“If you could just hurry a bit.” I said. “As you already know, I’m late for jury duty.”

His face lifted from studying my purse and he watched me for a second. “Security can’t be rushed, ma’am. Are you wanting me to hurry ’cause you’re tryin’ to hide something?”

“No! No! I swear, I’m just so late—”

He closed my purse and pushed a button on his radio strapped to his shoulder. “Ernie, I’m gonna need some assistance. Gotta 10-66. Over.”

“Copy that. I’ll be there in five. Over.” The radio crackled.

“Ma’am, if you could have a seat.” He waved to a plastic chair against the wall.

“What? I can’t go?”

“No, I need to do a patdown and I need another officer present to ensure that you’re not sexually harassed.”

“What?”

“Ma’am, take a seat or I’ll be forced to inform the judge that you’re obstructin’ justice.”

I flopped in the chair, indignation rising. He was discriminating against me because of my shoes. After sitting for several minutes, I realized I hadn’t been to the bathroom since I’d gotten up, and I’d had two cups of coffee. “Do you think I could go to the bathroom really quick?”

He shook his head. “Nope. The restrooms are located in a secure area.”

The entryway was hot and I waved my hand to try to cool off with little success while I crossed my legs back and forth. Thinking about having to go only made it worse. I watched the minute hand on the industrial wall clock move slowly around the face. Over ten minutes had passed and no Ernie. I stood. “Look, I really need to go report for jury duty. If you could just let me go—”

“Sit.”

“You can even pat me down, I swear I won’t sue you.”

“Sit.”

I was about to protest when I heard a familiar voice. “Well, well, well. It didn’t take you long to get into more trouble.” The police officer who’d given me the ticket hooked his thumbs into his belt and rocked back on his heels with a smug smile. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

The security guard pointed toward me. “You know this one, Ernie?” His voice rose.

“Oh yeah, I just gave her a ticket for illegally parking.”

“I was gettin’ change,” I huffed.

“Then last month, there was the whole business with her mother’s murder.” He half-whispered the last word.

The security guard raised his eyebrows and appraised me with the new information. His hand rested on the butt of his gun.

“I was innocent! Daniel Crocker killed Momma.”

“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to stand and spread your feet and hold your arms out, away from your body.”

I considered protesting. This was unfair, but I figured if I put up a fuss Officer Ernie would be only too happy to haul me down to the police station, a place I had no intention of going back to. “Hey,” I said as the guard started patting my sides. “This is the county courthouse and you’re a city police officer. What are you doin’ here?”

Ernie shifted his weight. “Robbie is off with gout so I’m dropping in to help Ol’ Matt when he needs assistance. Not that it’s any of your business.”

The guard moved down my legs and finally dropped his hands. “She’s clear.”

“You sure?” Officer Ernie asked. “She’s a sneaky one.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

Ernie stuck out two fingers in the shape of a V and moved them from his eyes to me and back again. “I’m watchin’ you.”

Rolling my eyes, I picked up my purse up off the end of the conveyor belt and hobbled to the elevator. The postcard said to report to room 226.

As luck would have it, the elevator moved slower than Ol’ Matt performing his security checks. By the time I reached the second floor and opened the door to the room, it was nine-thirty and I was about to pee my pants. Since I was already late, a couple more minutes wasn’t going to hurt anything.

I spotted the women’s restroom halfway down the hall but saw the Closed for cleaning sign just as I was headed in. “Excuse me!” I called into the restroom.

A Hispanic woman appeared in the doorway and pointed to the sign. “It’s closed.”

“I know, but I really need to go,” I pleaded.

Pinching lips in disgust, she shook her head. “No, you go downstairs.”

I groaned as she spun around and dismissed me. I didn’t have time to hobble downstairs and find another restroom. The men’s restroom was next door. I glanced up and down the hallway. No one. Sticking my head in the doorway, I called out in a whisper-shout, “Hello! Is anyone in there?”

Silence.

Should I? Could I? Shoot, weren’t men’s restrooms just like women’s except for those little porcelain pots on the wall? Besides, I was sure I’d paid for at least one of them with my tax dollars. Not that I wanted to use a porcelain pot on the wall. The stall would work just fine.

Tiptoeing into the room, I closed my eyes and opened them a crack in case someone was really in there. Empty.

I hurried into the stall to do my business. As I was finishing up, someone shuffled in and stopped at the urinal next to my cubicle. I looked down and saw a pair of men’s dress shoes. My eyes widened and I picked up my feet, knowing that if whoever was out there saw my heels, he’d know the restroom had been inhabited by a woman. Unless I was a cross-dresser, which wasn’t likely in the Fenton County Courthouse on a Monday morning. But then again, what did I know about cross-dressing? I’d worn my first lacy bra and panties only about a month ago.