“A likely story,” he says, eyeing my license, then looking at me, then my license again. “New York.”
“I’m from New York.”
He nods slowly, his eyes roving over my face. “So … grand theft auto? Or are we calling this seasonal larceny?”
“No!” I shout, then I calm myself and repeat, “No. No it’s not. I’m Lexi’s cousin.”
“Look, New York. I don’t know you. And around here, we know everyone. You’re definitely driving Lexi’s van.” He glances into the back seat as if I’ve got her stowed back there. “But you don’t look a thing like her.”
He pauses, glancing up. His eyes drift over to the top of my front windshield where Santa has officially drooped and is now slumping. Saint Nick’s not obstructing my view, but his position’s not ideal. I’m pretty sure Santa’s mid-meltdown expression will haunt me till New Year’s.
“You’ve got an unsecured load there, ma’am. ORC 4513.31. Santa’s one sharp gust away from taking flight. That’s a hefty fine if he lands on Main Street. And just where did you get him from? Looks an awful lot like the one from the Johansens’ yard.”
I glance at the Santa hats on the console.
“Look, Officer …” I search his jacket for a badge so I can call him by name. “... Heinz. Officer Heinz, I am Lexi’s cousin. We’re doing a scavenger hunt for her friend Jayme's birthday. I’m in charge of getting Santa to Shannon’s. I’m even supposed to get someone to wear a Santa hat and I need to sing a Christmas song to them.”
I don’t know what possesses me—holiday spirit, panic, or hypothermia—but I start to belt out “Up on the rooftop …” like a deranged caroller trying to sing for her bail money.
“Okay.” Officer Heinz plants his hands on his hips and spreads his legs in the universal cop stance that saysI haven’t laughed since 2012, and I’m not about to start tonight. Then, in a gravelly, commanding voice that should do nothing for me—especially not set off a traitorous riot of tingles across my skin—he says, “Step out of the vehicle.”
“What?”
“You heard me, ma’am. Don’t add ORC 2921.33, resisting arrest, to your list of infractions.”
“My list … ? Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack. Now, please exit the vehicle.”
“Why?”
“So I can do a sobriety check.”
“A sobriety … ?” I’m sober. Of course I am. “Why would you think I’m not sober?”
“Out of the vehicle ma’am. Or I’ll have to call for backup. And Deputy Nolan’s probably in his fluffy socks watching a holiday special right about now. You don’t want me to have to interrupt his night, do you?”
I don’t know why I’ve resisted telling him up until now. I really didn’t want this to be my coworker’s first impression of me, but this has gone far enough.
“I’m a police officer.”
“Okay. Okay. Out of the vehicle, Officer.”
“No. I really am.”
I’m unbuckling as I explain myself. He seems like the type to escalate things quickly. Better to defuse by cooperating than to let this go any further. Somewhere across town, Lexi is probably collecting tinsel and doing her part to win this thing while I’m inadvertently auditioning forUnexpected Criminals: Holiday Edition.
“You know that’s a 2921.51, right?” Officer Heinz says. “Impersonating an officer. Five years and a bright orange jumpsuit for that one. Is orange your color, Miss Keller?”
I sigh, exasperated. “No chance you’d put on the Santa hat for me, is there?”
He stares, unimpressed.
“Yeah. Didn’t think so. Pity. It would’ve completed your whole festive Grinch-with-a-badge aesthetic.”
His look goes from lenient to stern. “Is this a joke to you, New York? Roll into a small town, steal a car—and for some reason, a giant, inflatable lawn decoration—and mock the local authorities?”
“No. Not at all …”
