I’m not. I let it go to voice mail.
My phone rings again only seconds after it stopped.
“Just get it; it’s okay,” Emmitt says. He means it. I want him to tell me to stay. Ignore it.
I pick up.
“Hello,” my raspy voice says.
“Prosecutor couldn’t get ahold of you. Moore’s verdict is in. They’re reading it at noon. You well enough to go?” Sarge asks.
I’m relieved it’s Sarge and not someone else. He probably knows I’m lying about the sick day, but he won’t call me on it. He knows I’ve earned it.
“Yeah, I’ll make it.”
“Some kind of two-hour bug going around?” he retorts.
“Must be. Hey,” I say, wanting to share my big news with someone, anyone, “I got engaged last night.”
“Congratulations, Kate,” he says.
“Thanks. I’ll get to the courthouse.”
“You coming in after?”
“Might depend on what the verdict is. If it’s not guilty, I’m going to need a drink.”
“And if it’s guilty, you’ll deserve one.”
I chuckle and hang up the phone. I don’t have long to make myself presentable, even if it’s not really possible at the moment, no matter how much time I may or may not have.
“You have to go to work?” Emmitt asks as I get up. He looks my naked body up and down and grabs my hand, not asking me to stay, but comforting me for one moment more.
“Court. That case I was telling you about; the jury must have decided first thing this morning.”
“Want me to come with you?”
I shake my head urgently.
“No, absolutely not. That woman, she can’t know we’re together. She can’t know anyone important to me. She’s evil, Emmitt.”
“Be careful,” he says, with warmth and protection in his voice.
“I will,” I say, before heading into the bathroom and shutting the door.
I look in the mirror. I look like I haven’t slept, since I haven’t. There are bags under my eyes and my hair is a mess. I smear a little makeup on my face and spritz my hair with dry shampoo, knowing brushing it will only increase the frizz.
I reappear and notice Emmitt looking intently at the door, waiting for my return. He only sees me for a second as I head for the closet and pull out the first things I can find that are clean and matching. I contort my body, trying to get my arms in the proper places in a white blouse. Finally successful, I follow with a black pencil skirt and grab my bag.
“Call me when it’s over,” Emmitt says. I smile and kiss him once more, wishing that I could just lounge in his arms all day.
Suddenly I’m at the courthouse. I know I drove myself there, but I don’t remember a single moment of the ride. It’s a beautiful day. One just begging for a press conference as soon as the verdict is announced. Either way, there will be one, and the press is ready and waiting. The news has gotten out and media outlets from three counties away have swarmed the streets, this being the biggest story they’ve covered in quite some time. National media is here as well. The nation is fascinated by this story. I don’t blame them; it’s something straight out of a movie. I knew I’d see weird things as a detective, but I couldn’t have imagined this if I’d tried.
Though I’ve kept out of the public eye as much as possible, I’m afraid someone in the press swarm will spot me, recognize me from behind the scenes of some past press conference. Once one of them walks over to me, they’ll all come, not wanting to risk missing out on action of any kind. Dealing with the media at this moment may throw me over the edge, so I’m relieved when I make it into the courthouse without raising so much as an eyebrow.
I’m tense. My muscles ache. My shoulders are practically touching my ears, and they refuse to release. I keep trying to stretch my back but it doesn’t help. My fingers knead my legs like a masseuse, though it does little more than occupy my mind for a few moments as I sit in the crowded gallery of the courtroom, anticipating the arrival of Margaret, the jury, and the judge, just like everyone else sitting with me.
Margaret walks in, right past me. She turns back and smiles her evil smile at me. I almost get up and punch her in the face, right in front of everyone. But that’s what she wants me to do. So I don’t. I sit and sneer, secretly saying a little prayer that she’ll be convicted. Praying isn’t really my thing, but every little bit could help in this situation. After all, God, Ryan, and I are the only people who know the truth.
Soon, the jury files in and then we all stand to welcome the judge into her courtroom. Once seated again, I can’t sit still. I squirm in my seat like a kid waiting for the doctor. I’m in physical distress, my breathing labored, my whole body shaking; I’m sweating even though it’s freezing in the courtroom, the air blasting to accommodate the large crowd.
“Good afternoon,” the judge’s commanding voice booms through the room. Even Margaret Moore wouldn’t mess with her, she has such a powerful presence about her. “Let’s get right to it. Mr. Foreman, have you reached a verdict?”
The jury foreman, an elderly man—nicely
