Juror #3 Page 22

  I popped a piece of gum, and adrenaline started to hum in my veins. That was just what I needed to do. Time for a smackdown.

  Pulling out my phone, I punched in the address of Cary’s business. As I scanned the route on the phone screen, I debated whether I should reveal my knowledge regarding his bad blood with Lee. It might shake the truth out of him, but I didn’t want to give him time to think up a new way to lash out when he returned to the witness stand.

  While I drained the dregs of my coffee cup, I toyed with the phone, reviewing Cary’s social media pages to see if he’d posted anything new that might clue me in to his state of mind.

  Nothing on his Twitter account, but he didn’t utilize it often, aside from some game-day tweets. I went to his Facebook page and saw that he’d posted a picture of a pulled-pork sandwich that he’d eaten the previous week. No help there. Prior to the sandwich, he’d shared some beach pics from Gulf Shores, but they were old.

  Cary also had a business page on Facebook for Cary’s Used Cars & Trux. I hit that next. I’d examined it several weeks before, and it looked the same. Clearly, he didn’t update it often, and the page only went back a few years. But as I gave it a second perusal, I saw something that made me look twice.

  Four years back in the timeline, there were photos to mark the grand opening of Cary’s Used Cars & Trux. In one of the pictures, a pretty young woman held a banner that read: GRAND OPENING.

  The young woman looked a lot like Monae Prince.

  I enlarged the picture on my screen to examine it more closely. True, I’d never seen Monae during her lifetime, and the only pictures I’d had access to were crime scene photos and the driver’s license. But the smile on the driver’s license was the same: dimples in both cheeks and a slight gap between her two front teeth. The more I looked, the more certain I became: Monae was the banner girl for Cary Reynolds’s grand opening.

  So what the hell was up with that?

  I walked out of the truck stop diner to my car.

  The rear tire was flat as a pancake.

  Chapter 66

  I KNOW HOW to change a tire. My mama taught me the ropes when I was a teenager. The used cars she could afford were notoriously unreliable.

  I stripped off my jacket to keep it clean and rolled up the sleeves of my white blouse. The sun had set, but the lights in the parking lot provided fair illumination.

  To get to the jack, I had to pull out the spare. When I dropped the spare tire onto the pavement, I knew I had a problem. The spare was flat, too.

  I kicked the tire, which didn’t make me feel better and didn’t help the tire any. Then I cussed at it, loudly enough that a man walking to his nearby car let out a shrill whistle.

  A trucker saw my plight and jumped out of his rig.

  “Can I give you a hand, ma’am?”

  “Thanks, but no. I don’t think your tires would fit my old Nissan.”

  I sat in the car and called Shorty first. When it went to voice mail, I literally crossed my fingers and called Suzanne.

  Forty-five minutes later, her Lexus tore into the lot, spraying gravel in its wake. I grabbed my briefcase and ran to the passenger side.

  “Suzanne, I’m so sorry about this,” I began, but she cut me off.

  “Don’t even get started with that. This is why you have a partner. To help you when you’re stranded—literally or figuratively.” She put the car in drive. “Where are we headed?”

  “Well, I’d planned to drive on down to Vicksburg to see that frat brother of Lee’s, but I expect you need to get home.”

  She turned the car onto the highway, heading to Vicksburg, rather than Rosedale. “I’m at your disposal, little sister. Did you get your car towed?”

  I’d talked to a lady inside the truck stop who gave me a lead on an automotive repair shop in the area, but they couldn’t help me until the next day. So I was without wheels.

  Suzanne drove to Vicksburg in record time, passing so many vehicles that I worried she’d get pulled over. I offered to serve as navigator, but her high-tech Lexus didn’t require my assistance. As we neared the car lot, Suzanne took in the neighborhood and whistled through her teeth.

  “What a dump,” she said in a clipped Yankee accent. Then she looked at me and grinned. “Bette Davis.”

  “Beg pardon?” I said. I didn’t know a friend of hers named Betty.

  Suzanne sighed with resignation, shaking her head. I pointed out the CARY’S USED CARS & TRUX sign, and she wheeled in and pulled up to the office, putting the car in park.

