Belinda Blake and the Snake in the Grass

by Heather Day Gilbert

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “I’m just thankful I don’t have to worry about Rasputin,” he said. “You’re a godsend, Belinda. At least he doesn’t have to be in the middle of this mess again. I can’t even begin to tell you how these kids have treated him in the past.”

  I could imagine. “Okay, well, that was all I needed to ask. I’ll give him another rat soon, then.”

  Reginald’s voice softened—a bit too much. “I hope you know you’re one of a kind, Belinda. Most girls wouldn’t even touch a ball python.” He sounded like an awestruck teenager.

  “Oh, I’m sure there are lots of snake-loving girls out there, Reginald. I hope you have a great Thanksgiving and I’ll see you Sunday at your place.”

  I hung up before he had a chance to respond. Katrina had warned me that some of my employers might get a little enamored with me. I had ignored her warnings, figuring I wouldn’t be spending as much time with my employers as I did with their pets. But I was starting to see what Katrina was getting at. It wasn’t just that I was a single woman, it was that I was willing to handle creatures most people wouldn’t. It upped the danger factor, like being a Harley driver. Gave me a little edge that might be attractive to some men.

  I went to the freezer and took out a rat, then dunked its plastic package in a bowl of warm water. Although I’d only planned to feed Rasputin in his own home, I was glad I’d had the foresight to bring an extra rat here, just in case. If I fed the snake in the morning, he’d probably spend our entire car trip digesting his meal. Luckily the process wasn’t really loud, like the human digestion system.

  After thoroughly washing my hands, I broke off half an almond croissant and sat down to play my new video game. I needed some time to reset my focus. I was leaving Connecticut and heading home tomorrow, for goodness’ sakes. I would be surrounded by my loving family and I’d be far away from the unease I’d felt over Margo’s death.

  I hoped.

  * * * *

  I woke to a blinding carpet of snow outside. Dad had all-weather tires on his car, but I gave my parents a call anyway. When Mom answered, I told her the snow was falling heavily in Greenwich.

  “Oh, honey, your father will be just fine. You know he’s driven through blizzards up here, tending to sick animals. But I’ll let him know it’s snowing there, too.”

  After feeding Rasputin his rat, I finally located my winter clothes box and pulled out several turtleneck sweaters for New York. I also found my adorable orange tiger hat and its matching gloves. I had picked those up in Hong Kong, and I’d never regretted that totally random purchase. They reflected the whimsical side of me, plus I could wear them during hunting season so I wouldn’t get shot if I had to walk out on my parents’ property.

  Dad arrived promptly at eleven. As he stepped out of the car, I felt a swell of pride. Tall, trim, and dapper, with prematurely white hair, my dad actually looked like he belonged in a place like Greenwich. I burst through the door, plowing through the snow to hug him.

  “Belinda!” He returned my hug, patting my curls. “Didn’t know you missed me so much,” he laughed.

  I hadn’t known either, until that very moment. My words formed clouds in the frosty air. “Come on inside where it’s warm! Want a cup of coffee?”

  “I wouldn’t turn one down,” he said. “You all packed?”

  “Yes. And the snake is, too.”

  Once inside, Dad kicked off his shoes and began to check over the plumbing, lighting, and weatherproofing of the carriage house. Finally satisfied, he settled down with his cup of java. “You did a good job picking this one. They must be attentive landlords, since everything’s up to date.”

  I grinned. “Would you expect anything less than the best for me?”

  He sipped at his coffee. “Well, I seem to remember this one particularly atrocious lean-to you lived in right out of college...that house was so small and had such thin walls, the big bad wolf could’ve blown it down.”

  “Very funny. I guess I’ve moved up in the world now.”

  He nodded. “Fancy area. Couldn’t believe some of the car dealerships I passed in town.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the manor house. “They’re quite wealthy, I take it?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Mom said they had a son about your age?”

  I nodded.

