My voice is a little high anyway and I have to shout to be heard through the head, even with a microphone. I was probably a little shrieky but no one seemed to mind. It just made me one of the kids.
My crib notes were taped just under Bill’s eye sockets. I had to kind of cross my own eyes to read them but at least I would be sure to cover everything in case the council checked up on me.
1: Obey the crossing guard.
“Boys and girls, can you raise your hands if you think it is important to obey the crossing guard?” Okay, that sounded condescending. More than anyone, I should know that short didn’t mean stupid. Mr. Andrews was rubbing off on me.
A few hands went up. One was way up and waving frantically. I hoped it wasn’t a request to use the restroom. If one went they would all want to go.
“Yes, Xander, what is it?” Mr. Andrews unwisely asked.
“What if the crossing guard tells me to kill someone?” Xander asked. “With a flame-thrower. And a machete.”
A startled Mr. Andrews looked my way. I considered before answering. People think I am impulsive because I think quickly, but I can recognize when prudence is called for. Xander had a large head which suggested above average cranial capacity. That didn’t mean he was smart. The space might be filled with water instead of brains.
“That isn't likely to happen, now is it? In the whole history of the world, that has probably never happened,” I added reasonably and then hit myself in the nose with the microphone as the Officer Bill head shifted forward and the swiveled to the right. The children giggled as I pulled it straight. They had probably never seen The Exorcist so weren’t bothered by a head-spin.
“But what if the crossing guard is an evil alien crossing guard? And she is here to take over the earth by making children kill people?” Xander persisted. Children with imaginations are a pain. I know this because I had been one. With me it was Sherlock Holmes though, not killer aliens.
“In that case, you shouldn't obey the crossing guard. But only in that case. And you will need documentation to back up the claim that the guard was really an evil alien or you will be benched at recess.”
“Officer Bill!” Another child jumped up. I think this one was female, though it was hard to see through the mesh that made up Bill’s eyes. The child was wearing what had to be an older sibling’s favorite t-shirt, rescued from the garbage or perhaps a pile of laundry that had been allowed to sit until it mildewed. In other words something that would alarm the health department but be typical for a teenager.
“Yes?”
“What if the crossing guard tells me to hide my little sister's toys?”
“Don't do that. Your little sister will tell on you and you’ll get in trouble.” I thought I sounded Zen-like, but Mr. Andrews shot me a look.
“But what if the crossing guard tells me to lie to Mommy about hiding the toys? If I lied I wouldn’t get in trouble.”
“You shouldn't do that either. Liars do get caught and then they are in twice as much trouble.” Though I lied to my mother from time to time. It was self-preservation.
The maybe female was frowning as she sat down. I think I had ruined her plans for the day.
Another child jumped up. Male. This one was dressed in malarial yellow from neck to shoes. I remembered going through a similar green phase in the second grade until kids started calling Elf. I reserved judgment on the choice of a monochromatic outfit. Unfashionable clothes can mask a brilliant mind. In fact, I don’t know too many really smart people who care that much about clothing.
“What if the crossing guard told me to put a bean up my nose?”
Okay, so the outfit wasn’t protective cover for the next Einstein.
“Oh, you should definitely do that because the doctor likes to pull beans out of people’s noses. He told me so.”
Bad Chloe! The Chief trusted in my goodwill and professionalism, so I tried to find some. I would be nice and on message for the next ten minutes even if it killed me, but at least the children were laughing now.
“But what if the bean is really big and—”
“Enough of that. Let’s not be silly. You all know not to put things up your nose. Not even your fingers. If anyone is looking. What you do on your own is your affair, just keep your boogers to yourselves.” Kids sniggered. They like booger references and I figured it was okay if I stayed away from potty jokes. “Let’s move on so you can enjoy the rest of your lunch hour. Now, you all know that you should always walk straight home when school is over, right? Can anyone tell me why?”
Xander jumped up again.
“Yes, Xander.”
“I have to make right turns to go home. Is that alright?”
“Yes, you can make turns to go home.”
“Left turns too?”
“Yes. Left turns are fine. As long as they lead you home.”
“What if I turn into Eddie's house for some milk and cookies?”
“No, that wouldn't be a good turn to make.”
“Why?”
The only why I wondered about was why anyone would have children.
