Home of the Brave (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries Book 9) Read Free

rather childish display of exasperation.  Needless to say, I made no further attempts at conversation.  Neither she nor her dog looked at me again.

     
     
     
    Chapter Two
     
     
    B y the time we parked in front of the Public Safety building the rain had stopped, the sun was out, and the steam that rose from the wet pavement reminded me of the slow burn my temper was doing.  She opened the door and I got out, and this time when she took my arm I snapped, “I know the way.”
    She released my arm, and I gave a self-satisfied toss of my wet, ruined hair.  But before I could get too carried away with self-congratulations, she spoke a single guttural command in German, and the Malinois appeared out of nowhere to stand at my side.  I couldn’t help being impressed.  With the dog on one side of me and the officer on the other, I was escorted into the building.  Even if I had been a real criminal, there was absolutely no way I would have tried anything under those circumstances.  Now that , I thought, sliding an admiring glance down at the dog, is what I call teamwork.
    But as soon as we crossed the threshold of the sheriff’s department and I saw the surprise on the receptionist’s face, my annoyance was back.
    “Hey, Raine,” she said, trying to cover her confusion. “Cute haircut.”
    “Thanks.”
    Then she looked concerned.  “Are you okay?”
    I said, probably ungraciously, “I’m soaking wet.  Do you have a towel?”
    She actually stood to search for one, but the officer handed her an envelope with my paperwork in it, and she sank back to her chair again.  The woman jerked her head curtly toward a row of chairs that were lined up against the wall.  “Wait there,” she said.
    I rolled my eyes and walked over to one of the chairs, wet shoes squishing.  When I sat down, she gave the dog another curt command in German, and he positioned himself squarely in front of me, his intense, alert gaze watching me.  I muttered, “Okay, now you’re just showing off,” as she walked over to one of the cubicles that the deputies used to fill out paperwork and make phone calls.  I said to the receptionist, “Annabelle, what’s the deal with …”
    But Annabelle was on the phone and held up a finger for patience.  I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I hoped it was about getting me out of there because patience was something that was in short supply for me at the moment. 
    There followed three or four of the most unpleasant moments I have ever spent around a dog, and this from a woman who spends most of her day picking up dog poop. A couple of deputies peeked over the top of their cubicles and grinned.  One of the courthouse clerks stopped by to leave an envelope at the desk, did a double take when he saw me, and said, “Hey, Raine.”
    I said “Hey” back, and he left without asking any questions.  Not that there was anything unusual about seeing me in the waiting area of the sheriff’s department with a dog at my feet.  I’m sure it was just the fact that I was soaking wet.
    Annabelle put down the phone and gave me a smile that tried very hard not to look nervous.  I remembered she had never been that comfortable around big dogs.  She said, “It’ll be just a few minutes.”
    I wasn’t sure what would be just a few minutes, but before I could ask, she added pleasantly, “Big weekend planned?”
    I decided to play along, mostly to demonstrate that I was completely unfazed by this absurd turn of events, but also because at the moment I couldn’t see that I had much choice.  “I’m going to be teaching at Camp Bowser Wowser.”  I kept my voice conversational, but loud enough so that Deputy Diligence, or whatever her name was, would have no trouble hearing just how unfazed I was.  “It starts tomorrow, but the instructors are supposed to be there this afternoon, so …”
    Her pale eyebrows shot up into her sandy, straight-cut bangs.  “Bowsie Wowsie?  What’s