Etta opened the tracking app on her phone. “They haven’t moved yet,” she reported. “I planted the phone and that incriminating order sheet in Kirk’s caravan, FYI.”
Peanut was standing up in the middle seat, her gaze still fixed on the jar I was holding. That meant poor Mum was being whacked in the face with her wagging tail.
Mum shifted Herbert in her lap and absently raised a hand to fend off Peanut’s cheerful assault. In contrast to Peanut, her focus had turned inward.
“I know we’re doing the right thing,” she said. “But I do feel sorry for Kirk. He’s changed so much for the better since I last saw him. Finally found a place where he’s accepted, part of a group instead of outside it. He’s so much more… comfortable within himself.”
Belatedly, I motioned for Peanut to sit. She did so with great alacrity. Now I just had to convince her to stay sitting as I opened the jar.
Mum dropped her newly freed hand to stroke Herbert. “It seems such a shame that he found his feet only to fall in with this smuggling operation.”
I didn’t know what to say. When we’d discussed bringing Mum in on the plan, I’d thought a great deal about her safety. But while I’d made sure she wouldn’t get hurt in a physical sense, I’d failed to think about the emotional impact of helping to bring down an old friend. Even if it was one Dad disapproved of.
I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Sorry, Mum.”
“Oh, it’s all right. I hate the idea of wildlife getting snatched from their homes and smuggled overseas even more. I was just feeling so happy for Kirk yesterday.” She shrugged helplessly. “On the other hand, I bet your father will be delighted when he hears about this.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from giving anything away. At least she hadn’t said, Don’t tell your father.
Peanut whined her protest over how long I was taking to give her the promised treat. She’d earned it. After all, she’d played a critical role in setting the trap for our wildlife-smuggling nomads.
Now we just had to wait for them to take the bait…
21
The nomads took the bait.
Peanut’s apparent discovery of wildlife scents in their RVs, the awkward explanations that had ensued, followed by our abrupt departure—had all been designed to make them acutely uncomfortable with the smuggling equipment and supplies stashed in their mobile homes.
What if we called the police?
Even Norma, who knew we already knew of the smuggling, would wonder about that.
And what if the police then searched their RVs?
The gray nomads’ actions had all revolved around preventing us finding any evidence in Amy’s home or belongings that might point suspicion their way. But we’d just circumvented the need for a link from Amy altogether.
Which forced the nomads to get rid of the smuggling supplies in their own homes. Or risk a search warrant ruining everything.
Of course, given Peanut’s prowess as a wildlife sniffer dog was nonexistent, and handing the order sheet we’d found in the satchel to the police would raise awkward questions, our ability to obtain a real search warrant was highly questionable. Then even if authorities found equipment for warming eggs and pushing reptiles into presmuggling hibernation, that alone might not be enough for a conviction. There were valid reasons for owning such things.
Which is why calling the police while the nomads were in the middle of disposing of the evidence was a much better solution.
Etta yipped in excitement when the dot that was Kirk’s caravan started to move. The sound put me momentarily in mind of a hyena on the prowl.
We stalked them at a distance. They traveled north and inland into sugarcane country, so it was not wholly surprising when they turned down a quiet farm track between two fields of the towering crop and came to a stop well out of sight of the road.
We switched off the headlights, opened the windows, and crawled as close as we dared. Then turned the engine off.
It was a clear, dark night, the moon only a sliver in the sky above. Still warm, as usual. Connor, Etta, and I eased ourselves out of the car and pressed the doors shut behind us with infinite care. Mum stayed with Peanut and Herbert.
On second thought, we closed the windows. No need to have a bark—or worse, a bleat—draw attention our way.
We crept toward the gray nomads. The lack of moon meant the stars stretched out in a brilliant glittering canvas, a sight that always made me feel small and awed and comforted at the same time. A sight I’d missed under LA’s smog-filled skies.
More practically, as we rounded a bend of sugarcane, the lack of moon meant the nomads bustling about in the brightness of their motorhome lights and handheld flashlights had no chance of spotting us.
