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We all watched as Chase slouched back to his bench, looking distinctly unhappy with the fate life had dealt him.

And so I swore that tomorrow I’d look up Clarice and offer her a deal. Free kibble for life and free fresh water.

And now I just had to convince Brutus not to pee in Clarice’s bowl.

Or any bowl, for that matter.

Chapter 18

“This is pretty pointless if you ask me,” said Scarlett.

“Nobody asked you so be quiet,” riposted Vesta.

“I think Scarlett is right,” said Father Reilly. “Just driving around like this doesn’t seem to make any sense.”

“Driving around like this keeps the bad guys away,” said Vesta.

“I don’t see any bad guys,” said Wilbur Vickery. “Do you see any bad guys, Francis?”

“No, I don’t,” said Father Reilly, craning his neck as he glanced around.

“That’s because we’re patrolling,” said Vesta. “If we weren’t patrolling these streets they’d be crawling with bad guys. It’s just like the light in the fridge, see.”

“The light in the fridge?” asked Scarlett, looking at her as if she’d just lost her mind.

“You don’t see the light going out in the fridge, do you? Because the light only goes out when you close the door, and when you open the door to look, it flashes on again. And then when you close the door, it goes out—BUT YOU DON’T KNOW IT GOES OUT!”

Vesta’s fellow watch members were quiet for a moment, as they considered this intriguing piece of information, then Father Reilly said, “So in this comparison, the bad guys are the light in the fridge? Or the bad guys are the lack of light in the fridge?”

“Oh, who cares!” said Vesta as she took a turn. They were cruising along the quiet and deserted streets of their neighborhood in her little red Peugeot, and she suddenly wished she’d be able to buy the watch a proper car, just like she’d already told Scarlett about a million times. A nice big car. A van or maybe even one of them fancy Escalades. A car that made the bad guys quake in their boots when they saw them coming.

Father Reilly yawned.“How long do you want to keep doing this, Vesta? I need to get up early. I have a sermon to write.”

“So you actually write your own sermons?” asked Scarlett. “I always thought you made those up on the spot.”

“No, I write all of my sermons,” said the priest, a little stung by this comment. “And it’s hard work, too, as I have to insert small passages from the Scriptures.”

“Just download that stuff from the internet,” grunted Wilbur. “Plenty of sermons there.”

“I am not going to download my sermons off the internet,” said Father Reilly. “My parishioners—”

“Your parishioners would never know the difference,” argued the shopkeeper.

“Well, I beg to differ,” said the father a little haughtily.

“Look,” said Vesta suddenly as she pointed at a nearby shrub.

“Buxus Semptervirens,” said Father Reilly, nodding appreciatively. “Also known as Boxwood. I instructed the church gardener to plant it in our church garden. A very hardy plant. It likes its soil to be kept moist but—”

“I’m not talking about the plant, you old fool,” said Vesta. “I’m talking about the guy hiding behind it!”

They all stared intently at the Boxwood now, and lo and behold, suddenly a face emerged from behind the shapely shrub, lit up by the high beam of Vesta’s aged little car.

“Let’s go get him!” Scarlett cried excitedly.

So the members of the watch all got out of the car and descended upon the scene, eager to bag their first bad guy for the night.

Vesta had taken her deceased ex-husband’s old shotgun from the garden shed, Scarlett was carrying a stun gun, Father Reilly had brought a billy club, and Wilbur? He’d brought along the baseball bat he liked to keep next to the cash register at the store.

The hoodlum, when they approached him, didn’t even attempt to make a run for it. Instead he simply cowered in fear and cried, “Please don’t hurt me. You can take everything I have but please don’t hurt me—I have a wife and kids—and a dog!”

Vesta frowned at the man.“Ted? What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

For it was indeed Ted Trapper, her very own neighbor.

“Vesta? Is that you?” the mild-mannered accountant asked, his voice betraying his extreme elation. “I thought you were a couple of gangsters eager to hit on me.”

“We’re not gangsters, Ted,” said Scarlett. “We’re your neighborhood watch, here to protect you from harm. Make sure you feel safe at all times.”

Ted, who didn’t look like he felt safe at all, nodded a few times in quick succession. “Oh, hello, Father Reilly—I hadn’t seen you there. Wilbur.”

“Hello, Ted,” said Father Reilly warmly. “We’re very sorry for scaring you like that.”

“It’s fine,” said Ted, getting up with a little help from the good priest. “I couldn’t sleep so I figured I might as well take Rufus for a walk.” He gestured to the shrub, where his big sheepdog Rufus now came peeping out—he looked as terrified as his owner.

“Great watchdog you’ve got there, Ted,” said Wilbur with a grin.