"Ms. Evans? Is that alcohol on your breath I smell?" she whispers so no one else can hear us.
I take a deep breath and, in my own whispered voice, explain that she is correct about the liquor on my breath and why. All the while, I'm still psychotically flirting with her mug of coffee. I want to take it.
"Would you like some of this?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.
"Oh god, yes please."
She nudges her cup toward me. I take a sip. Immediate restoration. Oh my goodness, there's milk in it and sugar... to mask the fact that it's essentially tar, but I'll take it.
"You can take that with you," she says and sends me off.
I turn around triumphant, feeling my brain open up and my defense building. The first person I seek out is the sheriff. I give him a victorious smile and a smirk, then raise my cup at him. I'm about to destroy him.
"Please continue with your closing statement, Ms. Evans."
I take another sip of coffee, then clear my throat.
"Your Honor, I'm not disputing my actions, and I take full responsibility for them. I did, however, think it was a rat, and yes, that's on me for not knowing the difference between a murid and a mustelid. But I cannot be prosecuted for my lack of knowledge. Moreover, there was no mens rea. The core of my response was purely self-defense and not malicious intent. Punishing me for ignorance is incredulous, to say the least. Had I known that Mr. Lawrence..." Yes, I just called an otter Mr. Lawrence. "...is a prized member of the Candy Creek family, I would have reacted differently.
“I sincerely apologize for my actions, but Mr. Lawrence was trying to bite my bottom, Your Honor, and at the time, I still believed he was a rodent. Sheriff Smith, on the other hand, could have informed me of Mr. Lawrence's status, which I would not have disputed, Your Honor; to each their own. Sheriff Smith could have issued me a warning, stern as is his nature, and if that were not enough, he could have fined me anywhere between a thousand and five thousand dollars, and I would have gladly paid the penalty on the spot, and we could have parted ways wiser. Instead, Sheriff Smith chose to throw me into a holding cell, Your Honor, when that was completely unwarranted. I find he acted overzealously, and his conduct is suspicious."
"Well," Judge Jenkins says, "I hear your argument, Ms. Evans. You make valid points, which makes me wonder why Sheriff Smith didn't issue you a warning at the least and a fine at the worst. Instead, he thought it was best to arrest you and keep you overnight."
"Your Honor, I've been asking myself that question incessantly, and the only conclusion I can draw is that Sheriff Smith, with all due respect, is a curmudgeon of avant-garde proportions."
At this, the judge laughs.
"Sheriff Smith, her words may have called you cranky, but her tone says cranky asshole. Am I right, Ms. Evans?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
"What do you have to say to that, Sheriff Smith?"
"Your Honor, Ms. Evans is the architect of her chaos and a danger to the people and animals around her."
"I see. And you thought Ms. Evans would be safer in a holding cell, with you nearby?" She doesn't wait for the sheriff to answer. "All right, Ms. Evans, I'm sentencing you to a period of ten days... umm... let's call it community service."
Community service?Community service?
Am I going to have to pick litter from the streets and put my bare hands into smelly stormwater pipes to clean them? How is this possible? I should be pardoned and free to go. My defense is solid. What is this?
"So by community service, what I mean, Ms. Evans, is you are sentenced to learn everything there is to know about Candy Creek in ten days. After that, you will sit for a written exam about the history of our town and all its quirks and drama at ten o'clock. Pass the test, and you will receive a special honorary badge that makes you an honorary citizen of Candy Creek. Failure to arrive for the test will unfortunately result in a very steep fine. I'm also assigning Sheriff Smith as your tutor. If Ms. Evans fails the test, so do you, Zephyr."
"What?" I ask weakly, plopping myself down onto the chair.
"You heard me, Ms. Evans. We'll reconvene in ten days. Sheriff Smith, she's your problem now. Court dismissed."
Chapter Eight
Marlowe
I can't believe it, and yet, with everything else that has happened, this is totally par for the course. Why am I still stuck with the sheriff?
"Well, that backfired in your face, didn't it, Sheriff Zephyr Smith?" I whisper as he ushers me out of the courtroom, but we're not alone.
Everyone who was in the gallery follows us out. All I can hear are the words "hullabaloo," "too pretty," "a danger to society," and even the word "charlatan." I beg your pardon—a charlatan?
"All right, that's enough, folks," Sheriff Smith says. "Everyone back to work." He uses a voice so strict that it makes me want to go back to work—until I realize I'm unemployed, but gainfully so. "Now," he adds, and the last bit of stubborn people disperses too.
