Hiss and Make Up

by Leigh Landry

  Sierra leaned over and rolled her eyes. “Nice,” she said, not even trying to hide her sarcasm.

  After Liz put a bandage over it, she handed the guy his care instructions. “Run. Get out of here before you get sucked into this too.”

  He shook his head and kept one eye on Sierra as he left the room.

  Sierra pointed her thumb at the curtain. “I’m assuming he insisted on that positioning. Should we have told him it was upside down?”

  “I tried.” Liz snorted. “Tigers fan. Screw him.”

  “Nice. Did you get paid extra for navigating that leg acne?”

  “Let’s focus on one life crisis at a time.” Liz trashed the old needle and cleaned off her gun. Her black hair fell over her shoulders in shiny, dark waves, and her makeup was perfect as usual—dark red lips and thick, black mascara. She looked like a classic pin-up model, except for the olive green cargo pants and the heather gray T-shirt flashing a middle finger across the front. “What happened? Or should I not ask?”

  Sierra explained about the asshole and the server and how half a shaker of salt “fell” into his beer. Not once telling that story did she ever feel regret. Not for what she did to him. Only for the position she was putting them all in now.

  “But you do realize you lost your job without fixing anything, right? Who’s gonna stand up for those girls when the next creep sits at their table?”

  “It’s not my job to save anyone.”

  “And yet you got involved anyway.”

  “That wasn’t me saving her. That’s vengeance. He had it coming.”

  The room was silent for way too long while Liz reset her station. “Do I need to cancel Luna’s appointment next week?”

  “No!” Sierra shook her head. No way would she allow that.

  “Can you cover your half?” Liz asked. “The cats have all been vetted. I won’t take any new ones in for a while. And if I reschedule Luna’s next two sessions, I can cover half this month. ”

  “Absolutely not. I already owe you for last month.”

  “You can pay me back next month.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Sierra insisted. “She’s making progress already, right? I will not let my impulsivity be the reason she regresses or worse.”

  “Sierra, if you—”

  “No. I will figure this out. I just need to find another job.”

  “I’m guessing you already looked online.”

  “Yeah,” Sierra said. “Nothing.”

  Liz stood and stretched. “What are you going to do then? Hit the restaurants with your resume?”

  “I guess.” Sierra looked around at Luna’s drawings of black cats on the wall. All her favorite rescues over the years. Then she thought about that guy’s upside-down fleur-de-lis. “I could work here!”

  “Hey!” Liz said, feigning excitement. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Uh, no. Try again.”

  “No, really. I can do what New Guy does. You mostly write names and draw tiny flowers for drunk people at the front desk, right? It’ll be cool. Like doodling cute guys’ names in my notebook in high school.”

  Liz froze long enough to examine Sierra for any hint of sarcasm. “You know, if I didn’t know you before today, I’d find that seriously insulting. And so would New Guy.”

  “So…that’s a no?”

  Liz rolled her eyes and went back to prepping for her next customer. “Forget it. Find something else.”

  “But that’s the thing. I have nothing else. No one needs an impulsive almost-thirty-year-old with a biology degree and a sailor’s mouth.”

  Liz was quiet. Finally, she said, “Sorry, kid.”

  Kid. Liz was only two years older than Sierra, but it didn’t feel that way sometimes. During the long sessions for Sierra’s first skink tattoo, Liz and Sierra had relaxed into easy conversations. Over the years, as Liz filled in Sierra’s sleeve, they developed a real friendship. Sierra started bringing interesting things for Luna, and Liz began to feel like the big sister Sierra never had.

  “Fine.” Sierra stood up, grabbed her stool, and marched it into the middle of a small crowd in the entrance area. After hopping on the stool and balancing herself, she shouted, “I need a job! Does anyone have any work for me to do this week?”

  Liz wrapped a strong arm around Sierra’s waist and pulled her down. She dragged both Sierra and her makeshift stage back into her studio. She threw the curtain closed behind them and barked a one-word order: “Sit.”

  Sierra did as commanded. She tried to focus on something—anything—to calm herself and hold back her tears.

  As she opened her mouth to apologize, Liz waved her hand to push the apology away. “Why don’t you go home, take a nap, and think about things before you offer up your services to the rest of the world?”

  Sierra’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. Her heart fluttered when she saw the name, then it dropped to her stomach. “Can’t. Work. Sort of. I’ve gotta go to Breaux Bridge again.”

  “Since when is that in your job description?”

  “It isn’t.”

  “And you’re going above and beyond the call of duty because…”

  “Because an old friend asked me to, and he’s got potentially poisonous snakes at his sister’s house. A house with a gaggle of kids.”

  “An old friend?” Liz asked.

  “Yes. An old friend. That’s all.” An old friend who made her stomach do flips and who she was having lunch with tomorrow.

  But she didn’t have time to explain that to Liz now. Especially when she didn’t understand why she’d asked him in the first place.

  Liz leaned back in her chair and side-eyed her friend. “Look at you, rescuing people instead of creepy things. I like this new you.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Sierra grunted.

  Liz placed a hand on Sierra’s knee, then put on her mother-voice and said, “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure something out.”

