Chapter 9
The second week was the defense’s turn.
Voss called his first witness: my mother.
She walked to the stand in her best church dress.
She looked at Evelyn with sympathy.
She looked at me with disgust.
“Mrs. Jenkins,” Voss said. “How would you describe your daughter, Sarah?”
“Difficult,” she said immediately. “Always has been. Headstrong. Has to be the center of attention. If she doesn’t get her way, she makes everyone around her miserable.”
“Did you ever notice her exaggerating Sophie’s allergy?”
“All the time,” she said. “Once Sophie touched a cookie that ‘might’ have had peanuts and Sarah rushed her to the ER. The doctors said she was fine. Sarah insisted she’d had a near-death experience. She loves the drama of it all.”
Karen stood up for cross-examination.
“Mrs. Jenkins,” she said. “Is it true you and Sarah haven’t spoken in five years, except at family holidays?”
My mother hesitated.
“We’ve had our differences.”
“Differences like you telling Sarah she was ‘too fat’ at her wedding? Or you telling her she ‘should have tried harder’ when Daniel cheated on her three years ago?”
“Objection!” Voss shouted.
“Withdrawn,” Karen said. “Mrs. Jenkins, do you have any medical training? Any expertise in food allergies?”
“No.”
“So when you say Sarah exaggerates the allergy, that’s just your opinion. Not based on any actual medical knowledge.”
“I know my daughter,” my mother said.
“Do you know that Sophie’s blood test showed peanut metabolites after the incident? That the doctors confirmed she’d ingested peanut? That’s not drama. That’s science.”
My mother had no answer.
Next, Voss called an “expert witness.”
A psychologist who’d never met me.
Never met Sophie.
He’d reviewed my social media posts from ten years ago.
And my text messages with Daniel.
“In my professional opinion,” he said, “Mrs. Miller exhibits traits of histrionic personality disorder. She craves attention. She creates crises to feel important. And she is alienating her daughter from her father’s family, which is a form of emotional abuse.”
Karen destroyed him.
“Doctor,” she said. “You’ve never spoken to Mrs. Miller. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“You’ve never spoken to Sophie. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“You’ve never reviewed her medical records. Or spoken to her actual treating psychologist. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“So your ‘professional opinion’ is based entirely on Facebook posts from when she was a teenager and text messages between a fighting married couple?”
“I reviewed all available evidence.”
“All available evidence except the actual people involved?”
The psychologist shifted uncomfortably.
“Your Honor,” Karen said, turning to the judge. “I’d like to submit into evidence the actual psychological evaluation of Mrs. Miller. Conducted by a licensed psychologist who’s been treating her for six months. The evaluation concludes she shows no signs of any personality disorder. That she is, in fact, a remarkably stable and loving mother considering the trauma she’s endured.”
She turned back to the expert.
“Doctor, do you want to revise your testimony? Or should the jury assume you’re just being paid to say whatever Mr. Voss tells you to say?”
“Objection!”
The judge overruled it.
The expert had nothing to say.
Voss’s case was falling apart.
His final witness was Evelyn herself.
She walked to the stand slowly.
She wore a simple dress.
No jewelry.
No makeup.
She looked like a frail, harmless old woman.
She cried before Voss even asked her first question.
“Mrs. Carter,” he said gently. “Did you intentionally put peanut butter in your granddaughter’s dessert?”
“Never,” she sobbed. “I would never hurt that child. I love her more than anything in this world. She’s my only granddaughter.”
“Then what happened?”
“I made a mistake,” she said. “I used the wrong knife. I’d made peanut butter cookies earlier that day. I washed the knife, but apparently not well enough. There must have been a tiny residue. That’s all it was. A terrible, horrible mistake.”
She looked directly at the jury.
“I would give my life if I could take it back. Every night I pray for Sophie’s forgiveness. Every night I ask God why this happened to our family.”
It was a masterful performance.
I saw several jurors wiping their eyes.
Then it was Karen’s turn.
She didn’t yell.
She didn’t pace.
She just walked slowly to the stand.
“Mrs. Carter,” she said. “You say you used the wrong knife. A tiny residue. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Karen held up the jar of peanut butter.
The actual jar.
Entered into evidence.
“This is the jar police found under the serving tray. With your fingerprints on the lid. And on the side.”
“I told you, I made cookies earlier.”
“Then why,” Karen said, “was there a fresh fingerprint on the rim of the jar? Made at four thirty-two PM. Exactly when the video shows you stirring the frosting. A fingerprint made by someone opening the jar and scooping out peanut butter. Not someone making cookies hours earlier.”
Evelyn’s face paled.
“I… I don’t remember. Maybe I opened it again to check something.”
“Check what?”
“To see if it was still fresh.”
“At four thirty in the afternoon? Right before you served dessert?”
“Yes.”
Karen nodded.
She walked over to the screen.
“Let’s watch the video again. Slowly.”
She played the kitchen footage.
Frame by frame.
There was Evelyn.
Opening the jar.
Scooping out a heaping spoonful of peanut butter.
Stirring it into the frosting.
Scooping another.
Stirring again.
Not a tiny residue.
Two full spoonfuls.
The jury watched in horror.
Karen paused the video.
“Mrs. Carter,” she said. “Does that look like ‘tiny residue from a wrong knife’ to you? Or does it look like you intentionally put enough peanut butter in that frosting to send a seven-year-old to the ICU?”
Evelyn said nothing.
She just stared at the screen.
Then she snapped.
“That little brat deserved it!” she screamed. “Sarah was always shoving that allergy down our throats! ‘Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Sophie this, Sophie that.’ Someone needed to teach her a lesson! I was doing her a favor! Kids need to build up an immunity!”
The entire courtroom gasped.
Voss put his head in his hands.
Evelyn kept screaming.
“She’s fine! She’s alive! Everyone is acting like I killed her! I barely put any in! If Sarah hadn’t made such a big deal out of it, no one would have even noticed!”
Bailiffs rushed to restrain her.
She fought them.
Spitting.
Kicking.
Screaming obscenities.
The judge banged her gavel over and over.
“Order! Order in this court!”
As they dragged Evelyn out, she locked eyes with me.
“I’ll get you for this, Sarah!” she shrieked. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get you!”
The courtroom was silent for a full minute.
May you like
Then Karen turned to the jury.
“I think,” she said quietly, “the defendant has just made our closing argument for us.”
