CHAPTER 4

Eleven days later - February 10th - just after half past ten in the evening.

Wynne had talked her new boss Nelson McConnell and his franchise business partner into letting her do all the driving shifts - officially so the new store didn't have to spend even more money hiring a second driver, but unofficially so she could scrape together enough dollars and cents to pay for the stay at the sports resort.

As a result, she had worked from before noon and into the late-late evening for twelve days straight. She had racked up more than fifteen-hundred miles criss-crossing the state going everywhere from the suburbs of North Greenville in the west to the center of Scottsdale in the east; from the outskirts of Collinstown in the north to the small settlement of Haddersfield Pass way up in the hills ten miles south of the trailer park she called home - not that she had seen much of it during the past two weeks.

She had lost count of the number of fried chickens she had delivered, but business had certainly been booming considering how full the heating box at the back of the Nissan had always been.

Although there had been a few hair-pulling moments involving the GPS along the way, she had been able to work around most of them save for one or two that had sent her to the wrong place altogether - the worst of those incidents had been a drop-off at a vegan commune near Oswald Creek who had been listed as buying four whole, fried chickens. Wynne's ears had been ringing for half an hour after the explosive fire-and-brimstone speech she had been given by the commune's matriarch who had explained in graphic detail what a vegan was and wasn't. At least it hadn't been Wynne's fault as her young colleague manning the counter had made a substantial mess of things by mixing up several online orders, neither of which had anything to do with the vegan commune.

The endless hours on the road had made her complexion turn as gray and unhealthy as Barry Simms'. Her eyes were lined by dark circles that made her look like a raccoon that had escaped from a zoo somewhere - a dead-tired raccoon at that. To get through the long days, she had eaten enough fruit, sandwiches and healthy snacks to keep an infantry regiment sated, and she had downed two six-packs of energy drinks each day to stay on top form. That the high-caffeine beverages had given her a bad case of the jitters and a permanently upset stomach was another story entirely.

The Nissan's strong headlights cut through the darkness of the late evening as she drove south on the two-lane State Route. Returning to the takeout parlor after doing a drop-off at a place so small it didn't even have a name - it was just a scattered collection of homes, barns, chicken coops and outhouses - she only had eyes for the yellow lines that ran along the center of the road.

After a while, the dotted lines began to blend together; worse, they literally wandered all over the road. Wynne furrowed her brow at the curious sight as her tired mind started wondering about otherworldly interference. A pair of wheels suddenly ran onto the rough shoulder of the road. It sent a fierce vibration up into the steering wheel that shook her awake faster than she could utter a "Holy shittt!"

The unpleasant sensation made Wynne jerk upright and slam her eyes wide open. She had already begun to turn the steering wheel left to get off the shoulder when it dawned on her that it was in fact the Nissan that had done all the wandering rather than the center lines - and also that the lines were on the wrong side of the truck all of a sudden.

She realized with a croak that she had drifted across the lanes and was rattling along on the left, not the right, shoulder. If she had turned the wheel even further to the left, she would have gone straight into the desert which would have resulted in a bad wreck. Gulping down a sour surge, she eased the steering wheel to the right instead and returned to the proper lane.

To cool off after the unpleasant incident, she leaned to the right and reached down into her own cooler box that she had installed in the footwell on the passenger side. The clumsy task was eased by a pair of headlights that briefly lit up the Nissan's cab as the vehicle they belonged to went past her going in the opposite direction. Her long fingers soon grabbed a golden can of Power Supply XTra Caffeine. The can was cracked open at once and poured down in a series of deep gulps.

"Dad-gummit, Wynne… that coulda been nasteh," she croaked to herself as she rolled the chilled can across her hot forehead. "Mercy Sakes, gotta stay awake… gotta stay awake… nineteen miles ta go ta the city limits sign. Aw, good, ol' Goldsborah. Nineteen miles, that ain't nuttin', nosirree!  Ha, eighteen an' a half miles ta go… eighteen-"

She stopped talking to herself when both side mirrors were suddenly filled by a familiar flashing of red, white and blue emergency lights. A few stabs of a police siren followed soon after.

"Lawwwwwr-die… Ah didden need dat!" she whined out loud as she craned her neck to look into the side mirrors on the doors. As she got a full view of the situation behind her, it was revealed to be anything but rosy.

The flashing police vehicle behind her was one of the white-and-gold Dodge Durangos from the MacLean County Sheriff's Department. She was certain she hadn't gone past any speed traps since her drama so there was a risk the Durango had been there the whole time - if it had, the officer had undoubtedly witnessed her erratic driving. "Aw, hell… bustin' mah hump ta get enuff greenbacks in mah pocket only ta get a fih-ne… sombitch!"

Pulling onto the hard shoulder at once so the bad deal wouldn't turn into a terrible one for no reason whatsoever, Wynne rolled down the power window before she turned off the engine. The open window meant she could hear the door slamming on the police vehicle behind her. When she heard the easily recognizable sound of hard bootheels striking the asphalt, she sent a silent prayer to whomever would listen that it was Rodolfo, Barry or even the temporary deputy Don Woodward who had been brought over from Jarrod City as a stop-gap measure following Thomas Kincaid's suspension.

The silent prayer was shot down in flames when Artie Rains appeared by the open window with a flashlight that he shone directly into Wynne's eyes. He had already opened his mouth to ask for the driver's license when a nasty smile spread over his lips instead. "Well, well, well. Who do we have here?  If it ain't Miss Dumb-ahue," he said in a voice that was far too saccharine for the situation.

"Good evenin', Sheriff," Wynne mumbled while she tried to shield her eyes.

"Why, it certainly is now. Driver's license and vehicle registration," Rains said and put his hand in through the window frame. Once Wynne had handed him the documents, he studied them for a while. A short grunt escaped him when they were both found to be in order. After handing them back, he stuck his head inside the Nissan's cab. "Do you know why I pulled you over, Dumb-ahue?"

Wynne nodded somberly. "Yuh… I got a no-shun, Sheriff."

"Good. When I went past you before, you didn't have your eyes on the road. In fact, you were leaning away from the steering wheel. That's how accidents happen," Rains said with a nasty smile as he let the cone of light play over the interior of the cab. The evil grin only grew wider when he spotted the golden can in the cupholder.

Wynne narrowed her eyes - if the sheriff hadn't seen her involuntary bout of stunt driving, perhaps she would get lucky for a change and be let off with a stern warning. "Haw… uh… yuh. Yuh, I agree there, Sheriff… sure don't wanna be part o' any wrecks, nosirree," she said while she nodded in an exaggerated fashion.

The sheriff's grin turned even nastier as he sniffed the air near Wynne. "Ya stupid waste of space… ya shoulda thrown out the evidence. That gold can there is an H.E. Fenwyck strong beer. And you stink of it, Dumb-ahue."

"Lawrdie, Sheriff, that sure ain't poss-"

"Shut up!  I'll tell ya when to speak!  Here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna get out of that truck and I'm gonna breathalyze ya. Then I'm gonna arrest ya and throw ya into a holding cell for the rest of the night. That'll cost ya your job, but ya shoulda thought of that sooner."

"Yuh, but lookie he', Sher-"

"I told ya to shut up!  Get your ass outta that truck with your hands in the air, Donohue!  Don't argue with me… but please, you can resist if ya want," Rains growled and put a hand on the nightstick that was placed on his utility belt by his left hip.

Wynne blinked several times before she let out a deep sigh. Unbuckling, she stepped out of the Nissan and closed the door softly. As she stood there, a dark-bronze Ford SUV drove past going a little too slowly for the conditions - it was obvious the people inside it were gawking at the scene. She groaned inwardly when she recognized Brenda and Vaughn Travers, her newest neighbors.

It was a safe bet that once they got home, it wouldn't take two minutes before the other residents of the trailer park had been told all about the latest calamity to strike Wynne Donohue. The Ford roared off a moment later when the sheriff turned around to shoot an angry glare in their direction for being disturbed.

He always came prepared when it came to the kit needed for breathalyzing suspected DUIs, so he only needed to reach into a pouch on his utility belt to find one of the small electronic devices that looked like the mouthpiece of a saxophone. The breathalyzers were delivered in sealed plastic bags to show they hadn't been tampered with; he simply tore the cover apart and let it flutter away in the perpetual breeze that rolled in from their desert surroundings. "You know the drill. Blow."

"Yuh, I know the drill an'-"

"Blow, Goddammit!"

"I'm blowin', awright," Wynne said and performed the proper procedure. She blew into the electronic reed until she turned cross-eyed, but the digital gauge that displayed the level of alcohol in the breath never even twitched beyond a reading of 0,0 percent.

Artie Rains narrowed his eyes dangerously as he took in the depressing sight of the failed reading. He shone the flashlight at Wynne's face to perform a second evaluation of her through his decades of experience, but even that didn't lead to anything. "You look like shit, Donohue. Have you been smoking weed?" he said before he moved the cone of light out of Wynne's eyes and onto the Nissan.

"Naw, Sir. I don't smoke nuttin'. 'Spe-shul-ly not weed 'cos I done seen what that shit can do to ya if ya ain't careful. Lawrdie, I 'member-"

"Shut up!  I'll let you know when you can speak."

"Yessir."

The sheriff made a slow tour of the white delivery truck in the hope of finding anything worthwhile, but it was so new it didn't even have a muddy license plate. He shone into the cab once he had made it around to the passenger side. As the flashlight fell upon the cooler box down in the footwell, he let out a roar of triumph and promptly tore open the door. "Gotcha, ya dumb broad!" he cried as he reached in to pry off the lid. "Lookie he' what Ah done found, Dono-fool," he continued, mocking Wynne's thick accent.

With an evil grin that reached from one end of the county to the other, he dug into the cooler box to scoop up whatever he could find down there - his meaty fingers quickly closed around a can. It was clear he expected it to be a strong beer of some kind, but the grin froze on his face when the can's logo revealed it to be a Power Supply XTra Caffeine.

Grunting, he threw the can onto the passenger seat and began to rummage through the contents of the cooler box. "What the hell… they're all energy drinks!" he said after there were more cans on the seat than in the box.

"Yuh, that's whut I been tryin' ta tell ya, there, sheriff… I ain't been drinkin' nuttin' but them there Powah Sah-plies while I been on this he' gig, nosirree. Lawrdie, I done worked from almost the buttcrack o' dawn 'til aftah that there ol' sun went down ag'in fer da past twelve days straight ta make a few bucks, an' I ain't even touched a drop o' beer in the whole o' that there time… not even when I wus home or nuttin', neithah!"

"You really want me to believe that?"

"Yessir, that be the truth right there, sheriff, sir!  Cross mah heart hope ta choke on one o' them there peanuts. Yuh, okey, I didden ha' tih-me ta get any beers whenevah I wus home 'cos I be mostly sleepin', but nevah mind… an' the dang-blasted weirdest thing is that I ain't even too fond o' them there Powah Sah-plies-"

"That's enough-"

"- 'Cos they tend ta gimme the browns aftah a while unlike that there othah brand Go-Fastah-Longah. They make a real great apricot-flavah'ed energeh drink, but they wus sold out so I coudden-"

"Will you shut the hell up, for Chrissakes!" the sheriff barked as he shone the flashlight into Wynne's eyes once more. "You need to see a Goddamned head doctor, Donohue… you got one helluva problem in your upstairs department. There's nothin' between your ears other than wax!"

"Yuh, mebbe so, but it sure don't give ya the right ta get personal…" Wynne mumbled as she shoved her hands into her jeans' pockets.

Sheriff Rains didn't bother to put the cans back or even close the lid of the cooler box as he scooted back. The passenger-side door was soon slammed shut with so much force the mirror wobbled. After stomping around the front of the Nissan, he came to a stop, lifted his Mountie hat and ran a hand through his thinning hair - it was clear he was looking for any kind of infraction to pin on Wynne.

