Death of a Dumb Bunny

by Melanie Jackson

  Death of a Dumb Bunny

  by

  Melanie Jackson

  Version 0.1 – February, 2011

  Published by Brian Jackson at KDP

  Copyright © 2011 by Melanie Jackson

  Discover other titles by Melanie Jackson at www.melaniejackson.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Chapter 1

  The Chief of Police likes me. Really, he does. If not for my skills as an unofficial detective, then because I can tell him what teams to bet on in the play-offs. It’s certainly not his fault that I can’t pass the physical and get out of parking enforcement. And Randy Wallace adores my dog so I know he would never make Blue unhappy unless it was a crisis situation. Like losing state funding for extracurricular projects near and dear to the town’s collective heart.

  But really, no matter what the town council thought, how important could another public safety lecture be? And why send Officer Bill to conduct it? Did we want this paper mâché creature to be the law personified to impressionable minds? I mean, did these people have amnesia? Sending Officer Bill back to the grammar school was just begging Fate to do something nasty to a lot of innocent children.

  Of course I protested the assignment, but to no avail.

  “Boston, just do it. You can have this Friday off.” Good Friday. Friday was one of our busiest days and the one day of the week when I was most likely to end up writing up friends and family for parking infractions. Good Friday was even worse since there wasn’t enough parking at the churches and people tended to feel better about offending parking regulations than offending God. It was probably worth playing Officer Bill one last time to get out of it.

  “Okay. I’ll do it. This once.”

  “Thank you.”

  So, there I was, about to inflict myself on small children who had never harmed me.

  I will agree that for many years, Officer Bill was a friend to school age youngsters, especially among those who counted their years on one hand. But that was when the beloved and gentle Alfred Cook was assigned the role of public liaison. After he died I had inherited the costume and job, and not because I had any inclination toward the spotlight or gift for interacting with children, but merely because I was the only one in the department small enough to get my skull through the opening in the paper mâché head. Since my inauguration, every Officer Bill appearance had been a disaster. First time out I had gotten Bill’s enormous head stuck in a door and ended up ripping his ears off. The kindergarten had been so traumatized by the dismemberment that there had been mass crying and several children ran away. Then there was the incident at The Falls. Officer Bill fell in a fountain and came out looking like something from a leper colony. That one is on Youtube under Zombie Attack in Washington. And lastly there had been that awful murder in October where the corpse was hidden in Officer Bill’s costume and then strung up at the 4-H Halloween Haunted House.

  Of course the costume had been replaced since then, but when it was reordered, no one had specified getting it in a larger size, so there I was, on April Fool’s Day, strapping on the Velcro costume and contemplating Officer Bill’s twenty pound, wire reinforced head. And listening to my dog whine with unhappiness because I would look like a giant bobble-head doll in a band uniform the moment I put it on.

  At this rate, I would never win the respect of my peers. It took some firm imagining about writing up Good Friday church-going friends and neighbors to reconcile myself to the task.

  “Chloe,” Mrs. Roberts, the school secretary whispered as she sidled up to my chair. She had seemed so tall to me as a child, but now I could almost look her in the eye. “I seem to have misplaced the supply room keys. It has the office key too. They are always in my desk— always. But I can’t find them. And I do hate to ask Dick Bensen to let me in to the supply closet again. He always tells Mr. Andrews when I forget something and it makes Mr. Andrews very cross.”

  I didn’t blame her for not wanting to call Bensen. The janitor was called Dirty Dick and not just because he had an aversion to bathing. The new principal didn’t sound like anyone real terrific either if Mrs. Roberts was afraid of him. I had known Mrs. Roberts since my own school days and the sweet lady was one of the few people who hadn’t been freaked out by my ability to find things, including sensitive information about some of my teachers.

  “Do you know where they are, dear?” She sounded frantic.

  A quick glance at the coat on the back of her chair and the sag in the right pocket told me where the keys had gone. It was warm in the office but nippy outside. The out-of-order sign on the restroom door told the story. Mrs. Roberts had had to go out to use another restroom. The nearest was near the auditorium. They were kept locked except when there was a function and she had had to bring her keys to get in. She had also stuffed her pockets with toilet paper from the office bathroom because the stuff in the kids’ bathrooms was about as absorbent as wax paper.

  “Right coat pocket, under the toilet paper,” I whispered back and then hefted my Officer Bill head. I hated this part because I am just a tiny bit claustrophobic.

  “Let me help you,” said Mrs. Roberts. And then softly: “Thank you, dear. I am so relieved.”

  “So you must be Officer Boston,” said a falsely hardy voice of the male persuasion.

  I stood and turned slowly. In the Officer Bill head, there is no other way to do it. Mr. Andrews is the new principal and ringmaster for the day’s event. The teachers had heard Officer Bill was coming and wisely left campus for lunch, leaving a mostly empty parking lot.

