Swimming in the Jury PoolChapter 6
The haunting refrain of the old standard tune of “Misty” ran through Ralph’s brain like Irish pennants demanding swift attention. His earlier daydreams of mauling her tempting hindquarters were consummated with telling accuracy. The clerk of court had confessed to him that she was not a “local” girl but a transplant from New York City. Her sincerity almost made him laugh because he had known that obvious fact from the first moment she opened her mouth. When she had blasted the jury pool with...