Tensions grew as both parties finally kept their mouth shut. The sheriff eventually growled and stomped back to the Durango. Before he got in, he shone the flashlight at Wynne for a final time. "You're gonna screw up one of these days, Donohue. And when you do, I'll be all over you like a Goddamned rash!  Mark my words!"

"Yessir…" Wynne mumbled as she watched the sheriff climb up into the tall Dodge Durango and drive off. The emergency lights continued to flash at first, but they turned inactive before long. "I wus two inches from screwin' up tanight alreddy… huh, I guess he didden see mah dang-blasted piece o' foo' drivin' aftah all. Mebbe mah luck's gonn' change now. Mebbe. Yuh. Mebbe. Aw… who da hell am I tryin' ta kid?  Mah luck ain't nevah gonn' change. Nevah," she continued in an even less intelligible mumble.

Sighing, she shuffled back to the Nissan and got in. After cleaning up the mess the sheriff had made, the lid was soon put on the cooler box - then she reconsidered and grabbed another can of XTra Caffeine to give herself a boost for the final seventeen and a half miles home.

-*-*-*-

Mandy Jalinski tapped her fingers on the rim of the Dodge Durango's steering wheel as frustration continued to mount within her. She and Rodolfo were on speed trap duty up in the hills south of Goldsboro, but it had proven to be a complete waste of time just as she had predicted. In the two hours they had spent parked at the side of the treacherous, winding road that went over the pass, the exact number of vehicles that had driven past was a round zero.

Sighing, she dug into a pocket of her winter uniform jacket to find her personal telephone - the white digits on the display soon told her the hands of time had moved around to eleven twenty-five, PM. Her fingers resumed the frustrated tapping on the steering wheel, but it only lasted for another ten seconds before the tapping was replaced by a hard thump on the rim.

The darkness that engulfed her was complete, so to kill time, she began observing the section of the night-time sky that she could see through the windshield. Apart from the twinkling stars that were out in force, she was able to track several airplanes through their blinking positioning lights. At one point, she followed a pair of fast-moving fighter jets from the nearby Air Force Base. She presumed they were on their regular evening patrol, but it was possible they were part of a nightly exercise of some kind. A few minutes later, she picked up the familiar rotor sounds of a Huey helicopter. It soon came into view a short mile east of her position moving toward the air base.

She let out an annoyed harrumph - none of it mattered a damn bit. Instead of wasting even more time on such a futile assignment, she started the engine and rolled down the power-assisted window. "Hey, Rodolfo!" she shouted to her fellow deputy who waited by the speed camera a short distance down the road.

'Yeah?'

"Pack it up!  We're going back to town!" she continued as she selected drive and began to roll away from the concealed pocket they had called home for far too long.

By the time Mandy reached Rodolfo, he had folded up the camera's tripod and soon stowed everything in the back of the police vehicle. It only took another fifteen seconds after that before he clicked the seat belt in place so they could move out. "Damn, my hands are freezing even wearing gloves. Madre mia, what a waste of time. Dolores got home early tonight so we could have been together all evening… crap. What the hell did the sheriff send us out here for, anyway?

Mandy sighed and stepped on the gas. "Who knows. Hell, who knows why Rains does any of the things he does."

They continued in silence for a minute or two. Mandy kept her boot firmly on the gas pedal while Rodolfo kept his eyes on his senior deputy's profile. "What's wrong, Mandy?  You were pretty upbeat the other day after we were told about Kincaid's suspension. Now you look like someone stole your last cookie."

"It's personal," Mandy said after a short pause.

"Sorry. I'll butt out."

A mile went by in silence before Mandy let out a long sigh and looked at the younger deputy next to her. Rodolfo had always been on her side in the endless conflicts with the sheriff and his band of yes-men and butt-kissing cronies, so it wasn't entirely fair of her to shut him out now.

"Oh, it's Wynne," she finally said. "She's been working day and night for weeks now. When she does come home, she's so dead-tired all she can do is to brush her teeth and stumble into bed. We haven't said ten words to each other all damn week… well, apart from meaningless stuff like hello and goodbye. On top of that, she's been extremely secretive. That's not like her. She's always worn her heart on her sleeve, but… now she clams up whenever she sees me."

Rodolfo let out a muted chuckle at the thought of Wynne's typically colorful persona. "Well, that doesn't sound like Wynne at all. Usually, she'll yap to anyone about anything. And at length, too."

"Oh, she still does. To Ernie. Just not to me," Mandy said and thumped the steering wheel again. She drew several deep breaths while plenty of dark thoughts blasted through her mind. "Oh hell, I've seen it all before. Ages ago. In another life almost. To tell you the truth, Rodolfo, I'm scared shitless that… that Wynne might be… well… you know. Seeing someone else."

"Whoa… I… I can't believe that, Mandy. Not Wynne. She loves you… when even a guy can see that, it's got to be the real thing."

Mandy shook her head despondently as they raced past the trailer park where she and Wynne lived. The stretch of desert they drove through was so dark that the first lights in Goldsboro soon came into view some distance ahead of them. "Dammit, I hope so because I love her. Maybe there's another explanation. Maybe she's fallen into the clutches of some kind of loan shark. Not that it would be any better."

"A loan shark… do you think she's trying to pay back a debt?  Because of the truck?"

"Perhaps. Hope not. But the first scenario is even worse… that she's working so much to avoid spending time with me."

Rodolfo's cheeks caught fire at the unexpected turn of the conversation. In the decade he had known Mandy Jalinski, he had never, ever heard her utter a peep about matters of the heart - he had now, and he wasn't sure he liked it. He stared at her profile for a short while longer before he looked down at his hands instead. He had a strong urge to utter some kind of humorous quip to sidestep the weirdness but he couldn't come up with anything that wouldn't make it worse. "Ah… shoot, this is… ah…" he croaked.

"Too damn awkward," Mandy mumbled.

"Yes…"

"Agree. Let's put a lid on it."

"Works for me."

Mandy nodded; she let out a short chuckle that proved she had been just as embarrassed as her fellow deputy. "All right. Not that the other news is much better. Just before we drove out here, the sheriff told me he's been talking to someone who could be Kincaid's permanent replacement. We may go from the frying pan and straight into the damn incinerator."

"How so?"

"Remember Evan Chaff?"

"Vaguely," Rodolfo said and scratched his neck. "He was a deputy when I was just starting out here. I do remember he was a real a-hole on a lot of things- aw, no way!  No way they're bringing Evan Chaff back to Goldsboro!"

"Well, the sheriff's been talking to him. He'll pay us a visit on Monday. Then we'll see where we stand."

"Just so you know, I'm gonna be down with the flu on Monday!" Rodolfo said and crossed his arms over his chest. He furrowed his brow when he felt something important remaining just out of his reach. Another mile or so went by before he smacked a fist onto his knee. "Wait… was Evan already here when you came over from Reno?  If he was, he could claim seniority over you!"

"He was. And yes, he could. Hell, he would claim it in a heartbeat. So whenever the sheriff is off the playing field for whatever reason, Evan will step up to the plate and be the deputy in charge."

"Oh, for Chrissakes… just when I thought it couldn't get any worse!" Rodolfo said and slapped his brow.

---

Mandy slowed down to a crawl when the Durango reached the southern city limits sign. They were soon patrolling Main Street at an easy five miles per hour to have time to glance down the various alleys for any kind of brick-wetting incidents. Nobody seemed to be exposing themselves at present, but the night was still young and plenty of beers were yet to be consumed.

"Hey, look at that," Rodolfo suddenly said while he pointed out of the windshield.

Mandy followed her colleague's pointing index finger. An icy shiver rolled down her spine when she realized the new takeout parlor's delivery truck had come to an oddly random stop halfway down Main Street. The white Nissan was parked at a strange angle in front of Holly's Homely Hair & Nails Salon, and it seemed it had simply rolled to a stop up against the curb. The headlights were still on and it appeared the engine was running as well.

Moving her hand fast, Mandy flipped the switch for the emergency lights. She drove over on the wrong side of Main Street and closed the distance in a hurry. Even before the Durango had stopped rocking from the hard braking, she had jumped from it and had run over to shine her flashlight into the Nissan's cab.

Wynne sat slumped over the steering wheel. Though it looked like she used it as a makeshift pillow rather than something she held onto because she had become ill or passed-out drunk, Mandy's heart rate still went through the roof.

She opened the door with great care in case her partner would tip over and fall out. When nothing untoward happened, Mandy leaned in to sniff the air just like the sheriff had done earlier in the evening. She let out a sigh of relief when there were no traces of beer or hard liquor in the cab's environment. A golden can had been put into the cupholder, but she recognized it as one of the energy drinks that Wynne had been pouring down. "Wynne…?" she said quietly as she put a gentle hand on her partner's arm. "Honey, are you all right?  Did you fall ill?"

The gentle touch didn't have any effect, so Mandy leaned in to place a kiss on Wynne's cheek. The tender contact was followed by sleepy grunting, yawning, stretching and a somewhat ungraceful smacking of lips; it made Mandy let out another sigh of relief. She took a step back to signal Rodolfo he should come over to her.

"Damn, Wynne," he said as he looked at the sleepy woman. "That's what I call dodging a bullet… if the sheriff had found her, she would have been in a world of hurt right now."

"Yeah," Mandy mumbled. Her worries about her partner's uncharacteristic behavior only grew stronger after the latest incident, and she made a vow to herself that she would get to the bottom of it before their relationship would be torn apart at the seams.

Wynne smacked her lips again and leaned back in the seat. After rubbing her eyes, she suddenly noticed where she was and what had happened - because of the flashlight shining into the cab, she couldn't identify the uniformed people looking back at her. "Haw?  Awwww-shitttt… not ag'in, Sheriff!  Ah didden do nuttin'… nuttin'!  Honest!  An' Ah didden ha' nuttin' ta drink since the las' tih-me ya pestahred me, neithah, unless ya count that can o' Powah Sahpplah there-"

Mandy and Rodolfo shot each other a quick glance - maybe Wynne had dodged several bullets even without knowing it. "It's all right, Wynne," she said and put a calming hand on her partner's shoulder.

"Mandy?!  Haw, mah sweet li'l de-per-ty!  I sure be glad ta see ya… or som'tin… 'cos I deffa-nete-lah ain't be seein' much right now. Ya wanna turn off them there high-beams so I can see som'tin othah than stars?"

Mandy turned off the flashlight as asked; to offset the sudden influx of darkness, Wynne reached up to turn on the interior lights that were far dimmer and thus easier on her eyes. "Aw!  Howdy, there, Rodolfo!  Say, 'r y'all out on patrol or som'tin?  What's with all them grim faces?  An' all this oh-ffi-shul atten-shun?"

"You fell asleep behind the wheel, Wynne. You nearly had an accident," Rodolfo said somberly.

Wynne whipped her head around to look out of the passenger-side window - only then did she notice she was parked in front of Holly Lorenzen's hair salon. "Crap… Ah wus jus' drivin' along an' then… an' then… Ah jus' got so dang-blasted sleepeh Ah jus' hadda… hadda… crap. I done fell asleep."

"Yes. I just need a word with Rodolfo," Mandy said and gave Wynne's shoulder another little squeeze. After moving away from the Nissan, she waved her colleague over to her; they walked back to the Durango to keep the conversation private. She rubbed her mouth while she tried to get her scrambled personal life lined up in accordance with the many rules and regulations of police work. A deep sigh escaped her. "This needs to be done by the book so we can't be accused of favoritism. Deputy Gonzalez, I want you to breathalyze Miss Donohue. Until we see the results, she's to be treated like any other citizen suspected of a DUI. I'll keep well back so I won't influence your work. All right?"

Though Rodolfo shot his senior deputy a look that stated quite clearly he didn't agree with the development, he eventually said: "I understand. I'll be professional about it."

"Of course. You're a deputy in the MacLean County Sheriff's Department. Keeping a professional distance is vital to get the job done," Mandy said in a voice that was perhaps a little too steely for the context - it was almost like she was trying to convince herself rather than her colleague.