  Dad thankfully didn’t pursue that train of thought. He knew me well. Instead, he walked over to Rasputin’s cage and peered in. “Just feed him?” he asked.

  Of course, being a longtime veterinarian, Dad had immediately noticed the huge lump partway down the ball python. It was always fun to see Dad’s skills in action.

  “Sure did,” I said.

  “What say we take this boy on an extended field trip to Larches Corner? We’d better get going. It was snowing there when I left, but they weren’t calling for more than four inches.”

  I grabbed my suitcase. “Nothing could please me more,” I said.

  Chapter 16

  We were nearly home when my cell phone rang. I figured it was Detective Watson since “Greenwich Police Department” popped up on the caller ID.

  “Thank you for dropping off the pregnancy test and the church program,” the detective said. “I’m surprised my people didn’t find those when they went over Margo’s room. Then again, Mrs. Fenton was distraught, so they were searching as quickly as possible.”

  “They were kind of hidden,” I said. I didn’t see any reason to mention Frannie’s tip about the secret drawer.

  “Could you explain why you felt Father Jesse Woods might be involved?”

  “He’s the priest at the church the bulletin came from, and on top of that, Mrs. Fenton mentioned that Margo had been seeing him for counseling or something.”

  I kept it vague, since she hadn’t specifically shared that information with me. Dad shot me a questioning look as he turned the car into our driveway, skidding a bit on the layer of snow that hadn’t been plowed yet. Dad maneuvered the car’s tires into the grooves he’d cut earlier, then slowly drove toward the house.

  Detective Watson gave a light whistle. “You don’t say. Mrs. Fenton didn’t mention that to us.”

  “Like you said, she’s been really distraught. I doubt she was hiding that from you. But Father Woods seemed like someone you should look into, given the personal nature of the note on the bulletin.”

  “I’ll look into it. And as for the pregnancy test, they’re telling me they can’t pull a father’s DNA from it.”

  “So what’s that mean?” I asked, placing a finger on my lips to shush my mom, who’d run up to my window, excitement shining in her eyes.

  “Probably means we’ll ask for an exhumation. But not until after Thanksgiving weekend. Too many people out of the office, not to mention it would be an awful thing to do to the Fentons during the holiday.”

  I pictured what an exhumation would do to Ava. “I agree,” I said.

  “Thanks for your help, Belinda. Have a nice Thanksgiving.”

  “Thanks, and same to you.”

  I hung up, glancing around. Dad had already jumped out and started unpacking my things. I turned to open my door for Mom, who was still standing out in the cold, rubbing her hand-knit gloves together.

  I got out quickly, and Mom took a long look at me—the compulsory mom inspection to make sure her daughter was healthy and happy—then pulled me into a crumpling hug. Her familiar fruity scent surrounded me and her blonde curls danced around my face.

  “You’re okay,” she said. “Did they ever find out who killed that girl?”

  I hated to be the bearer of bad tidings, especially since I knew Mom would worry. “They haven’t yet. But there’s a really nice detective on the case.”

  I realized too late that it had been the wrong thing to say. Sure enough, Mom gave a little gasp.

  �
�You’ve been talking with a detective? Are you a suspect?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t think so. They haven’t pulled me in for more questions or anything, just my witness report when I found her.”

  Mom kicked her heavy barn boot into a snow bank. “I don’t know about you staying in that house, Belinda...”

  “It’s fine. I’m not worried,” I lied.

  Dad bustled back out. “Come on in, ladies. It’s too cold to talk out here. Belinda, could I carry that snake cage inside for you?”

  “Sure, Dad, just be sure to use both hands on that handle.” I grabbed Mom’s arm and rubbed it as I surveyed our white farmhouse with its Christmassy wreaths and dark green door. The coziness of home beckoned me like a siren. “Let’s get some coffee and I’ll show you the snake.”

  Most other moms would’ve cringed or declined my offer. My mom was not most moms.

  “I can’t wait,” she said.

