by Diana Stone
Only moving my eyes, I see another head looking out from under the passenger seat. The triangular head of a viper. I didn’t know it was possible to feel more fear. I feel the skin on my calves prickle, expecting it to sink its fangs in me.
The snake slides toward me. He moves in that slithery, snake way. I can’t even pull my legs up. I can’t do anything, I have nowhere to go. It’s like I’ve been tied to a post by an evil man in a movie.
I lock my eyes on the snake slithering toward my feet. It’s moving toward the hump in the middle of the floor. There is nothing to stop it from coming the whole way. It is only inches away when, Jack’s hand reaches in and grabs it behind its head!
His muscular arm grips the viper in a death lock. It will be the death of Jack if he lets go. The snake opens his mouth, either in anger or in fear. His fangs are huge, his body is writhing and flipping around. Jack uses his free hand to support its heavy body. Then he steps away with it.
The firemen crowd around. Everyone is now looking at Jack and the snake. “That’s one hell of a rattlesnake!” a masculine voice declares. I see a fireman run up with a shovel and I look away.
“Good job man,” I can hear Jack being congratulated on his bravery with lots of manly back-slapping.
And I’m still sitting here with this snake under my dress.
He returns to my door. “If I didn’t believe you had a rattlesnake, I do now,” he looks jolted. He too has a flood of adrenaline in his veins.
If I weren’t so sick with fear, I would be in love with him. Perhaps later, if I live. I feel sick. But this isn’t over, I can’t fall apart.
They decide they need to roll up the window to hold in the heat. “Oh no! Don’t do that. I’ll be stuck here.” I need Jack at the window.
“There’s one option… that I get in the other seat,” he bravely volunteers.
“Don’t risk getting bitten!” That’s tremendously noble of him.
“I’m a rancher, I can take care of myself. When the snake comes out, I’ll deal with him,” he sounds just like a stoic stockman.
Hoping to encourage the snake to step outside, they shut down most of their emergency lights and diesel engines. “We don’t want him taking one look outside, then turning around and refusing our offer,” the captain says.
Jack bravely slips into the passenger seat and carefully pulls the door so it lightly clicks closed. He reaches forward and turns the heat on full. It’s blowing heat, directed down toward my thighs. Now we wait.
They leave enough light to provide a nice glow. Now it feels like it’s just the three of us on a country road. Just us.
“Thank you,” I tell him, as we sit in silence.
Within a couple of minutes, the windows are fogging. It’s getting hot in here… and the snake is starting to move.
It’s uncoiling and sliding down to the floor. I feel repulsed by the silky motion of the serpent moving across my leg. Every inch of my skin is prickling as it glides down. It feels like a soft goodbye caress from a dangerous man. Its tail is the last to cross my leg. The rattles feel bumpy, like beads dragging across my skin. Then it’s off me.
It cautiously moves toward the passenger floor mat.
They wrench open the driver’s door and a sturdy firefighter hauls me out. A second later, Jack pushes his door open and jumps out.
The snake pokes his head out the open passenger door, decides it’s a good place to be and slithers into the night.
They turn the emergency rigs back on. It’s like being on a movie set as it floods the whole area with light. The blue flashing lights from the police cars and the yellow strobes from the fire engines make this surreal. I’m exhausted. When Jack approaches, the fireman releases me from his secure hold. My legs buckle. They have pins and needles like they’ve been asleep. Both men grab for me at once. I’m enveloped in Jack’s arms and everything feels a little better. The fireman reaches out and gently touches my arm, then he moves a few paces away. He has relinquished me to Jack’s care. I’m mentally numb and physically exhausted.
A police sergeant wants to speak with me. “When you can talk, we need to find out how this went down,” he looks at the truck. “It’s unusual to have two rattlesnakes in your vehicle,” he says with a touch of irony.
Jack leads me to the police car where I’m deposited in the front passenger seat with a blanket wrapped around me. I slouch down and wrap my arms around myself. Everyone crowds around to hear the story.