Nodding, Rodolfo moved over to the Durango to get one of the appropriate kits for breathalyzing suspected DUIs.

---

"The test is clean and green, Senior Deputy Jalinski. Miss Donohue isn't intoxicated," Rodolfo said in the same tone of voice that Mandy had used earlier.

"I see. Very well, it's time to get to the bottom of this mess," Mandy said and began to stride over to the Nissan. Three steps into her journey, she came to a halt and looked at her younger colleague. "And thank you," she added in a softer voice.

"You're welcome," Rodolfo replied with a smile. "I know how difficult this must be for you. If we ever met Dolores in a similar situation, I'd be beside myself… but at least I'd know she'd be treated with the utmost respect."

Nodding solemnly, Mandy resumed her short journey back to the Nissan. Once there, she opened the passenger-side door intending to sit down next to her partner. The cooler box in the footwell was in the way, but she unplugged it and put it on the sidewalk - the conversation they were about to have was far more important than the temperature of the energy drinks. After she had taken off her Mountie hat, she sat down and shut the door behind her.

Wynne furrowed her brow at the silence that followed. For the first time in the years she and Mandy had lived together, there was a chilling distance between them, and she hated the sensation. The worst part was that she knew exactly what had caused it - the folded-up advertisement for the sports resort that she had carried around in her rear pocket for weeks.

She had never been good at keeping secrets regarding things like Christmas or birthday presents, so she had really reined herself in when it came to the deal with the resort. That the new job had been offered to her when it did had been a blessing - or so she thought at the time - but the more she worked to scrape enough money together to give the other half of her soul an unforgettable Valentine's Day present, the further she and the woman she loved grew apart.

All that negativity had manifested itself after less than two weeks. Her heart skipped a beat when she remembered her original plan of working every single shift for at least three full weeks to ensure she had enough money - after all, the special offer expired at the end of February, so if she didn't have the five hundred dollars ready by then, it would all have been a great, big waste of time and effort.

"Wynne… we need to talk," Mandy said quietly. Instead of looking at the woman next to her, her eyes were locked in a stare that reached out of the vehicle and at least five-hundred miles down the road.

"Yuh… I know."

Mandy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Let's confront the biggest monster first."

"Okeh…"

"We've hardly said two words to each other all week… did you meet someone else?" The question was delivered in a casual sort of way, but an underlying tremble in Mandy's voice betrayed the emotions that raged within her.

Now Wynne's heart really did skip a beat. For several moments, all she could do was to hold her breath while she waited for everything inside to return to its regular rhythm. Her palms turned so clammy she needed to wipe them off on her jeans; the hot flash soon spread all over and forced her to loosen her collar. "No… that… that ain't… what…" she eventually croaked.

"So what's going on, Wynne?  Why do you work these crazy hours?  Do you need to repay an extortionate debt or something?  Please tell me. If you're in trouble, we can work it out. Together. I promise."

Wynne closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. Keeping the secret from the woman she loved tore bloody shreds out of her soul, but she was determined to hide the details from Mandy. The entire reasoning for working so hard for so many days was to earn the money so she could book the vacation and reveal it as a gold-rimmed surprise gift on Valentine's Day. If the contents were already known, the gift just wouldn't pack the punch she was hoping to achieve.

"Ain't no loan shark or nuttin', neithah… naw, Ah wus jus'… mah truck an'… Ah wus jus' tryin' ta… ta… mebbe… get some greenbacks ta fix it… or som'tin… yuh…" she said in a voice that slowly trailed off into nothing.

The excuse was beyond pathetic and she knew it - worse, it would never fool a seasoned law enforcement officer like Mandy. The hot flash moved upward and caused a sudden headache. She tried to pinch the bridge of her nose to stop it, but it was already too late.

Sighing, she cursed the day when she had found the advertisement. She had no idea how something so exciting could give everything around it such a stinky shade of brown, but it fit the rest of her life perfectly. The only good thing that had ever happened to her sat ten inches away in physical terms, but the emotional distance between herself and Mandy Jalinski had suddenly grown to ten million miles.

Revealing the big secret was right there on the tip of her tongue, but there was no guarantee she would make enough money to book a stay at the resort - if she made a grand promise now only to have empty hands when it mattered would be such a killing blow to her integrity and sense of pride that she might as well spend the rest of her miserable life at the bottom of a bottle of booze.

Then Mandy made the decision for her. Without saying a word, the senior deputy opened the car door and shuffled around to get out.

"Please don't go!" Wynne cried as she clapped her hand down onto her partner's Polyester-clad thigh.

"Then tell me what the hell's going on, Wynne!  This is it!"

No stay at a sports resort, even if it was paradise on Earth, was worth the heartache that was looming as large as the forty-foot desert beast they had battled - and nothing the rest of the universe had to offer could possibly compensate for the look of raw hurting that flashed across Mandy's hazel eyes.

"Story o' mah dog-gone stinkin' life!" Wynne growled as she thrust her fingers into her back pocket to get the advertisement at the center of all the drama. "Even when Ah be tryin' ta do the right thing, it turns ta nuttin' but shit, shit an' more shit!  He', this been goin' on, Mandy. I jus' wanted ta give ya a gift fer that there Valentih-ne's Day that y'all would 'member fer a helluva long time… y'all ha' given me so dang much ovah the years an' I jus' wanted ta give som'tin back to ya!  But look what nearly happened!  Snakes Alive, somebodda out there hates mah guts, Ah'm tellin' ya…"

Mandy furrowed her brow as she unfolded the piece of glossy paper. It had been looked at so often it had become brittle, and one of the folds had already torn. She let out a grunt of surprise as her eyes quickly ran over the text and the glittery pictures that offered a gold-tinged view of a world of wellness and fitness-related activities - yours for only $499. "A sports resort near Vegas?  Wow, five hundred dollars…"

"Yuh. An' that be all there is to it, Ah swear. No girlfriend on the sih-de… no loan shark, neithah. Jus' a secret that dang-near killed mah- Mmmmmmph!"

A wet, sloppy kiss right on Wynne's lips rendered her incapable of speaking for several seconds - she didn't mind the least.

Once they separated, Mandy broke out in a relieved chuckle. "Thank you for leveling with me. I love you," she said as she refolded the advertisement and handed it back to Wynne.

"Haw… love ya too, there, de-per-ty Mandy… but now ya know that there big secret. Shoot. I jus' wanted ta give ya a wondahful ser-prise an' all…"

"Let's pretend we never had this conversation… that way, it'll still be a secret come Valentine's Day. All right?" Mandy continued as she once more took hold of the small lever that would open the door.

Wynne echoed Mandy's relieved chuckle as she moved to the side to slide the ad down into her pocket. "Well… yuh. Okeh. I sapose we could do that."

"Good. Oh, and some official business before I leave… Deputy Gonzalez and I will drive you home in the Durango. I won't tolerate sleepy drivers causing accidents on my watch. You hear?"

"Yes, ma'am, De-per-ty Mandy, ma'am!  But this he' Nissahn needs ta be plugged inta that there external powah ovah in the alleh bah the chicken parlah befo' I can leave it… mah boss Mistah McConnell gonn' kick mah ass from he' ta Tallahdegah, Bammahlamah if I ferget."

"All right. Let's do that… but I'll be right here watching you intently."

"Yes, ma'am!" Wynne said and started the delivery truck. Once the engine ran, she let out a sigh of relief; the sigh turned to a nervous chuckle as she looked at Mandy's beaming face. Sometimes, Wynne Donohue was a lucky gal indeed.

*
*
INTERLUDE:

WYNNE GETS WHACKED BY THE BIG SWINDLE-STICK
(SO WHAT ELSE IS NEW?)

February 13th - early in the evening.

All the emotional stress, the hard work and the endless hours spent in solitude - save for the company of a bunch of fried chickens - finally paid off for Wynne. On her way back from yet another one-hundred mile, fourteen-stop round trip hauling fried fowls to the chicken-loving Nevadans, her smartphone sent out a ding that told her an e-mail had been delivered to her in-box.

February thirteenth perhaps wasn't the best day for the final phase of such an important plan, but the moment she had been looking forward to for so long had come at last. She had barely pulled the Nissan over onto the hard shoulder of the two-lane State Route before she whipped out her telephone to check her e-mail.

As she had hoped, it was a notification from her online banking system informing her there had been a payment to her account from Chicky Kingz. She held her breath as she accessed her bank account in a new secure tab. The warm fuzzies rolled over her when she looked at the balance: it was payday, metaphorically as well as literally - she finally had more than enough to book the stay at the sports resort.

It needed to be celebrated Wynne-style, so she rolled down the window and stuck her head out. After taking a deep breath, she let rip with a: "Yeeeeeeeeee-haw!  Lahs Vegahs, ya ol' sombitch, y'all bettah watch out 'cos he' we come!  Yessirree!"

There was no time like the present to take care of business, so she quickly dug into her rear pocket to find the advertisement. Using her elbow to pin the brittle piece of paper onto the Nissan's steering wheel, she typed the URL one letter at a time with her right-hand index finger.

The familiar spinning icon started doing what it was supposed to - spinning. It spun around and around and around. And around. And around. Wynne had to chew on her lips to keep herself calm. Just when she was about to lose her temper, she breathed a sigh of relief as she was able to access the webpage.

Everything looked fine from the top down so she proceeded to the booking section of the site. Then she furrowed her brow. She had already checked it numerous times to make sure the company behind the offer would accept a direct bank transfer, and they would, but all the fields had suddenly been grayed out like some kind of problem had occurred.

"Whaddahell is this?" she mumbled as she tried to navigate to different parts of the site. It was all still there except the most important part. "Haw, this ain't happenin'… this ain't happenin'… hell-yuh, it's happenin'!  Oh, fer the love o'… aw, c'mon… ya piece o' cowflop… lemme jus' punch in them there… naw… whaddindahell… haw. Crap."

Leaning back in the seat, Wynne stared and stared and stared and stared at nothing in particular. Then she stuck her head out of the window for a second time to cuss so strongly - and so loudly - that she made a dust-storm rise off the desert floor on the other side of the two-lane State Route. The cloud of dust slowly drifted across the desolate terrain until it dissolved.

"Naw… naw… this gotta… Ah ain't gonn'… Lawrdie!  Gotta call… gotta call Mandy… she's bound ta know what the flyin' friggadoo is goin' on he'!"

Moving her fingers with surprising speed, Wynne accessed the telephone itself and found Mandy's number in the registry. It went to the voice mail at once indicating the sheriff was too close to have the telephone turned on.

"Awwwwww-shittt!" Wynne barked at the top of her lungs before a thought seemed to come to her out of nowhere. "Grant… Grant Lafferty!  Haw, whydahell didden Ah think o' the Grant-mastah befo'!  Ol' Grant be an Internet wiz!  Ah jus' gotta… jus' gotta… jus' gotta find ol'… ol'… awwwwww-shittt, where's tha Grant-mastah?!" she croaked as she scrolled, scrolled and scrolled a little more to get through the myriad of names she had stored.

"Sonovabitch!  Dad-gummit this he' piece o' stinkin'… no Grant-mastah anywheah. Hell!  Naw, this gotta be solved in a dang-blasted hurry or Ah ain't gonn' have a moment's rest!"

Stomping on the throttle, Wynne took off in a suffocating cloud of dust and a deafening rattle of the small pebbles that inevitably littered the hard shoulder. Soon, she raced south toward Goldsboro to get help.

---

Once she had come to a screeching, rocking halt outside Grant Lafferty's Beer & Liquor Imports on the corner of Main Street and the narrow alley that led down to the impound yard, she grabbed her telephone and the brittle advertisement and flew out of the Nissan like the devil was on her tail. The store was well-lit as it always was in the evenings, but that didn't necessarily mean that Grant was present.

Fortunately for Wynne's peace of mind, the man who had forgotten more about the intricacies of beer than what she and Ernie Bradberry would ever learn leaned against the business side of the counter reading a newspaper.