  Sierra waved her phone. “I’d better get going. This sounds serious.” She hugged Liz. “Oh, almost forgot. I might need a number for a rescue group. We had a dog wandering around the park. Not sure if he left with a camper or not.”

  “If you catch him, I’ve got a couple of people we can call.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  Sierra left the room, closing the curtain behind her, and waved goodbye to New Guy at the front counter. Talking to Liz always had a calming effect on her, but this text erased all those good vibes.

  She texted back while waiting for the Forerunner to warm up. She told Marc she was on her way and, against her better judgment, saved his name in her contacts.

  4

  Sierra slipped her arms into the long-sleeved shirt she kept in the car. Denise met her halfway and pointed to the deck box against the side of the house.

  Marc stood a few feet away holding out his palm. “Ladies first.”

  She resisted the urge to snap back at him. Barely. They had enough problems already. “Hey, Denise.”

  “Sierra.”

  It was about as warm a welcome as she’d ever gotten from Denise. And considering the circumstances, it might as well have been a full-blown bear hug. Sierra wasn’t sure what she’d ever done to piss Denise off, but the woman seemed to hate her ever since they were kids. She always assumed it was just an overprotective sibling thing. Being an only child, Sierra had no idea how that worked.

  Sierra grabbed the lid with her right arm outstretched. She could take a quick peek and drop the lid if she had to before anything could escape.

  She took a deep breath, flipped the lid up, and peered over the edge. Inside she found the same contents as the day before: garden tools, a short length of a coiled hose, kickballs, a bunch of plastic toys ... plus about half a dozen snakes intertwined in the mess.

  After taking a quick mental picture, Sierra released the lid. She stared at the closed box and bit down on the inside of her cheek. From what she could see, they were all most likely a single non-venomous species. Her mind raced through a d
ozen possibilities, but none fit.

  “Do you have a big pillowcase I could use?” she asked Denise. Since she’d come straight from Some Pig, Sierra didn’t get a chance to grab a cardboard carrier from the station. She’d forgotten to get a new one to keep in her car after finding that injured opossum near the gas station last week. She still had a plastic carrier in her car, but the wire door wouldn’t keep one of these contained.

  Denise nodded and hurried into the house, letting the screen door slam behind her. Several yards away, Sierra spotted a decent sized stick near a water oak.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Marc asked, still frozen in his safe spot far from the action.

  “Getting a stick.”

  “Poking them to death sounds a little cruel, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not poking them to death, you dork. I’m going to get one of them out of there.”

  “Are you nuts?” His voice cracked.

  “How else do you expect me to identify it?”

  “I don’t know. Take a picture? Besides, you’re the expert. Don’t you know what they are?”

  “I don’t think they’re from around here. And no, I’m not an expert. But I know someone who is.”

  “Great, and does he also make house calls?”

  “No, but I can bring him one.”

  Sierra examined her stick—long enough to reach inside and strong enough to hold the weight of one snake. She couldn’t be sure how long these snakes were, not with all the junk in there, so she figured she’d better overestimate.

  As soon as she returned to the deck box, Denise walked out with a king-sized pillowcase. Sierra pointed to Marc, still plastered in place. “One of you has to hold it open.”

  She waited while they argued over who would perform the unpleasant task. Denise pulled the big sister and motherhood cards, so Marc lost.

  He took a few steps forward, closed his eyes, and held the pillowcase open in front of him. Carefully, Sierra nudged one of the snakes onto the end of the stick, then lifted it out of the box. She held the stick steady with one hand and dropped the lid shut with the other. The snake hung loosely over the end of the stick. Sierra maneuvered at several different angles, trying to tilt both the tail and head into the pillowcase with no success.

  “Hold still, will ya?” she said. “Unless you want me to miss and have this little guy wrap himself around your arm.”

  That worked.

  Marc snapped his head forward and stared at the pillowcase, holding the ends wide open and steady. Sierra smirked. She was much less annoyed with his squeamishness than she might have been a few years ago. Even less than yesterday. His concern for his family coupled with his fear of a few wiggly reptiles was almost endearing.

  Almost.

  She didn’t have time to contemplate how cute he was when he was afraid. Not while she was still holding a squirming snake on the end of a stick. Refocusing, Sierra tucked the little guy into the pillowcase and pinched the top shut. Then she spun the bag a couple of times and wrapped the end in a loose knot.

  “There.” She took the snake and its temporary home from Marc.

  He exhaled, and his whole body wobbled now that the stiffness of sheer terror had washed away. She bit her lip, fighting back a smile.

  Sierra turned to Denise and nodded at the snake-infested deck box. “Don’t worry about those guys. They can’t get out.”

  Denise flinched. “Then how did they get in there?”

  “They didn’t. At least not on their own.” Sierra had no idea how they got in there. But she was certain these snakes—who didn’t belong in this state much less in Denise’s backyard—didn’t lift that lid and slither in there on their own. “I’ll have someone out here to pick up the rest of them later today. Tomorrow at the latest. They’ll stay put until then. And it’s not sealed tight, so they have enough air for now.”

