Calamity Jayne Rides Again by Kathleen Bacus

Author:Kathleen Bacus
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Co.
Published: 2008-07-28T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

The cop shop at the fairgrounds, a modest, old brick building located near the main gate, was not a hub of activity on this night. Nor was it the most modern (or cleanest) example of professional law enforcement I'd ever seen. However, the give-me-a-cup-and-I'll-give-you-my-firstborn aroma of freshly brewed coffee that hit me when I entered the establishment negated all criticisms of the stark and outdated decor.

A long counter ran along one end of the room we entered, and behind it were two desks, outfitted with laptops, facing each other. A blond trooper was seated at one, clicking the mouse. Solitaire, I thought. Or maybe Free Cell. His eyes bounced between me and the monitor for a second, then his head snapped up. Apparently I now had his undivided attention. I reckoned that had more to do with the DNR shirt I had on than any allure on my part, given my lack of sleep, no makeup, and with my hair sticking out the back of my ball cap in a tangled mess.

He looked over at the sarge.

"Hey, Pete. What's up? Drunk and disorderly?"

"Drunk and disorderly? Who? Me?" I asked, not pleased to hear possible charges being bandied about.

The sergeant moved around the counter to stand directly across from me. "Naw. Criminal trespass maybe."

"Criminal trespass? Who? Me?" I sounded like those twenty-four-hour cable news networks where they repeat themselves so many times you want to throw a Walter Cronkite book at the TV. That's why I get my news from more efficient outlets. Like my grammy.

"Well, what would you call wandering the fairgrounds at three-thirty in the morning, miss?" Sergeant Sanders asked. (I finally read his nametag) "Wait, don't tell me: You're a refuse technician. You were... what, removing refuse from the fairgrounds? While wearing a Department of Natural Resources uniform shirt?"

"I did pick up several pieces of trash," I defended. "People really are so environmentally lazy, aren't they? Like, they can't walk an extra ten feet to the waste receptacle to toss their cotton candy sticks or taffy wrappers. It really is sad." I shook my head forlornly.

"About your ID?" the officer asked, taking a clipboard and sticking an official-looking document underneath the shiny metal clasp. He pulled out a pen.

"Are you really sure we need to go to all this trouble, Sergeant?" I asked, giving the two younger troopers my best come-hither look. I wished I could take my hat off and let a curtain of silky blond hair fall to my shoulders like you see in the movies, but the hair underneath my hat was probably plastered to my scalp like a hair net, and my ponytail would require my dogs' wire brush and a gallon of No More Tangles hair potion to get the knots out.

He nodded. "It's procedure, miss," he answered.

I leaned across the table. "Do you always go by the book, Sergeant?" I asked. "A big, strong officer like you,

you probably have the authority to, shall we say, color outside the lines occasionally," I said.

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