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The next day, I wake up bright and early, from a vivid dream about soaring above the clouds. As my eyes adjust to the bright morning light, I can still see the puffy white clouds in my mind’s eye.
I haven’t had a dream that vivid in a long time.
After pulling myself from bed and shuffling to the living room, I put the three hundred dollars that Cliff gave me into an envelope and promise myself that I’ll deliver it to Sherry O’Neil before the day’s end. I also make a grocery list and vow to get grocery shopping checked off my to-do list as well. I’m tired of living on dry choco-puffs and black coffee.
I haven’t done laundry in over a week. Since I’m feeling well-rested and productive, I load up the washing machine.
It turns out that I get a little bit overzealous, and throw pretty much my whole wardrobe in. This makes it hard to get dressed, but after digging into the very back of my closet, I manage to find an outfit that will work. It’s comprised of clothes I used to wear before I lost a bunch of weight with weekly Zumba sweat-sessions, so everything’s a bit baggy, but it will have to do. One good thing is that the black cable-knit dress is nice and cozy, which will feel good given the crisp fall weather.
I’m still wearing my little pouch of spell ingredients, and I tuck it safely beneath the cozy dress. I finish the outfit with my leopard-print framed fake glasses, so that I’ll feel smart throughout the day.
By nine, I’m heading out the door.
I haven’t yet decided which lead to pursue—talk to Ralph or check out Bess’s Antique Haven—but I figure I’ll get started with a visit to my office. There I can collect my thoughts, and hopefully I’ll run into Sherry as well. It would be nice to check off the ‘pay rent’ box on my to-do list.
I haven’t quite reached my office when I start to sense that someone is watching me. I roll to a stop and put both feet on the ground before carefully look over my shoulder.
This is because I’ve gotten into accidents before, when I look over my shoulder while riding. I’m not the most coordinated person in the world, and when I try to turn around while riding, I tend to turn the whole front tire with me—which isn’t good. I’ve fallen more than once.
When I finally manage to look behind me, I see Chris. He’s in his police car, creeping along silently behind me. As I turn, he leans out the window. “Hey there cutie,” he says.
“Chris! You scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to.” He parks the car and gets out. He’s dressed in his police uniform. He looks so handsome in the navy blue cargo pants, button up shirt, and official badge. As he approaches my bike, he says, “I saw a pretty girl on a bike, and I couldn’t help but follow her.”
“Do you do that often?” I ask, feigning distaste. “That’s creepy.”
He grins. “Nah,” he says. “I only follow you. Heading into your supply closet?”
“Office,” I say, glaring. “Yes. Are you working a day shift? Want to hang out tonight?” I’m thinking about another make-out session on the couch. Nothing helps a stressed PI unwind like a good make-out session. Nope, I didn’t learn that in Speedy’s Online Private Investigator Licensure Program. I discovered it all on my own.
Chris seems to be thinking about our habitual late-night activities as well, because he grins. “Sounds good to me,” he says knowingly. “I’ll bring over some beer.”
“And pizza,” I say. “Don’t forget the pizza.” I need a back-up plan, in case I don’t make it to the grocery store.
“On it,” Chris says. Then, his joking demeanor fades. He becomes more serious. “Hey,” he says. “I was thinking about what you said... about me not having respect for your PI business?”
I can’t quite recall saying that, but I’ll take his word for it. Chris is always acting like I’m clueless when it comes to fighting crime. Maybe it’s because I once shot his arm, back when I was a student in his class at police academy.
“Yeah?” I say, prompting him to say more. “What were you thinking?” I ask.
His blue-grey eyes are gazing at me, full of sincerity. “I was thinking that wasn’t very nice of me. I’m your boyfriend. I should be supportive of you. So... I got you something.”
“You did?” For some reason, I still get heart-palpitations when Chris talks about being my boyfriend. I think it’s because for so many years, when I was younger, I fantasized about Christopher Wagner. Now, it’s like that young teen who still lives inside of me can hardly believe we’re actually dating. She’s in there somewhere, pinching herself to make sure she’s not dreaming.