Their vehicles were clustered together where the track dead-ended in more sugarcane, and they appeared to be doing what we’d hoped. Distant, shadowy figures carted equipment out of the RVs and disappeared into the sugarcane. Then returned empty-handed. A power drill whirred softly, and muted voices carried to where we lurked.
There had been a significant risk in our plan. What if the nomads decided to get rid of the evidence for good? To throw it in a crocodile-infested river or destroy it beyond recognition?
But we’d bet on them being too tight-fisted for that.
Their frequent boasts on fuel efficiency and Ginger’s objection to my using the fire extinguisher supported the tight-fisted notion. It appeared our bet had paid off. No point forking out for new equipment when they could hide it somewhere and pick it up on their way out of state.
We called the police.
Fifteen minutes later, we realized there was another significant risk in our plan.
What if the police didn’t arrive in time?
“This is bad,” I said. “If they finish unloading everything and take off, all this will be for nothing.”
Two of the figures were arguing now. I hoped their disagreement would take a long while to resolve.
“Then we’ll have to make sure they can’t go anywhere,” Connor murmured.
Etta shifted in sudden excitement. “Yes! We can take them. Even Izzy could handle one of the old geezers after her self-defense lessons. Hell, Connor and I could take three each. Or Connor could likely take all six.”
“Or we can just disable their vehicles,” Connor pointed out. “They wouldn’t get far before the police arrive and leaving their RVs behind along with all the evidence they’ve removed will be incriminating enough.”
“Incriminating enough, sure, but it sounds like less fun.”
“I thought you were involving yourself to protect Izzy.”
Etta shrugged. “Don’t see why having fun and protecting Izzy should be mutually exclusive.”
“Etta,” I said.
“Fine. We’ll disable the vehicles then. It’s gonna be too conspicuous to open the hoods to get to fuel lines, batteries, or air filters though, so our best bet’ll be to disconnect the ignition wiring or yank out fuses if they’re accessible. We’ll still need to crack open the driver or passenger door, but we can make that work.”
Connor looked like he understood what that meant.
No point asking Etta how she understood it.
I raised a hand. “Um, I don’t know how to do that fuse or ignition thingy.”
Etta and Connor both smirked in the direction of my raised hand. I lowered it.
Connor squeezed it in his. “You can be our lookout. We won’t be able to see the nomads coming with our heads under the dash.”
“All right.”
We made a few brief clothing adjustments in preparation for our stealth mission. I turned my T-shirt inside out to hide the white cat on the front of it. Etta pocketed a pair of earrings that might catch the light. Connor did nothing. He was wearing a black shirt and jeans as if he’d seen this coming.
We drew the line at covering our faces with dirt. The nomads’ night vision would be hampered by their use of lights anyway.
&
nbsp; I checked over my companions for anything we’d missed. Then I realized the thing we’d missed wasn’t visible.
“Etta, you can’t bring your gun.”
“What gun?”
I folded my arms and stared at her.
“Why not? Seems sensible to have a weapon when people have been trying to kill you.” She looked at Connor. “To protect Izzy of course.”
I huffed. “Because the police are on their way, and we’re attempting to get the nomads arrested, not you.”
“What if I don’t shoot it then? The threat of shooting alone could save a lot of violence if we get sprung. And no bullets or gunpowder residue means no evidence for an arrest.”
Except for the carrying an unlicensed firearm part.
Connor was getting visibly impatient. “Leave the bullets here then and let’s go.”
Etta pulled a revolver from the small of her back, emptied the cylinder onto the ground, and kicked some dirt over the bullets. “Happy?” She tucked the gun out of sight.
I didn’t like the idea of leaving bullets lying around, but I liked the idea of them in Etta’s pocket or in our rental car even less. Connor must’ve drawn the same conclusion because he only grimaced.
No one asked about her switchblade.
