No Alibi

TWO

By the time Smith arrived at her shop the next morning, Julie Ann was already upset by the rumors she’d heard. Forcing a smile, she shook out a plastic cape as she said, “Good morning.”

“Morning.” He plopped into her chair and sighed while she wrapped the cape around his neck and prepared him for his haircut. His gaze was somber when it met hers in the mirror. “I take it you’ve heard.”

“About Denny Hanford? Yes. It’s all over town. It’s hard to believe he was actually murdered.”

Smith was nodding. “I didn’t believe it either, at first. They found him last night, by the storage yard out on Highway 9.”

“Poor Denny. Who would do such a thing?”

“Lester Taney was seen in the area. Denny apparently tipped the law to the location of Lester’s bootlegging operation and Lester shot him for it.”

“That’s unbelievable.” Her lips pressed into a thin line as she recalled her high school years. “Denny never was the sharpest pencil in the box but he always seemed to have a pretty good heart.”

“Not according to some of the good old boys around here. You should hear all the talk over at the café.”

“It still doesn’t make sense to me. Bootlegging went out of style with the end of Prohibition.”

“Apparently not. We live in a dry county, and with taxes on liquor so high, I guess it’s still profitable.”

Julie Ann picked up her scissors and began combing and snipping Smith’s thick, dark hair. “You don’t think we’ll be called for that jury, do you?”

“I doubt it. With the way everybody in town knows everybody else, I can’t see how they’d expect to find an impartial jury around here.”

Her eyebrows arched as her gaze again met his in the mirror. “That’s true.”

Eventually laying aside her comb and scissors, she reached for the clippers. This part could be a bit tricky but she was so used to doing it, it was practically automatic.

Consequently, when Smith cleared his throat and asked, “Didn’t you and Denny date years ago?” her clippers jerked and strayed into the back of his hair above the area she’d intended to trim.

Julie Ann’s heartfelt “Ack!” made Smith jump and sent her errant cut even higher.

She stepped back, appalled. “I’m so sorry!”

“How bad is it?”

“Not that bad. I can even it up.”

“Before you take my ear off, maybe you should answer my question. Did you date Denny Hanford?”

“No. Yes. Sort of. We had mutual friends and we all used to run around together.” Although her first instinct had been to deny any connection, she certainly wasn’t going to lie. After all, there was no real tie between her and the poor, dead young man.

She met Smith’s steady gaze in the mirror again. “He’d failed a couple of grades and wound up in my graduating class. There weren’t very many of us so we all knew each other, okay?”

As she bent lower to reshape the thick hair on the back of Smith’s head, she had to force herself to concentrate on what she was doing. Were others going to ask her about her relationship with Denny? Did it really matter? She supposed not. He had been a much closer friend to her older brother, Ben, and when Ben, like Smith, had joined the Marines, she’d been glad to see him far removed from Denny’s questionable influence.

Would that be enough to disqualify her from serving on the murder trial’s jury? Perhaps. And perhaps not. Either way, it wasn’t up to her. If the Good Lord wanted her to serve, she’d have to. That was all there was to it.

The notion of holding another person’s life in her hands, however, made her feel queasy.

Smith looked over his shoulder at her. “You okay?”

“Sure. Fine. Just overworked. Sherilyn didn’t show up this morning and when I phoned to ask her why, she couldn’t stop crying long enough to tell me.”

“Uh-oh. Were she and Denny involved?”

“I don’t think so. She tells me a lot about her love life—usually more than I’d like to hear—and she’s never mentioned his name.”

“Still, they probably ran around with some of the same people.”

Julie Ann reluctantly agreed. “You’re right. Sherilyn had a pretty hard life until recently so that theory fits. I haven’t had much success getting her interested in the youth activities at my church but I keep trying.”

“She just needs to grow up more before she develops common sense.”

Julie Ann met his glance in the mirror, then averted her eyes. “Like I did, you mean?”

“I never said that.”

“No, but you were thinking it.”

When Smith didn’t contradict her, she felt her cheeks warming with embarrassment. They had never talked about her actions following their one date but she knew he hadn’t been infatuated with her, as she’d hoped back then.

She huffed and pressed her lips into a thin line. That was the understatement of the century. If he hadn’t come to her for haircuts after his military buzz cut had grown out, she’d have assumed he never forgave her for the way she’d pursued him. She certainly wouldn’t have blamed him for avoiding her completely. If their roles had been reversed, that’s probably what she would have done. She was a lot smarter these days—even where Smith was concerned.

As Smith had feared, he and Julie Ann were both notified to report for jury selection a few weeks later. He followed her and several others into the courtroom. It wasn’t like the depictions he’d seen on TV and in the movies. There were fifteen rows of padded, armless chairs facing a small, raised, oak-paneled area beneath the Arkansas seal, which was flanked by national and state flags.

Tables were arranged on either side of the judge’s bench and attorneys were already poring over the questionnaires he and the others had filled out.

Smith would have taken a seat beside Julie Ann if other women had not immediately crowded around her and begun chattering like a gaggle of excited geese.

Julie Ann’s name was the fifth one called. She was graceful and pretty as ever, he noted, although she looked terribly tense as she faced the attorneys, Grimes and Lazarus.

“Your name, please?” the portly Grimes asked.

“Julie Ann Jones.”

“And your residence is in Fulton County, Ms. Jones?”

“Yes. I live in Heart, off Squirrel Hill Road.”

“How long have you lived there?”

“Six years. The house was my grandfather’s.”

Smith could tell she was terribly nervous because not only was her voice shaky, she was clasping her hands together so tightly that her fingers were white against the pale blue of her dress. He didn’t doubt that she was taking this a lot more seriously than most of her peers and he feared her attitude would make her a good choice as a juror.

“Were you acquainted with the victim, Denny Hanford, Ms. Jones?”