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okay to lie to evil.”
    As I pulled to a stop along the side of the road, Mrs. Fischer said, “Then you better let me do all the talking.”
    “I’m the driver. He’ll expect answers from me.”
    “Not if you’re a deaf-mute.”
    “That would be another lie. Besides, they might let a mute drive, but I’m not so sure about a deaf person.”
    “So then you’re just mute. And you don’t have to lie. I’ll say you’re a mute, and then you just don’t say anything.”
    Putting down the power window, watching the side mirror as the patrol car pulled in behind us, I said, “This is a bad idea.”
    “Nobody’s going to the slammer, child. Unless you’re wanted by the law.”
    “I’m wanted, but they don’t know my name and don’t have a photo, just a description.”
    Her expression was one of dismay, but not because I was a wanted man. “Oddie, you are too truthful for your own good. Ididn’t
ask
if you were wanted. There was no reason whatsoever to volunteer the information.”
    “Sorry, ma’am. I thought you should know.”
    Behind us, the driver’s door of the patrol car opened.
    “Child, you said it was okay to lie to evil. Maybe I’m evil.”
    “You’re not evil, ma’am.”
    “Appearances can be deceiving. Maybe I’m the most evil person you’ve ever met. Maybe I’m
demonic
.”
    “No, ma’am. I’ve met some
way
evil people. You’re a cream puff.”
    In the side mirror, the man who got out of the patrol car looked like Hercules’ bigger brother, a guy who, at every breakfast, with his dozen eggs and pound of ham, drank a steaming mug of steroids.
    Mrs. Fischer seemed miffed that I had called her a cream puff. “I’m about to lie to a policeman, child. Doesn’t that make me just a little bit evil?”
    “It’s wrong,” I said, trying to soothe her hurt feelings, “it’s bad, no doubt about that, but it’s not evil.”
    “You shush now,” she said, “and leave this to me.”
    A moment later, the massive cop loomed at my window, blocking the morning sun as effectively as an eclipse. He bent down and looked into the car, mouth puckered in a frown and gray eyes squinted, as if the Mercedes were an aquarium and I were the strangest fish that he had ever seen.
    He was a handsome bull, I’ll give him that, even though his head was as big as a butcher’s block. Those singular eyes were not the shade of ashes, not dull but bright, almost silver, steel that flensed away the skin of deception and saw the guilt beneath.
    “Do you know how fast you were going?” he asked, which I’veheard is what they always ask, giving you the option of telling the truth and convicting yourself or lying to a cop and thereby further incriminating yourself.
    I forgot that I was a mute, but before I could speak, Mrs. Fischer said, “Andy Shephorn, is that you?”
    His dissecting stare cut from me to her—and softened from blade steel to velveteen rabbit. “Edie Fischer, as I live and breathe.” His smile seemed to be too full of teeth, all as large and white as piano keys. “What is it—four years?—and you don’t look a day older.”
    “Because I look a
decade
older. How many children do you and Penny have now? Last I recall, it was five.”
    “Seven,” he said, “but we intend to stop at eight.”
    “Worried about your family’s carbon footprint?” she asked, and they both laughed.
    Although the cop was leaning in my window, his face inches from mine, I seemed to have become invisible to him.
    To Mrs. Fischer, he said, “Since the boomers didn’t bother to have enough kids to pay their Social Security for them, someone’s got to do it.”
    “I’d love to see your children again—and the two new ones.”
    “Come around anytime for dinner.”
    “I’ll do that when this current little adventure is over.”
    “Where’s Oscar—sleeping in back?”
    “Dear, I’m afraid Oscar passed away four days ago.”
    Tears welled in Andy Shephorn’s eyes. Proportioned to match his features,