Page 2 of Jury Woman, Part 4 of 6

"Has this ever happened before?" I asked.

"Occasionally," he conceded. "But the judge is more stringent when it comes to federal cases."

"Is my family in danger?"

"Detective Terry and I will be thorough," he assured me.

I kept my eyes on the carpet on the way to the elevator. Somewhere between the third floor and the lobby, it occurred to me that by suppertime he'd know more about my life than I'd ever meant to share.

Also, regarding my question… the man hadn't said no.

October 2, Friday

THE SAME four chairs sat arranged in the same half-circle, as though nobody had touched them overnight. I took the one in the middle again and folded my hands so no one would notice them trembling.

Detective Terry had brought a manila folder this time. Deputy Wells stood by the door with his hands clasped in front of him, looking rested, pressed, and unreadable. Meanwhile I'd lain awake until three, picturing him walking through my house, sizing up my ex-husband.

"Detective," Judge Arnold said. "What did you find?"

Terry cleared his throat. "We spoke with the daughter at the residence yesterday afternoon, with her father present. She admitted she made the post hoping her mother would be dismissed from the jury." He glanced at me, then back to the judge. "She didn't grasp that it would turn into anything this serious. In her mind it was a family argument that happened to be public."

I studied the grain of the judge's desk.

"Initially she was defensive," Terry went on. "Then Colin"—he nodded toward the door—"explained what it means to be a juror on a federal case. That it's a sacred commitment, and that people have been hurt over less than what she wrote. After that she was apologetic. She deleted every social media app from her phone in front of us and promised she won't post again."

Colin. I'd never heard anyone refer to him by his first name. It hit me as oddly intimate.

"I also made it clear to the father and to the younger brother," Terry said, "that there are to be no further posts, comments, or messages concerning Ms. Good's jury service. From anyone in the household."

I pictured the scene in my living room. Warren would have been nodding too fast, the way he nods at customers who ask about financing. Josh would have been folded into the corner of the couch. Lily would have cried the pretty kind of tears first, and the real ones only after Wells started talking.

"In your judgment, Detective, has this been contained?"

"I believe it has, Your Honor."

"Deputy Wells, do you agree?"

"Yes, sir." His voice was level, almost mild. "I walked the property and checked the neighborhood. Nothing concerning. I told Mr. Good, his companion, and both children to be alert for anyone who approaches them asking questions about Ms. Good or the case, whether that's a stranger, a reporter, or a new friend who's suddenly very curious. If that happens, they're to contact me immediately. They have my number."

His companion. So Heidi had been there too, probably in my kitchen, probably offering him a green smoothie. I wanted to slide off the leather chair and crawl under it.

Every person in this room knew my daughter had tried to torpedo a federal trial to get her laundry done, and my ex-husband's girlfriend slept on my side of the bed. McDavid knew. Stone knew. The judge knew. And the man by the door had seen all of it firsthand.

I braced for what was coming next. Any second Judge Arnold would take off his glasses, rub the bridge of his nose, and tell me that in thirty years on the bench he'd never seen such a fustercluck, and that I should go home and tend to my family.

He took off his glasses. I held my breath.

"I've reviewed the record," he said, "and I'm convinced Ms. Good did not violate any instruction of this court. She reported the matter promptly, and her conduct throughout has been appropriate." He looked toward the door. "I'm also confident Deputy Wells will stay alert to any security concerns that arise."

"I will, sir."

"Ms. Good, you'll remain on this jury. You may not discuss any part of this with your fellow jurors. Not the post, not this meeting, none of it. If there's another incident, I'll have to dismiss you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

Stone gave a satisfied little grunt. McDavid capped her pen with a click that sounded like a verdict of its own.

I rose, and my knees very nearly didn't cooperate. Abject relief left me lightheaded, and I had to steady myself on the chair arm for a second before trusting my legs.