“Because that wouldn't be going straight home, which is one of the rules.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” I was sounding exasperated. Partly it was the questions, but I also realized that the heat was turned way up in the cafeteria and I was sweating. Officer Bill’s head was also beginning to smell funky, sort of like varnish and rodent droppings. Bill was stored in a sort of shed behind the parking garage. Did it have mice?
“Why is it a rule?” Xander persisted.
“Because the world is full of evil aliens that want to take you to another planet and put things up your nose,” I muttered, forgetting the microphone would pick it up.
There was a collective gasp.
“That was a joke,” I said hastily. I crossed my eyes and scanned my list. “Now, let’s see— what else? Don't talk to strangers. That’s a very important rule.”
“What about you? You're a stranger.” Xander hadn’t bothered to resume his seat. Obviously he was going to the mattresses on this one, and Mr. Andrews was checking messages on his phone and smiling stupidly. Either he has getting a hot stock tip or he was cheating on Mrs. Andrews. I was betting on cheating.
“It's okay to talk with me, I'm Officer Bill.”
“No you aren't. You're just a lady with a big, fake head. Where is the real Officer Bill?”
I couldn’t tell the children that Alfred was dead, no matter how much I wanted to get back at Xander.
There was a sniffle and a small voice said: “Doesn’t Officer Bill have a real head?”
“Of course I’m real. And I have a real head. It’s just under this other one right now.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” But I would be sure and ask The Chief when I got back to the station. Officer Bill was stupid, an idiot artifact from the fifties. Why couldn’t I just talk to the children as myself? It wasn’t like Officer Bill was getting tons of respect from these mini-people larvae.
“I told my brother about you coming and he said there's no such thing as Officer Bill anymore. The real Officer Bill got hung at the haunted house.” This, I needn’t tell you, was Xander. I bet he had been the first to share the glad tidings about there being no Santa Claus or Easter Bunny.
“Your brother was pulling your leg.”
“No he wasn't. He never even touched me.”
Literal. They were so literal.
“I meant that your brother was joking. I'm Officer Bill. In fact, I'm even a detective.” Unofficial, but still a detective.
“You are not. Girls can’t be detectives.”
“I am too and they can so.” Blue began to whine. She doesn’t like it when I get upset and the crack about girls not being detectives had pissed me off. I had heard it too many times from my own co-workers.
“Are not!”
“Am too!”
“The doggy is crying,” announced the moldy child that
I thought was female. “Officer Bill is being mean to the doggy.”
That stung.
“I am not! I would never be mean to Blue.”
“Boys and girls,” began Mr. Andrews in an ineffective voice as he shoved his phone in his pocket. Some breath spray fell on the floor and rolled under the podium.
“If you're a detective, you should prove it,” Xander said.
This got a big round of applause and some cheers.
“Prove it! Prove it!” they chanted.
“How?” I thought about offering to pepper spray Xander but decided The Chief would probably not like it if I did that.
“Well…. Ricky's lunch was stolen. That’s a crime, right? If you’re really a detective you should be able to figure out who took it.” Dear Xander. But this I could handle. Finding lost things is kind of a specialty of mine.
“Now, boys and girls—” Mr. Andrews tried again. How had this man become a principal? Blue was a better disciplinarian. I would have to find out who he was sleeping with. He couldn’t have gotten this job by merit.
“No, that's alright, Mr. Andrews. I'll take this case. It will give me a chance to show the children some police work in action.”
But I wasn’t going to do it while wearing a stupid paper mâché head. I began to wrestle with Bill’s oversized cranium. After a moment it came off and I gulped in a couple breaths of air that smelled of hotdogs, but was otherwise very pleasant. I dropped Bill on the floor, but gently since the children were there and wouldn’t like it if I drop-kicked the head up the aisle.
Blue looked happier too and her tail thumped the podium, sounding like thunder.
“Okay, where is Ricky?” I asked, wiping away the worst of the sweat with Officer Bill’s felt sleeve.
After some pointing and shoving a boy of maybe seven came forward. He was red of hair and face and the red hair that looked like it was fighting a stiff wind. He was either feeling very shy or very guilty.
“Hi, Ricky. Don’t be nervous. You can pet Blue if you like.”
“I’m not nervous.” But he was. Maybe it was the strange clothes he was wearing. Some parents are so dense. They don’t get that what was age appropriate school wear when they were kids just wouldn’t cut it now. Who could honestly think rainbow suspenders were a good idea especially with hair that color? He looked like he belonged in a circus.
