put off my improvement projects until the trial was over. Joe would call this rash, but then in Joe’s opinion, I should let Bruce Wayne rot in jail. I just couldn’t do that. I squared my shoulders.

  This was crazy, even crazier than my usual stunts. I didn’t even know Bruce Wayne Decker, and I could pretty much guarantee he wouldn’t do anything like this for me. But the idea of sitting by and letting them send him to the big house didn’t settle well in my stomach.

  I was going in.

  I walked through the sliding doors, half expecting Officer Ernie or Detective Taylor to be waiting inside to arrest me. Instead, I was greeted by a girl with blue hair and a pierced lip who hunched over the return counter.

  “Welcome to Archer’s Hardware.” Her monotone voice and droopy eyelids suggested she was about to fall asleep.

  “Hi.” I headed straight for the paint department even though I wanted to wander the store and figure out where Frank Mitchell had been murdered. No need pressing my luck. Buying paint was believable. I wasn’t sure I could convince anyone I was buying a plastic tube to put under my sink.

  While I studied the paint cards, I realized I needed a plan. First, I had to decide what color to paint Momma’s room. Next, I needed to figure out what questions to ask.

  I’d painted my living room a pale yellow after Momma’s death to cover up the blood splatters, and I loved the airiness. I decided to go with a pale blue and maybe even splurge on a new comforter from Walmart.

  Once I picked a color I liked, I took the card to the counter and handed it to the woman next to the paint shaker machine. “Hi, I’d like two gallons in satin.” Mercy, I’d come a long way since May! But how was I gonna find out information about the murder without looking too obvious?

  “Sure thing. If you’ve got any other shoppin’ to do, I’ll just hold this at the counter until you’re ready.” She wiped her thumb on her smock, smearing a dab of green paint. Her nametag read Anne.

  I needed rollers, but they were next to the counter. I picked up a package and twisted it in my hands. “Nope, this’ll do it. The paint and rollers. I figured it was high time to redecorate my Momma’s room. God rest her soul.” I placed my hand on my chest. “After her murder and all, I just need a fresh start, ya know?”

  In the process of prying the lid off the paint can, Anne stopped and blinked. “Wait. Was your momma murdered a couple of months ago?”

  Pursing my lips, I nodded. “It’s a shockin’ thing, walking in and finding your momma’s dead body.” I paused. “I think that only someone who’s been through something like that understands how truly horrifying it is, ya know?”

  Anne tsked. “We had something like that happen here.” She raised her eyebrows as she programmed the paint dispenser. “Our evening manager was murdered a little over a year ago. Right here in the store.”

  My eyes widened. “Oh! I remember that. What in the world is happenin’ to Henryetta, Arkansas?”

  “It’s goin’ to hell in a handbasket, I’ll tell ya that right now.”

  “Did you work here when it happened?”

  She shuddered. “I did, and I know what you mean about it being horrifying. I was scared to walk in the back storage room alone for months after that.”

  I lowered my voice. “Is that where it happened? In the storage room? My momma’s was on the sofa in our living room. I found her sitting there like she was waitin’ for me to come home.”

  She nodded and shuddered again, then jammed the paint can in the shaker machine.

  “Did you get a lot of looky-loos? I had people peekin’ in my living room, trying to see the bloodstains.”

  “Yes! It was horrible. There was this one guy who kept comin’ around. He’d buy a package of screws or a broom, but nothing big or nothing you’d expect. Finally, one day Manny, he works in tools, said something to the guy about how none of us could figure out what his home improvement project was because of all the odd things he was buyin’. That’s a game we do. We pay attention to the regulars and try to figure out what they’re up to. But we never saw him again after that.”

  “That’s so weird.” Was that the bathroom murderer?

  Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward. “Tell me about it. But the really weird part was the murderer didn’t take the money in the safe.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “That right there is a mystery. But the night deposit hadn’t been made yet and the safe was wide open. Why, there was enough money to open a bank branch right here in the hardware store but less than a hundred dollars was taken.”

  “Why in the world wouldn’t the murderer take all the money?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. But it makes me wonder about the real reason for the murder. It sure wasn’t a burglary.”

  My jaw dropped. This was going so much better than I hoped for. “What do you mean?”

  Anne looked around and leaned close to me. “Frank was havin’ some money troubles. And rumor had it he owed money to some not so nice people.”

  “Did the police check into that?”

  She snorted. “What? And do any more work than necessary? You know their reputation.”

  Unfortunately, I knew only too well. Personally.

  “Why’d he owe people money?”

  “I have no idea. He was a nice guy and all but without
a lick of sense, if you know what I mean.”

  “Did they find the murderer?”

  “It made big news. They claimed they did. How’d you miss it?”

  “My Momma didn’t believe in watchin’ much TV.”

  Anne pointed her finger in my face. “Every citizen of the United States needs to keep informed of current events. Otherwise those dadgummed militia fools, hidin’ out in the woods, will be takin’ over. And God help us all if that happens.”

  Anne made a good point.

  “I got cable a few weeks ago.”

  She blinked, then nodded. “Are you a CNN or Fox News girl?”

  “Uh,” I stammered, pretty certain this was a test. “CNN?”

  She puckered her mouth and nodded, walking back to the paint machine. “Good girl.”

  Whew. I didn’t want her to stop talking. “You don’t think they caught the murderer?”

  Anne rolled her eyes as she took the paint can out of the shaker. “They claimed they did, although I never thought he did it.”

  “Why not?”

  She pried the lid open and dabbed a blue dot on the sticker. “Bruce is afraid of his own shadow. There’s no way he did it.”

  “You know him?”

  “Yeah, he’s my sister’s husband’s cousin’s nephew.”

  Well there you had it. They were practically cousins.

  “Sure, he’s got picked up for some petty stuff, but mostly for possession of pot and driving under the influence. A couple of shoplifting charges. Nothing big like killing someone. I don’t know if Bruce could even pick up a crowbar.”

  I’d seen his spindly arms and had to agree.

  She turned on a hair dryer and pointed it at the paint dot, killing any further conversation. I was pressing my luck being here at all. I sure as blazes wasn’t going to shout any more questions at her. Anne plunked the paint on the counter. “There you go. Anything else?”

  Grabbing the metal handle, I swung the paint can off the counter and smiled. “I think I have everything I need for now. Thanks, Anne.”

  Her eyebrows raised slightly when I said her name, then she grinned. “Good luck with your paintin’.”