Jack explains that we met for pizza in Buellton, and the truck was parked at the back of the lot. Then it’s time for my side, but I have little to say. I was driving, the snake came out of the backseat and slithered onto my lap. With all this attention, I wish I could make it more dramatic. But the drama has ended and I don’t have anything to describe, apart from my fear.
“Where did you park your truck today?” asks the sergeant.
“I was in Solvang all day, then we were at Figueroa Mountain Brewing on Industrial for an hour or so. I didn’t park in the hills.”
“If you can, I’d like to go back to your truck to look for anything unusual.”
Deep sigh. “Yeah, yes, I’ll just get up…”
Jack sees my flat expression and depleted body. “Come on sweetie, I’ll help you look, then get you home,” he helps me from the police car and props me up, as I stagger back to the truck.
18
Discovery
“There could be more,” the captain cautions.
Hell, a third one?
A brave fireman wearing the face piece from his breathing apparatus looks under the front seats. He thoroughly inspects the floor and other hiding places. He uses a long handled hook to remove my extra coats, market bring-your-own bags, baling twine for emergencies, a box of flares, water bottles, a canvas sack and umpteen boxes of granola bars for emergencies. All carefully examined by the fireman in a thick turnout coat and heavily gloved hands. There aren’t any more snakes.
Jack has been standing with his hands on me the whole time. At first, he had his arm around me for moral support. I immediately notice when he changes his touch. He starts caressing my shoulders and stroking my hair. It’s not sure it’s helping me keep calm, but it’s distracting, that’s for sure.
The sergeant looks into the truck for something of evidentiary value. The cab is completely empty. Everything is on the ground. I don’t see anything unusual as they return each item to the back seat. They’re neatly folding everything, that’s nice of them. “Granola bars, jacket, a rain slicker, bailing twine, market bags, white canvas bag…”
“Wait, that’s not mine.” I look at it with a questioning frown.
The sergeant turns the white bag over and finds a yellow sticky note with a hand-scribbled un-happy face taped to it. “You don’t recognize this?”
“No, I’ve never seen it before!”
Looking inside, he finds a bit of grass, and what looks like mouse droppings. “This could be how the snakes got in. This means it’s something other than just a natural encounter with wildlife.”
Jack looks furious. “This means it’s attempted murder.”
“Yes, it’s looking that way. I need to get this truck set up as a crime scene,” he gets on the radio and calls for a tow truck. “Jessica, I know you’re exhausted. We will photograph and print everything. It will take a few hours.”
“How about we come to the station in the morning. I’ll bring her in,” Jack states with finality.
“You know the whole story. Right now I barely know my name,” I slur a little.
“Okay, I’ll handle it from here. Take her home. They’ll let you know what time to come in,” the sergeant agrees.
19
Jacks house
Jack opens the passenger door and gently folds me into his luxurious car. The scent of leather and the way it hugs the road lulls me into a slumber. Best of all, the heat is on full blast. No words are spoken as he takes me to his house.
“Come on sweetie,” he helps
me up the steps to the front door.
He dims the lights making the room look warm and peaceful. It’s a house designed like his winery, it’s built to impress with an old-world aura. Wide open spaces and high wood beams enhance the room. Living here would be living the good life.
Leading me to the buttery-soft leather sofa, he carefully lowers me down into it. I sit here, numbly watching him select a chenille throw from the cabinet. He returns and tucks it around me.
“Would you like a cup of soup? My housekeeper made fresh chunky vegetable.”
“Thanks, I’d love one,” looking around, I see the attention to detail he put into building his showplace. Wood with touches of wrought iron makes it look solid and able to last for centuries. I hate to admit it even to myself, but I’d love to live a higher lifestyle than I do. Now I feel I’m like everyone else… wanting riches and luxury. It’s alluring.
While I’m having my soup, he pulls me out of my reverie with his wonderful sense of humor. He tells about his racehorses, the ranch and its history, and his cattle business. He has me smiling in no time. The way he is looking at me makes me feel happy.
“I didn’t know you had cattle too.” Not that I know much about him.