Now in his mid-sixties, the toupéed Grant Lafferty wore a knitted burgundy cardigan over a tan shirt. He had worn a black necktie earlier in the day, but he had taken it off when late afternoon had turned to evening. His favored reading spot up against the counter hid his dark-gray pants and his tweed slippers - though the latter clothing items weren't exactly high fashion, a bad pair of bunions forced him to use soft footwear.

His square reading glasses sat low on his nose like they always did; a lit pipe in the corner of his mouth sent out pale-gray smoke signals that were matched by those rising from a cup of coffee next to him.

In Wynne's haste, she didn't stop to think that a forceful entry might startle the sixty-four-year-old proprietor, so she barged into the well-stocked liquor store like a stampeding bull. She only had time to cry "Grant!  Ya gotta help me-" before her eyes flew wide open and the rest of the sentence got stuck in her throat.

Instead of going into a panic at the sudden intrusion, Grant Lafferty had moved like lightning. The newspaper he had been reading was still fluttering to the linoleum floor by the time he aimed his double-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun - that he kept under the counter to persuade criminally-minded people to find somewhere else to rob - at the denim-clad person in the doorway. "Wynne?  Jeez, woman!  Don't do that!"

"Uh… buh… uh… nuh… buh… aw…" Wynne croaked as she performed a frantic shimmy-shake to force the goosebumps that crawled all over her into taking a hike. "Aw… aw, Grant, ya gotta help me with som'tin!  This he' be a real emergency… an' Ah'm talkin' a major, ha-uge, giganto incident he'!" she continued as she held up her smartphone that had nearly been crushed when she had clenched her fist around it.

"I see. Well… what is it?" Grant said as he stored the shotgun under the counter so it would be ready in case it was ever needed. He briefly swapped his pipe for a sip of coffee, but it was soon back between his lips.

"Mah phone!  I been tryin' ta get som'tin done on that there Internet, but som'tin's wrong an' it won't lemme do what I wanna do!  An' need'a do!  He', it be plentah more eas'ah if Ah jus' show ya what Ah mean an' all."

Wynne hurried over to the counter and presented her case by swiping, tapping and scrolling through the various tabs. "An' there ya have it… can ya see whaddahell's wrong with that there crappy website?  'Cos it don't mattah what Ah do or don't do… there ain't nuttin' that works an' them dang-blasted fields that 'r grayed out is those I need'a use!"

Moving up his reading glasses, Grant went to work analyzing the potential problems. It only took him five seconds to let out a dark grunt. Taking out his pipe, he tapped the tip against the display like he wanted to make a point. "Wynne… oh, lord… haven't you watched the news on Channel Thirty-Four?  They've had a week-long exposé on-"

"Channel thirtah-four outta Barton Citeh?  Whaddahell them folks got ta do with anythin'?  Naw, I ain't been watchin'. I been bustin' mah hump workin' day an' night ta get enuff dollahs tagethah fer this he' thing. An' besides, mah satellite dish can't pick up channel thirtah-four… or it can, ack-shu-lly, but som'tin intahferes with it so mah receivah gets con-few-sed an' can't get a signal lock on it or some such."

Grant let out a sigh and stuck his pipe back into his mouth; then he handed back the smartphone. "Wynne, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…"

"Naw… naw, naw, naw… awwwwww-naw, Grant… naw… naw, naw, naw…" Wynne said in a voice that turned more and more whiney and nasal as she went along. At the end, she just clapped a hand over her eyes and began to shake her head.

To soften the blow and to help one of his most faithful customers, Grant moved over to one of the refrigerators to take a chilled can of H.E. Fenwyck Double Zero that he happened to know would be a smash hit. He gave it to Wynne who cracked it open at once and took a series of deep gulps. "It's on the house, Wynne. Well, how can I put it… the investigative reporters working for Channel Thirty-four revealed that the people behind this website and the ad were simple scammers. It was one of those grab-the-cash-and-run deals," he said before he took a sip of his coffee.

Wynne opened her mouth to whine a little more, but no sound would come out. Sighing, she finished the beer instead.

"Yeah…" Grant continued in a more somber tone, "the expensive, five-star fitness resort mentioned in the ad knew nothing about any of it. Those who had booked a stay there were sent to a tenth-rate, flea-infested shack in the middle of nowhere. The scammers have all either fled or been arrested. And nobody got their money back."

"Dang-blasted criminals. Hate scammers with a pas-shun. Lawrdie, Ah sure am glad Ah didden… that Ah coudden get it ta work. Now if that ain't the story o' mah stinkin' lih-fe right there… can't get nuttin' ta work 'cept livin' with mah sweet, li'l de-per-ty, an' Ah alllll-most done threw that away!  An' then the whole dog-gone thing wus nuttin' mo' than some bullcrap-sandwich scam. Haw. Ya know, Grant, Ah ain't too sure I really enjoy this he' lih-fe no mo'…"

Fiddling with his pipe that had almost gone out, Grant could only shrug and utter a vague "Yeah, well…" to Wynne's statements. Once the pipe was going full steam again through the use of several matches and some fresh tobacco, he looked at the ad a little more before he re-folded it and held it out. Wynne just shook her head, so he crumpled it up and threw it into a waste paper basket under the counter. "So… since you're here today, I'm guessing it was to have been some kind of Valentine's Day gift?"

"Yuh, it wus…"

"Well, I may have a good alternative for you, Wynne," Grant said and moved away from the counter. Once he had gone down a pair of small steps, it was revealed he was nearly eight inches shorter than Wynne even when she wasn't wearing her heeled boots.

Walking through his corner store, he went past a vast system of shelves stocked with hundreds and hundreds of bottles of spirits of all types. The bottles had all been lined up in color-coded order to make it easier to find the right one in case the customer was in a hurry: first all the dark or dark-brown spirits like bitters and brandy, then amber bourbon, whisky and spiced rum, then all the clear spirits like gin, vodka, white rum and schnapps. Grant only had a few bottles of fruit wine - cherry, apple and blackcurrant - on sale because the field of wines was a science unto itself that he didn't have time to master.

The other end of the store held even more canned and bottled beer that came from all over the world. Grant had a near-astronomical amount of domestic and foreign brands ranging from the conglomerate breweries that everyone knew to cellar-based microbreweries that nobody had ever heard of. The entire catalogue of H.E. Fenwyck products were on a stand by themselves so that Ernie Bradberry didn't have to go through all the shelves whenever he was in town to restock.

Grant Lafferty was soon standing next to an elegant display where golden boxes had been carefully arranged on black velvet cloth to highlight their exclusive nature. A few pink rosebuds had been strewn about between the boxes to show it would make a perfect Valentine's Day gift. "It just so happens that I'm selling some top-quality European chocolates this year," he said and held out his hand like a proud parent. "They go fantastically well with a sixteen-year-old Irish E."

"Uh… an' that there bein' a…?"

"Whisky. Bertie Finnegan's Irish Emerald," Grant said, pointing at the appropriate shelf and a bottle filled with an amber liquid - it carried a price tag that read $49,95.

Wynne broke out in a smirk. "Aw. Gotcha. I thunk y'all wus tryin' ta hook me up with a- aw, nevah mind. Ferget the whisky."

"All right. The chocolates are fourteen dollars ninety-eight for a box holding twenty-five pieces. Their centers are various blends of nougat and are really tasty."

"Noo-gat?  Mercy Sakes, I ain't got no dang-blasted clue what that be," Wynne mumbled while she stuffed her hands into her jacket's pockets. "Yuh, okeh… lemme buy one o' them there boxes o' choccies, Grant. That's a perdy darn-good ideah, yessir."

"You won't regret it," Grant said and took one of the boxes - he held it tenderly so the quality chocolates wouldn't get thrown around inside it. Once he had placed the box on the lower section of the counter, he covered it in red-and-white gift-wrapping paper and added a scarlet ribbon that was held in place by double-acting adhesive tape. "All right. And now for the other sure-fire Valentine's Day hit. What's Miss Jalinski's favorite flower?"

"Aw, shoot… mah sweet, li'l Mandy don't really got no favorite flowah or nuttin'. She ain't no perdy-flowah kinda girl, if ya catch mah drift."

"I should have thought about that," Grant said and let out a chuckle. "Still, a red rose goes a long way. If you head up to Holly Lorenzen's hair salon tomorrow, she'll be selling fresh roses just in from the market gardens in Scottsdale. Two dollars a piece for high quality roses."

"Haw!  Izzat a fact?"

"Yep. Her sister works in the management there so she was able to buy directly from them. It's probably a good idea to get there before noon, though. They're bound to be popular."

"Yuh… okeh," Wynne said and scratched her neck. "I didden even know that Holly had a sistah… Lawrdie, y'all sure be connected he' in Goldsborah. Anyhows, I'll see what I can do. Lissen, Grant… what I owe ya?  An' I'm talkin' 'bout mah tab as well as them there choccies."

"Let me see," Grant said and reached into a drawer on the business side of the counter. After producing a thick book, he leafed through it until he found D for Donohue. He ran an index finger down a long list of D-names until he arrived at the right one. "Seventy-nine dollars, Wynne. Add the fifteen for the chocolates and it's ninety-four dollars. Or ninety-three ninety-eight to be exact."

"I don't sapose y'all take one o' them there fanc'eh bank transfahs, do ya?"

"No. I'm sorry. Cash or plastic only."

"Awrighty," Wynne said and rummaged through her wallet. She snorted a couple of times at the peculiar unfairness of it all - she finally had more than five hundred dollars at her disposal, but nearly all of it was in electronic form. All she had in her wallet was a twenty-dollar bill. "Uh… lissen, Grant… aw… would ya be upset or som'tin if we's kinda fergot 'bout that there tab aftah all an' jus' stuck ta them there choccies?  'Cos… I… seem… ta… be… kinda… low… yuh."

"No problem, Wynne," Grant said with a grin.

---

Back outside Grant Lafferty's Beer & Liquor Imports, Wynne looked at the last remaining five dollar bill in her possession. Although she had the box of chocolates as well, it was certainly a weird set of circumstances. She looked up in a hurry to scout for Sheriff Rains - she wouldn't put it past the nasty fellow to arrest her for vagrancy or something similar.

A blanket of sublime annoyance fell over her as she thought of the scam. It wasn't the first time she had been snookered by professionals, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but it still hurt. She had worked like a jackrabbit on Benzedrine to scrape together enough money to pay for the stay at the resort, and then she was tripped up coming off the fourth turn on the final lap in sight of the finish line. Chocolates and roses were nice, but no substitute for a week-long stay at a sports and wellness resort.

She let out a prolonged "Hmmm…" as she walked back to the Nissan. She had the basics, but she would need to come up with the sprinkles on top to make it a memorable Valentine's Day. Once she reached the truck, she paused to look across the street at Moira's Bar & Grill. Another prolonged "Hmmm…?" escaped her as she rubbed her chin.

A third "Hmmm!" was uttered, and this one sounded like she'd had a bright idea. Instead of putting the chocolates on the passenger-side seat for safekeeping like she had intended to do, she held the box tenderly as she crossed Main Street with a spring in her step.

*
*
CHAPTER 5

February 14th - Valentine's Day - five in the afternoon.

The entire trailer park eight miles south of Goldsboro was buzzing as all the residents were headed to town to celebrate Valentine's Day. The babysitter for Renee Tooley had just arrived on a small motorcycle, so Frank and Estelle had been free to hop into their Ford F150 and drive north a little early to have some adult-time. Diego Benitez was all dressed up in tight jeans, a white shirt and half a gallon of gel in his thick, black hair - he had even waxed his mustache. All he was lacking was a date, but the lady in question soon drove off the State Route in a mid-1990s Chevrolet Caprice to pick him up.

Brenda and Vaughn Travers had already left for Goldsboro, and they had taken the elderly fellow Zoltan Petrusco with them. Although Zoltan didn't yet have a date, he had been invited by the Town Council who had gone into the matchmaking business by setting up a speed date event for singles of all age groups.

