Page 81 of The Worst Possible Plan

My hands tightened around the steering wheel. “So…”

Dottie said carefully. “So… where exactly are we going?”

I stared through the windshield, thought about it, thought a little harder, and then sighed. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.” I shifted into the next gear. “But I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

I glanced in the rearview mirror toward the trailer carrying Bandit, Theo, Daisy, and the donkey. “Anywhere is better than here.”

Neither of us said the obvious thing. Neither of us had the faintest idea what happened next.

But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t let these animals, my friends, end up at some auction. They deserved better. They deserved grass. Ear scratches. Ridiculously affectionate alpaca hugs. They deserved people who thought of them as someone instead of something.

And then a thought occurred to me. I was having a lot of those today. Which, historically speaking, was rarely an encouraging sign. My best ideas generally arrived with the same energy as What if I cut my own bangs? They always sounded reasonable for the first seven seconds.

“Dr. Keller,” I said out loud. “Margot’s new boyfriend. The vet. Maybe he can take them?” It was a long shot, but I was going with it. Veterinarians liked animals. This seemed like a solid foundation for a plan. Better than my previous strategy of steal first, think later.

“I think you might be onto something,” said Dottie. She clutched the dashboard with one hand while the other still held a half-open bag of homemade grass cookies she’d somehow remembered to bring during the commission of a felony. “Even if he can’t, he might know of a farm nearby that can take them.”

I nodded. “Excellent. See? We have a plan.” It wasn’t a good plan. More of an enthusiastic collection of hopeful sentences duct-taped together. But technically it qualified as one.

And then that’s when I heard the sirens.

Ohhhh crap.

The sound bounced off the storefronts behind us, growing louder by the second. One siren. Then another quick burst.

My stomach dropped so fast it probably qualified as an unauthorized emergency descent.

Very, very slowly… I looked into the rearview mirror.

White SUV. Blue lights. SHERIFF.

“Double crap.” I gripped the wheel tighter. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Dottie twisted around in her seat. “What?”

“The sheriff.”

She craned her neck toward the mirror. “Oh dear.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Oh, that’s definitely him.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I can read SHERIFF on the side.”

“So can I,” I hissed.

“And he’s coming toward us rather quickly.”

“That’s generally how law enforcement chases work.”