We trod quietly down the track, sticking close to the sugarcane to conceal our moving shapes—and trusting the noise the nomads were making to disguise our soft ones. The dry leaves and tall stalks of sugarcane rustled eerily in the darkness.
While we’d been waiting for the police, I’d had plenty of time to recall the Museum of Venomous Creatures info sheet on the coastal taipan—a snake that favored sugarcane as its hunting ground. One dose of one taipan’s venom was sufficient to kill fifty-six human adults—or two hundred and eight thousand mice. But at least the 99.99% fatality rate had been reduced now antivenom was available.
Why on earth would anyone want to import wildlife from Australia?
Etta had taken the lead, Connor the middle, and I was bringing up the rear. Connor paused and let her get farther ahead.
“I’m not convinced Etta doesn’t want to get spotted. That’s part of why I need you here as lookout. Look out for her as much as the nomads.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
We resumed walking.
Norma’s motorhome was on the outer edge of the cluster of vehicles, the driver door facing conveniently away from the nomads’ activity. We started there.
Etta slipped along the side and found the door handle. Then we peeked our noses over the hood, dodging the occasional swing of a torch beam until all the nomads were either inside their RVs, deep into the sugarcane, or had their backs turned. I signaled Etta, and in one quick motion she cracked the door open and darted up to extinguish the interior lights. Then she got to work under the dash while I kept a lookout for anyone coming our way.
Connor whispered he’d go around in a wide arc and do the same to Kirk’s vehicle on the other outer edge, although he’d have to slip through the passenger door and over the center console to reach the ignition. This worried me. I couldn’t play lookout for both of them if they were on opposite sides of the cul-de-sac. But I trusted Connor more than Etta, so I stayed with Etta.
She’d removed a panel near the steering column and was now yanking out wires.
At the next motorhome over, Ray was preparing to top up the fuel tank with a large jerry can, and Misti was carrying a wriggling snake out of the living area and into the sugarcane. Had they held this snake back knowing Amy was going to die? Or had it just not been ready to make the trip? I’d done some research on putting reptiles into hibernation and learned it was a long process. You had to fatten them up, then fast them for three weeks to empty everything out of their digestive system (otherwise it would rot during hibernation and kill them), and only then turn down the temperature until they went into brumation.
Regardless, I hoped that Misti’s lack of protective gear meant the snake wasn’t venomous.
Etta finished disabling Norma’s vehicle, and we crept to Misti and Ray’s. Thankfully, the fuel tank and entry to the living area were on the opposite side to the driver’s door. And Norma was preoccupied with helping Ginger carry something heavy, so we hoped she wouldn’t return to her own motorhome behind us anytime soon.
Gerrie was letting the women work, too intent on teasing Ray to notice. “I told you to fill up last Friday when fuel prices had gone down a few cents.”
Ray grunted. “Yeah well, a few cents cheaper was still robbery. And we weren’t meant to be driving anywhere for another week, were we?”
I signaled to Etta, and she slipped into the cab. I held my breath until she’d switched off the interior light and ducked into the footwell. Phew. This was downright nerve-racking.
Ray hoisted the jerry can experimentally.
“Need some help with that?” Gerrie asked.
Ray plonked it back down. “Nah, I need to take a shit,” he announced.
“Get out,” I hissed to Etta. “Ray’s coming in.”
Etta disregarded my advice and detached part of the dash. “He can’t see me from the internal door, and he certainly won’t hear me. That old fart’s as deaf as a post.”
She was correct on both points, but I wasn’t entirely reassured. Especially as I felt the vibrations of Ray stomping inside. He stood there a minute. Had he forgotten what he was there for?
Etta yanked out the fuses, muttering something about being stuck with a worrywart, and replaced the panel. Ray stomped down the stairs and outside again. I breathed a sigh of relief, and Etta slid out and pressed the door shut.
Ray met Misti who was returning from the sugarcane and said something I couldn’t make out. Was he asking her to remind him what he was supposed to be doing?