Ernie Bradberry was supposed to have been there as well, but he had phoned ahead to let Wynne know that he and the Reverend Bernadine Russell were still in Cavanaugh Creek, and that they would join them in Goldsboro instead of at the trailer park. It appeared that something had come up that required hands-on attention even before dinner, and Wynne had spent the next ten minutes giggling at the way her friend had phrased it.

The buzz of excitement from the trailer park had spread to the interior of the one Wynne shared with Mandy Jalinski. While Blackie and Goldie were noisily playing a mutual tail-chasing game in the living area, Wynne tried her best to comb her long hair using a huge brush and a tiny hand mirror. It wasn't a good combination, and she had to constantly move the mirror and crane her neck in every direction to see all parts of her head at the same time.

For the first time since being at church for the big Christmas service, she wore her nice set of clothes: shiny cowboy boots, black jeans, a leather belt locked in place by a brass buckle the size of a Mack Anthem tractor unit, and finally a burgundy Western shirt that covered one of her favorite T-shirts - the black one that carried the large 3 Forever in the proper font and forward-leaning style. A black denim jacket was still resting on its coat hanger that had been put on the handle of the front door so she would have no problem finding it.

Wynne had to comb her hair in the kitchenette because Mandy occupied the small bathroom - the whine from the hair dryer proved the senior deputy had reached the final stage of her beautification process.

Mandy was running a little late because even on such an important day, Sheriff Artie Rains had been his usual charming self and had ordered his deputies out on an extra foot patrol to make sure that nobody broke the strict laws on drinking in public. All but one of the residents of Goldsboro had adhered to the law with the exception being an unfortunate soul up at the movie theater who had been slapped with a fifty-dollar fine for not finishing his beer while inside the theater's lobby.

The whine from the hair dryer soon died down. Moments later, Mandy came out of the bathroom looking so different from her regular uniformed appearance it was hard to fathom it was the same woman: instead of the two-tone - brown and browner - Polyester horror she always wore, she had hopped into a pair of jeans that were so dark-blue they appeared purple in a certain light. Up top, she wore a stylish shirt made of black flannel; the top two buttons had been left undone to let the world see a tiny amount of skin and a thin gold chain that carried a pair of interlocked women's symbols.

Beyond the special color of the jeans, they hugged her hips and accentuated her rear to such an extent that it was a good bet they had been banned in Collinstown - the birthplace and primary city of the Virgin Tower religious organization - for provoking indecent thoughts among certain parts of the population.

She made a right-hand turn to go into the bedroom at the end of the narrow corridor, but she was soon back holding a red-and-black Letterman that carried the logo of the soccer team from her old college. "Are you ready to go, hon?" she said as she stuck her arms down the sleeves.

"Aw-yup!  I sure am, darlin'!" Wynne said and slipped the comb into her rear pocket. When she got an eyeful of her partner, she couldn't hold back a cheesy grin. "But lookin' at y'all, I sure do wish we wus stayin' right he' instead… all night. An' then some. Lawwwwr-die, de-per-ty Mandy, them jeans there… good flip almighty, them jeans there!  They be messin' with mah innah thermostat, I'm tellin' ya!"

Chuckling, Mandy slid over to the sink to get a glass of water. "Thanks. You certainly look the part as well. So… who's driving?"

"Awwwww…" Wynne said and shimmied around on the spot. "I wus thinkin' I might take that there wheel goin' up ta Goldsborah or som'tin. Then y'all can have it drivin' back he' 'cos by then I may ha' ended up sharin' a brew with ol' Ernie or somebodda."

Mandy smiled, winked and threw her partner a key fob - the ring itself carried a small promo for Otto Kulick's Car & Truck Rentals.

Wynne had to juggle it twice before she caught it, but once she had it in her grasp, she wasn't about to let it go. "C'mon, ya wondahful dawggies!  It's high tih-me ta head ta Moira's an' yer li'l dawggie cave undah that there pool table, dontchaknow!" she shouted around the corner to be heard over the dogs' incessant yapping in the living area.

---

Two minutes later, Wynne couldn't wipe the grin off her face as she looked at the silver-metallic, single-cab, full-bed, full-chrome and fully-awesome Chevrolet Silverado that she had admired up at the Bang-N-Beatin' Body Shop a couple of weeks earlier.

It was all about having the proper connections. Where Cletus Browne had told Wynne it was impossible for her to lease a vehicle, Mandy had been able to fill out the contract's paperwork even without having to go through a financial background check - her excellent standing in the local branch of law enforcement was apparently proof enough that she was on the level.

Wynne could argue differently with regards to bad apples wearing deputy sheriff uniforms, and had in fact done so, but the fact that there was an almost new Chevrolet parked next to their trailer rendered everything else irrelevant.

After Mandy had climbed aboard and had scooted into the center of the bench seat, Blackie and Goldie joined their owner in their regular spot: Blackie sat on the right so she could look out of the passenger-side window, and Goldie soon curled herself up into a golden ball of fur down in the footwell - the Golden Retriever's curious reaction was based on experience as having both her owners in the same vehicle at the same time had often been tied to scary events in the past.

Wynne continued to grin as she stepped up into the truck and slipped behind the elegant steering wheel. Starting the engine, she let out a: "Awwww-yuh!  Woulda lissen ta this he' thing!  Them pipes be singin' mah soh-ng!  Lawwwwwwr-die!" - then she made a slow U-turn in the narrow space between the trailers. After waving goodbye to young Renee Tooley and her babysitter who had both come out into the doorway, the big truck was soon pointing in the right direction to find the State Route and subsequently Goldsboro.

-*-*-*-

Despite the presence of the new Chicky Kingz takeout parlor, Moira MacKay's Bar & Grill on Main Street was as popular as ever - in fact, it was packed to the rafters when Wynne, Mandy and the dogs arrived. The first clue came when they couldn't find anywhere to park as the entire stretch in front of the establishment was occupied by a long line of trucks and cars of all sizes, colors and makes. Ultimately, they had to park across the street between the sheriff's office and the Yarn Spinners knitting accessories store.

The second clue came hot on the heels of the first one as the glass door to Moira's was held ajar to allow a little fresh air to enter. "Lawrdie," Wynne said as she pulled the door fully open so Mandy and their canine companions could walk in, "this he' doah only be standin' open like this fer weddin's or- holy shittt!" she cried when she clapped eyes on the sheer number of customers inside the restaurant.

Blackie and Goldie ran in with wagging tails and tongues like they always did, but they both came to skidding stops and let out woofs of disappointment when they looked at all the boots in their vicinity. Every last one of the hard-heeled footwear was a potential threat to their paws and tails, so after exchanging a long series of woofs, yaps and barks to hammer out a battleplan, Blackie nudged Wynne's leg to let the tall woman know they wouldn't be joining them at one of the tables.

Once the message had been delivered and understood, the German Shepherd followed her golden companion over to their beloved doggy-cave underneath the pool table - they knew they would find a safe haven there from any close encounters of the uncool human kind.

Nearly every table was occupied by couples, and even the tall cafe tables by the video poker machines had been commandeered into use to lessen the crush that went on up at the counter. Wynne took off her cowboy hat to scratch her brow while her eyes made a slow tour of the mad scramble - though the greasy, battered headwear didn't exactly match the rest of her ensemble when it came to elegance, she had refused to leave home without it. "Yuh… I'm guessin' this he' Valentine's Day shindig gonn' be a good source o' income fer ol' Moira… yuh. De-per-ty Mandy, why dontcha try ta find a table… I'mma-gonn' push mah way up ta that there countah an' lean on Slow Lane ta make us some burgahs an' fries an' them things. Yuh?"

"Will do," Mandy said with a grin. Looking around, she soon found a table that was still available. It was perhaps not the best location in the house since it was a little too close to the restrooms for most people, but not for a tough senior deputy and certainly not for The Last Original Cowpoke - and with Wynne's high-volume beer consumption in mind, it would be convenient to be close to the restrooms. "Right over there," she said and pointed at the table.

"Gotcha. Yuh. Okeh. Please siddown while I'mma-gonn'…  I'm jus' a-gonn'… Wynne comin' through!  Atten-shun, ev'rybodda!  Wynne comin' through!" the aforementioned Original Cowpoke said as she tried to plot a course through the human maze. "Ugh… naw… that ain't gonn' work. Snakes Alive, I ain't nevah seen this he' place this packed befo'…" - Bump!  Scrape!  Fumble!

"Lawrdie, Mistah, I sure am real sorry 'bout that there spill," Wynne said to a fellow whose silk tie had decided to drown itself in his glass of wine after his neck had been introduced to Wynne's elbow. He wore spectacles with thick lenses so the drama could in fact have been worse. "Haw!  Lemme getcha a napkin or som'tin fer yer tie, there, friend… naw?  Okeh, I be off. Mercy Sakes, I ain't nevah gonn' find mah way up ta that there countah… A.J.?  A.J.? Breaker One-Nine, Breaker One-Nine fer Mistah Slow Lane!  This he' be the one an' only Wynne Donah-hue talkin'!  A.J.?"

While Wynne tried to duck, weave and barge her way through to the counter, the front door opened once more to reveal Ernie Bradberry arriving with his date, the Reverend Bernadine Russell of the Church Of The Holy Crusader. Ernie wore a stylish, pale-gray Stetson and an extra-width, dark-brown Western suit that made him look like an oil baron - perhaps one of J.R. Ewing's long-lost cousins.

The Reverend wore a tan trench coat that covered a subdued, sensible Navy-blue dress that nevertheless had a surprisingly revealing upper hem. Her blond locks had been given special attention and had been pinned up in a stylish hairdo. She carried a bouquet of red roses that she sniffed at regular intervals.

The well-dressed couple reeled at the sight of the packed house, but were luckier than Wynne and Mandy had been when a table became available almost directly in front of them. Ernie glanced around to find his friends and soon spotted Mandy. Friendly waves were duly exchanged before he helped the Reverend with her chair like any proper Gentleman should.

---

A triumphant roar from one of the video poker machines turned out to be the former pro-wrestler Joe-Bob Millard who had beat the house to score one of the lesser jackpots in the colorful game. As the machine let out an electronic trill and displayed various congratulatory messages, he raised a huge mug of beer. Toasting himself, he downed most of the contents in a single gulp.

After Joe-Bob's perceived betrayal of the League of Patriotic Citizens - when he had been too drunk to understand where to go or what to do in connection with the protest against the SongBirds - he had been barred from entering Derrike Iverson's dive for twenty days. The three-hundred pound fellow couldn't go that long between benders so Moira's had become his new favorite haunt. He didn't mind too much as not only did Moira MacKay serve beer of a higher quality, the toilet bowls in the men's room were wider and thus fit his meaty cheeks better whenever nature called the loudest.

---

The pool table saw plenty of action as well. Two thirds of the junior team of the Goldsboro Pool Association were practicing their thrusting techniques while trying to impress their dates. It seemed that Geoffrey Wilburr, jr. and Roscoe Finch had little success with either since the young ladies they were wining and dining were both far too busy with their telephones to have time to watch the game.

Nelson McConnell, Wynne's new boss, and his Valentine's date Trent Lowe waited patiently by one of the cafe tables for a chance to play. Although they had rented their pool cues rather than owning custom sticks like Geoffrey and Roscoe, they were far from being inexperienced in the great game.

After Roscoe had tried for the tenth time in a row to perform a specific trick shot, Trent rolled his eyes severely before he and Nelson shared a long look. "Guys," Trent said and found a five-dollar bill that he held up. "This fiver says I can complete that shot in less than three attempts."

Geoffrey and Roscoe looked at each other for a brief moment before they each produced five-dollar bills that were put on the edge of the table - the bet was on. "Deal. Let's see wotcha got, Mistah," Geoffrey said and stepped aside.

Moving over to the pool table, Trent put his rented cue to the green felt and closed the difficult shot in one - then he collected the two other bills and moved back to Nelson. The two young ladies who had arrived with Geoffrey and Roscoe promptly broke out in snickers at their dates' expense.

