True Colors

“Please speak up, Ms. Michaelian.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry.”

“Were you working at the ice-cream shop on Christmas Eve of last year?”

“I was. I wanted to make a special ice-cream cake for the evening service. I was running late, as usual.”

The people in the gallery smiled and nodded. Myrtle’s tardiness was well known in town.

“Was Oyster Shores busy that night?”

“Heavens, no. Everyone was at church by seven-thirty. As I said, I was late.”

“Did you see anyone that night?”

Myrtle gave Vivi Ann a sad look. “It was about eight-ten. I was almost ready to go. I was putting the finishing touches on the frosting when I looked up and saw . . . saw Dallas Raintree coming out of the alley that leads to Cat’s house.”

“Did he see you?”

“No.” Myrtle looked miserable.

“And how did you know it was the defendant?”

“I saw his profile when he passed under the streetlamp, and I recognized his tattoo. But I already knew it was him. I’d seen him there before at night. Lots of times. I’d even told Vivi Ann about it. It was him. I’m sorry, Vivi Ann.”

“No further questions,” Ms. Hamm said.

Roy rose and asked about Myrtle’s eyesight, which wasn’t good, whether she’d had her glasses on (she hadn’t), and whether Dallas had looked directly at her. He made valid points: the man hadn’t looked at her; it had been dark; his face had been partially hidden by a cowboy hat. Lots of men had been known to come and go from Cat’s house, and at all hours of the night. And white cowboy hats and Levi’s were hardly noteworthy in these parts.

But none of it mattered to the jury, Winona could tell. Myrtle’s testimony had done the last thing necessary: she’d placed Dallas near the scene on the night in question, when he’d told his wife he was home in bed with a fever. No one in that courtroom believed Myrtle was lying. In fact, when she finished testifying she was crying and apologizing directly to Vivi Ann.

The trial went on for another two days, but everyone knew it was just limping along. Dallas never took the stand in his own defense.

In the last week of May, the defense rested and the case was handed over to the jury.

They deliberated for four hours and found Dallas guilty. He was sentenced to prison for life, without the possibility of parole.

Chapter Sixteen

“Tell him, Roy,” Vivi Ann said as they sat at the table in the small room across from the courtroom. “We can appeal this. That hair evidence was bogus science, and so what if he’s type O blood? And Myrtle couldn’t have seen him because he wasn’t there. It’s all circumstantial. There were other prints on the gun. We’ll appeal, right?”

Roy pulled away from the wall. He’d been standing as far from them as he could in the room, to give them a few precious moments before they came to take Dallas away. “I’ll file an appeal after sentencing. Probably next month. We have plenty of grounds.”

“Tell her what’s real in this world, Roy,” Dallas said.

“It’s difficult to overturn a conviction, it’s true. But it’s too early to give up,” Roy said, yet she could see how tired he was, how dispirited.

Vivi Ann stood up and faced her husband. She knew she needed to be strong for him, for them, but she felt herself weakening. “I understand why it’s hard for you to believe in things.” She stared at his face, trying to memorize every crease and line, so she could call on his image at night when she lay alone in their bed. “But I can believe. Let me. Lean on me. I’ll show you . . .”

He closed the distance between them, kissed her with a strange gentleness. She knew what it was, what it meant. “Don’t kiss me goodbye,” she whispered.

“It is goodbye, baby.”

“No.”

“You were more than I ever hoped for. I want you to know that.”

A knock at the door sounded like gunfire in the quiet. Roy crossed the room, opened the door.