Stewart, meanwhile, is bringing more of Constances thrilling adventures to life for readers to consume.
Her latest,Miss Kopp Just Wont Quit,features some timely political undertones as well.
Both of those events spun out in ways she couldnt predict.
Credit: Amy Stewart
This made headlines nationwide in ways that never would have happened for a male deputy.
She faced a nasty backlash as a result.
Pre-order the bookhereahead of its Sept. 11 release.
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
I say obliged as if it were a hardship, but in fact I enjoy a good chase.
A man fleeing a crime scene presents any sworn officer with the rare gift of an easy win.
Perhaps this is why the business with the thief lingers so clearly in my memory.
The scene of this particular crime was the Italian butcher where I liked to stop for my lunch.
I was but one of many willing participants in his scheme.
The man ran out of the shop just as I rounded the corner onto Passaic Avenue.
Mr. Giordano heard my boots pounding along behind him on the wooden sidewalk and jumped out of the way.
The boy was too engrossed or slow-witted to step out of the way.
Im sorry to say I shoved him down to the ground, rather roughly.
I hated to do it, but children are sturdy and quick to heal.
I was always happy to use the element of surprise to my advantage.
The detour didnt bother me, though.
I rounded the corner effortlessly and picked up speed.
He chose for his escape a neighborhood of large and graceful homes that offered very few places to hide.
Hed done this before I had to credit him that.
He hurled himself over a low fence and into a backyard.
Here is where an agile man of slight build has the advantage.
I was forced to abandon my handbag and to heft myself over the fence in the most undignified manner.
Hems caught on nails, seams split, and stockings were shredded into ribbons.
I landed on one knee and knew right away Id be limping for a week.
If Id abandoned the chase at that moment, no one not even Mr. Giordano wouldve blamed me.
But no matter, I had to have him.
The man stumbled into a backyard populated by placid hens under the supervision of an overworked bantam rooster.
The next hurdle was only a low stone wall.
Oooof was all he could say when I took him by the collar and tossed him down.
It took us both a short while to recover ourselves.
The business of thievery leads to all sorts of surprises: one must be prepared for novelties.
He tried half-heartedly to shrug me off and muttered something in what I took to be Polish.
When I refused to let go, he allowed himself to be dragged to his feet.
I didnt bother to brush them off.
The man hadnt yet been handcuffed and was likely to be slippery.
Lets see what you stole, I proposed.
It wasnt much of a haul, considering the trouble he put me through.
I asked (sternly, one had to be stern).
Well, you made an awful lot of trouble.
I slipped the handcuffs from my belt and bound his wrists behind his back.
give a shot to work up a convincing apology before we get there.
He had a resignation about him that suggested hed done all this before.
He walked limply alongside me, with his head down.
When we rounded the corner, he jumped up, beaming, and clapped his hands together.
He was very pleasant-looking: old Italian men always are.
Then came the words Id been hoping not to hear.
He took from me before!
He steal anything I have.
Egg, butter, shoe, soap, tin plate, button.
Mr. Giordano ticked the items off with his stubby fingers.
It made for quite a list, but I didnt doubt it.
The shop was overfull of small merchandise, easy to pocket.
He stole needful things, then, I offered, hoping to play to his sympathies.
I only sell needful things!
Look down his pants.
Black shoes for little girl.
Then he poked at my badge, which happens more often than one might think.
He knows this one.
Then he pushed his finger into the thiefs chest.
I had to step between them before all this poking escalated to fisticuffs.
Couldnt it have been someone else?
These thieves move awfully fast and its hard to get a good look at them.
Mr. Giordano stuck his chin out defiantly.
Go to his house.
Look for tin plates with painted roses.
Look for sewing box with Giordano label.
He take money, too, but you wont find that, the shopkeeper said.
Money made it a more serious crime.
Have you reported him to the police?
Mr. Giordano nodded vigorously.
I report, I report, I report.
What could I do, then, but to take him to jail?
If he had anything else tucked away, it would fall to the male guards to find it.
Im sorry, Mr. Giordano, and this man is sorry too, I offered.
Zorry, the thief said.
Mr. Giordano spat on the sidewalk.
Excerpted fromMiss Kopp Just Wont Quitby Amy Stewart.
Copyright 2018 by Amy Stewart.
Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.