“Yeah, I went into free-range beef, but the drought made it too expensive. There wasn’t much grass on the range, there hasn’t been for several years. It forced me to haul in tons of hay. There’s plenty of land, but no summer grass. So I moved the cattle up north to free range, then sold them and made a small profit. In dry years it isn’t worth the effort. If we get rain, I may try it again.”
“Could you try goats?” I hope I don’t embarrass myself. “It’s not macho for a cattleman, but I’m sure they’d be easier to feed.” I pause, to evaluate, then continue. “They’re smaller and grow faster and leave less of an environmental footprint.”
He sits silently with a studious look, “You know, you’re pretty smart. That would probably work,” his eyebrows move up as he assimilates. “It’s a good idea, but you’re right, it isn’t cattleman friendly. I’ve grown up around cattle,” he nods his head. “I’ve heard of a few ranchers in Texas raising goats.”
“My next suggestion is to make cheese, but I know that’s going too far,” I laugh.
He gives a smile, “I like your ideas. You’re spontaneous and calm under fire. I don’t know anyone else who could sit with a snake as long as you did,” he smiles a beautiful, crinkly eyed smile.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m finishing my second bowl of 9-summer-vegetable soup accompanied by crusty Italian bread. Finally, I’m satisfied and I know the food is working magic in my body. I think highly of his housekeeper’s cooking skills and tell him so.
I think my adrenaline has finally run its course. Leaning back, I breathe a deep sigh of contentment. I glance over at him…
He gives me an intense look and his face loses its humor. His eyes bore into mine with passion.
“I’m starting a fire to warm you up. You’ll like the guest room,” he asserts.
He offers his hand and leads the way to the regally appointed room. I sit at the end of the bed that looks elegant enough for a Spanish lady. I’m watching him as he bends down and selects the right logs. He nudges them into place on the heavy grate. Then turns on the gas, quickly starting the logs crackling and bringing heat into the room. The moment he stands, I feel like I’m watching the beginning of something.
As he comes over his eyes have a look… A look that heats me as quickly as the fire. He sits next to me, then reaches up to stroke the hair back from my brow. “You were amazing tonight,” he leans in and presses his lips to mine with finesse and a hint of mastery.
I respond like a woman who has seen a man pull a rattlesnake from her feet. Like a woman hungry for a handsome, powerful man. I respond with every ounce of forgotten passion I possess.
My response flips a switch in him. A switch that every woman longs to flip, with the right man. This one is the right man. He has so much control and skill, so much experience in business, and life. This is the man I want, one of the few I would defer to.
What I feel is ground-breaking for me. It’s as though I’m a new person, a new woman. Jack has opened a new world for me. I want this to go on forever, together in this deep, delightful passion.
He leads me through the night with artistry and finesse.
I wake as the sky is brightening in the east and I am wrapped in his arms. I feel the peace that comes after a night of passion.
“Thank you for rescuing me.” I have a wealth of meaning in that statement. Rescuing me from my previous life, from the snake, and from things I can’t even remember.
“It’s been my pleasure,” he replies dreamily, then we both drift off, once again.
I’m feeling cozy and secure as I wake in the deep, soft bed. Daylight streams into the room. I look around and see Jack on the chair in the corner. He must have heard me groan. “You got up?” I ask.
“It’s nearly 7:30, I rise early. You needed your sleep,” he comes over to the bed and leans in to give me a sweet kiss. He draws back with a smile, “We need to be at the police station soon. You woke just in time.”
“I feel good and surprisingly well rested.” I feel great, actually.
“You were an unexpected delight last night,” he smiles at the memory.
“I’m glad. It feels like I’m waking up to a new world.”
“The detective texted me a few minutes ago. He would like meet with you. We’re tossing around the possibility that the snake has something to do with Pickett,” he touches my hand. “You called the police on him. He may have seen you driving around town, and taken revenge. I need to get hold of Mrs. Johansen and find out what’s going on,” seeing my look he explains. “She’ll talk to me, I’ve known her for years. She’s a sweet lady.”
