Page 27 of Jury Woman, Part 4 of 6

My hands stopped. My knitting sank to my lap. I couldn't move.

For the next two hours, we watched her walk through ledgers. Two sets of books for the same restaurant. Cash deliveries in gym bags every Thursday, counted in the office behind the kitchen. A standing order, she said, straight from Mr. Blackthorne, that every deposit stay below ten thousand dollars. She'd kept copies. Photocopies, at first. Then photographs on her phone. Then she'd stopped being able to sleep.

"Did anyone threaten you, Ms. Tillman?"

"Not in words." She touched the chain of her glasses. "A car sat outside my house every morning for most of that winter. Same dark sedan. Then one day there was a bouquet of roses on my porch. No card." She swallowed. "I don't have anyone who sends me roses."

Roses. I thought of Friday, of Blackthorne's lazy voice on the jail recording asking whether anyone needed reminding to water them.

The recording ended. The screen went to blue.

McDavid rose. "Your Honor, the government has one additional witness to explain Ms. Tillman's unavailability." A records custodian from the Fulton County Medical Examiner's Office took the stand and confirmed, in a flat, careful voice, that Gloria Anne Tillman had died on the eleventh of March. Blunt force injuries. She'd been struck by a vehicle while walking to her mailbox at six-fifteen in the evening. Hit and run—the driver had never been identified.

"Objection." Bryan Stone was already on his feet, his voice booming. "Your Honor, the government is inviting this jury to speculate that my client is responsible for a traffic accident. There is no evidence of that, none, and counsel knows it."

"Sustained." Judge Arnold turned to us, grave. "Members of the jury, you've heard testimony regarding why Ms. Tillman could not appear. You are not to draw any inference against the defendant from the circumstances of her death. There is no evidence before you connecting Mr. Blackthorne to that event."

I nodded along with everyone else.

And I kept seeing her. The cardigan. The beaded chain. The shake in her hands as she said she didn't expect to live.

She'd been right.

The judge could tell me not to draw a line between those two points. He couldn't erase either point. A woman had known something about Robert Blackthorne, and she'd been afraid, and now she was dead. A killer with a car had driven away and was still out there somewhere.

I looked down. Lily's headband lay in my lap, finished except for the bind-off. I'd been gripping the needles so hard they'd left red grooves in my palm.

Along the back wall, Deputy Wells stood with his eyes moving steadily from the defense table to the jury box. Our gazes locked, and something in his unwavering expression made me relax enough to breathe.

October 28, Wednesday

BOTH KIDS were on the screen, side by side at the kitchen island, and neither of them looked especially glad about it. Lily had her chin propped on her fist. Josh was spinning a skateboard wheel with one finger, around and around, the bearing ticking softly.

"Hi, you two," I said. "It's so good to see you both."

"Hey," said Lily.

Josh gave the wheel another spin.

I tried a few openings. How was online school going? Fine. Had anybody fixed the garbage disposal yet? Nope. Was Tucker still stealing socks? A shrug. I felt like I was knocking on a door with a pillow.

Finally, Josh slid off his stool. "Speaking of Tucker, I have to walk him."

"Right now?"

"He's been whining at the door for like ten minutes." He was already out of frame. "Bye, Mom."

The back door opened and closed. Somewhere beyond it, Tucker barked twice, delighted.

That left Lily. She sat alone at the island, drawing circles in a few spilled grains of sugar with her fingertip.

"How are you doing, sweetheart? Really?"

"I'm over Scott, if that's what you're asking." She said it flatly, but there was no wobble in it, and I believed her. "He's a loser. Everybody knows it now, too. Even April unfollowed him."

"Good for April."

A faint smile came and went. Then her finger stopped moving in the sugar. "But I'm kind of worried about Josh."