"Okaaaay… how about a real game an' not that trick nonsense?  Best of five like at the regional tournaments," Roscoe said as he set up a full frame of the colorful pool balls.

Trent and Nelson shared another look before they both nodded. "All right. But just for fun. Not for money," Nelson said as he and his date moved back to the pool table with their rented cues.

---

A familiar rattling cough from somewhere else in the restaurant revealed that Barry Simms was present as well. With Moira's Bar & Grill becoming a no-smoking zone at the turn of the new year, his jaw and facial muscles were given a severe workout as he chewed on his latest block of nicotine chewing gum. It wasn't easy while eating ox-tail soup, but since his napkin only carried a dozen stains, it seemed he managed fairly well.

His sickly complexion, yellow teeth and heavy smoking habit meant he wasn't the prime candidate for any kind of date - except perhaps a blind one in the truest sense of the word - so he had asked his blue-haired aunt Mildred if she would like to go out for a bite to eat on the special day. She had accepted, and the pair made a cute, if slightly mismatched, couple.

The elderly lady had sprung for a dish that the menu had promised would be an extra-large minced beef patty with French fries and freshly chopped salad on the side. The salad and fries were in fine form, but the beef patty itself wasn't up to anyone's standards - one side had barely seen the stove while the other was so well-done she was sure it had been used as a lump of coal. At least the center part was acceptable.

Wanting to complain about the quality of the food, she had tried to catch A.J. Lane's attention several times by waving her knife and fork in the air. Unfortunately, their timing was a bit off: whenever she waved, he wasn't looking, and whenever he looked, she was busy trying to saw off the charred bits of the beef patty.

Barry's constant slurping, frantic chewing and frequent coughing meant he couldn't offer any assistance in getting her money back - or a better patty - so the elderly Mildred eventually settled for eating the fries, the salad and the olive bread that had come with her nephew's ox-tail soup.

---

Wynne finally made her way back to Mandy's table. In addition to a plastic bag that dangled from her pinkie, she carried a tray that held several cans of beer and soft drinks. Once the beverages had been distributed onto the table, she put the bag on the floor out of Mandy's view. "Poor Slow Lane… he be a nih-ce young fellah, but he sure ain't got the talent required ta run them cookin' panels with this menneh customahs. Lawrdie, I hadda place mah ordah three dang-blasted times befo' he undahstood a durn word I wus sayin'."

"Maybe he'll make three of what you ordered, then?" Mandy replied; she had to lean into the center of the table to be heard over the din.

"Mebbe," Wynne said as she seemed to ponder the possibility. Shrugging, she cracked open a can of Double Zero. "Naw, he jus' didden undahstand. Anyhows, we gonn' have them there awe-sum dubbel-deckah burgahs an' fries an' all them trimmin's that go with 'em. Yuh!  Did ol' Ernie show up yet?"

"Yes, he and the Reverend are right over there," Mandy said, pointing over Wynne's left shoulder.

Turning around to wave, Wynne let out a chuckle at the odd fact that her strictly a-religious friend had found a pro-religious sweetheart - even if the members of the Church of the Holy Crusader were a great deal more modern and open-minded compared to the Virgin Tower people; then she remembered their telephone conversation earlier in the afternoon. It didn't take long for her innocent chuckle to turn juvenile and plain, old lewd.

---

Twelve minutes and two empty cans of H.E. Fenwyck's Double Zero non-alcoholic beer later, Wynne repeatedly tapped her fingertips against the checkered tablecloth. When that lost its entertainment value, she craned her neck to look over at the stoves instead.

The young fellow - who had replaced her at the French-fry baskets the previous summer after an unfortunate incident involving a promise of unlimited free beer that had turned less unlimited than she had counted on - was still hard at work flipping burgers, seasoning and minding steaks, turning sausages and dunking fries.

The cooking panels, the baskets and the oven were all in full swing, and A.J.'s frantic gestures made it obvious for all that he couldn't keep up with the many orders that had been given. He simply had to juggle far too many items at once to keep up, and the result was that none of it was made particularly well.

"Lawrdie… I'm beginnin' ta undahstan' whut mah ol' Sundah school teachah Miss Beulah done meant when she tole us y'all need the pay-shence of an angel an' the pas-shun of a devil ta get through lih-fe," Wynne mumbled. She tried hard to restrain herself from reaching for yet another can of Double Zero, especially since Mandy was still on her first can of diet Coke, but the long wait did its worst to murder her good mood. Ultimately, she went for the next can and cracked it open at once.

"Dad-gummit, how long can it take that there Slow Lane ta make two dang-blasted burgahs an' fries, anyhows?" she continued after draining half of the beer in the first gulp alone.

Mandy was far more accustomed to waiting forever and a day for something that might never happen at all - although she did harbor hopes the food would show up eventually - so she had leaned back in her chair and spent her time observing everyone in the Bar & Grill.

She knew most people, but there were one or two new faces that she kept a close eye on just in case they had nefarious motives for being there. Pickpockets always had a field day in such a busy environment: people bumped into each other all the time while moving around, so another bump wouldn't register until the culprit had long since disappeared with the telephone or the wallet.

The point was proven a moment later when Joe-Bob Millard's considerable belly accidentally gave Wynne's shoulder a strong shove. The retired wrestler was on his way to the restroom and had to crab sideways to get between two of the tables - even that didn't leave enough room for his girth, and the impact was inevitable. "Whoops… sorry 'bout that, li'l lady," he rumbled as he continued on toward the men's room.

Wynne had been lucky for once: Instead of wearing the Double Zero all over her best Sunday clothes, she had just emptied the can when the sneak attack had struck her. Even so, the bump had nearly sent the beer down the wrong pipe and she had to swallow it cautiously. "Aw, nuttin' harmed, there, Joe-Bob… an' I sure ain't no li'l lady, nosirree…" she said while she used a napkin to wipe a few droplets off her chin.

The big fellow didn't have time to stop, but he gave Wynne a thumbs-up while he continued crabbing toward the door to the restroom.

---

Yet more customers arriving proved to be Rodolfo Gonzalez and his steady girlfriend Dolores de la Vega. Like everyone else who entered the packed Bar & Grill, they remained near the doorway to begin with while they checked out if there was even room for them. When Rodolfo spotted Mandy and Wynne, he leaned in toward his date to whisper something in her ear. She nodded and followed the deputy sheriff over to the two women.

The terms 'elegant' and 'high-class' didn't begin to describe the two people of Hispanic descent. Dolores wore a blood-red dress cut in a traditional Mexican design, and she had a red rose pinned behind her right ear. Her voluminous hair had been given a big work-over by Holly Lorenzen who had created magic with a few barrettes and two scarlet ribbons, and all in all, the livestock broker attracted even more attention than she usually did.

Rodolfo's trademark slicked-back hair had been treated to a whole tube of gel to mark the special day, and he wore a black suit in a contemporary design. The crowning touch was an ascot in the same shade of scarlet as the ribbons in Dolores' hair. "Good evening, ladies," he said in a put-upon, well-buttered baritone that made him sound like a 1940s movie star.

"Howdy, there, Rodolfo… an' good evenin', Miss Dolores," Wynne said and got up to greet the dashing lady the proper way: by kissing the back of her hand. "Lawrdie, y'all sure do look like a pair o' diamonds tanight, lemme tell ya!"

Rodolfo grinned at the old-fashioned greeting that had almost made Dolores blush in an old-fashioned way. "Why, Wynne Donohue, you scoundrel!" he continued in the same buttered-up voice. He couldn't keep up the act for long and soon let out a laugh in his regular voice - Wynne followed suit at once.

Mandy reached out to shake Dolores' hand in a more conventional way. "Hello, Miss de la Vega. Looks like our dates are up to a few tricks tonight."

"Good evening, Miss Jalinski. Yes, it seems so," Dolores said as she looked at the grinning Wynne and Rodolfo. "Wow, Moira's is packed!  I don't think I've ever seen it this busy… I hope we can get something to eat. We've already had fried chicken three times this week so I've been looking forward to a proper beef steak. Have you ordered yet?"

"We have. But A.J. is… ah… somewhat challenged by the size of the crowd tonight. We've been waiting a while," Mandy said and looked over at the counter where A.J. Lane had to throw an entire T-bone steak into the trash because it had turned into a lump of coal - he had simply been too busy with all the other items on the cooking stoves to notice the increasingly black smoke signals that rose from the slab of meat.

Dolores scrunched up her face; she let out a grunt as the peanut gallery by the counter hurled plenty of abuse at the unfortunate cook for his lack of skills swinging the spatula. "Oh… I see. Fried chicken is fine as well, I suppose…"

Rodolfo tried to grab a page from Wynne's playbook by taking his date's hand and giving it a tender kiss. "Come, darling," he said in the put-upon baritone, "I hear a table calling our name… and red wine and maybe a steak, too."

"Perhaps we shouldn't get too excited about the steak," Dolores mumbled before she waved goodbye to Wynne and Mandy.

After Rodolfo had waved as well, Wynne sat down and resumed tapping her fingertips on the tablecloth. That lasted for all of thirty seconds before she slammed her fist onto the table, pushed her chair back and shot to her feet. "Naw!  Ah'm wavin' the black flag at that there Slow Lane!  This he' deal ain't funny no mo'!  Orderin' on Valentine's Day an' gettin' our dang-blasted food on the dang-blasted Fourth o' Joo-lah… Ah'm done waitin'!  Ah'ma-gonn' go up there an' teach that there fellah how ta work them stoves, dad-gummit!"

---

Five minutes later, Wynne barged her way through the dense crowd carrying a tray that held two reed baskets filled with French fries, two huge double-decker burgers that had all the trimmings, a six-pack of H.E. Fenwyck 1910 Special Brew and two more diet Cokes. "Lookie he' what Ah made fer us, De-per-ty Mandy!  Yes, ma'am!" she cried once she was within earshot of the table she shared with her partner.

Almost as expected, her cheeks and forehead had gained a couple of red blotches that proved she was only too pleased to have returned to the stoves where she had spent the happiest hours of her working life. "Lawrdie, I'm tellin' ya… ya shoulda seen that there A.J. fellah!  Haw, Mercy Sakes, them eyeballs o' his dang neah fell outta his head once this he' ol' burgahflippah went ta work flippin' them dang burgahs'!  Awwww-yuh!"

"They certainly look tasty, hon," Mandy said with a grin as she unfolded her napkin to catch the inevitable spillages of ketchup, pickled cucumbers and all the other items that always tried to make a run for it.

"Haw!  Much obliged, there!  Yes, ma'am, them burgahs an' fries an' beers sure do look fih-ne if Ah do say so mahself!" Wynne said and sat down. Like Mandy, she unfolded her napkin to be ready. Before she declared war on the large double-decker burger, she glanced down at the mysterious plastic bag that was still leaning against one of the table's legs - everything was set for the little surprise that would come after supper.

-*-*-*-

Wynne's expertise at the cooking panels had once again been underscored as the burgers had been done exactly right and the fries were crispy and tasty. The soft drinks were chilled, the beers were frothy, and - most importantly - the romantic mood around the table had hit all the right notes and couldn't be bettered.

Sometimes, nabbing a French fry from your partner's plate was all it took for magic to be created. The Goddess of Love Aphrodite was present and on top form as plenty of love bolts flew back and forth between Wynne and Mandy; they only had eyes for each other and were able to shut out the din from the other patrons, the video poker machines, the pool players and the sizzling cooking stoves.

The empty plates were soon pushed aside so the center of the table was free. Wynne and Mandy reached out at the exact same time to take a gentle hold of the hands of the other. Their fingers were soon engaged in tender caressing that sparked shy smiles on the faces of both women. The moment demanded further sweet contact, so Wynne rose and leaned across the table. Winking, she kissed Mandy's inviting lips. The kiss was just right for the circumstances - not too little or too much, and it certainly held a promise of great things to come later on. "I sure do love ya, De-per-ty," she whispered before she sat down again.