  “Who cares if they have air?” Denise shrieked, her strong, solid persona cracking at the seams. She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I don’t understand. How did they get in there?”

  “Were you guys here all morning?” Sierra asked.

  “No,” she stammered. “We were at the farmer’s market.”

  Marc nodded in acknowledgment. “They go every Saturday morning.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm?” Denise echoed, throwing her arms in the air. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” Marc put a hand on his sister’s arm. “Sierra’s trying to figure this out. Just like us. She’s trying to help.”

  Denise’s shoulders dropped at Marc’s touch, but she kept her eyes lasered on Sierra.

  “I can take another look around the property, if you want,” Sierra offered.

  After a quick nod of approval, Denise left to check on the kids, muttering about how the older ones probably had the little ones tied up in a closet by now. Once she disappeared inside, Sierra turned to Marc.

  “Something’s not right.”

  “Yeah, you’re holding a snake like it’s a sack of kittens. Can we put that somewhere?”

  Sierra looked at the pillowcase and decided not to inform him that a sack of kittens would be far more difficult to manage. More dangerous too. While Marc followed her to the car, she filled him in on her confusion. “These really don’t belong here.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I mean they don’t belong anywhere near here. I don’t think they’re native to this area.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Marc stopped walking a few feet from the car. “Wait, if they aren’t from this area, and you said they couldn’t get in the box on their own, what the hell is going on here?”

  Sierra shook her head and looked around the property and surrounding neighborhood. “I have no idea. Not yet anyway.”

  “What do you mean ‘not yet?’ I know that look. Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Just stop it. Whatever you’re thinking, Sierra Menard, stop thinking it.”

  She grinned. Crap. He was almost as cute when he was demanding and bossy as when he was scared.

  Still, she wasn’t about to let him tell her what to do. No one bossed her around. Ever. Or at least they didn’t get away with it.

  “I was just thinking,” she said, placing the pillowcase on the floor of the passenger’s side of her car. “I mean, I’m not getting paid for this little venture out here today. And it’s not like it’s our job to get those snakes out of there—animal control territory.”

  “Right. Thanks for coming out here, by the way.”

  She waved off his thanks. “I don’t need applause, I need cash.”

  He furrowed his brow and tilted his head like a confused puppy. “I can pay you.”

  He could. She could ask him to. But that was small potatoes. She was thinking bigger picture here. He had a big problem. Someone was clearly messing with his sister. She didn’t know why—yet—but it couldn’t be a coincidence. He needed someone to get to the bottom of this. Someone who could identify those snakes. Someone who could figure out where they came from. Someone who could maybe even figure out who put them there. Because the more she considered it, the more convinced she was that someone did this.

  The hard part would be convincing Marc that she had to be the one to figure it out. On his or Denise’s dime.

  “How about you buy me that lunch a little early? I’m starving.”

  “I already ate,” he said, checking his phone for the time. “But I have a few hours before I have to be at the stadium. UL game tonight.”

  “Right. Well then.” She rolled the window down and shut the door. “Let’s do a sweep of the property and we can drop this guy off at the Nature Station on our way.”

  “Sure.” Then, realizing his mistake, he said, “Wait, no. I hate that place. Gives me the creeps.”

  “Would you rather pull up a third chair for the snake at lunch?”

  She loved messing with him. Ju
st like old times. Old times with a little more heart-racing and butterflies.

  He shuddered and shook his head. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  Sierra held the pillowcase at her side and walked up the wooden stairs leading to the Nature Station. She leaned over the railing to spot Marc at the base, doodling in the dirt with the toe of his sneaker.

  “I thought you wanted to come with me,” she called down.

  “I’ll wait here,” he hollered. “Enjoying the fresh air.”

  “Chicken!”

  “Hurry up, if you want me to buy you lunch!”

  She grinned to herself. “Watch out for the copperheads. They’re looking for winter nesting spots, so they’re getting kind of tired and cranky.”

  It wasn’t a complete lie. They would be looking for nesting spots, just not yet. It was still too warm. Plus, all the foot traffic kept them off the trails and no one had ever been bitten in the park.

  Not that Marc needed to know any of that.

  She rested against the wall while Marc’s hastened footsteps clomped up the stairs. When he got to the upper deck, he glared at her, but with less annoyance than she expected. As if he knew she was messing with him but came up anyway. Something about knowing that made her head spin a little and her breath hitch in her chest.

  She hid her smile as she went through the door Marc held open for her. When she brushed against his arm, an unexpected heat wave tickled up her back. Weird, exciting, and totally unacceptable.

  They found Dale at his desk, his nose buried in journals, preparing for his latest column.

  “Well, this is unexpected. What are you doing here on your day off?” Dale asked. “You know I can’t give you extra hours with the budget cuts.”

  “We actually need a favor.”

  “We?” Dale leaned to see who was behind her.

  Marc stood with his back pressed against the door, still holding the handle, ready to bolt at any moment. The hesitation and awe on his face told the rest of the story. He stared wide-eyed at the wall-to-wall shelves, cabinets, and drawers filled with samples. His attention landed on the tanks with live specimens, and that hesitation and awe transformed into outright fear. She had dragged him right into his worst nightmare.