Chris walks to his cop car. I get off my bike, and stand, waiting for him to return. My heart continues to flutter.
What in the world did he get me?
The fluttering sensation in my chest increases when I see a little box in his hands.
It looks like a jewelry box.
Did he get me a necklace or something?
Or worse... a ring?
Or—I feel like I might pass out now—an engagement ring?
Does he want to show his support by proposing to me? My mouth turns all cottony and dry, and I feel like I can’t swallow. No. It can’t be an engagement ring. That would be insane. It can’t be.
Could it?
What if he asks me to marry him?
What would I say?
I’m having trouble breathing. I stand stock still as he returns to me, with the little box in his hand.
Without fanfare, he holds it out to me.
He wouldn’t do that if it was an engagement ring. He’d be down on one knee. Or does that only happen in the movies? Maybe this is a Chris-casual proposal. ‘Yeah, I’ll bring over pizza and beer. Oh yeah, and hey, by the way, want to be my wife?’
Oh, great. Now I feel nauseous.
“Penny?” Chris says. “Are you going to open it?”
I’m just standing here, holding the box in one hand, and my bike in the other. Carefully, I lean my bike against my hip and place both hands on the box. I take a deep breath. Please, don’t let this be a ring, I pray. Then, I pull off the lid.
Thank Goddess. It’s not a ring!
It’s a little silver key.
I lift it up, and morning sunlight sparkles off it. “What is this?” I ask.
For a brief instant, I wonder if he’s going to say something cheesy, like, ‘It’s the key to my heart,’ or something. But that’s not like Chris. He’s not really the romantic type.
His grin broadens. “It goes with these,” he says, reaching into his cargo pocket and pulling out a pair of handcuffs.
“Woah!” Now it’s my turn to grin. I was nervous about receiving jewelry from Chris, especially the kind that would fit on my left ring finger. But handcuffs? This I can handle.
I reach for the cuffs.
“I thought it would be good for you to have a pair,” Chris says. “It’s wrong of me to belittle what you do. Hopefully, you’ll never have to use these, but if you’re ever doing surveillance for a job and witness a felony, you might need to do a citizen arrest. You should have the right tools.”
“Thank you,” I say, in utter awe. Now I have a gun and handcuffs. How official do I feel? Very! One of these days I’ll get around to ordering some business cards. I have been saying that for the past five years, but I’m feeling very confident that it’s going to happen soon.
“Do you know how to use them?” Chris asks.
I’m examining the cuffs. “It can’t be that hard,” I say. “Right? I just slap them on the person and like, lock them up somehow?”
Chris shakes his head. “It would be nice if it was that easy. But if you were to use cuffs, it’s because you’re in a really dangerous situation. You’re detaining the person while you wait for the proper authorities to arrive and you can bet they’re not going to just sit there nice and pretty while you restrain them. You need to know the body mechanics of getting someone into the right position to get the cuffs on.”
“How do I do that?” I ask.
“I could show you,” Chris says. “What are you doing now? We could take a ride over to the park. It’s been a slow morning.”
I laugh, thinking of being in Town Park with Chris, as he shows me various tackling techniques. “Great—you and I out in public, wrestling each other to the ground and then using handcuffs. What will the dog-walkers have to say about that? I can just imagine the stories that would start churning through the rumor mill,” I say.
He catches on, and chuckles. “Right,” he says. “Better not do that. What about somewhere more out of the way?”
I think this over. I have a lot to do today, but how could I say no to a free lesson on how to place handcuffs, from the Hillcrest Police Department Captain? It’s an added bonus that he’s extremely handsome and happens to be my boyfriend. Maybe I don’t have to wait until tonight to enjoy a little physical intimacy.
“How about up Mill Creek Road?” I suggest. “There’s a clearing up there, and it’s usually deserted.”
“Mill Creek it is,” he says. “I’ll drive.”
I lock my bike to a nearby signpost. Then I toss my messenger bag into the back seat of Chris’s patrol car, before climbing into the passenger seat.
Back when I was in the Police Academy, I used to imagine what it would be like, to be Chris’s police officer partner. I imagined the two of us, cruising the streets of Hillcrest.
