Chapter 42

In the crowded elevator, another juror was loudly singing the praises of a restaurant on Mott Street, so Isobel followed him there and took a table by herself in the corner. The premises trod the line between unprepossessing and ready to be repossessed, but the food was cheap and surprisingly tasty, and Isobel found herself marginally cheered. By the time she returned to the courthouse, the rain was letting up, and she decided to interpret these small omens as incentive to make the best of her situation. After all, she was stuck. No excuse yet invented by man (or presumably woman) would spring her now. Well, as Percival liked to say, she'd either have a great experience or a great story to tell.