5)

There was a fruit basket in front of the gate to the estate.

Sort of a pastel pink, like it was repurposed from an Easter basket. I could see some homemade jellies or preserves with red and white checkered patches of cloth rubber banded over the lids.

There was a card with my name, John Lathe, written on it in large handwritten lettering. In several colors of crayon.

Nope. I backed the car out of the driveway and headed on down the road. Fast.

Call me paranoid, but, someone had set out a silver plated bear trap, presumingly for werewolves. Since I was now a werewolf, then somebody was, in fact, at least in general, out to get me.

I parked on the side of a gas station up the road and paid for a bottle of water from the fridge inside. I then logged into my security system with my snazzy new phone and watched a Ferdinand county sheriff's vehicle pull up and a curvy little gal in a uniform hop out of the passenger seat with the basket. Which she set down and fiddled with to arrange it just so down in front of my gate. While another older, darker, and skinnier woman wearing a sheriff’s badge stepped out of the open door on the driver’s side of the car to watch. Takeing a moment to look around and then up at the supposedly hidden camera in the tree and grin. then she held her hand up to the side of her head while mouthing the words “Call me.”

According to my brother, the charity hadn’t done anything with my old house yet, so I could probably move back in.

The camera showed the two gals getting back in their car and driving off. No one had gotten out and hid in the bushes to either side of the gate, plus the front gate just had about twenty feet of decorative wall to either side. So if someone wanted to jump me they could access the whole property from just about anywhere instead of trying to get past the gate.

The county sheriff’s department identified the woman as Sheriff Adora Karras, and a search on google brought up a news article from two years back welcoming the new deputy sheriff Deborah Adams to her new job.

So... they were real police, for what it was worth. Guess they can find me anywhere... so it would be no good taking the ”run back home” option

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It turned out that the basket had preserves by the look of the bits of solid fruit in them, apple and cherry by the handwritten labels. Which matched the handwritting on the card. There was also some vacuum sealed packets of jerky from Marv’s mart and two bags of roasted nuts from the same. Inside a plastic comic book baggie was a sheet of typing paper with a crayon drawing of what I guessed might have been meant to be a wolf in a bear trap and the words “Thanks, Milinda Adams” in a child's handwriting.

A relative of the deputy. A Daughter? Younger sister?

I headed inside the gate and up the drive. Then hit the remote to open the garage door, and drove in without anyone sliding under the door at the last minute.

The letter held a thank you card with a handwritten message thanking me for helping her daughter and left a phone number asking me to contact her so Milinda could say thank you in person.

So, were all of them werewolves as well or not? More importantly, are werewolves part of and running the local sheriff’s department?

Since Milinda’s card showed her as a wolf, but the card said thanks for saving my daughter., Chances are they at least know, that I know, what they are.

They may or may not know that little misspelled Melinda had bitten me, or if they did know, they may not know if it took. Assuming it was possible that a bite didn't always transmit the condition.

They know who I am and where I live, but instead of some big guy showing up with some flunkies, I got a basket of snacks and a soft touch invitation to get in contact, along with whatever message looking at my hidden camera was supposed to convey.

Luckily I have the changing room if I feel the need to go scream and stomp my feet. It even had a chair to kick. Maybe after I put the ice cream and other cold stuff away

Thirty seven years of buying a lotto ticket every time I filled up the gas tank. Just so I could daydream about having a nice place to live and not having to work the rest of my life. Then right up to the point I was ready to retire on my pension and social security, I win. I quit the job, bought the house, and settled in for a decade or so of a life of leisure before I drop. Now this.

Well, ever since I won I had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nothing good ever happens to me unless something bad is about to follow. Guess it’s time to pay the piper.

But right now my stomach was growling even after demolishing a whole hickory barbecue chicken. Along with half a tray of cornbread, a double helping of fries, and a slice of cheesecake. All less than two hours ago.

I finished putting everything away and eyeballed the basket.

The hell with it.

Four peanut butter sandwiches on toasted white bread. Some black cherry preserves on top of the real butter spread onto the top slices while they were still hot from the toaster.

It felt like enough to hold me over till dinner, and if it was poisoned to knock me out or something. Then the house was pretty well build and had alarms that went to the security company who would call the local police, not the county sheriff. As well as my law firm.

Taking a nap afterwards was entirely a matter of habit, a full stomach, and a desire to let my brain stop thinking in circles for a while as I let my hindbrain process things for a bit.