Free Calamity Jayne by Kathleen Bacus Page A

how to motivate reluctant women.”
     He sneered, and I almost gagged at his brown, putrid teeth. “I’ve had lots of experience.”
    I was about ready to promise my firstborn just to get the guy off me, when one of my regulars arrived to play the demo video
     games for an hour or so. I could have kissed the little brat.
    “You still have the same, dumb old game previews?” He came up to Tattoo Ted and me. “Hey, are you supposed to be making out
     in here?” the freckled lad asked, staring at the motley character’s hand in my hair and fingers on my mouth. I took advantage
     of my pint-sized savior’s arrival and freed myself from the repulsive grasp of my supposed admirer. I hustled to the boy and
     put a shaking arm over his shoulders.
    “I’m so glad you came in today,” I said, steering the boy to a more populated area of the store. “You can’t imagine how glad
     I am you came in today.”
    “Huh?” The little twerp I’d kicked out a record number of times looked up at me. I cast a backward glance. Cobra Man had disappeared.
    “Your boyfriend is over there,” the red-headed youngster pointed toward the garden center. “I think he’s trying to get your
     attention.”
    I spotted my beau. He tapped his watch, then made a disturbing slashing gesture across his throat, turned, and walked out.
    I proceeded to grab my carrot-topped rescuer in a giant bear hug and planted a wet, slobbery kiss on him. He ran from the
     store screaming.
    By five o’clock, I was feeling uneasy, both from the previous night’s excitement and my more recent encounter with Tattoo
     Ted. I was now convinced I was in very real danger. I was being stalked at my workplace by a probable killer who thought I
     had his stash of cash, and he was bent on getting it back or taking it out of my cowgirl hide.
    I threw my vest in my locker, clocked out, and hurried to my car. I needed answers to the questions that had been cycling
     through what was left of my mind. The cops would have no reason to keep their progress from me. After all, I was the one who
     brought the report to them in the first place.
    I stopped for a chili dog and soda, and managed to leak chili sauce on my white shirt. My earlier fright did not seem to diminish
     my appetite. I have yet to find something that will. Sigh.
    I parked my car on the square outside the courthouse and tried the door. It was locked. Well, duh. Of course. This was Saturday.
     The courthouse was closed. I walked around to the south side of the building where the sheriff’s office was housed. This door
     was locked, as well, but there was an intercom button, which I pushed.
    “Yes, may I help you?” A woman’s voice came out of the box. At least, I thought it was a woman; the sound quality was as bad
     as the Dairee Freeze drive-up.
    “Uh, yeah. I need to speak with Deputy Di... uh Doug, Doug Samuels. This is Tressa Turner. I spoke with him last night concerning
     a... a... a tire problem.”
    “Ooo-kay.” There was a long pause. Then, a buzz and the lock was released. I grabbed the door and stepped into the cool interior
     of the courthouse. I was met by Deputy Samuels.
    “Afternoon, Ms. Turner.” The deputy folded his arms across his meaty chest. “What can I do you for?”
    I think my mouth flew open. I’m not sure. “Do? I’m here for an update, of course. Oh, and to crack your case for you. You
     know. Last night’s top-secret case. The one with all the elements of a Grisham novel.”
    “Uh-huh. I was thinking more along the lines of Grimm’s fairy tales,” he said with a smirk. He looked at my soiled shirt.
     “I suppose you’re gonna tell me that’s blood,” he added.
    “Would you believe me if I said yes?” I asked, returning the comment with a sneer of my own.
    “What do you think?” he remarked.
    I took a deep breath. “Listen, Deputy, I know who killed Peyton Palmer.”
    I watched the good deputy’s jaw drop like the first hill on the Twister at