Page 5 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Sheriff

Me: That’s the thing. This is the new sheriff. Meadows. Sheriff Burton retired; this guy got elected last month.

Cora: Ohhh. That’s right. I remember Oliver and his brothers discussing him. Said he was originally from here. Bit of a grouch, Henry said.

Me: Understatement.

Jules: A hot grouch with a rumbly voice. I fail to see the problem here.

Me: He WALKED MY PERIMETER. Like this was an active crime scene.

Me: I offered the man lemonade and snickerdoodles and he looked at me like I was attempting to bribe a federal witness.

Jules: Okay so here’s what you do. Trigger the watch again.

Me: Absolutely not.

Jules: fall down. tastefully. artfully. it’s basically theater.

Me: I am NOT committing wellness-check fraud to lure a man to my house.

Jules: Why not? It’s efficient. He already knows how to get out to your house.

Cora: Don’t encourage her.

Cora: Did he take a cookie though?

Me: No.

Me: He wanted to, though.

Me: That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about. He clearly wanted one, and he said no anyway and got in his big sad truck and drove off into the dark.

Me: Who says no to a snickerdoodle?

Jules: Snort. A man with self-control. *Shudder.

Cora: Hope. sweetie. You’ve lived here six weeks, and you’ve already got a crush on the sheriff.

Me: I do NOT have a crush.

Me: I have a mild architectural appreciation for a very large man. Vastly different.

Jules: Name one way they’re different.

Me: Goodnight.

Jules: You can’t.

Me: GOODNIGHT.

The kitchen still smells like cinnamon. Four dozen snickerdoodles, cooling in neat rows, going stale for no one.

I eat one standing at the counter, out of spite, and it’s still warm in the middle, and it’s perfect, and I think—just once, just to myself, where not even Jules can get to it⁠—

Sheriff Meadows really missed out on eating one of my cookies.

chapter

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