Since Police Academy was such a disaster for me, that never happened. However, here I am, sitting in his cruiser as his detective girlfriend. Not bad!
I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself as we drive up the long, winding dirt road. When Chris parks, I remove my fake glasses and stash them on the dashboard. I don’t want them to fall off and get lost when I’m tackling Chris. Then I spring out of the car, and jog into the open meadow. The crisp blue autumn sky is filled with little white puffy clouds. Birds sing from the tall pagosa pines that line the clearing.
The teenager inside of me is still pinching herself as I watch Chris cross the meadow towards me.
“Alright,” he says. “Lesson number one. If you’re in a situation where you need to use cuffs, it’s because a person has committed a felony—we’re talking armed robbery, assault, or worse—and they’re clearly dangerous. Handcuffs are just a temporary restraining device. Even when they’re on a person, you should consider that person a threat.”
“Because they can still kick, right?” I ask.
“Or spit, or head-butt you, or a number of other things,” Chris says. “Believe me. I’ve seen it all.”
“Lovely,” I say.
“You want to be prepared,” Chris says. “You have to be really wary, while you’re putting the cuffs on, while they’re on, and when you’re taking them off.”
“Got it,” I say.
“Okay. We’re going to pretend that I’m your target. Say you’re in a situation where you need to detain someone, while you wait for the police to arrive. I’ll be your suspect. But first, let’s run through how you lock and unlock them.”
He positions himself close to me. “You want to start with them in the ‘loaded’ position,” he says. “With that little lever engaged.” He leans down and points to a small lever on the cuffs. “Then, they’re ready to be used.”
He places his large hand over mine and helps me flip a release switch.
It’s easy. It can be done one handed. I have the little key in my other hand.
“Should I try unlocking it?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Chris answers. “Stick the key there.” He points to a little keyhole. “And give it a twist.”
I do, and the cuffs spring open once again. Chris pulls out the key and hands it back to me. “Pretty simple, right?” he says.
I nod, dreamily. Even though it’s hard to focus with him standing so close to me, I totally understand the simple steps he’s just shown me.
I can’t help but tilt my chin up and give him a quick kiss. “This is fun,” I say softly, as he continues to stand close.
He shifts his body and begins to hold me in earnest.
For an instant, we forget all about the cuffs.
“Everything is fun with you, Penny,” he says.
I laugh, giddily. When he holds me like this, I feel like I’m melting. To show him how good it feels to be held, I wrap my arms around his neck. I have the cuffs in one hand, and the key in the other. I press my body against Chris’s and we kiss like that for minutes on end.
By the time we pull ourselves apart, we’re both smiling dreamily.
“What’s next, Captain Wagner?” I ask.
“Okay,” Chris says. “We’ll pretend that I’m your target, and I’m combative. I won’t be, really, but treat me as though I might throw a punch or a kick at any moment. Just get me to the point where you’ve got my arms behind my back. We’ll run through this a couple of times.”
“Should I put the cuffs on you, once I’ve got you in position?” I ask.
“We’ll get to that after,” Chris says. “For right now, let’s practice without them.”
I set down the handcuffs and key on the grass, and then for the next hour Chris and I run around the meadow, taking turns play fighting each other. I get good at getting his hands behind his back, though I’m sure in part it’s because he’s letting me.
Our practice session dissolves into the both of us lying on our backs. Chris has his arms around me, and my head is on his chest. We’re breathless, partly from kissing and partly from our play fighting.
As I look up at the clouds, I ask, “Are you sure you have time for this? Should we head back to town soon?”
“I guess we should,” Chris says, rolling over me, so that he’s pinning me down. “But then how would you learn to take down a criminal? Look, I just got you again.”
“Not fair!” I protest. “I wasn’t ready.”
He leans down and kisses me. It’s a deep, passionate kiss. I wasn’t ready for that, either.
When the kiss ends, I roll on top of him. “Ha!” I say. “Got you!”
He laughs, and starts tickling me.
“You are such a cheater!” I cry, before managing to get to my feet.
