Calamity Jayne by Kathleen Bacus

sense of humor. But maybe that was just with me.
    “Listen, Ms. Turner,” the sheriff began, his body language sending a silent but discernible message that the psycho who’d
     handed his beloved pet over to the enemy had a credibility problem to hurdle the size of China’s Great Wall. “You’ve told
     us a rather unlikely tale here. And say, for the moment I’m prepared to believe you. Tell me, where’s the physical evidence
     to support your story? Where’s this suspicious envelope of money? Where’s the blood? For that matter, where’s the body? We’ve
     done a cursory search of the trunk, and I promise we’ll do a top-notch forensic examination, but so far we haven’t turned
     up one iota of physical evidence to corroborate your story. Nothing.”
    “Maybe it’s the remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Sheriff,” Deputy Dickless, or was that Dickhead, said with another stupid grin.
    “You ever actually do any police work between movies, Deputy?” I asked. “You know. Solve crime? Catch the bad guys? That sort
     of thing.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Townsend put his head in his hands. “What? What did I say?” I batted my eyes.
     “What?”
    “About that evidence,” Sheriff Thomason prodded.
    I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know where the body or the money went. I don’t know why there weren’t any bloody guts
     in the trunk. You guys are the pros here. You figure it out. I told you he was wrapped up in a big, gray tarp of some kind,
     so maybe there wouldn’t be any seepage.”
    “Seepage?” Townsend lifted an eyebrow. “Seepage?”
    “Shut up, Townsend!” I snarled. “Listen, Sheriff, I don’t have all the answers you’re looking for, but I do know this. Someone
     took that body from the trunk while I was going for help. It was there when I left, and gone when I came back, and as dead
     men tell no tales, I am relatively sure they can’t haul ass either.”
    A loud, long-suffering sigh, attributable to almost anyone in the general vicinity, including me, echoed off the walls of
     the conference room.
    “If what you say is true, Ms. Turner,” the sheriff continued, “how would these—”
    “Body snatchers?” Townsend offered.
    “—individuals know you were there at that exact location at that exact time of night?”
    The little hairs on the back of my neck began to get that creepy, don’t-look-in-the-basement sensation. A chill I hadn’t experienced
     the likes of since I bit into a giant Chilly Willy dill pickle with my two front teeth, sent a quiver through me. My tongue
     took on the texture of the extra coarse sandpaper we sell in the hardware section of Bargain City. “They followed me,” I whispered.
     “They must have followed me. From the time I left work ‘til the time I discovered the body in the trunk and hit the gravel
     running. That means they saw me. They might even know who I am. My name. Where I live.” I slammed my hands down on the table
     and jumped to my feet. “Protective custody! I demand protective custody. Twenty-four hour guard! The federal witness protection
     program! Something!”
    “Now who’s been seeing too many movies?” Deputy Doug quipped.
    I looked from man to man, waiting to see who could hold out the longest without laughing. It was a three-way tie. The fiends!
    “I fail to see the humor in the situation, gentlemen,” I said. “I’ve just informed you that a homicide has occurred within
     your jurisdiction. Now, are you going to investigate or not?”
    “Sure, sure, we intend to investigate your report, Ms. Turner.” Sheriff Steve pushed away from his perch. “But I’m going to
     tell you up front here that I think we’ll find this has all been a mistake, much like the mistake you made taking the wrong
     automobile earlier this evening. Like Townsend here said, circumstances played a role in convincing you that you saw something
     that you didn’t. Woman on her own. Stranded on a dark country