Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos

year. Parking enforcement.'

'So the evil Wesley was right about something; Monty's not a detective,' I said.

'Well, he was in Cleveland,' Tad said. 'But they kicked him out for sexual harassment. That's how he ended up in Canton. And eventually in Yorktown.'

With that, he sauntered off toward the bleachers.

'So he's not a phony,' Michael said. 'Just a male chauvinist pig.'

'I could have told you that part,' I said.

'Should we tell the sheriff about this?' Michael asked.

'Or Mrs. Fenniman?' Rob added.

'Or maybe both?' I said. 'So, Rob, what are you doing with Tad's disk?'

'I'm going to talk one of the lawyer uncles into taking Tad's case against Benson's company on spec, and help out with it,' Rob said, tucking the CD-ROM into his haversack. 'I've decided I want to specialize in some kind of computer-related law, and this looks like a good way to get started.'

He began to leave, then stopped, reached into his pocket, and handed me a sheet of paper.

'Mother told me to give you this,' he said.

'Sauce au poivre,' I read. 'Well, let's hope it's close to the way Le Rivage does it.'

'Actually, it's from Le Rivage,' Rob said. 'And Mother said to tell you to call Didier and let him know when you're coming in to measure for the wine rack.'

'Wine rack?'

'Yeah, don't you remember? You're making him some kind of custom wine rack in return for the recipe.'

With that, he ambled back onto the battlefield.

'How on Earth did Mother know I wanted die recipe?' I wondered.

'I told her,' Michael said. 'Although I thought she'd find some way to get the recipe without trading who knows how many days of your work for it.'

'I’ll manage,' I said. 'And it'll be worth it.'

'Definitely,' Michael said, as we resumed strolling. 'My mouth waters just thinking about that sauce.'

'Actually, I meant 'worth it,' knowing I can give your mom the recipe so she'll stop hounding me.'

'Well, that, too,' he said. 'Anyway, everyone's happy.'

'Not quite everyone,' I said.

'True,' he said, as we ducked under the barrier at the edge of the battlefield and began shoving our way through the crowd.

'Monty!' I called, seeing the deputy ahead of us.

'I can't talk now,' he said. 'I have to go down to the jail to book our suspect.'

'And to release Faulk, I assume,' I said. 'You won't be holding Faulk now that you have the real killer, I hope?'

'And have every lawyer in your family breathing down my neck and yelling about false-arrest suits? Are you kidding?'

'That's good,' I said. 'And while you're at it, make sure your boss knows why you left Cleveland.'

'He knows all right,' Monty snapped, turning to face me with his hands on his hips. 'And also about all the damned diversity training I had to take to get hired anywhere. You are looking at the most culturally enlightened, diversity-sensitive law-enforcement officer this misbegotten hick town will ever see.'

With that, he stomped off toward his waiting squad car.

'I can tell he's a changed man,' Michael said.

'If that's the post – diversity training Monty, I can see why Cleveland canned him,' I said. 'Ah well – he's the sheriff's problem now.'

'Or perhaps, in a few weeks, Mrs. Fenniman's,' Michael added.

'Ms. Langslow?'

I turned to see three members of the Town Watch, holding several long sheets of authentic-looking old- fashioned paper.

'All the crafters who check out have been saying that you're taking care of their fines,' one said.

'Naturally,' I said. 'How much does the bill come to?'

'Seven thousand, eight hundred and forty-five dollars,' he said, with a sharklike smile.

'Here,' I said, reaching into my haversack and hauling out a wad of bills. 'This should cover it.'

'What's this stuff?' he said, frowning down at the bills.

'Colonial currency, of course,' I said. 'You wouldn't expect me to pay you in anachronisms, would you? Oh – and you can keep the change.'

'Colonial currency?' Michael asked, as we walked off, leaving the watchmen staring with astonishment at the bills.

'Tad did some research on the Internet this morning, and ran the stuff off on his color printer,' I said. 'And Eric spent several hours staining the bills with tea and drying them with Mother's hairdryer. I owe them one.'

We'd shoved our way past the crowd, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

'Any other loose ends you need to tie up?' Michael asked. 'Not that I can think of,' I said.

'Well, I have just one,' he said. 'Now that all that's over with, I hate to sound like a broken record, but – '

'We need to talk,' I said. 'Somehow I predicted that.'

'Seriously,' Michael said. 'Were you or weren't you going to make some rather extravagant promises put there on the battlefield when you thought I was dying?'

'Yeah, I was,' I said, rather sheepishly. 'I was already feeling terrible that I'd neglected you all weekend, and on top of that, put you in danger. I mean, I was the one who let Wesley think you were the witness who could put him away.'

'No harm done,' he said. 'You rescued me. Of course, if I could make one small suggestion, I think maybe next time I'm being stalked by a cunning, ruthless assassin, could you maybe figure out a way to rescue me without putting yourself in such danger?'

'I suppose, but the problem is, if we could rewind the weekend and start all over again, I'd do the same thing, all along the way. If my family or my friends are in danger, I'm not going to just stand by. I'm going to do something.'

'And you're going to charge in and do it yourself.'

'Probably,' I said. 'I can't change who I am.'

'I'm not asking you to change who you are,' Michael said. 'I love who you are; it's where you are most of the time that drives me crazy. I don't want you to change, just relocate.'

'I can't just pack up and move tomorrow – '

'You could come down next weekend, and we could do some househunting.'

'I have a craft fair next weekend,' I said.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation.

'We'll have to do it during the week,' I said. 'You've got some time during the day without classes, right?'

'All right!' Michael exclaimed. He threw his hat into the air, grabbed me, and swept me into the kind of passionate, dramatic kiss you see on the cover of romance books – although on the book covers, usually, at least one of the participants is wearing skirts.

'Huzzah!' shouted some passing troops, sensing a celebration of some sort, and Michael retrieved his hat to