When we’re both standing, I spot the cuffs on the ground, a foot away. “Can I try putting them on you, just once before we head back?” I ask.
“Sure,” says Chris. He flips back into cop mode. “When you’re carrying them, you’re going to want to make sure they’re in the loaded position, like I showed you. You don’t want to get your target into position and then have to mess around with setting up your cuffs. You want them to be all set to snap on.”
“Okay,” I say, picking up the set.
“Keep your key somewhere safe,” Chris says. “I keep mine on my key ring.”
“I don’t have a car,” I say.
“But you have a key to your apartment, right?” says Chris. “You must have a key ring.”
“Nope,” I say. “I don’t usually lock up my place during the day.”
“You don’t?” Chris looks appalled. “You should. Okay, maybe get some kind of a keyring, and put something big and obvious on it, like a tennis ball. Something you won’t lose. You don't want to lose that key.” He points to it. “I got these cuffs second hand from a guy in Melrose. He lost the spare. That’s the only key.”
“Got it,” I say. “I’ll get a keyring and an impossible to lose keychain.”
“For now just stick the key in your pocket,” Chris says. “And keep the cuffs in one hand. You really want to be able to put them on fast. I’ll go over here, and you pretend that you’re apprehending me. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
Chris turns and starts walking away. My dress doesn’t have any pockets, so I stick the key in my bra. Then, I run after Chris.
He dodges me, and for a minute or two we circle each other. Then, I manage to do a few of the moves he’s taught me, and I get him to the ground. Soon I have his hands behind his back, and I snap the cuffs onto him.
He sits up. “Nice work!” he says. “I feel like I’m at the training center with the other cops. You’re athletic, Penny.”
“I was always the last picked in gym class,” I say.
“That’s just because of your confidence,” he says. “You’re not the most self-confident person. But you’re coordinated. You’re better than half of the other officers on the Hillcrest PD.”
Since there are four officers, that means I’m better than two of them. It’s not much, but I’ll take it!
“Really?” I ask. “You think so? I have been going to Zumba classes and I think my arms are getting stronger.” I flex, showing off the little bulging bicep that I’ve been working on. It took a lot of fist pumps to eighties rock to grow it, so I’m pretty proud.
“Nice!” Chris exclaims. “Alright, want to get me out of these?” He moves his arms a little bit.
I reach past the neckline of my dress, into my bra, and start fishing around for the little silver key.
As I’m searching, Chris’s radio cackles to life. I recognize the voice of Ted McDougal, Chris’s partner, speaking in a business-like tone. “616 to 618, I’m tied up with a parking meter dispute on Aspen, and just got report of a dog that got out of his leash in front of the library. Could you head in that direction?”
Chris frowns. “Uh oh,” he says.
I’m still searching. My fingertips have not hit any metal. Plus, I’m noticing how loose the bra fits. I always tuck money into my bra, because sometimes it’s nice not to carry my wallet around. I’ve never lost anything before. But I’ve never worn a bra this loose-fitting before, either.
“Penny, why are you reaching into your dress like that?” Chris asks. “The key is in your pocket, right?”
“I don’t have pockets in this dress,” I say. “My bra is like my pocket. I always put stuff in my bra. It’s just—”
“You put the key into your bra?” Chris repeats.
“Yes. I’ve never lost anything before,” I say. “Only all of my underwear that actually fit are in the washing machine, because I did a mega-load of laundry this morning. So what I’m wearing is from years back, when I was a few pounds heavier, and...”
“What are you saying?” Chris asks.
“I’m saying, it might have fallen out,” I say. “This bra is too big. I think the key just slipped out to the ground. I’ll just poke around for a minute and—”
The radio interrupts my statement. “616 to 618?” the officer says.
“That’s McDougal,” Chris says. “Damn. Okay, Penny, hold that radio up to my face, okay?”
I stop searching the ground for the key, and do as Chris says. When it’s in front of his face, he tells me to press the button on the side. As I press it, he says, “618 to 616. I’m up Mill Creek road and I’m detained for the time being. Go ahead and call that one into animal control.”
“Copy that,” Ted says. “I already did call it in, but Marty’s taking an early lunch.”
