I open the trunk, remove the security shade cover, and line the inside and the rear of the backseats with garbage bags.

“All right.” I pat the bumper twice. “Up.”

Mr. Mutt gives me another excited bark and jumps in.

“Please be good while I figure out where to take you.”

He starts whining again.

Since my skirt is still soaked in gasoline, I line the driver seat with another garbage bag and search for a dog shelter on my phone. There’s one not too far from my apartment. I copy the address in the map app and pull out of the gas station.

Less than a mile from the shelter, blue and red lights appear in the rearview mirror. The police must be trying to pull someone over. I keep driving, being extra careful to avoid any infraction, but the flashing lights stay with me. I check the left lane for suspicious-looking cars, but it’s empty.

Those flashing lights are making me irrationally nervous, so I turn right even if the navigator is telling me to go straight. But I’m out of luck, the police car turns right after me, and not just that, they flash their headlights twice and turn on the siren.

Crap, they were following me. I pull over and watch the side view mirror as a police officer ominously approaches.

Six

Never Break the Law/Get Arrested

“Good evening, officer,” I say, using my most polite, law-abiding-citizen tone.

The cop looks serious in his dark uniform, bulletproof vest, and heavy boots.

“Evening, ma’am. Where are you coming from?”

“Cherry Hill, New Jersey. I was there for a business meeting.”

“And where are you headed?”

“To Animal Heaven. I found a stray dog.”

Mr. Mutt barks on cue.

The officer leans in closer to the window and his nostrils flare.

“What’s this smell?” he asks.

“Oh, I had an accident at the gas station. Spilled gas all over myself.”

“Isn’t Animal Haven in the opposite direction?”

That’s when the map app rats me out. “Please make a U-turn and proceed to the route.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Why did you turn this way?”

“Er… mmm…” To lose your tail doesn’t seem like a great answer. “I got confused.”

“Is this vehicle yours, ma’am?”

“No, no. It’s rented.”

“I’ll need to see your license and the rental agreement.”

“Sure.”

I take my driver’s license out of my wallet and search in my bag for the rental contract. It’s not there.

“Is there a problem?” the cop asks.

“I can’t find the contract.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m sure I had it in here somewhere.”

“Ma’am, please step out of the car.”

“What? No. I have it. It’s here somewhere, I swear.”

I drop the bag on the passenger seat and make a quick dash for the glove compartment. Maybe I put it in there without realizing.