By Nevada Barr
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Additional info for Anna Pigeon 08 Deep South
By the time the armadillo had nosed and waddled around the bend in the road, Anna was less than thirty-six inches from the gray and scaly hindquarters. She'd geared herself for the leap into scientific discovery when a voice blasted into her consciousness. " The world shifted and Anna found herself back in the big picture. Finally wised-up, her armadillo scuttled ahead, winning back the ten yards Anna had so cunningly eaten up. Disappointment turned to irritation in the time it took her to turn her head toward the interrupter, and irritation vanished in amazement in the blink of an eye.
There might have been a bit of fat on him but it was spread thin as butter. Though not more than a few inches taller than Anna-maybe five-six or eight-she guessed he was terrifically strong. And black. Not the golden chocolaty shade of Barth, but deep, dark, old-rotary-phone black. He smiled, a square smile, showing large square teeth, and stuck out his hand. "I'm George Wentworth, head of maintenance for the Port Gibson District. " Anna liked him. There were no shadows about the man. Nothing felt hidden.
Me first," she insisted, and in a fit of good manners Taco waited till she'd slid clear and stood on shaky legs before bounding out the driver's door. The leash slipped from fingers numbed from too long clutching the wheel, and the black lab loped off toward the taillights of the U-Haul. "Don't go chasing 'coons or whatever the hell dogs chase down here," she muttered. Outside the car, silence was shattered. Stunned by the sheer magnitude of sound, Anna leaned on the door and listened. A chorus, a choir, a nation of frogs sang from darkness curtained close by trees.
Anna Pigeon 08 Deep South by Nevada Barr