Page 2 of The Woman on the Jury

I mean, I wasn’t exactly planning on dragging out my decision even without being sequestered, but at least I could go home each day. I could check on my grandfather. I could visit the store to make sure things weren’t falling apart.

It would just be a couple months,I reminded myself.

The store had been failing for years. A few weeks wouldn’t be what brought it down. I’d already been working on fixing things. Those patches would hold it over. Then I could fully commit to it, never having to think about jury duty for a long while.

So I sat back in the ridiculously uncomfortable jury box chairs and watched the prosecution and defense team flounce around the courtroom voices raised, over-enunciating each word.

Unfortunately, for both sides, the news had hit and circulated too quickly for them to get a jury that hadn’t heard about what had happened before the trial. And because I was who I was, and because I’d been desperate for a break from the relentless cataloging of what was inside of the cramped, dusty, stuffy antique store, I’d been quick to hop on news and socials, looking into the case.

Murders were common in the city, regardless of how much the crime rate had dropped in the past few decades.

But mafia murders that resulted in a trial?

Not so common.

The victim was Nicholas Myers.

The prosecution had spent days trying to paint him as an upstanding citizen who had never been arrested before. They leaned into the fact that he was the youngest of five brothers, and their family was grieving and yada yada yada.

Before his socials had been locked down like they always did in cases like this, though, I got to see a different image of Nicholas Myers and his brothers.

And let’s just say that I had some theories about why Nicholas ended up dead.

Still, I was objective.

I was willing to hear both sides.

Even if the prosecutor’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard, and I’d been sporting a migraine for days just from listening to him.

The defense team was something out of a movie or TV show. A man and woman, both of them almost disarmingly attractive, and so sleekly dressed that I couldn’t help but wonder how many months of my salary they were wearing each day. The male lawyer’s voice was all smooth and deep, and the woman had just the hint of a rasp that had the men on the jury leaning forward when she spoke.

As for the defendant, a Mr. Cosimo Costa—and can we all agree that his name was meant for TV or movies—well, he was an enigma.

I hadn’t heard him speak. Or smile. Or show any emotion whatsoever during the course of the trial.

All he did was sit there in his handsomeness and disassociate.

He was tall: he had to be a good six-two or six-three with a fit but not bulky frame under his all-black suit. He had black hair, black eyes, a sharp jaw, and those cheekbone hollows that kind of gave him a villainous air. Which was probably working in the prosecution’s favor. But it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about his looks.

It wouldn’t kill the guy to emote, though.

Sitting there, day in and day out, like he was, well, you could definitely see how he was capable of murder.

Almost as if sensing that thought, his gaze slid in the direction of the jury box.

It had to be my imagination, but it seemed like he zeroed right in on me.

A strange shiver worked down my spine, and the weirdest part was that it didn’t feel exactly like abadshiver.

But that was ridiculous.

It had to be the day-in, day-out of the courtroom grind that was getting to me.

I rolled my neck, trying to pay attention to what the expert on the witness stand was saying.

It wasn’t until we were breaking for lunch that something interesting happened, though.

A woman walked into the courtroom.

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