  I grabbed my briefcase, but the engine continued to idle. “You coming, Suzanne?”

  She grimaced. “I don’t mean to bail on you, sugar. But I haven’t eaten a bite of food since noon. I’ve got the weak tremblies.” She held out her hand; it did have a slight tremor. “My blood sugar is dipping. If I don’t get something to eat pretty quick, I’m going to collapse.”

  Opening the passenger door, I said, “Not a problem. Should I call you when I’m done here?”

  “Oh, honey, I’ll be right back. I’m just going to find me a hamburger stand. Shouldn’t take me all that long.”

  I walked in the evening gloom toward the office. To be downright honest, I longed to have Suzanne at my back, but I also needed to put on my big-girl pants. Suzanne had already saved the day when she rescued me at the truck stop. Squaring my shoulders, I approached the door.

  When I walked into Cary Reynolds’s office, he looked up from his desk with genuine surprise.

  I spoke before he had a chance. “Sorry I didn’t call for an appointment. I was in the neighborhood.”

  He stuck out his hand. And had the nerve to smile at me. “Nice to see you, Ruby.”

  I ignored the extended hand. I picked up one of the plastic chairs and placed it directly in front of Cary’s desk. Without waiting for an invitation, I sat.

  “Cary, I wanted to talk to you about your testimony today. You said some things that took me by surprise.”

  “Is that right?”

  I kept a poker face. He knew he’d turned tail today. “So, can we talk?”

  “All right.”

  In my head, I heard his Matthew McConaughey: All right all right all right. I pulled out my iPhone. “Okay if I record this?”

  He gave me an affronted look. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  I gave him a wink. “Fool me twice.”

  “Doesn’t seem like a friendly way to hold a conversation.”

  I took that as a yes and pushed the button. “So, Cary—what happened to you in court today?”

  Cary sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “Gotta say, that Keet dude is pretty intimidating. Can’t deny.”

  “So, did the DA tell you to testify that Lee Greene hired Monae? Or was it your idea?”

  “I don’t think I said that.”

  “Pretty sure you said exactly that, on the stand this afternoon. Cary, I know that it’s tough being a witness. Sometimes people shift the facts if they’re embarrassed. But Lee Greene’s life is at stake here.”

  “No—you’re not letting me explain. I never said that other. I never told you that I hired that hooker.”

  I blinked and fell silent. He had the gall to lie to my face. Maybe I should drop the bomb.

  When I found my voice, I said, “Cary, I know you probably hold a grudge against Lee.” I tried to soften my tone. “I know he done you dirt, back when you were both in undergrad. That deal that went down at the fraternity dance. Lee disrespected you, had sex with your date. But that doesn’t justify committing perjury at his murder trial.”

  “You’ve been nosing around, it sounds like.”

  “I have. I hate surprises. Speaking of surprises,” and I scooted the chair closer to the desk, “I was shocked to see that you were acquainted with the murder victim. Monae Prince.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Yeah, I thought so, too. But funny thing—she’s on your Facebook page.”

  He looked aw
ay, shaking his head. “Don’t think so.”

  I leaned back in the chair, tipping it onto its plastic legs. I hoped it wouldn’t collapse.

  “Looks like Monae to me. I took a screenshot. Want me to send it to you?”

  He shrugged, frowning. “Ma’am, you’ve been working too hard. You’re all mixed up.”

  A narrow hallway led to a back door; I heard it open. A voice called out, “Hey, Cary.”

  “In here.” Cary smiled at me. “My security guard.”

  As heavy footsteps moved our way, I said, “You hire someone to watch those cars every night? Couldn’t you just set up a camera?”

  Cary chuckled. Slitting his eyes, he said, “You’ve got all kinds of ideas, don’t you?”

  The uniformed guard stuck his head into the room. “Cary, everything okay?”

  When I saw him, my mouth fell open. I shut it so fast that my teeth clacked.

  It was a deputy from the Williams County sheriff’s department. Deputy Potts.

