There was no turning back. The plume of dust behind me gave me away even if I’d had any place else to go. I slowed the truck so I could take stock and figure out what to say. As far as I could see, there was just one cop. He looked small standing on the front stoop, his hat pulled low and his hands on his hips. He was looking out over my yard, watching the goat nibbling the daisies by the chicken coop. Chevie, my collie mix, was sitting at his feet, wagging her tail. Some watchdog. I pulled the old truck to a stop and was about to get out when the cop turned toward me. I froze. It was a woman, hardly older than me. Even with the vest, the gun belt and the huge wraparound sunglasses, there was no hiding those curves. Or the long blond ponytail hanging down her back. I thought I knew all the cops at the local detachment, but this was a new one. She stepped off the porch. “Cedric O’Toole?” Heat rushed up my neck. I knew I was bright red, and that didn’t help me find my tongue. I just nodded.
