Calamity Jayne Goes to College by Kathleen Bacus Read Free Book Online Page B

know what you're thinking, "So says the sex camel,"
     right? You guys.)
    I grabbed the court filings from the clerk's office and headed back downstairs to the main level where the sheriffs office
     was located. There I took time to pop a quarter into the dispenser and snare a handful of peanuts to satisfy an urge for something
     crunchy and salty, then I made my way to the glass double doors that housed the offices of the county's chief law enforcement
     agency.
    The communications center is located across the hall. Most of the time I like to pick up the sheriffs reports after hours
     so as to avoid any unpleasantness and misunderstandings that might have resulted from past encounters with the fuzz--uh, law
     enforcement personnel--and between you and me, I'd called the new sheriff by so many different--okay, and unflattering--names,
     I'm afraid one of them will pop out of my mouth whenever I chance upon him.
    Imagine this scenario: "Good afternoon, Miss Turner. And what brings you to the courthouse on this fine spring day?"
    "Just picking up traffic and court filings, Deputy Doughboy--Dawgface--Dickless--Dorf-wad." Or, my personal favorite, "Deputy
     Dickhead." And those, my friends, are just off the top of my head. Of course, now that Samuels has been elevated to sheriff
     I've had to come up with new material. Let's see. There's Sheriff Sitsalot, Sheriff Shitsalot, Sheriff Sourpuss, and Sheriff
     Saggy Britches. Now you can see why I prefer to do a Santa number on this one and make my stops only at night.
    I was about to open the door into the sheriffs office when; "Well, good afternoon, Miss Turner. What brings you to the courthouse
     today? You finally planning to pay those parking tickets?"
    I turned. Deputy Di--Sheriff Sits--damn--Sheriff Doug Samuels stood across from me, Ranger Rick Townsend flanking him. Next
     to the stout, stocky, no-necked Samuels, the DNR officer looked tall, broad, and more tempting than a platter of brownies,
     frosted and without nuts.
    "Why, you're well versed in the law, Dep--Sheriff Samuels," I said. "You know I have to pay my tickets before I renew my registration
     on my birthday," I told him. "But that's still almost a week away. Plus I think I get a thirty-day grace period beyond that.
     Right?"
    He shrugged. "Just makin' small talk, Turner," he said. "Jeesch."
    Like there was anything small about him.
    "That's right. You have a birthday coming up," Townsend remarked. "Twenty-four, isn't it?"
    I nodded. "But who's counting?" I asked.
    "So, you never did say why you're here," the suspicious sheriff followed up. I frowned. Just because there were occasions
     in the past where my presence at the courthouse meant murder and mischief didn't mean there wasn't a completely innocent reason
     for me to be here now. Which, of course, there was.
    I flashed the court papers at him. "Errand-girl duties," I explained. "I'm here to pick up the weekly court, traffic, and
     arrest info. I was just on my way into your office to grab them," I said.
    "I'll get them!"
    Both Townsend and I stared at the uncharacteristically helpful sheriff, who happily took my arm and steered me to the opposite
     end of the hallway, far away from his offices. "You just stay here and visit with Townsend and I'll go get those for you right
     now. Save you some steps," Samuels said.
    He hurried away, and I glared at his big, tan-uniformed back.
    "That really was uncalled for," I complained. "Almost like he didn't want me within spitting distance of his precious office.
     Didn't even want me to step a foot in there." I stopped. "He's definitely hiding something," I said.
    Townsend laughed. "You been reading Dan Brown again?" he asked with a grin. "Not everything is a conspiracy, Tressa," he said.
     "I think Doug still has bad dreams about what prompted your past visits to this office."
    "And I don't?" I exclaimed. "I still make the sign of the cross when I have to open a trunk, and I'm not even Catholic!" I said.
    "I haven't