  Chapter 67

  CARY REYNOLDS FLAGGED an arm in invitation. “Come on in here, Potts. We got company. I’ll introduce you.”

  Potts cut his eyes at me then looked away. A copy machine stood inside the doorway. He leaned against it and ran a finger along the buttons.

  I said, “We’ve met.”

  Cary Reynolds turned to me with a quizzical look. “That right?”

  I glanced over at Potts, deliberately casual. “Sure. At the courthouse in Rosedale. And the sheriff’s office. Plus, my law partner is representing a good buddy of the deputy.”

  Reynolds’s face was a blank. “What buddy is that?”

  “A young guy named Brockes. He was Deputy Potts’s partner. Until this week. Brockes has been suspended from the sheriff’s department, pending the outcome of an investigation.”

  Potts’s eyes shifted. The tension in the room was mounting, but Cary Reynolds seemed unaffected. He whistled and said, “Seems like things are hopping in your community. Murder trials, murder investigations, I don’t know what all.”

  I nodded. “The sheriff’s department has been so busy lately, I’m amazed that Deputy Potts has the time to moonlight at a car lot so far from Rosedale.”

  Potts made eye contact with Reynolds. There was a moment of silence. To break it, I said, “How long have you been with our sheriff’s department, Deputy Potts? I don’t recall seeing you around when I started my practice in Rosedale.”

  Potts just stared at me. His gaze made me uncomfortable. I crossed my legs and made a show of looking inside my briefcase. And then I recalled something I’d heard earlier that day.

  I twisted in my seat and fixed Potts with a look. “Sheriff Stark said you used to work in Vicksburg, didn’t he? For the police department. When was that? It would have to be way less than a year ago. Isn’t that right, Deputy?”

  He responded with a bare movement of his head.

  I set the briefcase back on the floor. “What does Sheriff Stark think of you running over here in his uniform to work at Cary’s business?”

  Potts’s voice was tight as he said, “What I do on my time is my business.”

  Behind his desk, Cary Reynolds took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together. “I’m afraid I’m being a bad host. How about a drink?”

  I shook my head. “Not for me, thanks.”

  “Oh, come on now. A friendly drink never hurt anybody.” He opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle, half full of amber liquid. I could see the label: Macallan Scotch.

  A miniature refrigerator sat in the corner, within reach of his chair. Reynolds picked up a sleeve of disposable cups in clear plastic that sat atop the refrigerator. He pulled out two cups. Over his shoulder, he said to Potts, “I’d best leave you out of this round, bro, since you’re in uniform.”

  “Leave me out, too,” I said. “I appreciate your hospitality, but hey—I’m working.”

  He turned and stared at me—and not in a friendly way. “You come barging in here tonight, without so much as a by-your-leave. Put out a phone to record what I say.”

  He opened the door to the mini-fridge and removed a water bottle. He set the water and the empty cups on his desk.

  Pinning me with his gaze, he said, “If you want to talk with me, you’ll do me the courtesy of taking a drink with me. Otherwise, you can pack up and hit the door.”

  Well, I wasn’t ready to leave. We hadn’t resolved the inconsistencies in his testimony. And my ride was at a hamburger stand, somewhere in the city of Vicksburg. I glanced at the office door, wishing that Suzanne would hurry on back to give me a hand.

  With a sigh, I gave in. “All right. Just one. Don’t make it very strong, okay?”

  Chapter 68

  HE SMILED, RESTORED to good humor. “No problem, Miss Ruby. I know how to mix a lady a drink.” He poured a finger of Scotch into one of the glasses, then filled it to the brim from the bottle of water. He handed me the cup and said, “There you go, weak as tea. Sorry I don’t have any ice. But the water’s good and cold.”

  I took a sip and refrained from making a face. I’ve never cared for Scotch, but it didn’t seem polite to ask if he had anything else.

  Reynolds poured a generous measure of Scotch into the other cup without watering it down. He raised it. “Cheers.”

  I tipped my drink to his and we both swallowed. He raised his glass again. “Here’s to old friends.” I couldn’t refuse that toast, so I held my breath as I swallowed a third mouthful, thinking that all brown liquor tasted like a rusty nail to me. But I managed a smile.

