“I think you do. But maybe we could make a deal.” His eyes traveled down my body.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” I told him. “Because any deal with you makes me feel ill.”

That comment fired his hatred straight up to the sky.

* * *

I called the assistant chief Mandy Lass, who should have been chief but wasn’t because she did not have the “correct” plumbing in our male-dominated, misogynistic police hierarchy.

“What the heck is going on?”

“I can’t tell you that the chief is getting a search warrant for your mom and aunts’ greenhouse and that he’ll probably get it soon. Like, within minutes. ”

“Thanks.” I hung up.

* * *

“Get rid of the pot,” I shouted at my aunts and mother as soon as I got home, running into their kitchen. “Now.” I told them about Chief Ass Burn.

“Oh, my goodness,” my mother said. She put a hand on a hat wall to steady herself.

“Curse that fat man,” Aunt Camellia said, “with intestinal bugs, bacterial diseases, and a dead possum.”

I blinked at her. “Wow. Creative.”

“We must take immediate action,” Aunt Iris said. “I’ll call Yank and Bobbi and tell him and his son to have tractor trouble on the road out of town toward us.” She picked up her phone. “That’ll give us a few minutes to get rid of the mowie wowie.”

“That is a splendid idea,” my mother said. “And I’ll call Diana and tell her to set up a road block about a half mile down Robbins Drive in case he gets around the tractors.”

“How will that help? He’s the police chief!” I said. “He can go around a road block.”

“She can use her lambs.”

“Her lambs?” Diana had tons of lambs.

“Yes. They’re obedient. She’ll let them out on the street and park her car. They won’t leave her, they love her. I’ll give her a ring.” She dialed Diana’s number and, to my amazement, Diana agreed happily, and would pile her lambs into her trailer and get things going “lickety-split,” I heard her call. “Ta la!”

“We need to burn the marijuana,” Aunt Iris said.

“That’s right,” I said. “We need it out of the greenhouse and into the fire pit.”

“We need to get rid of the evidence,” my mother said.

“Let’s move,” I said.

“No, Evie,” my mother said. “Not you. Only the three of us.”

“You must protect your innocence,” Aunt Camellia said. “You are angelic, and you cannot step into the problem we have brought unto ourselves, despite your loving warnings.”

“Stay here,” Aunt Iris said. “Do not get involved. We caused this, we will handle it.”

“Give me a break,” I said, and ran for the greenhouse, my mother and aunts running behind me, no Alice in Wonderland or Dr. Seuss hats on, no time.

* * *