Ghouls Just Want to Have Fun by Kathleen Bacus

Author:Kathleen Bacus
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Co.
Published: 2008-07-28T21:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I slowed my car to a stop and stayed put. I'd learned that much from prior experiences with law enforcement. I hoped Joe followed my example.

I watched the progress of the officer as he exited his car, flashlight in his left hand, the fingers of his right hand hovering over the holster that was fastened to the gun belt. The gun belt that belonged to the county mountie that was about to bust our sorry hides. Seems to me I remember a children's story about a house that Jack built that went something like that.

I sat still and waited for the officer to make his way back to me. He came up along the passenger's-side door and flashed his light inside the car. I waved, relieved that it wasn't Deputy Doug--or Deputy Doughboy as I called him. One of the nicer things I called him. He flashed his light in the backseat, and then I heard him talking into the microphone clipped to his uniform shirt. He rapped on my passenger's-side door, shined the light again--right in the ol' peepers--and let out with a long sigh.

"You want to step out of the vehicle, ma'am?" he called out. "Please."

Did I?

I nodded and laid my shoulder into the door a couple times, and it popped open. "It sticks sometimes," I explained when I almost fell out of the vehicle.

The officer flashed his beam in the direction of Joe's car, and I noticed Joe had gotten out of his vehicle and was approaching the officer. "You two havin' some trouble?" the officer asked.

"Car trouble," I responded. "This gentleman here was just giving me a friendly push." Right into the path of the coppers.

"I see. Can I see some ID?"

We both complied.

"So, what brings you out in these parts?" the deputy asked.

Good question. What did bring us out at the end of a dead-end road at nine o'clock at night?

"Would you believe we're lost?" Joe asked. I winced.

"You're both lost?" the officer asked. "How does something like that happen?"

"It could happen," I told the cop. "You know how men will never stop and ask for directions. Well, I could've been following him and he got lost and we ended up on this road." I ignored the look of indignation Joe gave me.

"I thought you said you had car trouble and he was giving you a push," the officer said.

"That's absolutely right," I replied. "My engine wouldn't start so he was giving me a push." I thought our story, as stories go, wasn't too far outside the realm of possibility. And most of it was true. And what wasn't strictly so, was carefully worded so as to be supposition and not really a falsehood, strictly speaking. And face it, Joe hadn't given me much to work with given the lame "lost" story starter he'd supplied.

"I see," said the officer. "Explain this, then. How did a guy you were following end up behind you to give you a push?" he asked.

Just my luck. A cop who thinks on his shiny black patent leather feet.

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