"Oh, uh, hi. Officer." A sheriff no less.

I sidled out the door, hoping to block his view of what he had already no doubt seen.

He grinned.

Money. Bribe him with money. This grinning sheriff undoubtedly made his morning rounds in order to scare up some donut money after finding evidence like mine, that ashtray of paraphernalia. Who but a true stoner would leave it outside all night? But, but, I was not a stoner. I was a mother! Where was The Child when I needed her?

Even though I'm agnostic, I prayed hard for deliverance from this grinning sheriff.

"It really is you, isn't it?" he said.

Squinting, I tried to recognize him. Add a mustache and he might pass for the kind of icon I'd had in mind. Burt. Deliverance.

"That depends," I answered, having internalized the way Jesus dodged questions and hung out with sinners. "Who do you think I am?"

"The Silver Dish." He exhaled with unmasked admiration. "Open mic night at Maureen's."

Maureen's Jazz Cellar. Where live music played on even during Quarantine and the unmasked fearlessly mingled, swapping germs, freely breathing each other's expired air.

"'Tis I." Finally my voice had returned. "Am I under arrest?"

"Would you like to be?" He quirked an eyebrow and tapped the handcuffs at his side.

The blaring horn of a circus clown brought me back to the kitchen. The Child squealed, "I did it! I did it all by myself." More circus noises rewarded her with the sounds of instant gratification. If my husband God Rest his Rotten Soul had gotten my body to produce such sounds, he'd have kept pushing my buttons day and night.

So, it wasn't bribe money the sheriff was after this morning.

Was he even a real sheriff? I squinted at him again. "May I see your badge, please?"

"Busted." He patted the metal star on his chest. "I didn't figure you'd open your door to a stranger."

"If you love live music at Maureen's, you're no stranger," I said.

"Five minutes!" shouted The Child.

Time's up.