"Love you too, Wynne," Mandy said with a warm smile. "When are you going to tell me what's in that plastic bag?  Or do I need to break out the handcuffs?"

A cheeky grin spread over Wynne's face as she reached down to take the bag. "Weeeellll, them handcuffs sure sound temptin'… naw, I bettah tell ya. I woudden wanna give them nih-ce folks he' the wrong impres-shun. Awrighty… there's a back-storah ta it, an' it deffa-nete-lah ain't all fun an' games."

"It's not?"

"Naw," Wynne said in a despondent voice. "Ack-shu-lly, the whole dad-gummit mess is one helluva horrah-storah, that's fer dang sure. 'Member that there sports resort thing I wus bustin' mah hump ovah?"

"Well… yes?"

Wynne shook her head and assumed a surly expression. "We can ferget all 'bout that. That wussen nuttin' but a scam from first ta last, gosh-darnit."

"What?!  Aw, Jeez!"

"Yuh, I know… the Grant-mastah tole me jus' las'night. It done bushwhacked me som'tin fierce, lemme tell ya. Anyhows, ta compensate fer the crappiness o' that there deal, I bought y'all a nih-ce box o'…" - Wynne pulled the box out of the plastic bag - "choccies!  Grant tole me they wus from Yurrip an' they 'r saposed ta be the real good stuff an' all. There be nookie in 'em… or some such."

"Nougat?"

"Yuh, prolly. Som'tin like it, anyhows. De-per-ty Mandy, happy Valentine's Day!" Wynne continued as she presented the box that was still protected by its red-and-white wrapping paper.

Grinning, Mandy went to work unwrapping the box at once. "Oh, they certainly look great. Thank you!"

"Aw, ya welcome an' all…"

"Since when has Grant Lafferty sold chocolates?"

"Well, he ain't really… I be thinkin' it wus a one-tih-me deal only. Don't know fer sure, tho'. An' there's moah… he' ya go… a red rose fer the lady o' mah heart, dontchaknow," Wynne said as she reached into the plastic bag once more to take a pair of roses wrapped in cellophane - one was red, and she gave that to Mandy at once. The other was yellow, and that was put in front of herself. "Red fer y'all, a yellah rose o' Texas fer me… yessirree!"

"Oh!" Mandy breathed. She took the red rose at once and sniffed it. Another warm smile spread over her face. "It's wonderful. Thank you. You know, I'm glad we had that heart to heart out in the Nissan the other evening. The situation was really getting me down… I wasn't in control of what was going on. And you know how much I hate not being in control."

"Yuh, I sure do. Haw, I'm real sorry fer causin' ya pain. Y'all 've given me so much ovah the years an'… an' I jus' wanted ta give som'tin back… well, that durn near blew up in mah face. Story o' mah lih-fe, dat."

Mandy shook her head before she sniffed the rose once more. "And then it turned out to be a scam…"

"Yuh. Jus' mah rotten luck," Wynne said and toyed with her most recent can of Double Zero.

Mandy leaned back and toyed with her red rose for a moment or two. "All right. How about… hmmm… how about we rented an R.V. and drove around at random for a week or so?  That way, it would just be you, me and the girls. We could do what we wanted, go where we wanted, whenever we wanted. We could drive to the Dam, or to Vegas, or maybe just somewhere where we could be alone."

"Lawrdie, that ain't no bad ideah, that!  But Mercy Sakes, I think them there recrea-shun-al vee-hickels 'r really dog-gone expensive ta rent. An' I don't think all o' them there rental comp'nies allow pets, neithah. On the othah hand, it sure woudden cost us a dih-me ta do a li'l research or nuttin'. Yuh, De-per-ty Mandy, I do bah-lieve y'all be onta a winnah there. Yes, ma'am!"

"It'd be our first real vacation together. We'd be away from the sheriff, too," Mandy said and let out a chuckle.

"Sold!"

The chuckle turned into a laugh as Mandy reached across the table to grab Wynne's hands. "I knew you wouldn't object to that part!"

"Nuh-uh!  But Lawrdie, we bettah not go anywheah neah that there Area Fiftah-One or nuttin'… we got plentah o' trubbel he' as it is. There ain't no reason ta invite mo' trubbel o' that there outah-space kind!" Wynne said with a grin.

Half a heartbeat later, a string of loud crashes behind her made her jump a foot in the air and let out a startled cry. Upon landing, she whipped her head around to look for the alien raiding party that she was sure had crash-landed right in the middle of their Valentine's Day celebration.

The loud reports hadn't been caused by little polka-dotted men from the planet Nuttybonckaz after all, but by A.J. 'Slow' Lane who had managed to bump his elbow into a hot frying pan. The frying pan and its sizzling contents of sliced bacon had eventually found the floor, but not before it had skidded across another of the cooking stoves, smashed into a lid, fallen into a French fry basket and finally knocked an entire box of clean cutlery over the edge of the table next to the stoves.

A stunned silence spread through the assembled patrons before someone, most likely the unfortunate individual whose bacon burgers now had to go without bacon, began hurling abuse at A.J. Others joined in on the verbal barrage until Moira MacKay came storming out of the office at the back of the bar and told the hecklers to please be quiet - or words to that effect, at least.

"Snakes Alive, A.J… Ah done a lotta weird 'n wondahful stuff in mah life, but Ah sure ain't nevah dropkicked a fryin' pan onta the floah. Nosirree," Wynne mumbled as she sat down once more. Her hair had been upset by the drama, so she reached into a rear pocket to find her comb.

While the grooming process was coming along nicely across the table, Mandy was busy accessing the Internet on her smartphone. She let out a few grunts that ranged from two to five syllables as she browsed through a list of websites belonging to various companies that rented out recreational vehicles. "Okay… as expected, the sky's the limit when it comes to the price. The most expensive one I've found so far is thirty-five-hundred dollars for a seven-day rental."

"Holy shittt!" Wynne exclaimed - she needed to up her pace with the comb to offset the shock of hearing the extortionate price. "That thing bettah have a gold crapper 's all Ah'm sayin!  Three an' a half grand fer a week!  Lawrdie… ain't there nuttin' a li'l cheapah or som'tin?"

"Yes, there's one that's six-hundred dollars for a week," Mandy said and held up the telephone so Wynne could see a photo of the vehicle in question. "It's a no-frills model, but it has all the amenities we need. The company allows pets and the website says the first thousand miles covered are free. We'll have to pay a fee for each additional mile, but that's negligible."

"Yuh, huh?  That there Arr-Vee sure is a neat lookin' vee-hickel, ain't no doubt 'bout that," Wynne said as she studied a series of photos of a fifty-foot Grand Adventurer RV and its interior design. "Lawwwwr-die!  Lissen ta this, De-per-ty!  It says right he' they be buyin' complete chassis an' drivetrains from General Motahs!  Engines an' trannies an' everythin'!  Now if that ain't a good sign, Ah don't know what is!"

Mandy reached across the table to give Wynne's free hand a little squeeze. Once she had the telephone back in her possession, she swiped a little more and finished by adding the rental company's site to the favorites.

Wynne turned around to cast a longing look at not only the pool table but at the refrigerators beyond it. She was surprised to find her boss and a man she hadn't seen before playing pool; her boss smiled warmly at the man, and she hadn't seen that before, either.

"Yuh," she said as she turned back to face her own Valentine's date. "I wondah if that there rental comp'ny got one o' them there Arr-Vees in black… always wanted ta drive a black General Motahs vee-hickel. Mebbe a gray stripe at the lowah lip an' some white letterin' on the side… an' mebbe a red logo someweah… or som'tin," she said in a mumble.

"Pardon?"

"Aw, ain't nuttin' spe-shul. Jus' a li'l wishful thinkin' 's all," Wynne said as she began toying with a clean napkin. "Say… we ain't leavin' jus' yet are we?  'Cos, there I wus, contemplatin' mebbe shootin' a li'l pool or som'tin. Seems mah boss Mistah Nelson is ovah yondah with anothah fellah I ain't familiar with. Failin' that, mebbe mah friend Ernie is up fer havin' a beer or two or three… or som'tin."

"Okay by me, hon. I think pool with Mr. McConnell is your best bet. Mr. Bradberry seems to be a little busy right now," Mandy said and pointed at the table where Ernie and the Reverend Bernadine were lost in each other's eyes - had the scene been a comic strip, they would have been surrounded by pink, floating hearts.

"Yuh, I see wotcha mean, there, De-per-ty… an'… Lawrdie, look at Rodolfo an' Dolores!  Them young cats sure is makin' goo-goo eyes at each othah, huh?  Mercy Sakes, Goldsborah's gonn' be a boom town if babies come outta jus' half o' them there looks!"

Chuckling, Mandy pushed her chair back to get up. Picking up her red rose, she buried her nose in the petals and inhaled deeply to get every last ounce of scent out of it. "Well, it does require a little more than looking, Wynne…"

"Yuh, I'm aware o' that, De-per-ty. I didden jus' come back from a trip ta that there moon, ya know," Wynne said with a grin as she got up as well. A moment later, the grin faded as she cast a worried glance at the ceiling of Moira's Bar & Grill. "Haw, perhaps I shoudden speak too loudly… 'member that there disastah mooh-vie we done watched where the ol' moon lost a chunk that done blasted this he' Earth ta smithereens?  Lawrdie, Ah bettah knock on wood," she continued and knocked three times on the underside of the wooden table - the age-old gesture was meant to tell all natural disasters as well as evil spacemen, ghosts, zombies, goblins and assorted other slimy critters, undead ghouls and forty-foot monsters to forget all about visiting Goldsboro, but only time would tell if they would listen.

"Wynne, why don't you show Mr. McConnell a trick shot or two while I put the chocolates and the roses in the truck so they're safe?  We could shoot a few frames afterwards… unless you don't want to play against a rank amateur."

"Lawrdie, you nevah wanna play pool!"

"Well, I do tonight," Mandy said with a grin.

Wynne took off her cowboy hat at once and waved it around to mark the special, and practically unique, event. "Snakes Alive, I'd love ta play with ya, De-per- waitaminute, that didden come out right… play pool wit'cha!  Yes, ma'am!"

"Good. I won't be long," Mandy said and picked up the flowers and the box of high-quality candy.

"While ya do that, I'mma-gonn' grab a beer or two… an' ask that there nih-ce Mistah Nelson an' his friend there if they might be int'rested in a li'l four-way contest!" Wynne said with a cocksure grin playing on her lips - then she came to a halt and crossed her legs. "Aw… but I'mma-gonn' hafta make a li'l dee-toor ta that there bathroom first 'r else it gonn' be a messy game o' pool, yessir…" she continued while she tip-toed over to the door to the restroom.

-*-*-*-

Time rushed by in a blur as always when the mood is cheerful and the company pleasant. The next two and a half hours disappeared in world record time, and the evening had turned late when eight people and two dogs left the Bar & Grill to step out onto the sidewalk.

Wynne and Mandy swung an entwined hand between them while Blackie and Goldie zipped around their feet playing doggy-tag. Ernie and the Reverend were next. The mature couple - who were the very definition of opposites attract - were giggling, holding hands and generally behaving like a pair of naughty teenagers out on their first-ever date.

Wynne's boss Nelson McConnell and his Valentine Trent Lowe said a quick goodbye to the others before they crossed the street to get to Nelson's rented apartment behind the Chicky Kingz takeout parlor. The four-way pool game had officially been declared a draw when it became obvious that three of the four players were evenly matched, but the fourth - Mandy - was faced with an impossible struggle to keep up with the cue-wielding sharks at the table. The decision to stop gave them a good opportunity to share a few stories and generally get to know each other a bit better, so everyone had been left satisfied by the outcome.

Rodolfo and Dolores came last; they continued to portray plenty of style and panache in their classy garments. As a humorous confirmation of ancient stereotypes, all four gals present on the sidewalk were sniffing their Valentine's Day roses while the sole remaining guy was busy fawning over his date.