“Are you sure?” she asked in her loud-talking-to-Ray voice. “Did you see anything? Maybe you’re hearing things.”
My neck prickled with foreboding. What had Ray said to her?
Norma and Ginger re-emerged and joined the couple. Ray spoke again, too quiet for me to overhear.
“Now, Ray,” Misti said in a voice of protest.
“Quit hollering at me, woman,” he hissed—not quite hollering back at her.
Ginger and Norma looked around the clearing. Searching for someone? For us? But Ray hadn’t seen us, and he certainly couldn’t have heard us.
He was facing down his wife, looking distinctly annoyed. Not an unusual expression on his face. “I’m wearing my damned hearing aid, all right? Because we’re supposed to be keeping quiet!”
Shit. My muscles froze in a moment of panic before I ducked below the hood. As I did, a flashlight beam swung over my eyes.
Had they seen me? The beam kept swinging, and there was no sudden shout, but with Ray wearing his freaking hearing aid, there was no need for them to shout.
An engine roared to life.
Not good. I risked a peek over the hood to see. It was Ginger and Gerrie’s—the one rig we’d yet to disable.
We’d been sprung.
By Ray, of all people.
Throwing stealth to the wind, I rushed to the driver’s door as Gerrie began to reverse and tried the handle. Locked. Etta had run over with me and tried the main entry door. Also locked.
“Push in his mirror,” she yelled at me. “Then come over here and give me a boost.”
“What?” I asked, but I was already moving too. I pushed in the side mirror so they couldn’t use it then ran back to Etta. It wasn’t hard. The Winnebago had yet to pick up much speed.
“Make a stirrup with your hands and give me a boost onto the roof,” Etta repeated, showing me what she meant. “I’ll get in through the hatch and take them out from the inside.”
“But—”
“Do it, girl. Unless you want them to get away.”
I clenched my hands together. She stuck her boot on them, launched herself up to grab the awning rail, and scrambled her way onto the roof. I watched in a mixture of terror and a
we.
If she fell from that height, she’d break bones.
Gerrie and Ginger’s motorhome cleared the other vehicles and began to veer left to turn around. Either they didn’t realize Etta was on the roof, or they figured they’d still be faster doing a three-point turn and driving off than reversing their monster home in the dark down the rough, winding track.
I could just make out Etta crawling over the roof toward the hatch. How was she planning on opening it?
Behind me, I heard Connor’s authoritative voice. “Forget about trying the same. Your vehicles are disabled, and I’ll tackle anyone who tries anything. Trust me”—his tone cooled further—“I won’t be gentle after the crap you’ve pulled on my girlfriend.”
I swiveled to check he had things under control. Kirk, Norma, Ray, and Misti were all in sight and eyeing him cautiously. I turned back to watch Etta. She was gone.
My stomach roiled. Gerrie and Ginger were only on the second point of the three-point turn they needed to make. Surely Etta hadn’t fallen off? It was so hard to see after being blinded by Winnie’s headlights. Was the hatch open?
Behind me, Misti tutted. “Why don’t the fools just flatten some sugarcane rather than doing that three-point turn?”
Kirk replied sourly. “Who cares? The disloyal bastards didn’t wait for us.”
Norma sighed. “I say good luck to them. We all know their bond to each other comes first.”
I kept my eyes pinned on the slowly moving Winnebago, not daring to breathe. It had completed the third part of its turn now and was gaining speed. Damn.
Where was Etta?
Would Gerrie and Ginger do anything to Mum?
The brake lights flashed, and the Winnebago lurched to a stop. Then began reversing toward us at a much faster clip than it had first left. Had Etta succeeded in wresting control of the vehicle? Or were Gerrie and Ginger more loyal than Kirk thought and about to run Connor and me down?
I was preparing to leap out of the way and shout at Connor to do the same when the brake lights flashed and the motorhome stopped altogether. Ginger and Gerrie climbed out of the cab. Etta hopped down after them, her gun drawn and eyes sparkling.
The Killer of Oz Page 17