Hosed (Happy Cat #1)(30)

“Where did they all come from?” I already checked the factory, and the building’s still locked tight. We’ll have to run inventory in the morning, but at first glance, it didn’t look like anything was disturbed or missing.

Ruthie May hands me a garbage bag. “Been getting reports that a few people’s orders never showed up. I’m wondering if one of our daily shipments got hijacked. But who’d steal a butt-load of sex toys just to dump them in a park? They could’ve gone to a sex therapist helping women in low-income areas. Instead, they’re trash now. All trash. What is this world coming to?”

“Cassie Sunderwell. There you are.”

The sheriff approaches from my left. He hitches his pants and gnaws on the corner of his mustache, and dread forces my heart low in my chest. I open my mouth to say something soothing, friendly, and Savannah-like—I swear, she could charm an alligator with a bee up its butt—but before I can speak, something beans the sheriff in the head.

Something long, tubular, rubbery, and very much resembling a penis.

“Hey, sorry,” a brunette teen with a friendly smile calls. She darts past, grabs the dildo, turns, and flings it back to her friends near the slide, who all shriek and dive for the missile, tackling each other to the grass.

“What…” I start.

“They’re playing dildo-ball,” Ruthie May explains. “It’s like football, but with—”

“This is an obscene display, Miss Sunderwell,” the sheriff interrupts, rubbing the side of his face.

“I have nothing to do with that game, honest.” Though I wish I had half their comfort level with handling dildos.

“I was talking about the vulgar products littering our town,” he snaps. “Things like this should never see the light of day.”

“Well, that’s going a little far, isn’t it? There’s nothing shameful about these toys. What’s a shame is that we treat something natural and beautiful like it’s a dirty secret,” I reply, completely channeling my sister now. But it feels good. Right.

“There are laws and rules against dumping pornographic materials. You can’t just—”

“Whoa, hold up. Are you saying you think I did this?” All those righteous feelings dissolve into a ball of unease.

He stares me down with that wrinkly-eyed, grandfatherly glare. “We got six news trucks from Atlanta pulling into town. Awful darn good for business to get all this free publicity, isn’t it?”

“To show our town split and divided?” I point to the line of citizens marching with Stop Corrupting Our Children and Sunshine Must Go signs. “We would never pull a publicity stunt that would hurt anyone, including the town itself.”

“Sheriff, we all know about your inferiority complex,” Ruthie May interrupts, “but if you don’t want those news vans getting pictures of our square dressed up for Playtime at the Kinky Corral, grab a bag and get to work.”

“Where were you last night?” the sheriff asks me.

“At h-home,” I stammer. “Savannah’s house. All night.”

“Alone?”

“She wasn’t alone. She was with Ryan O’Dell.” Ruthie May winks at me. “I want details on that later, by the way.”

“All night?” the sheriff asks.

“Incoming!” someone yells.

We all duck, and another dildo whizzes over our heads.

“Ava Leigh, you play dildo-ball on your own time,” Ruthie May hollers. “Right now, we need to get this square cleaned up.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” the teenager replies. “Can we keep a couple of these?”

“Only if you promise not to use them for anything other than dildo-ball. They’re not sanitary. You understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Those are evidence,” the sheriff growls.

“You’ve got pictures, sheriff,” Ruthie May snaps. “And by now, those girls’ fingerprints are all over those. Help or get out of the way.”

“We’ll help,” a soothing, familiar voice says. Tingles race down my spine, and despite everything wrong in the square this morning, when I turn to look at Ryan, I’m smiling.

He smiles back, and my insides flip upside down. “We’ll take two bags each, Ruthie May.”

“Two? I’ll do three before you’ve filled one.” Blake grins at me. It takes me a minute to recognize him with the long hair, but he has the O’Dell build and smile. “Hey, Cassie. Great to see you again. Hear you’re keeping this old guy in line.”

“Mostly just his raccoon,” I reply.

Ryan and Blake both laugh. Jace cracks a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Ruthie May smiles broadly, and I have no doubt the whole town will soon be debating how many children Ryan and I will have by the time I’m thirty.

“Miss Sunderwell,” the sheriff starts again.

I shake open my trash bag. “Excuse me, sheriff. I have community service to do.”

Ryan, Blake, and Jace follow me toward the end of the square near Maud and Gerald’s donut shop and bakery along Main Street. They each have a trash bag in hand and another in a back pocket. The volunteers have made a lot of progress, but there’s still so much to do, and no one’s tackled this corner yet.