“Good. Because there is no need to be nervous if you tell the truth. Now, we are going to do some deductive reasoning.” I thought about asking a bunch of standard question like I would in a real case, but there was no need now that I had seen Ricky and I wanted to keep this as short as possible. There was no fun in torturing this kid. “Can you tell me what was in your lunch today?”
“Sushi,” he said, and got giggles. “And Pringles and grape soda.”
I shook my head at his wish list. No one else believed him either. I was betting he was notorious for having bad lunches. It went with the suspenders.
“No lying to the police. That is the most important rule of all.”
“How do you know he’s lying?” demanded Xander.
“I’m a human lie detector. And Blue can smell it if you lie.” I added. The first part was true. The second part might be true. I have always kind of suspected it.
“Really?” asked the moldy female. I was sure now that I could see her clearly that she was a girl, albeit one without any girlie impulses.
“Of course. Ricky, hold out your hands. Blue, is Ricky lying about the sushi?”
I gave Blue the sign for speak and she obligingly howled. The room was full of wide eyes. I didn’t impress them but my dog doing the Hound of the Baskervilles sure did. Mr. Andrews was smothering a smug smile, and though it had been my intention that the children have an ooh-ahhh moment, I didn’t care for the fact that he was laughing at them when they did. Mr. Andrews just wasn’t a very nice man.
“Okay, it was a bologna and onion sandwich,” Ricky admitted sheepishly. “And stewed prunes.”
There were more nervous giggles. Prune is a dirty word in the lower grades.
“Well, there you go. The solution is simple.” I paused dramatically. “Nobody stole Ricky's lunch. He forgot his lunch today. On purpose.”
Ricky gasped and then looked like he was going to cry.
“I did— and now I’m hungry!”
“It’s okay Ricky.” I would slip him a granola bar. I had one in my belt-bag.
“Wow, how did you know that?” Xander demanded.
“If you had a lunch of bologna and onions, wouldn't you forget it at home?” And besides, Blue loved adulterated swine and beef products. If Ricky had so much as walked near a bologna sandwich, Blue would have been all over him when she sniffed his hands.
“Impressive,” said Mr. Andrews. “Let’s give a round of applause to Officer Bill— er— Boston.”
The children clapped with much more enthusiasm this time. I smiled at Mr. Andrews as I gathered up Office Bill’s head and said goodbye to the kids who were brave enough to come forward and talk to me and pet Blue. One child pressed a scrapbook of Officer Bill drawings into my hands. Obviously they had been done ahead of time. A quick glance told me we probably weren’t harboring any Renoirs in the grammar school, though I thought maybe a few of the kids should be in therapy. It had to be Xander who drew Officer Bill swinging from a tree.
I snuck Ricky his granola bar and gave him a wink. I was rewarded with a toothy smile.
And I smiled too. Officer Bill had gone to the school and not caused any panic or crying. The Chief would be pleased.
My steps were lighter as I walked toward the parking lot and Blue pranced beside me, basking in the afterglow of the children’s attention. I wanted to know who Mr. Andrews was having the affair with. Not that I would necessarily do anything with the knowledge, but it’s good to know things and finding them out has always been so easy for me.
A quick stop at the Lexus showed me crushed oyster shells in the tires. The white dust came from a private road on the east side of town. The road where Councilwoman Watts lived. Neither The Chief, nor my father, the former chief of police, thought much of her morals. Neither had Mr. Watts who left her six months ago. This might be something we could use later if the new principal continued to be mean to Mrs. Roberts. That’s the thing about a small town— we look after our own.
“Come on, Blue. Let’s get some lunch.”
Mostly what I do is based on logic, but sometimes I am nearly psychic. Precognitive even. Take Officer Bill. I had a strong premonition that Officer Bill was going to have another accident that afternoon on my way back to the station. And this time the head would be crushed completely, even if it meant driving over it a dozen times to make it happen.
Blue woofed approvingly.
About the Author
Melanie Jackson is the author of 23 novels. If you enjoyed this story, please visit Melanie’s author web site at www.melaniejackson.com.
Be sure to check out all the books in the Chloe Boston Mystery Series:
Moving Violation
The Pumpkin Thief
Death in a Turkey Town
Murder on Parade
Cupid’s Revenge
Viva Lost Vegas
And don’t miss Melanie’s exciting new series co-written with her husband, The Book of Dreams:
The First Book of Dreams: Metropolis
The Second Book of Dreams: Meridian
The Third Book of Dreams: Destiny
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Viva Lost Vegas Page 7