“You tried to reach her before,” I remind him.
“If she isn’t home, I’ll leave her a message to call me.”
We continue discussing the situation, and I wonder aloud if is at all possible the snakes got in by themselves. “Is it possible we’re making this into something that it isn’t?”
“Snakes don’t climb into pickup trucks. Remember the canvas bag?” he points out.
I don’t have enemies. My ex-husband is somewhere down in L.A., with his new little wife. He doesn’t have that kind of animosity toward me, and no one has a life insurance policy on me. That leaves Pickett. I guess I do have an enemy.
His housekeeper leaves stacks of home-made dinners in the freezer. She also has containers of fresh cut fruit and several salads. The full refrigerator is fabulous. I’m intoxicated by the sight of real food. Mine was always empty, except for the basics. When I cooked, I would eat my leftover casserole for more than a week, and never had a variety of other meals.
“I have her make plenty of good food, so I can eat healthy when I’m home. You are what you eat,” Jack lectures me.
“I guess I’m protein shakes and sandwiches.” I’ve been thinking about getting avocados and creaming them onto a sliced bagel. Really tasty and they’re good for me. I need that to balance out my apple strudel taste test. There’s a fudge maker in Solvang, I’ll try that when I get a chance. I hear they have chocolate-orange flavor, I can’t pass that up.
He makes coffee for himself. I guess I’ll splurge and have a cup, it smells rich and well roasted.
“Would you like breakfast?” he inquires.
I hate to be more of a bother, so I decline. “I’m okay thanks.”
20
The Police Station
We drive to the station on Mission Drive in Solvang. The detective comes out to greet us and walks us back to his desk. The three of us have a lengthy discussion. They found evidence of Slim-Jim entry on my passenger door. There are little scrapes at the window I’m sure I didn’t put there. The canvas bag is being examined as are the duct tape and sticky note. He takes my fingerprints so they can eliminate them, and hopefully find the suspect’s.
“You should bring Pickett in for questioning,” Jack demands.
“I’ve been thinking about this. I wonder if he guessed it was me or if he has a friend who saw me following him,” I rub my hand across my eyes. “He could have seen my truck driving around. It’s big and rather obvious.”
“We’ll check the public video footage. I’ll see what I can pull up on a computer search. I’ll also speak with Vegas PD to see what M.O. he used there. But at this point, we don’t have a lot to go on. There isn’t clear evidence that points to him,” the detective points out.
Jack mentions a sting operation. Perhaps we can catch him at something. Otherwise, there may not be any evidence, just a lot of guess-work. He puts the idea out to entice the detective. I’d be willing to take part. I don’t know how to catch someone for fraud. I was a patrol officer, I only handled street crimes and crazy emergencies that required on-the-spot decision making.
I tell the detective my history with the suspect, beginning at Jack’s party, ending with the snake episode last night. He says he’ll get back to me with other questions. For now, I’m free to go.
I sign the paperwork so they can release the truck to me. Everything was photographed, and the fingerprint guys were all over it with their tape and print dust. Jack and I walk out to the back where it’s parked. I stop and stand in the sun for several minutes having flashbacks, feeling the thing on my leg.
Isn’t this great, I have PTSD from my truck.
“You’re looking squeamish. Would you like me to drive it back to your place?”
“Please!”
Once at home, Veronica hurries out to hear my story first hand. She and Marc have the ranch on alert and will get a few closed circuit monitors. That’s generous of them. I haven’t gotten as far as figuring out where I’ll sleep. My trailer feels unsafe, he could set a fire and block the door. All those thriller novels I’ve read are coming back to haunt me. I’m flooded with emotion about the danger and how I should respond. It’s just me and my gun. I feel unsafe at home. I actually am unsafe at home. On the department, after working P.M. watch, I’d drive home needlessly watching my rear-view mirror. Now I’m here in the wine country and the suspect knows where I live. He can attack at his convenience. We discuss these possibilities and Veronica says she will make the place a fortress with hi-tech devices until this has settled. She also insists that I sleep in their guest room. She is such a good friend!