  * * * *

  Despite her initial enthusiasm, Mom tired quickly of our snake talk, since Rasputin was lethargic and boring today. After serving me a cup of organic coffee and a sugar-free scone that crumbled apart like sand in my mouth, Mom took me outside for a tour of her latest homesteading endeavors.

  She’d built a chicken tractor in the summer, so her chickens could have a more portable home. It was rather impressive and I told her so.

  “It’s nothing compared to my turkey roost. I built that thing in a day! Imagine.”

  “Turkeys? I didn’t know you were raising those.”

  “I sure am. And I’ve picked the one we’ll be having for dinner on Thursday. She’s plump as plump can be.”

  “Mom, do you know how to kill turkeys? I mean, they’re bigger than chickens.”

  “I’ve read up on it. Your father will help if I need him.”

  How many times had I heard those words? I could just picture my dad’s joy at having to kill his own Thanksgiving meal.

  “Maybe I could help.” I threw myself under the bus to save Dad.

  She looked delighted, as if this would be mother-daughter time of the highest caliber. “Sounds like a plan.”

  A dark Lexus pulled up and it took me a moment to realize it was Katrina’s new car. I rushed over to meet her, Mom close on my heels.

  Katrina opened the door and stepped out from the driver’s seat, because my sister was always the driver. She said it helped her unwind.

  As usual, she looked like a modern-day Scarlett O’Hara. Katrina was the kind of girl who made men look twice, then steal a few more looks. There was substance to her beauty, something elegant and high-class. Her dark curls were twisted into a high bun and she wore pearl stud earrings.

  I looked closer. Was it just me, or did she look unusually radiant? Her cheeks seemed a bit rosier and fuller. And her dark jeans...they definitely fit a little tighter than usual.

  “Are you pregnant?” I blurted.

  Mom gasped and Tyler stepped around and gave me a high five. Katrina shot Tyler a glare. “See? What’d I tell you? So much for our grand Thanksgiving announcement.”

  Mom gave a whoop and we rushed to hug Katrina.

  “It’s true?” I whispered.

  Katrina grinned. “I’m not that far along, but I knew you’d notice.”

  Mom launched into a spiel on natural birthing techniques, as if Tyler wasn’t an obstetrician who could probably recite these methods in his sleep. He pretended not to hear, pulling suitcases from the trunk.

  I already felt like a proud aunt. Whether the child got Katrina’s dark hair or Tyler’s red-blond hair, it would certainly be the most perfect baby ever.

  As I looked at my happy, glowing sister, I felt a pang of loss. I didn’t know if Margo would have kept her baby or not, but the very fact that she’d kept the pregnancy test seemed to indicate she viewed her pregnancy as a special thing. She died without having the chance to share her excitement with her family. To kill a woman and her unborn child took an especially heinous type of murderer.

  We made our way inside, so Katrina could share the good news with Dad. As the gushing continued in the kitchen, Tyler joined me by the bay window. We didn’t look at each other, just out at the sweeping white yard that contrasted with the leafless, umber trees lining the driveway. Tyler and I were often on the same wavelength, and today was no different.

  “You’re upset about something, aren’t you?” His voice always held a deep, musical note.

  “Yes.” Snowflakes drifted from the dove gray sky. Everything suddenly felt dark and overcast in my own soul. For a moment, I was tempted to tell Tyler everything. All my doubts about Greenwich, all my suspicions about Father Jesse...but Tyler wouldn’t know how to make me feel better. Katrina would. And she would have a plan of action, which was what I desperately needed.

  We fell back into silence until the voices died in the kitchen. Katrina made her way to my side and gave me a squeeze.

  “It’s girl time,” she said. “Let’s go to our room. Dad’s got a house call and Mom’s heading to town for some last-minute stuff.”

  Tyler took this as the unspoken dismissal it was and meandered into the TV room. I patted my sister’s hand and we walked upstairs to the room we’d shared when we were small. Since that time, Dad and Mom had built an addition on the house, so our bedroom now functioned as a guest room and home office.

