Free Whack 'n' Roll by Gail Oust

me.
    The sheriff looked over at the interruption. His dark gaze swept over the assembled crowd, spotted me, and pinned me with a scowl. I waved.
    He didn’t wave back.
    Instead Sheriff Wiggins lowered his head and spoke to his deputy. The scowl on the deputy’s dark face was a pretty fair imitation of the sheriff’s as he strode our way.
    “Sorry, folks,” the deputy said, his tone polite but firm. Very firm. “I’ll have to ask you to step back.”
    “What’s going on?” the woman with the ponytail asked. I assumed her to be the group’s designated spokesperson. I was happy to learn I wasn’t the only curious soul.
    The short, chubby woman next to her held a hand over her mouth. “Ee-yew! What’s that smell?”
    The deputy’s frown deepened. I had the feeling he wasn’t about to leak a smidgen of information—at least not with his boss within earshot. Regardless, I decided to give it my best shot. “I think I saw you at the sheriff’s office yesterday just as I was leaving.” I gave him a friendly smile, trying to disarm him with my charm. I read the name off the brass plate pinned above his breast pocket. “Pleasure to meet you, Deputy Preston. I’m Kate McCall.”
    I could tell from his expression my name registered.
    I smiled wider. What harm could it do? “I’m the lady who brought the chocolate-chip cookies,” I added, hoping he had a sweet tooth.
    “Sorry, Miz McCall. The sheriff said not to say a word—to you or anybody.” He cleared his throat, then, looking past me, addressed the woman with the ponytail. “Sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to ask y’all to leave.”
    “You can’t do that,” she protested. “I have an annual park pass.” I didn’t know the woman, but I liked her already. We might have been twins separated at birth—if it hadn’t been for the difference in our ages.
    “Preston . . . ?” Sheriff Wiggins called over. “Is there a problem?”
    “No problem, sir. None I can’t handle.”
    Ponytail wasn’t about to give up without an argument. “It’s not against the law to gather in a public place. It’s even in the Constitution, guaranteed by the Bill of Rights.”
    Now, I didn’t know if this was correct or not, but it sounded good to me. You go, sister, I told her silently. No need for me to add my two cents’ worth with her doing such an outstanding job.
    Sheriff Wiggins must have sensed a mutiny in the making. Thumbs hooked in his belt, a no-nonsense expression on his face, he turned and approached our little group. “Bill of Rights or no Bill of Rights, folks, if you don’t leave this minute, I can and will arrest the lot of you for obstruction of justice. This here is a crime scene.”
    We left.

Chapter 9
    Crime scene?
    That told me everything I needed to know. I trudged back to the campground, accompanied by the merry band of bystanders. My mind raced. Just what had Sherlock managed to find, or, more aptly, managed to dig up? Was the puzzle finally solved?
    “Want to hang out?” the woman with the ponytail asked. “Have a cup of coffee?”
    “Sure.” I snapped up the opportunity to stick around. The sheriff and his men had to leave the woods sometime. Besides, I wanted to be there when the coroner arrived with his sled—whatever the heck that was. Couldn’t wait to tell the Bunco Babes about my latest adventure.
    “Name’s Donna,” said the woman formerly known as the-woman-with-a-ponytail. She indicated her chubby companion. “This here’s Betty Lou, my sister-in-law.”
    “How do you happen to know the sheriff?” Betty Lou asked.
    “It’s a long story,” I replied, accepting the mug of coffee Donna poured from an industrial-size thermos. Except for the two women, the campers had drifted away. But that was A-OK with me. I’d had enough being at the center of attention.
    Betty Lou plunked herself down in a canvas chair and motioned for me to join her. “Take your time, sweetie. Looks like it’s going to be a long