My face flushed, but I met his eye without blinking. “I’m a guest. Meeting a friend for dinner.”
Suzanne Greene was seated at a back table, near the doors to the patio. She lifted a hand in greeting. “Ruby!”
With a grim face, Owens led me across the room to Suzanne’s table. It was the peak of the dinner hour, and many patrons’ heads turned to stare as I passed. I lifted my chin and made my victory lap with a swagger, thinking: Hey, Rosedale—knock this chip off my shoulder.
As I set a napkin in my lap, Suzanne reached over to give my arm a squeeze. “You did it, darling. You’re the talk of Mississippi.”
Glancing around, I said, “I’m the topic of conversation in this room, anyway.”
“Baby, you made the evening news—all over the state. You’re on the screen in Jackson!” She gave a happy sigh and took a hearty swallow from a cocktail glass. “I always believed in you. Feel like you’re my own.”
A white-haired waiter came up. I knew him: it was Anthony Phelps, one of my character witnesses. After we exchanged a friendly greeting, Suzanne ordered a round of mojitos. After several sips, I launched into a description of the furor created by the discovery of Jewel’s mask.
“At first, Lafayette put up a fight. He said he wouldn’t withdraw the charges until the mask went through testing at the state lab, to ascertain that it was actually Jewel’s.”
“And that would take time. Do you mean to tell me that Lafayette wanted to make that innocent young man languish in jail while they waited for test results?”
“Uh-huh. And here’s the thing: both the DA and the judge wanted the final decision to be on the other one’s head. Baylor wanted Lafayette to withdraw the charge against Darrien, but Lafayette wanted it to be the judge’s call.”
“So the friends and family of Jewel Shaw…”
“Wouldn’t be unhappy with them. So I asked that they do some internet research on that juror—Troy Hampton—just to see how that might impact their decision. Oh, Lord, Suzanne—you can’t imagine all the stuff we uncovered.”
“Like what?”
“I’d just scratched the surface before. We found social media sites where he’d posted crazy rants about how Mississippi should criminalize black-and-white relations. And since the government won’t do it, he said vigilantes need to take it into their own hands. With the death penalty.”
Suzanne drained her drink. “Just when you think things have changed in Mississippi, you encounter a nut job like that juror.”
“Not only is he a murderer—he wanted Darrien to pay the price. When I think of what Darrien has suffered…” I’d already asked Suzanne for enough favors to last a lifetime, but I had one more request. “Suzanne, he should be back in school. I don’t have any contacts, but I wondered whether you might know how to pull a string.”
“Enough said. I’ll get on it. I know some people in higher ed.”
Our waiter came back to the table and announced the dinner special: fried catfish. I followed Suzanne’s lead and ordered it. As he walked away, Suzanne said, “So your professional life is golden; you’re walking on sunshine. How’s your love life?”
If it hadn’t been for the cocktail, I’d have dodged the question. But it loosened my tongue. “Suzanne, begging your pardon—I have the shittiest taste in men. If it wasn’t so pitiful, it would be downright funny.”
Anthony appeared and set down three plates of catfish. He bent to whisper in my ear, but he spoke so softly, I couldn’t catch what he was saying.
“Anthony, can you speak up, please?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Mr. Owens says we’re not supposed to say anything. But you need to know, Ruby. He’s here.”
“Who?”
“Him. You know. He’s in the men’s locker room.”
He said more, his mouth close to my ear, but I couldn’t hear it. The sound of sirens rang through the room.
Chapter 31
I RAISED MY voice to a near shout. “Anthony! Are the police here?”
“Yes, ma’am, I reckon so. Mr. Owens has him cornered in the locker room.”
“Who is cornered?” I asked, but on some level, I knew the answer.
Anthony tapped his cheek. “The man with the red face.”
Suzanne leaned over in her chair. “What is going on, Anthony?”
“The cleaning staff found that man messing around in the locker room. He’d climbed up on top of the lockers.”
“What on earth?” Suzanne demanded.
The country club members were leaving their chairs, racing to the patio. The sirens stopped, so Anthony lowered his voice. “He was in the men’s locker room. He’s got no call to be in there. Only golf members are allowed.”
“What was he doing?”
“Standing up on top of the lockers. Lifting up the ceiling tiles, feeling around under them.”
“The ceiling tiles?”
“Yes, ma’am. And when the cleaning lady said he wasn’t supposed to be up on those lockers, he jumped right down. But he was holding a knife. She seen it plain as day.”
I reeled as the implications hit home. “He pulled a knife? From under the ceiling tiles?”
“Big old straight-edge knife. She told me it was dirty. You reckon it had dried blood on it, maybe?”
“Yeah. I bet it did.”
Anthony said, “Cleaning lady about had a heart attack. Ran out in the hall, screaming for Mr. Owens. Security pinned the dude down before he could leave.”
I jumped from my seat and joined the others who were rubbernecking at the patio doors. I got there in time to see the sheriff swing open the back door of his patrol car, place his hand on the dark head, and shove the handcuffed man inside. Through the car window, I saw his profile: it was juror number 3.
I walked back to the table. Suzanne said, “Did you see him?”
I nodded. She said, “Anthony filled me in. He hid the weapon in the locker room. Sounds like it’s been concealed in there since the night Jewel died.”
So, I thought. All the pieces of the murder puzzle were in place. And with Troy Hampton in custody, it was really over. As I sat in my seat, I could feel my pulse racing. I made a silent vow: I would never again get involved in a homicide defense. It could eat me alive.
Suzanne was staring at me. “Anthony, would you bring Ruby a fresh drink? Looks like she needs it.”
“Yes, Miss Greene.”
I looked down at the plate of catfish but had no appetite for it. Then I was struck by the presence of the third plate. Puzzled, I asked Suzanne whether someone was joining us.
She craned her neck, checking out the dining room entrance. “I think he just walked in.” She stood and grabbed her purse. “I’m going to have a smoke on the patio. Be right back.”
I watched her walk through the patio doors, then turned to the entrance and was appalled to see Shorty Morgan heading straight for our table, dressed in a sports coat and gray slacks.
He sat down, cool as a cucumber. “Hey, stranger.”
I’d have liked to knock him out of the chair, but I was in a formal setting. Instead, I jumped out of my seat and reached for my briefcase.
Shorty rose and seized my elbow. “Why have you been giving me the cold shoulder? Ruby, we need to talk.”
I jerked my arm from his grasp. “You’re a damned hypocrite.”
He had the good grace to look abashed. “How did you find me out?”
“On the internet, you idiot.” I grabbed the lapel of his jacket and pulled him closer, so I wouldn’t have to raise my voice. “You were playing me. You’re a racist. What was your angle? Were you reporting my trial strategy to your buddies in the Aryan hate club?”
He leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “Sit. Down.”
I sat. But not because he told me to. I wanted to hear his flimsy explanation.
Still speaking in a low voice, Shorty said, “I’m a political scientist, not a racist. And I was doing research, undercover.”
That set me back. I studied his face. “What kind of research?”
“I’m writing an article for an academic journal. I do have ambitions higher than frying a chicken. Did you know that?”