“You’re not from here,” he repeated. “What’s your business in Crescent Cove?”
“What, am I not allowed to drive through without a laminated pass? You should’ve asked the guy who pulled out in front of me why he couldn’t watch where he was going.”
The sheriff glanced at my awkwardly angled car, already gathering a healthy coating of snow. “Looks like you can’t either.”
I balled up my fists in the pockets of my long tweed coat. I shouldn’t flip off the sheriff in a town I wasn’t familiar with.
Problem was, I really, really wanted to.
“I was just out for a drive,” I said defensively.
“Did you have a drink before you got behind the wheel?”
“No, but I wish I had.” Okay, that definitely wasn’t the right thing to say. It wasn’t even what I’d meant. Exactly. “I mean, I should’ve had a drink and stayed home, rather than venturing out in this weather.”
The sheriff crossed his arms over his quilted vest, pinned with some badge-looking thing he probably could’ve gotten at any dollar store. “Let’s see some ID.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. How about ticketing the guy who caused me to slide?”
“Do you see him?” He made a show of looking around. “I don’t.”
“He stopped to talk to me, and then he left. How is that my fault?”
“Plate number?”
“I didn’t see his plate.”
“Description of the vehicle?”
“A big brown truck.”
“UPS?”
“No, a SUV.”
“Make and model?”
“I didn’t have time to see all that. Big and boxy.”
“Oh, well, now I can find him, no problem.” He stared at me. “ID? Take it out, nice and slow.”
“It’s like I’m in an episode of Law and Order, if it was set in not-quite Mayberry.” Shaking my head, I withdrew my wallet, took out my college ID, and handed it over.
He tipped back his hat. “Professor?”
“Yes.”
“What do you teach?”
“Mythology and Applied Lessons in—”
“Good enough.” Clearly disinterested, he returned my ID and nodded at my car. “Explains the bright yellow.”
I tucked my ID away. “It does, does it?”
“License?”
“Are you kidding me? If I was out joyriding, I wouldn’t have come here.”