"Get your hands off my tail or I'll bite you."
"You can't say that! You'll frighten the children!"
"I was talking to you."
"And your voice has to be much deeper, more growly. Like this." He moved before her once again and prepared himself physically for the role, hunching his shoulders and making a face that looked like Nixon. "Hello, boys and girrrls," he said in his best cartoon dog voice, which sounded like Nixon. "I'm McGrrruff the Crime Dog! Together we can all take a bite out of crrrime!"
"Yeah, you're a regular Scooby-Doo, York. You wanna wear this outfit?"
He straightened himself at the affront. "No."
"Then shut up and leave me alone. I'm in no mood."
"You have an attitude problem, Deputy," he declared, then turned on his heel and marched toward the side entrance of the school in his stick-up-the-butt gait.
Annie waddled along behind, tripped on the steps, landed on her giant dog snout. York heaved a long-suffering sigh, righted her, and guided her into the building.
A learning experience.
She learned that she had no mobility in a dog suit and no dexterity wearing paws. She learned that she was at a gross disadvantage being able to see only a small square of the world through McGruff's mouth. Toddlers existed entirely beneath that field of vision-and they knew it. They stomped on her feet and pulled her tail. One leapt from a desktop, yodeling like Tarzan and grabbed the big pink tongue lolling out of McGruff's mouth. Another sneaked in close and peed on her foot.
By the time they finished their program at Sacred Heart Elementary that afternoon, Annie felt like a pinata that had weathered the beating of one too many birthday revelers. York had stopped speaking to her altogether-but not before assuring her he would be reporting her uncooperative behavior to Sergeant Hooker and possibly even to the sheriff. According to him, she was a disgrace to crime dogs everywhere.
Annie stood on the sidewalk outside Sacred Heart with her McGruff head under her arm and watched York storm off to his cruiser. School was letting out. A herd of third graders dashed past her, barking. A bigger kid grabbed her tail and spun her around, never breaking stride on his way to the bus.
"This doesn't look good," Josie said soberly. She stood on the steps with her arms around her backpack, her hair swept away from her face with a wide purple band.
"Hey, Jose, where y'at?" Annie said.
The girl shrugged, casting her gaze at the ground.
"You're gonna miss your bus."
Josie shook her head. "I'm supposed to go to the lawyer's office. Grandma and Grandpa Hunt are having a meeting. They let him out of jail yesterday, you know. We went to get him instead of going to church. I guess hardly anybody that breaks the law has to stay in jail, huh?"
"They let him out on bail?" Annie asked. Who would have thought Pritchett would move on Sunday? No one- that was the point. The offices were officially shut down, which made it a perfect day for clandestine maneuvers. The family didn't want the press making hay off them. Pritchett didn't want to upset the Davidsons any more than necessary. The Davidsons had a great many more friends among the voting constituency than Marcus Renard.
Josie shrugged again as she descended the steps and headed for the playground. "I guess. I don't understand, but nobody wanted to talk about it. Grandpa Hunt especially. When he got home, he went fishing all alone, and when he came back he went into his study and didn't come out."
Instead of going to the empty swing set, she sat down on a fat railroad tie that edged a patch of pansies beneath the shade of a live oak. Annie dropped the McGruff head on the asphalt and sat down beside her, rearranging her tail as best she could. On the other side of the school, the buses were roaring off.
"I know it's confusing for you, Jose. This is confusing for a lot of grown-ups, too."
"Grandma says that detective tried to beat up the guy that killed my mom, but you stopped him."
"He was breaking the law. Cops are supposed to enforce the law; they shouldn't ever break it. But just because I stopped Detective Fourcade doesn't mean I won't still try to get the guy that killed your mom. Do you understand?"
Josie turned sideways and reached out to touch a lavender pansy with her fingertip. A single tear slipped down her cheek and she whispered, "No."
She hung her head a little lower, her curtain of dark hair falling to hide her face. When she finally spoke, her voice was tiny and trembling. "I… I really miss my mom."
Annie reached out with a paw and gathered Josie close to her side. "I know you miss her, sweetheart," she said against the top of Josie's head. "I know exactly how much you miss her. I'm so sorry any of this had to happen to you."
"I want her back," Josie sobbed out against the trench coat. "I want her to come back and I know she's never going to and I hate it!"
"I know you do, honey. Life shouldn't have to hurt so much."
"Sister Celeste says I sh-shouldn't be mad at G-God, but I am."
"Don't you worry about God. He's got a lot to answer for. Who else are you mad at? Are you mad at me?"
The little girl nodded.
"That's okay. But I want you to know I'm doing my best to help, Jose," she murmured. "I promised you I would, and I am. But you have every right to be mad at whoever you want. Who else are you mad at? Your dad?"
She nodded again.
"And your grandma?"
Another nod.
"And Grandpa Hunt?"
"N-no."
"Who else?"
Josie went still for a moment. Annie waited, anticipation born of hard experience thickening in her chest. A desultory breeze stirred the heads of the pansies. A painted bunting flitted down from an azalea bush to pluck at a crust of bread some child had peeled from a lunch sandwich and abandoned.
"Who else, Jose?"
The answer came in a small voice brimming with pain. "Me."
"Oh, Josie," Annie whispered, hugging her tight. "What happened to your mom wasn't your fault."
"I-I w-was g-gone to Kristen's h-house. Maybe if-if I h-had been home…"
Annie listened to the stammered confession, feeling nine years old inside, remembering the horrible burden of guilt no one had even suspected she carried. She had been with her mama always, had watched over her during the bad spells and prayed for God to make her happy. And the first time she'd gone away from home, Marie had ended her own life. The weight of that had pressed down on her until she thought it would crush her.
She remembered going down the levee road, the taste of bitter tears as she had thrown her stuffed Minnie Mouse into the water. The toy she had so cherished from her first-ever vacation trip, the trip that had marked the end of her mother's life. And she remembered Uncle Sos fishing the toy out of the reeds and sitting on the bank with her on his lap, both of them crying, the soggy Minnie Mouse squished between them.
"It wasn't your fault, Josie," she murmured at last. "I thought that, too, when my mom died. That maybe if I had been home I could have stopped it from happening. But we can't know when bad things are coming to our lives. We can't control what other people do.
"It's not your fault your mom died, honey. That's someone else's fault, and he's going to be made to pay. I promise. All I ask is for you to believe me when I tell you I'm your friend. I'll always be your friend, Josie. I'll always try to be here for you and I'll always try my hardest for you."
Josie looked up at her. She tried to smile. "Then how come you're dressed up like a dog?"
Annie made a face. "A temporary setback. It won't last. I'm told I make a crummy crime dog."
"You were pretty bad," Josie admitted. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "You smell really gross, too."
"Hey, watch the insults," Annie teased. "I'll sic all my fleas on you."
"Yuck!"
"Come on, munchkin," she said, standing slowly. "I'll walk you downtown. You can help me carry my head."