  “Oh. My goodness. Well…” Rick Andrews isn’t from around Hope Falls and therefore isn’t used to seeing me. He was obviously having trouble with the fact that I am smaller than many of his fifth grade students.

  Mary Roberts faded quickly. It was a pain, but I decided to politely remove my fake head so he could talk to my real face. Perhaps that would reassure him. Bill’s blank eyes are a bit disconcerting.

  “I must be. No one else would be caught dead wearing this costume,” I muttered as I pulled the head off and almost removed my nose. In fact, I am married now. But I carry Cupid’s arrow through the heart and a ring on my finger without feeling any need to change my name. Not that Lincoln is a bad name. It just isn’t mine.

  Blue whined.

  “I have been told by the Chief of Police that the children love er… Blue, is it? And she works with you all the time,” Mr. Andrews said nervously, eyeing her therapy dog vest with suspicion as I put on my head back on. I had to admit that she wasn’t behaving very well. Perhaps because she isn’t actually a therapy dog. But I had a firm belief that our new principal simply didn’t like dogs. His clothes were absolutely free of animal hair and he was wearing too much aftershave and an unseasonal tan. I checked his hand— wedding ring. I checked his scalp— hair plugs. I was willing to bet that the new Lexus in the parking lot was also an upgrade, and probably not for Mrs. Andrews benefit, since he had it at the school.

  “Yes, the kids love her.”

  “But maybe, since she is upset, it would be best if she waited in your— um— vehicle.”

  “She’ll settle down,” I said, hoping this was true. “Blue! It’s okay. It’s still me in here. Knock it off.”

  Blue whimpered pathetically but turned down the volume. She didn’t try to make friends with Mr. Andrews. She probably noticed the lack of animal hair too. For sure she was staying away from the overpoweri
ng musk that wafted our way.

  “Okay then. I guess it is time to go. The children are in the cafeteria. They’ve eaten already. The noon duty supervisor is there to help maintain order,” Mr. Andrews said reassuringly. He obviously also heard about Officer Bill’s last visit and wanted no repeat disasters. Maybe he thought keeping the kids in a contained environment was safer than having them on the playground. Personally I was doubtful. If there was a panic kids would get trampled in the stampede away from Officer Bill.

  “The door is nice and wide, right? No way will my ears get stuck?” I asked, maybe just a little maliciously.

  “Double doors. We should have no spatial problems this time.”

  I nodded and almost snapped my neck. The damned head is not only ugly, it’s heavy too.

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Mary, you watch the office,” he ordered unnecessarily. Like Mrs. Roberts hadn’t been minding the office while he was still a snot-monster in someone else’s school. And I resented him calling her Mary when he plainly insisted she call him Mr. Andrews.

  We walked slowly and Officer Bill managed to make it to the cafeteria without incident, though it was hard to stroll with Blue pressed against me and shivering. For a Rottweiler, she sure is a sissy about a stupid paper mâché head. Or maybe it was Mr. Andrews she wanted to avoid. Blue isn’t fond of selfish people.

  Around the cafeteria was some familiar brown grass and a leafless tree that hadn’t committed itself to the spring growth yet. School grass and trees always hover on the edge of death. I’m not sure why since no one is allowed to walk on the lawn or play in the spindly tree.

  We walked by a garbage can at the lunchroom door and I noticed that it was almost completely full of creamed spinach. The cafeteria obviously still hadn’t gotten the memo on lunch menus. Children don’t consume leafy green stuff. Except for cash. I hear they eat up parental finances like nothing else. Another reason that I prefer dogs.

  I stumbled a little at the raised sill. If I had put on the Officer Bill clown shoes, I would have gone sprawling.

  Mr. Andrews guided me down the aisle between long Formica tables to the podium and stepstool set up in front of the fire exit and introduced me in his falsely cheerful voice. The children, mixed ages between four and eight applauded politely. They seemed fine with my presence. I reminded myself that many of the kids were new to the nursery school and kindergarten and wouldn’t have horrific memories of Bill’s mutilation. Things might actually go well this time and I should be optimistic. It would have been nice if Mrs. Vance, the noon duty supervisor, wasn’t malingering in the back of the room, her face naked of both make-up and any sign of thought. She had replaced Mrs. Thomas who retired when I was in college. Mrs. T would know how to quell a riot. I had no such faith in Gail Vance or Principal Andrews.

  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 actually 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 then 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 pretty Zen-like considering the circumstances, 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 and rarely got caught. It was self-preservation.

  The maybe female was frowning as she sat down. I think I 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 me 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. They spread germs.” 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 probably pick it up just because I didn’t want to be heard.

  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 at the screen. 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.