Chris shakes his head. After thinking for a minute, he says. “Ten four. I’ll be there as soon as possible. Just let me finish up this little bit of business up here on Mill Creek.”
“Copy,” Ted says.
I push the radio back into Chris’s holster, and then begin searching the ground furiously. Chris helps. Together we go over every inch of the flattened grass where we’ve been playing.
It’s easy for me, since I can work on my hands and knees, combing the grass. Chris, however, can’t use his hands. He’s parting the grass with his feet, and hunched over almost double. Even with both of us searching, after twenty minutes we’ve got nothing.
“Where could it be?” Chris says, clearly frustrated.
“I don’t know!” I feel horrible. This is my fault! “Maybe I should drive us back to town, and we could borrow some metal cutters.”
“You drive the cop car back to town while I ride along handcuffed?” Chris asks, horrified. “What would my chief say?”
“I don’t know!” I say. “But it’s better than doing nothing! What if there’s an emergency? What if Ted really needs you—for something other than a runaway dog? You’re on duty, Chris!”
“This is bad,” Chris says, as if the severity is just now hitting him. “Really, really bad.”
“Maybe it got caught in my dress,” I say, running my hands over the front of my outfit. The knit pattern is full of little ridges and bumps. It’s impossible to tell if I’m feeling a thin metal key or not.
“Hang on,” I say, as I begin pulling the dress up off my head.
“What are you doing?” Chris asks.
I pull the dress completely off me, and then lie it, inside out, on the grass in front of me. “This is the only way I can see—oh! Oh my goodness!” I’m so relieved, I’m shouting. “Chris! It’s right here! It got caught in the dress; it didn’t even make it to the ground!”
I’m on all fours, in just my bra and underwear, plus my Power Spell necklace, when the sound of a vehicle approaching—fast—cuts through the air.
It’s a police car.
The Chiefs police car, to be exact. I stand up, reach for my dress as fast as I can.
It’s not fast enough.
Just as soon as I stand, the police Chief gets out of his car.
Chris looks mortified.
I feel like I want to crawl into a hole and die. It’s not that I care what the Chief thinks of me. The police chief already doesn’t like me, and I got over it a long time ago.
But he is Chris’s boss, and this does not look good.
Not at all.
For an instant, I freeze. Then, I fumble with my dress and manage to get it over my head. The key is still in my hand and I walk over to Chris. The handcuffs spring off Chris just as the Chief walks up to us.
“This... doesn’t look good, does it, Chief Holcomb?” Chris asks.
The chief shakes his head. “I heard your radio traffic. Wondered to myself what you were doing up on Mill Creek road. Your GPS showed that you’ve been up here for an hour and a half.”
“I was giving Penny a lesson on temporary restrains,” Chris says, somberly.
The chief squints at me. “And she... had to take her dress off, for that lesson?” he asks.
“No, Chief, sir,” Chris says, stuttering a little as he speaks. “No, that was to find the key. To the handcuffs. It was lost ... inside of her dress.”
“It snagged on the knitting,” I say. “All of those little loops of yarn...” I laugh nervously. “We found it though.” I hold the key up, and the now open handcuffs. “Hooray!” I say, weakly.
The chief says nothing. He continues to eye us. Then, he turns on his heel. As he walks away, he calls out, “Christopher, stop by my office when you get back to town.”
I look at Chris. His shoulders slump.
The chief pulls away.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble to Chris, as the dust clears.
“It’s not your fault,” he says. Then, thinking, he says, “Well, it kind of is. Who doesn’t carry a set of keys with them?”
I don’t offer an answer. I’m too embarrassed.
The drive down Mill Creek road is a long, quiet one.
When Chris drops me at my bike, I give him a little peck on the cheek. “Good luck at your meeting with the Chief,” I say.
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
I grab my glasses off of the dashboard and then my bag from the back seat, and get out. Once on the sidewalk, I stand and watch as Chris pulls away. Then I push the handcuffs I’ve been holding into my bag, and pull out my phone so that I can check the time.
It’s already twelve.
Hopefully, my afternoon is going to be better than my morning.