The magical moment was broken when Mandy's telephone vibrated deep down in her pocket. Looking across Main Street, she noted that the sheriff's office was still dark and quiet so the call couldn't come from there. The fact that all the deputies were going to spend the evening at Moira's had led Artie Rains to call it an early night for once - he had been up at Derrike Iverson's dive for most of Valentine's Day, anyway, so it didn't make much of a difference to him.

Retrieving the telephone, Mandy let out a puzzled grunt when the caller ID said 'M-L. Skinner.'  "I need to take this call, Wynne," she said and moved away from the others in case it was important.

"Yuh, okeh. No skin off mah buhtt!" Wynne said as she watched Mandy walk across the street in her usual stride.

Rodolfo and Dolores played a little with the happily yapping Blackie and Goldie, but the game soon turned a little too wild for the well-dressed couple so they backed off and let the dogs do their own thing. The sight of Mandy speaking into her telephone made Rodolfo check his own just in case some kind of emergency had been declared. He had turned it off during the date because he knew how much Dolores hated being disturbed by it - as a livestock trader, she spent every minute of her working day with a phone literally in her ear, so the last thing she wanted in her free time was to be exposed to more ringing telephones.

With Mandy still talking to the mysterious caller, Wynne shuffled over to her old friend and drinking buddy Ernie Bradberry. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that it would most likely be a while before he had time to come over to her trailer to share a beer and some of his old wrestling and NASCAR tapes.

"Why, Ernie, ya ol' sombitch," she said around a series of chuckles as she took in the sight of the completely transformed rotund fellow, "y'all got it bad, friend!  Lawwwwwwr-die. I'm surprised y'all can even walk straight, an' I ain't talkin' 'bout them stouts y'all been drinkin'!  Dontcha think ya oughtta get a room in town or som'tin instead o' tryin' ta drive home?"

"That ain't no bad idea, Wynne," Ernie said and reached out to playfully slap his friend's shoulder.

Bernadine Russell smiled at the interaction between the old friends. She had been separated from Ernie for far too long - nearly five seconds - so she grabbed his hairy hand and held it tight. "I heard from some of my colleagues that Mrs. Peabody's boarding house is a respectable-"

"Ah, yuh…" Wynne said and scratched her neck, "but that there be the problem, Rev'rend. Missus Peaboddah don't allow no hankeh-pankeh o' any kind, nossiree. Back in the day, yuh?  Back in the day when mah sweet li'l Mandy he' had jus' moved ta Goldsborah, she wus stayin' at Missus Peaboddah's. Well, at that time, the rule wus jus' no male comp'ny in them rooms… but… uh… I guess we, uh… wus kinda noisy or som'tin so Missus Peaboddah changed them rules ta ban all kinds o' hankeh-pankeh. An' I mean full stop. Yuh?"

"Oh… right. I see," Bernadine said and broke out in a blush.

"Yuh. Even now, years an' years latah, whenevah I run inta Missus Peaboddah he' in town, she makes a big numbah out o' crossin' the street so she don't hafta say howdy or nuttin'," Wynne said with a shrug.

The moment was too good to miss, so Ernie reached out to slap Wynne's shoulder all over again. "That's what I call makin' a lastin' impression, huh, ya ol' rascal?  Now I understand why Mrs. Peabody avoided you when we worked on fixin' the lounges after all those green goblins had wrecked them at Halloween."

"Well, ya know," Wynne said and pushed her cowboy hat down low in the front so she looked her best. To add a few more degrees of denim-gal sexiness to the image, she focused her eyes and gazed intently at all her friends - males and females alike. "Us ruff 'n ready cowpokes, we really trah our damnedest," she continued in a husky voice.

Dolores de la Vega and Bernadine Russell both broke out in wild snickers at the undeniable presence of The Last Original Cowpoke - Rodolfo and Ernie had to gulp and shoot each other a wide-eyed double-take.

Wynne maintained the husky presence for a few more seconds before she relaxed her stance, let out a loud laugh and reached into her jacket pocket for an H.E. Fenwyck 1910 Special Brew that had happened to fall out of the refrigerator at the exact moment she had walked past it.

Once Mandy's telephone conversation had ended, she returned to the group. The concerned expression on her face proved that something important had happened that required a lot of thought, and she kept quiet for a moment longer while she analyzed the unexpected development. She sought out Wynne's free hand and gave it a little squeeze. "Wynne… Rodolfo… there may be a big change coming our way fairly soon," she said in a no-nonsense voice that made it clear to everyone that the Senior Deputy Sheriff had arrived on the scene.

"Aw!  Lawrdie… bah-bah vaca-shun…" Wynne said and let out a deep sigh. Rolling her eyes, she took a long swig of the Special Brew to drown her disappointment.

Mandy gave Wynne's free hand another squeeze to compensate for the potential letdown. "I'm afraid it might mean that, yes. The caller was Councilwoman Skinner. She told me that she, Judge Etherington and the other members of the Town Council have been contacted by a high-profile law firm. It appears Mr. Chang-"

"Oh!" Rodolfo said. "The manager of the SongBirds?  So I guess this isn't about Thomas Kincaid, then?"

"That's right. It appears Mr. Chang will file a lawsuit against Sheriff Rains and the MacLean County's Sheriff's Department for racially motivated harassment-"

"Holy shittt!" Wynne croaked - then she looked over at Bernadine. "Uh… beg' pardon, there, Rev'rend…"

Mandy allowed herself a brief chuckle at her partner's embarrassed expression - then her game face fell back into place. "It might even grow into a larger issue than that. There's a national news story brewing as well. Someone in the crowd filmed the incident. The clips have gone viral. I take it they show the sheriff at his worst."

"Day-um… so Rains' big mouth fih-nally came back ta bite his own buhtt… yuh. It wus bound ta happen…" Wynne said quietly before she took another swig of her beer.

Rodolfo scrunched up his face in thought; then he cocked his head. "So… now what?  Don't tell me that Evan Chaff will be our new sheriff!"

"Evan Chaff?!" Wynne cried; she jerked back so hard that some of the beer sloshed over the edge of the can. "He gonn' come back ta Goldsborah?  That walkin' pile o' no-good, low-down stinkin' bullcrap ain't got no bizzness he' no mo'!  Why, that fellah be a dirty, rotten, nasteh-assed sonovabitch… uh… pardon mah French, there, Rev'rend…"

Bernadine let out a strangled, croaking chuckle, but she managed to wave at the acutely embarrassed Wynne to show she didn't take the language to heart.

"No," Mandy said and shook her head. "Mrs. Skinner said that Evan's out of the picture. He and the sheriff are too close."

"Thank the Lawrd fer li'l favah's!" Wynne said and promptly drained her beer. Once the can was empty, she shoved it into her jacket pocket. "But… then whut?  What's gonn' happen he' in town?"

"It's too early to tell. Sheriff Tenney from Brandford Ridge will swing by tomorrow for a informal chat with Artie Rains. We'll just have to wait and see what happens after that."

"Lawrdie, ol' Gee Dubya Tenney is a sheriff now, huh?  Man, I liked him," Wynne said and rubbed her chin before she raised her right arm out of sheer reflex - her hand didn't carry a can of beer so she lowered it again.

Two seconds later, she dug into her pocket, found a new Double Zero, cracked it open and took a long swig of it - all in a single, well-drilled motion. "Huh, ol' George wus a de-per-ty he' when y'all first came ta town. 'Member him?  He spent a couple-a weeks in hospital aftah that there… uh…" - she cast yet another glance at Bernadine and Dolores who weren't privy to many of the otherworldly situations and incidents that Wynne and Mandy had been involved in - "uh… bad wreck he done had in that there Durangah that spe-shul night there, ya know… didden he leave Goldsborah soon aftah that?"

Mandy nodded. "Yes, he needed physical rehab for his injuries so he took an extended sick leave. Rodolfo, you remember George Tenney, don't you?  You and I visited him at the university hospital up in Barton City." While she spoke, she looked at her fellow deputy who nodded affirmatively.

Wynne nodded as well though hers was prompted by being deep in thought. "An' now he be the sheriff o' Brandford Ridge… huh. Hoah-boy, I wondah how deah, ol' Artie Rains gonn' react ta that there meetin'… I mean… considerin'… yuh." She stopped speaking to take a long swig of the Double Zero - it turned out to be the last one already.

"Considering what, Wynne?" Dolores de la Vega said.

"Well, that ol' Gee Dubya is an African-'Merican. Of equal rank. Yessir… Mercy Sakes, De-per-ty Mandy, perhaps y'all oughtta have them there fire department folks on speed dial jus' in case Rains goes inta one o' them there spontaneous combust-shuns or som'tin… or mebbe y'all gonn' hafta spend an aftahnoon scrapin' 'im off them walls in the office… Lawrdie."

A pregnant silence spread between the six people on the sidewalk. Down below, Blackie picked up the change in the mood, but Goldie kept playing. She let out an annoyed whimper when her black-furred companion suddenly quit their game.

"Well," Ernie said and wrapped an arm around Bernadine's waist. "There ain't nothin' we can do about that now. I think it's high time for me and the Reverend here to drive home. So… see ya tomorrow, everybody. Yeah?  Stay safe."

"Bah, Ernie!  Bah-bah, Rev'rend!  Please don't go too hard on that there ol' fellah's bones!  Them rockin' chairs jus' ain't his style!" Wynne said and took off her cowboy hat to wave it at her departing friends.

After the laughter had died down, Rodolfo and Dolores said goodnight as well leaving Wynne, Mandy and the two dogs as the only life on the deserted Main Street. All four strolled over to the Chevrolet Silverado where Blackie and Goldie jumped up into the luxurious cab at once to make themselves comfortable on the plush seat.

Wynne soon closed the passenger-side door behind her beloved pets and moved around the chrome-plated front of the large truck. On her way past the grille, she breathed on the golden bow-tie logo in the center; it wasn't enough, so she used a handkerchief to wipe off a few crushed bugs.

Mandy leaned against the fender with an unreadable expression on her face, but she moved away from her spot when Wynne approached. The moment needed a little physical contact, so she put out her arms to pull her taller partner closer to her. "I'm sorry about our vacation, hon. We'll probably need to take a rain-check on it."

"Yuh… that's okeh. I wussen gonn' count any chickens… get it?  Until we wus ack-shu-lly drivin' inta the wild blue yondah, anyhows," Wynne said as she ran her fingers through Mandy's silky locks. "But I gotta admit I do worry a li'l 'bout that there lawsuit an' all. The stinky shit gonn' hit the fan, ain't no doubt 'bout that. An' with y'all bein' the senior de-per-ty sheriff, a li'l o' it might be flung in yer direc-shun."

"Maybe more than a little."

"Yuh?  How so?"

Mandy let out a sigh. "I was standing right behind the sheriff when the incident took place. I'm going to feature in those videos as well."

"Mebbe, but… y'all didden ha' nuttin' ta do wi'any o' that!"

"No, but I was there. That's enough these days."

Wynne reached up to scratch her hair; then she threw her arms out wide - the gesture made Blackie let out a puzzled Woof?  "Lawrdie, this he' world we be livin' in turns strangah an' strangah fer each passin' day… we don't even need no monstahs or ghoulies ta stir up trubbel… not when we got that there Sheriff an' a buncha people with camerahs an' stuff!"

"We'll just have to wait and see what happens."

"Yuh… I sapose." Wynne leaned down to claim Mandy's lips in a kiss meant to show she would be there for her no matter what transpired. "Snakes Alive, it's gettin' a li'l chilly out he'. How 'bout we went home ta our trailah an' continued this he' nih-ce Valentine's Day evenin' on our own…?"

"Sounds like a plan, Wynne. Hop in. I'm driving," Mandy said and reached for the door handle.

"Lawrdie, aintcha always?" Wynne said and let out a husky snicker as she moved up into the large truck to scoot into the center of the bench seat. Once the engine started, the scene in the street came to a natural conclusion.

A short minute later, a pair of red taillights drove into the darkness of the late evening - their next stop, the trailer park eight miles south of Goldsboro, Nevada…

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