  Cary threw back his head and laughed. “Now you’re acting like an Ole Miss gal.”

  Potts chuckled deep in his throat. “That’s right. Y’all are having a party here.”

  Cary stared at the cup in my hand, then his gaze shifted to my face. I was glad I wasn’t driving. I was already feeling a little buzz.

  Reynolds picked up the open Macallan bottle. Nodding at my cup, he said, “Want me to sweeten that for you?”

  “Lord, no. Thank you.”

  “Oh, come on. Be sociable, now.”

  I heard a high-pitched giggle, and was astonished to realize that I was the source of the sound. I hadn’t giggled since grade school and wasn’t often guilty of it back then.

  Cary walked around the desk, took the drink from my hand and refilled it. As he set it down on the desk and took a seat, he said, “Oh, come on. It’s just got a spoonful of booze in it. No way it’ll get your blood alcohol too high. Isn’t that right, Deputy? Is that what you’re worried about, Ruby?”

  I wasn’t worried about my blood alcohol, but something was nagging at me. Something I needed to do.

  It struck me: Cary’s testimony. I was supposed to be getting him to back away from the statements he’d made on the witness stand and admit to his bias against Lee. I needed to get my head back on task. My forehead wrinkled as I asked: “What were we talking about?”

  His brow rose. “Ma’am?”

  “About Monae.”

  He huffed a laugh as he nudged the plastic cup closer to me. “You’re like a dog after a bone, ain’t you?”

  Potts left his position by the copy machine and walked up to Cary’s desk, setting a hip on it. He picked up the Scotch bottle and took a swig from the neck. “Can’t beat Macallan.”

  Cary swiveled in his seat, giving Potts a look of annoyance. “Get your ass off my desk.”

  Potts backed off, wiping his mouth with his hand. “You ready for me to make the deposit?”

  “Not yet.”

  “It’s a sizable amount.”

  “Potts. We got company. We’re drinking here.” Reynolds propped his boots on the desk in the very spot Potts had vacated. In a confiding tone, he said, “Yeah—Monae. I loved that girl, I really did. Even after she boned old Lee Greene, I forgave her. But she had a flaw. No loyalty.” He winked at me. “A fatal flaw.”

  Potts emitted a warning grunt, but Cary flailed a careless arm in response. I glanced over
at Potts. He was watching us with an eagle eye. It should’ve made me nervous, but I didn’t feel a bit anxious. My muscles had relaxed. All the tension in my shoulders had disappeared.

  Chapter 69

  POTTS AND CARY kept talking about money, but I quit following the thread of the conversation. Turning to Cary, I meant to ask something, but my eyes lost focus when I looked at him. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, but it didn’t help.

  “I don’t feel good,” I said. My voice sounded far away, my speech was slurred.

  Cary gave me a tight smile. Though I was woozy, I heard him say, “What are we going to do with you?”

  He drained his Scotch and set the glass down. “Poor little old thing, can’t hold your liquor. I believe we’d best take your car keys away.”

  I clutched my bag in a defensive move, but I had enough recall to say, “My car’s not here.”

  The information seemed to startle him. Returning his boots to the floor, he wheeled his chair over to the window and lifted one of the plastic blinds.

  “Damn. How’d you get here?”

  I didn’t answer. I was trying to remember how I got there.

  “Shit.” Cary turned to Potts. “Go on out back and start up the van.”

  Potts said, “You don’t need any help in here?”

  “Oh, I think I can take care of a lady. We need to get moving.”

  I saw Potts shake his head, but then he walked down the hallway. The back door banged when it closed.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, I had double vision. Two Cary Reynoldses were staring at me.

  I whispered, “Oh, Lord.”

  Reynolds didn’t reply. He shook a set of keys from his pocket and picked a key from the ring.

  “I think I’m sick.”

  He looked at me and smiled, shaking the key ring.

  As my head rolled on my neck, I saw the front door fly open. Two Suzanne Greenes stood in the doorway.

  Then I remembered. That’s how I got there. Suzanne drove me.