An Irresistible Impulse Read Free Page B

she quipped. “I have this funny feeling that after sitting in the courthouse seven or eight hours a day I’m going to need something .”
    Her reference to the trial seemed to sober them all. As Abby listened for it, conversation in the room was sparse. Rather, there were the sounds of eating—silver touching china, the clink of glassware as it moved from table to mouth and back, an occasional cough. Eyes down, she focused on her lunch,eating absently, trying to tell herself that a certain awkwardness was only natural. After all, the people in this room had been thrown together through circumstances quite beyond their control. Each had his own life, his own friends, his own loyalties…and there were still two more jurors to be added to the unlikely assortment.
    “When do you think the trial will begin?” she broke the silence on impulse to home in on Grace.
    The woman raised her eyes skyward. “With any luck we’ll get our jury completed this afternoon. If so, opening statements should begin tomorrow morning.”
    Nodding, Abby returned to her meal. Tomorrow morning. At least she wouldn’t be waiting around as some of these others had done. Two more jurors. Her thoughts took a frivolous turn as she wondered again whether that enticingly human male with his casual stance and his amused expression would be one of the two. A surreptitious glance toward the other tables convinced her that he’d be by far the most attractive of the group.
    Then her eye met Patricia’s, and the other gave a meaningfully exaggerated yawn. So the group was as fascinating as she’d feared? Ah, well, there was always Scrabble, or a good book, or if worst came to worst, shecould spend her free time writing letters to Sean.
    She hadn’t realized she’d chuckled aloud until Louise called her on it. “You don’t seem as bothered by the situation as we are. No husband at home? Kids? Job?”
    “Oh, yes,” she replied softly, “I certainly have a job. But you’re right. I don’t have a husband or children to worry about. It makes a difference.”
    Evidently her frank concession was enough to quell the older woman’s curiosity. There were no more questions asked. Indeed, the meal progressed in silence through gingerbread à la mode and a welcome pot of herb tea. It was only when the foursome prepared to leave the table that Grace spoke up.
    “There’s one thing I’d like to ask you all now,” she began. “The judge will elaborate on this tomorrow morning, but let me say quickly that you aren’t to discuss this case with anyone. That means no talks with each other after court or at night. I know it might get pretty tense holding it all in, but that’s the rule. We ask that you honor it.”
    She’d ended on such an urgent note that for the first time the three nodded in agreement. “Good. Now then,” she resumed more buoyantly as they headed for the lobby, “you’ve each been assigned a room. That’s another nice feature about The Inn—privaterooms for all. I think I’ll have Mr. Abbott show each to his own. Clean up if you want. Take a rest. Then,” she paused to look around for her quarry, “if I can corral my colleagues we can get down to the business of taking you back to your homes to pick up your things.”
     
    It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that Abby finally arrived at her house. She was accompanied by another female officer, Lorraine Baker, who’d come to her rescue after Grace had taken off with Louise. It was quite an experience, she was later to muse, to walk through one’s own house with a stranger in constant tow. But it was in keeping with the rules of sequestration that had been outlined earlier. Nothing was to influence her now—not the morning’s paper which lay neatly on the kitchen table, nor the daily mail, which the policewoman dutifully sorted and censored, nor the best-selling novel, newly bought and ripe for the packing, that told the story of a psychopathic rapist.
    Lorraine was at her elbow