Page 13

“Since I don’t think you meant to ask about my morning bowel movement, I’ll jump to the good stuff. I’d been in bed a while, and I woke to a horrendous crashing noise. I sprang from my bed as fast as these old bones could, to find the front grill of some idiot’s truck in my living room, headlights shining on what was left of my couch. Ilikedthat couch. It didn’t show cat hair or anything. It was one of the last things my husband and I bought together before he passed.” Mrs. Larson pointed at Alex Hernandez. “This one came to check on me afterward. It’s lucky I was in bed, if I’d been up watching my stories, I’d be a bloody pancake right now.” Her frown swung to Mr. Shepherd. “Some people have no respect.”

I had to admire her spirit. Mrs. Larson had fire. So often, our callers were terrified when they called, and it was hard to pull the necessary details from them. Her blunt style may not be the stereotypical old lady display the prosecution might prefer, but it made her both credible and sympathetic. A couch that will hide cat hairishard to find. At least one of my fellow jurors nodded at that description of the destruction.

“Did you see anyone other than Mr. Hernandez that night?”

Her sharp snort ricocheted across the courtroom. “You mean like a reindeer? Not that night. I was in bed when it happened.” She adjusted her glasses, glaring at the prosecutor. “Didn’t I already tell you that? I may be old, but my mind is like a steel trap.” She snapped her teeth together in a parody of jaws closing.

The prosecutor Mr. Willows looked down at his desk, rearranging his pens against his pad. Was he trying to hide a smile? Mrs. Larson was feisty. Watching her joust with counsel had me holding back my own smile. I could imagine Andi responding with that kind of spirit.

“What about the other incidents Mr. Hernandez described? Did you witness any of those?”

Eyes narrowing on Mr. Shepherd, Mrs. Larson nodded.

“I saw some idiot in a reindeer head forking up Hernandez’s lawn. Called the cops too. But they laughed it off as the whimsy of an old woman. Didn’t believe that I saw what I saw.”

After Mrs. Larson recounted all she remembered, along with the summary of damages to her house and court wrapped up for the day, we were excused. I quickly packed up my supplies. Ramon shared an update on Ted’s condition—resting comfortably and I dodged out of the jury room, trying to avoid more congratulations from my fellow jurors. There seemed to be a collective sigh of relief when he shared the news, and I was glad. I didn’t often get updates on calls. At least Ted’s story had a happy ending.

I slid into my truck and let the engine warm as I watched the other jurors filter from the courthouse. Jimmy would want me to make sure Andi’s car started.

Sure.

I snorted. While it might be true, it wasn’t why I stayed. I’d seen how she chatted with Sam, the only other male juror under fifty. Something about the other man set my teeth on edge. Probably the ease with which he and Andi talked. I wanted her to turn to me with that soft smile, her lips quirked up as she shared a snarky comment. I wanted her to ask me for help if she had car trouble again, not some blond guy who smiled too much. Of course, it was sexist. For all I knew, Shelly was a retired mechanic.

Still, I waited a few moments more, until Andi slid into her car and sped away.

Would it seem more or less stalker-ish if I asked for her number, so she could let me know if she needed help? I didn’t want Jimmy asking uncomfortable questions, so getting it from him was out. Would Andi share her number if I asked? Maybe it would get us past the night I’d turned her down, to something closer to friendship.

Still stewing over whether or not I should ask for Andi’s number—or even if she’d give it to me—I navigated my truck down a quiet back road to Kirsten and Julie’s house in Sumner, a suburb outside of Tacoma,arriving just in time for our weekly family dinner.

“Uncle Ty!”

Rosie’s squeal of delight never failed to put a smile on my face.

“Hey, Rosie-Posey.”

I tweaked her nose and ignored her scowl at the nickname. In rainbow leggings and a unicorn T-shirt, she couldn’t pull off a very convincing grumpy face. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and it only served to emphasize the babyish curves of her cheeks.

“Uncle Ty, I’m not a baby anymore.”

“But you’ll always be my Rosie-Posey.”

Her eye roll was peak teenager, impressive given she was only six, and I just grinned back.

“Ty, that you? Come into the kitchen. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Julie’s call had me toeing off my shoes and following Rosie through the house to the kitchen, where the savory smells of tomato sauce and garlic caught my attention.

“Spaghetti tonight?”

Julie’s wife, Kirsten, looked up from where she was grating parmesan on a loaf of split bread.

“Yep. Wash up, and we’ll eat.”

I shepherded Rosie into the bathroom for hand washing and smiled my thanks as we sat down to the table with steaming plates.

“You’re quiet tonight. How was jury duty? I know you can’t talk about any trial details, but has the process been interesting?” Julie asked.

I shrugged, glancing at Rosie before meeting Julie’s blue eyes across the table.