I had no idea. The islands have an assistant police chief, Mandy Lass. She’s smart and tough and brave, and she should have been named as the temporary police chief. Chief Allroy himself had told me that she was “definitely my successor. She’s smart as a whip and knows how to deescalate situations, which many don’t. She’s tough, too. Black belt and military training.”

“She’s a woman,” my mother drawled. “That’s why she didn’t get the job as chief.”

“Because of her femaleness she is judged harshly, seen as weak,” Aunt Camellia said. “Weak like a flower. This was sexism. Discrimination. Mandy should have been chief.”

“For God’s sakes,” Aunt Iris huffed. “Will misogyny never die?”

The new chief, quickly earning the nickname Reginald Ass Burn, did not fit in. He was rigid and unsmiling. He actually gave out jaywalking tickets in our tiny town. He walked into businesses and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. He was immediately way too hard on the teenagers, arresting them for drinking or being out past curfew. He gave out parking tickets and driving tickets for minor infractions by the dozens. He harangued people about their dogs in town, reminding them of the poop laws, which offended all dog owners. Did they look environmentally unconscious? Of course they would pick up the dog poo.

Chief Ass Burn looked at everyone as if we were potential criminals. He glared. He stared. He was one of those men who had to throw his weight around. He had to display his power.

“This isn’t the middle of a prison,” Jolla muttered, Bella Mae beside her holding Mr. Pitto, the aggrieved iguana. “We’re islanders. Proud of it. And we don’t need this outsider coming in and making us miserable.”

“Not even Mr. Pitto likes him,” Bella Mae said. She swung Mr. Pitto around in the air, poor thing, his little feet trying to run.

* * *

We learned later that the new chief was the brother-in-law of Chief Turner in Seattle.

For revenge, most everyone on San Orcanita Island wrote a letter to Chief Turner and mailed it over.

It said, “NEPOTISM SUCKS.”

We signed our names.

* * *

Going to bed at night is like going to bed with a dog and cat zoo. Butch the dog is close friends with Mars the cat. They play together all the time, wrestling and rolling and chasing each other. Butch and Mars curl up on the end of my king-sized bed, bought because I knew I’d end up sleeping with my dogs and cats. Sundance sleeps on the other side of me, on his own yellow pillow. Yes, I know. That’s ridiculous that Sundance has his own pillow, but whatever. Dog lovers unite! He also has his pink blankie and his stuffed lizard, which I’ve had to sew up and restuff several times over the years. Cassidy sleeps with her head on Sundance’s back.