  Katrina talked a while about the woes of pregnancy, but I could tell she was ecstatic and simply trying to play it down for me. She’d always been convinced I was jealous of her, and in some ways I supposed I was. Katrina had always gotten the highest grades, been the most popular, and attracted the most attention from men. And she’d landed a loving, supportive husband. But I was truly happy for her, and I knew I wasn’t ready to settle into marriage yet, much less start birthing babies.

  Finally, we wound our way back to the subject of Margo’s death. I brought her up to date on my latest discoveries. I was interested to get her thoughts on the suspects we’d talked to, since she was usually spot-on about reading personality quirks, even from afar.

  “Hmm,” she said, placing a hand protectively over her still-tiny stomach. “That Frannie sounds like a real corker. Fiery, unpredictable...and maybe jealous? But she did tip you off with that secret drawer information. Have you followed up and told her what you found?”

  “No, I need to do that. Maybe I’ll call her tonight. What about Dietrich? Does he sound likely?”

  Katrina looked out the window as she thought. Mom and Dad had never replaced the original windows in this room, so ice trickles had formed inside the glass panes.

  Finally, she answered. “Dietrich is a bit of a strange one, isn’t he? Obsessive, sure. But obsessed to the point of killing the object of his desire? I wonder. Maybe he just channels all his angst into those freaky paintings.”

  I sighed. “Kat, I’ve already thought of this stuff. I need some new insight, you know? I feel like I’m swimming in circles. What about my anonymous note? Should we start there?”

  “Sure, we could. Who do you think sent it? My initial hunch is Val, since he’s always nearby.”

  Her hunch lined up with my thoughts. “I wondered about Val, too,” I said. “But wouldn’t he have admitted sending the note when Stone caught him in my back yard? Also, what reason would he have to kill Margo? He thought he was on the brink of a date with her!”

  “So he says,” Katrina said. “But he could be lying. Maybe she turned him down cold and he grabbed her on her way out.”

  I shifted on the bed and tucked my cold feet under a weathered quilt. “How about this. Let’s talk about Margo and what she was like. For starters, she seems to have had a bit of a gypsy-wanderer soul, because she decorated with eclectic things from other countries. She was approachable and had a sense of humor, Stone said. Frannie said she was high-class and liked wealth, and I can tell she lived large fro
m her overstuffed closet. But whoever she was seeing was somehow unacceptable, so she had to keep her relationship secret.”

  The front door slammed shut and Mom shouted, “Girls! I need some help down here.”

  “Flashback to my childhood,” Katrina said.

  “Unloading the groceries will always be our job,” I said, extending a hand to help Katrina up. “Let’s do our daughterly duty, then we’ll continue this conversation later on.”

  “Sounds good.” Katrina stopped short behind me and I turned. Her face was paler than usual and she gripped my hand. “BB, you’ve been asking a lot of questions, and the person who killed Margo probably knows you’re looking into things. I’m thankful you’re here for a few days, but when you go back, promise me you’ll be extra careful?”

  I gave her a hug. “I promise.”

  But I was pretty sure I’d already poked the sleeping tiger, and if I didn’t watch out, it would be coming for me next.

  Chapter 17

  Wednesday was official turkey-killing day. We all knew it and we all dreaded it—even my mom, given her nonverbal cues. But she was determined to be a homesteader through and through, so by Jove, she was going to finish what she’d started when she’d picked up those baby turkeys (or “poults,” as she called them), earlier this year.

  Somehow, everyone else was too busy to help—Katrina was working on her yeast rolls for tomorrow, Dad took off for the clinic to check on a sickly cat, and Tyler...I wasn’t sure what Tyler was doing that precluded his involvement in the turkey killing, but I suspected it had something to do with watching a ballgame on cable.

  The process was not a pretty one, but not nearly as inhumane as what I’d pictured. Although Mom and I both nearly froze our fingers off messing with the bird in the twenty-six degree weather, we managed to wrangle the huge carcass into the laundry room sink for plucking and gutting.