Page 95 of The Worst Possible Plan

Lola suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. The woman who’d happily discussed jail-roleplay ten minutes earlier had decided this was where discretion became appropriate.

Dottie became deeply invested in folding rabbit number four. She concentrated on that napkin with the focus of a heart surgeon performing emergency surgery. Neither of them had any intention of helping me. Traitors. Very lovable traitors. But traitors nonetheless.

I was receiving absolutely no support whatsoever.

Helen stared at me another moment. Then, to my complete surprise, she smiled. “That’s what Sheriff Walker said too.”

I frowned. “What?”

“He told me there’d been a misunderstanding, and everything had been sorted out.” She patted my shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re all right.” Then she headed toward the kitchen and disappeared through the doors.

I watched her go. My brain completely stalled.

Sheriff Walker covered for me? Why? If he’d been so determined to act like nothing had happened, why tell Helen it was a misunderstanding? Why not tell her exactly what I’d done?

Nothing about this man made any sense.

I frowned into my coffee. Enough. I wasn’t doing this anymore. No more trying to translate sheriff into something comprehensible. No more wondering what he meant. No more replaying the kiss. If Captain Competent wanted to be confusing, he could do it all by himself.

The only thing that mattered now was Bandit and Theo and Daisy and that little donkey.

I set my coffee down. “I’m going to find them.”

Lola looked up. “How?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

Dottie smiled. “That’s usually when your best ideas happen.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I stood. “I don’t need the sheriff.”

The words came out stronger than I felt.

But I’d keep saying them until I believed them.

Because one thing was absolutely certain. If nobody else was going to save those animals, I would.

23

SOPHIE

An hour later, after my phone had finally charged enough to rejoin modern civilization, I grabbed it off the charger so fast I nearly pulled the cord out of the wall.

Only one person might know where the animals were. Well, technically several people probably knew where they were. The handler. The sheriff. Dr. Keller. But I could only call one person without raising my blood pressure to medically fascinating levels.

I found the Maplewood Falls Veterinary Clinic number in my recent calls, took a steadying breath, and pressed dial. My foot started bouncing beneath the table. My entire body seemed physically incapable of waiting for anything anymore. I spent three rings mentally preparing myself for every possible answer. None of them were particularly encouraging. In one scenario they’d already left. In another they’d been split up. In a third, I’d somehow ended up crying into my coffee again before two o’clock. My imagination really did deserve an employee-of-the-month plaque for productivity.

“Maplewood Falls Veterinary Clinic. Can I help you?” said the receptionist in a bright, cheerful voice.

“Hi, Amy. It’s Sophie.” I tried to sound casual, normal, like people routinely phoned veterinary clinics because they’d become emotionally attached to borrowed goats over the course of one weekend. Totally ordinary behavior.

“Oh! Hi, Sophie!” she said immediately. “How are you?” Warm. Friendly. Completely unsuspecting. Clearly she hadn’t yet received the deluxe edition of this morning’s gossip.

It was a loaded question, possibly the most dangerous question anyone had asked me all day. There simply wasn’t a socially acceptable answer somewhere between fine and briefly incarcerated.

“I’ve… had an interesting morning.” Understatement of the century.