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"I'm not exactly sure what you're doing in there, but it can't take that long to write a ticket." I just shook my head in disappointment. My friend Violet was a first-grade teacher and I'd seen her use the look before. It worked on six-year olds and adults alike.
Not this guy. I could tell from his stance and how he had one hand on top of the gun at his hip while holding some weird black thing in his other that I may have done the wrong thing. "Ma'am, you need to get back in your car."
I held up my hands in the 'don't shoot' position. "Just give me my ticket and I'll go."
"Ma'am, you need to get back in your car now or I'm going to have to cuff you. You know what it's like, from your third film,Cuffed and Stuffed."
My hands dropped, so did my mouth. "Are you kidding me?"Cuffed and Stuffed? It sounded like a porno. What was wrong with this guy? "You're going to cuff me? If you hadn't taken so long, I wouldn't be standing here right now. Ineedto get on that plane. It's not like I tried to talk my way out of the ticket. I've even asked for it."
I could see one eyebrow raise. "Thailand? Seriously? You're dressed for yoga class and let me tell you, all that stretching pays off on screen." He may have winked, but the glasses hid it well.
I think my head exploded then because his eyes widened—I could tell even through the mirrored glasses—and he took a half step back. His hand clenched around the butt of the gun.
"Do you know what it's like to come back here? Do you haveanyidea what I've been through this week? What will happen if I miss that flight? And you're standing here discussing my flexibility?"
"Ma'am, I need you to turn around and place your hands on the roof of your car." He stepped closer. I stepped back. "A police cruiser will be here in a few minutes to give you your ticket."
"A few minutes?" I started waving my arms around as I spoke. "No. I'm going to Thailand. Ineedto go to Thailand. I can't spend another night as a designated driver for a bunch of senior citizens. I can't fill in again for league bowling just to get my ass pinched by Frank Zajik. And if I have to spend another night listening to a borderline geriatric couple getting it on when I'm in the Sahara Desert of a sex life, I might do something crazy. Give me my stupid ticket."
I might have seen his lip twitch in amusement, or it could have been a nervous tick.
"Sahara Desert? Yeah, right. I thought you said Thailand. Ma'am, have you been drinking?"
I screeched so loudly birds flew off out of the field beside the road. The last thing I remember about Detective McHottie before the world went black was that he had a little scar in his left eyebrow.
2
"Daphne." I heard my name through a fog, my brain not able to make any of my body parts work. Including my eyes. "Really, Carl, a stun gun?" It sounded like Aunt Velma, but everything was confusing. Why couldn't I wiggle my toes?
"McCade says she went crazy and punched him."
Ah, I could feel my fingertips.
"That doesn't sound like Daphne," Aunt Velma replied.
My whole body jerked all at once, as if my brain and my muscles finally decided to become friends again.
"There, she's coming to now. We can get her side of the story," the man offered.
I was able to control my eyes, which might not have been a good thing, because the first thing I saw was Aunt Velma's generous cleavage. She knelt beside where I was lying and sighed in relief, her bosom heaving as she did so. She was sixty-five, had hair dyed fire engine red and wore makeup in a way only a Mary Kay consultant or a Texas housewife could pull off successfully. Her shirt was also fire engine red with a plunging V neckline, leaving little to the imagination. Behind her, the walls werecinderblock and painted white. Fluorescent bulbs cast a harsh white light.
Sitting up carefully, I pushed my hair back from my face and realized where I was. Jail. The little metal toilet built into the wall was the giveaway. The concrete bed—if that was the word for it—was very hard and very cold beneath me. The smell of institutional strength cleaning products and something else I didn't even want to consider was strong in the small room. Rubbing my face, I tried to get my brain synapses working again. "What happened?" I muttered, wiping a copious amount of drool off my chin.
"Stun gun," Aunt Velma muttered. She rose from her crouch on the floor and stood tall in front of me. My aunt had been described in many ways including big-boned and an Amazon, or a big-boned Amazon. Both were valid, but to me she looked more like the retired roller derby queen that she was. She epitomized the big hair, tight spandex with no bra combination, and no holds barred behavior. She hadn't changed much from the picture of her on the fireplace mantel from her lengthy stint with the Fargo Roller Dolls from 1979, except now gravity had set in, and she'd discovered the alluring properties of a wonder bra.
No one messed with Aunt Velma. She'd been allowed to be crazy for decades and no one questioned. I go insane for five minutes and I get stun gunned and tossed in jail.
"I'm sorry about this, Daphne, but JT did say you were off your rocker."
Now that the cobwebs cleared, I knew the man standing next to Aunt Velma. Fortunately, he was wearing more clothes than just the plaid boxers I'd seen him wearing this very morning in the kitchen. Carl Dobbs was police captain and in charge of the detective squad, the one that included stun-first-ask-questions-later McCade. He was also the current mandu jourof AuntVelma's, and I knew more about Carl than I ever wanted. I could personally confirm that he was not a premature ejaculator and he had the sexual endurance of a college kid in Florida on spring break. Lucky Aunt Velma. Thailand wasn't far enough to escape the horrors I'd listened to from the dynamic duo the night before.
"Off my rocker? Is that what he said?" How dare the man! No matter how hot he was.Off my rocker.I'd show that man off my rocker. I realized I was grumbling it aloud instead of just in my mind.
Carl looked a little apprehensive. "You...you did punch him in the face."
I punched—oh yeah, it was coming back to me now.
"Who taught you to hit like that?" Aunt Velma didn't even try to hide the pleased gleam in her eye.
