Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [1]
She pulled the dive lever on the sub and sank further, thought about something shed seen on the news last week, something about Ernestine, but her daddy had jumped up and turned the TV off before Suzy could hear. The news man in the blue suit was saying something about a confession, which Suzy knew was when you went into a little room with a priest with a white collar. Then the TV snapped off and her parents talked in hushed voices. They had all gone out for creemeesSuzy got a chocolate-maple twist with extra chocolate sprinkles.
Whatchya doing there? the man asked Suzy, his voice friendly. He was right beside her now, his hands resting on the chipped red door. He was wearing a green jacket with a badge pinned to the front and carrying a walkie-talkie. This man was a police officer. He had a gun and everything.
She squinted up at him, the light from the midday sun beyond the trees behind him giving him a kind of glow like an angel, like the way the world sometimes looked just before a seizure, like everything had this halo, everything holy.
Suzy heard the sound of dogs barking, coming nearer, men talking, their footsteps cracking twigs, the cold squawk of staticky voices on walkie-talkies. They were coming up the pine needlecovered path that led down to the lake. Was she being arrested? Had her parents sent the police to see if she was playing where she was not supposed to?
Whats your name? asked the man. He had short dark hair, a little dimple in his chin. You live near here?
She was allowed to talk to police officers. She was pretty sure. Suzy blinked.
My names Joe, he said, extending his hand. She stuck out hers to shake. His hand was soft and warm, smooth as the skin of a baseball glove. She gave in and told him her name.
Thats a real pretty name for a real pretty girl.
She hated this talkthis pretty-girl-pretty-name-pretty-hair-pretty-ribbon, you look just like a little angel talk adults gave. She hated the winks, the nods, the little pats on her head, testing the bounce of her curls.
The dogs were there then and men in uniforms, men in wide-brimmed hats kicking at leaves, looking at the ground, letting the dogs pull them around. Big German shepherd dogs, police dogs, dogs that could bite, could crush your hand. Suzy had seen a program on TV about a man who couldnt see and needed a dog to help him. A special dog who helped him cross streets, get on buses, do his shopping. Smart dogs, German shepherds.
These police dogs were over at the pile of rotten wood, the boards with nails that could give you lockjaw, and they were whining, barking, digging at the ground like there was hamburger underneath, some sweet dog treat. Or maybe it was drugs. Dogs could sniff drugs, she knew this from school, from Officer Friendly, who brought his trusty dog Sam, the drug sniffer, with him. Sam wore a leather harness like the blind mans dog, like maybe Officer Friendly was blind, blind to drugs, to danger even, without Sam. Dogs could smell hundreds of times better than humans. Dogs could smell things miles away. Dogs were faithful and friendly and loyal. Dogs drooled. Their feet smelled like Fritos. Their breath could smell rotten like something got caught in their throat and died.
The men in uniforms were pulling at the boards, someone was taking pictures, someone had a video camera. Maybe they were all in a movie, a movie like her Nana Laura Lee had been in. They were all movie stars.
So where do you live, Suzy? asked Joe. She told him. She told him her grandmas house was on