Ernetta is in her forties and from the South. She is a southern belle with steel in her spine (as in, she grew up in Louisiana near the coastal marshes and is not afraid of alligators), iron in her fists (bar fights, only occasionally), and a brain that earned her a doctorate in math. She has zero belief in my premonitions, which means we get along well because I know she will never bug me about any predictions about herself. She is a true book nerd, however, so we can talk forever.

Before we parted, Ernetta said to me, “Chief Reginald Ass Burn is watching you, that possum.”

“I know he’s watching me. He’s creepy.”

She glared at him. “What are you staring at?” she yelled at him across the road. For such a small woman, she has a booming voice. The southern accent added flair. People on the street turned to see what the commotion was about.

He did not respond.

“I said,” Ernetta boomed again, “Chief Ass Burn, what are you staring at? Speak up! You got grits stuck in your throat? You got your tongue stuck in a swamp? Bless your heart, has your brain decomposed again?”

I could see his face twist in fury and humiliation.

“I’m fixin’ to come on over there and ask you these questions face-to-face, Chief.”

“I don’t need you telling me what to do, Ernetta. Quiet down, or I’ll give you a ticket for disturbing the peace.” He settled his wide girth back in his car.

“I don’t like being quiet,” she shouted, her southern accent even stronger. “I like for people to hear my voice, especially men.”

We chatted about what a swamp monster Chief Ass Burn is. “I’m going home to cut a pile of flowers for my mom and aunts. They’re making bouquets titled ‘Don’t You Mess With My Womanhood,’ and they need more flowers. I’ll see you later, Ernetta.”

“Don’t let that chief intimidate you. I’ve seen him watching you before. We’ve all seen it. He likes you, but in a dangerous way. I think he hates you, too. You should be married to Marco. Now there’s a man’s man. Plus, he’s hot. I’ll be in tomorrow. I want to find books on genetics, mastering chess, and the migration pattern of South American butterflies.”

I headed out of town in my truck, driving the speed limit. I ignored the chief’s car following me. As soon as I rounded the corner, out of North Sound, and turned left down another road toward our property, then to Robbins Drive, he was right behind me. He waited a minute as I drove in dread, farther away from town, then flashed his lights, turned on his siren, and rushed up on my bumper.