If She Should Die

by Carlene Thompson

  He glanced in a cage at a bright red-and-orange tree boa, a species highly sought after by hobbyists although generally known to be feisty and to dislike handling. “I’m expecting about ten babies from you this year,” Travis said. “You’re not going to let me down, are you?” The boa wrapped herself tighter around a branch, turning away her face. “Bitch,” Travis murmured, smiling.

  He moved on to a common king snake with white markings against black. The snake was plentiful in Appalachia and Travis knew too many people felt no immediate fear of it, not realizing that an untamed one is likely to coil calmly around an arm, then grab and chew with vicious gusto. Travis bore the scars on his right arm to prove the snake’s unpleasant trait. This snake was large and torpid, one of his first acquisitions in spite of their less than friendly introduction. Her mate was kept in a separate cage because of the king snake’s tendency toward cannibalism.

  Travis’s tan-and-rust-colored pine snake lay almost invisible in a mass of leaves. He’d found this one in Kentucky and valued it because, of a species known for its belligerence, this was the most aggressive one he’d ever captured. The next cage contained a predominantly gold heavy-bodied ball python. Because of its coloration, this beauty had cost him over $3,000. The species was known to have a life span of twenty to forty-seven years. “You’ll probably outlive me, buddy,” he said to the oblivious snake.

  But the snakes holding the greatest fascination for Travis were the vipers, maybe because they were generally the deadliest. Their venom is most dangerous to people because vipers target warm-blooded prey—prey with physiology most like humans. One of Travis’s favorites was the large Gaboon viper with its markings of purple and pink. The species had the longest fangs of any venomous snake. He’d carefully measured this one’s at one and a half inches each. It also had the intriguing habit of lying still when angered, then inflating and cutting loose with a hissing noise so loud some experts compared it to the sound of a car tire deflating.

  His western diamondback rattlesnake seemed to glare at him as he rattled ominously. “Bad mood today, Hugh?” Bethany would be incensed if she knew he’d named the bad-tempered, dangerously venomous snake after her father. Travis moved on to the death adder with its triangular head, the black tiger snake with its large body and tendency to spread its neck when alarmed, the desert horned viper that when annoyed rubbed its scales together to make a loud, rasping sound—

  A sharp rap at the steel door made Travis jump and reminded him he’d stayed too long with the snakes. He hurried the length of the snake house, unlocked the steel door, and opened it to face a narrow-eyed Bethany. “It’s time to leave. Past time.”

  “Sorry, honey. Hey, why don’t you step in and look at the green python? It’s beautiful. The color looks especially good today. Maybe it’s the light—”

  “I do not find any snake, no matter how good its color, beautiful. And we’re late. Jan has already missed the first fifteen minutes of preschool.”

  “Oh no,” Travis said dramatically. “I wonder how far behind she’s fallen in her education? Damn, I hope she can still make it into a good university.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic, Travis. Preschool isn’t the nonsense you think.”

  “All I know is that I got a Ph.D. without one single day of preschool. Or kindergarten, for that matter.”

  “I am not having this discussion again,” Bethany announced, glaring. “Lock up your house of horrors and let’s get going before we’re even later than we are now.”

  In the car Bethany strapped Jan into the backseat so tightly Travis expected the child to turn blue, then asked if he wanted to drive. Travis declined, although his wife’s cautious, creeping, nervous driving style set him wild. Nevertheless, Bethany loved to drive and he hoped concentrating on navigating the car might take the edge off her anger at his tardiness.

  They crawled out of the driveway, Bethany peering repeatedly in the rearview and side mirrors and sticking her head out the open window searching for impediments. At last they cleared the driveway and started out at a rip-roaring forty-five miles an hour on open highway.

  “So how is Christine?” Travis asked, determined to be sociable, although he could tell Bethany was still sizzling with anger.

  “She’s not good. Something else happened this morning—” She glanced back at Jan. “I’ll tell you about it later, but I’m worried about her. I hope she and Jeremy will be able to come to Jan’s birthday party next week.”

  “Oh yes, let’s do hope,” Travis said dryly.

  Bethany turned to him. “What’s with the tone? I thought you liked Christine.”

  “I like Christine just fine. It’s her brother who bothers me.”

  “Why? He’s sweet and gentle—”

  “You barely know him, Beth. His kind is unpredictable. I don’t like having a big retarded guy around all those little girls.”

  “Travis!” Bethany gasped.

  “I love Jeremy,” Jan protested loudly. “He’s fun like a kid.”

  “Like an enormous kid. I don’t want him at the party.”

  “I want him to come, Daddy,” Jan said truculently. “It’s my birthday party and it won’t be fun without him!”

  “And uninviting him would hurt his feelings and insult Christine,” Bethany added in an affronted voice. “I can’t believe you would even suggest such a rude thing!”

  “Jeez, what an uproar,” Travis muttered. “I think that cold is really getting to you, Beth.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That you’re ridiculously short-tempered.”

  “I’m short-tempered because we’re late!”

  “Then drive faster. Everyone is passing us.”

  Silent with fury, Bethany pushed on the accelerator and they sped up five miles an hour. We’re flying now, Travis thought as he gritted his teeth. To take his mind off her maddening driving, he flipped down the sun visor and looked at himself in the mirror on the back. His light brown hair showed a few new gray hairs at the temples. It also seemed his hairline might be receding slightly, a disaster as far as he was concerned. He vowed to buy Rogaine this very afternoon. And some of that subtle dye that gradually darkened the hair. His cheeks also looked a bit pale, maybe even sunken, and his green eyes faintly bloodshot. He hadn’t slept well last night.

  “You look fine,” Bethany said, “although you nicked yourself shaving. There’s a little bloody spot on the left side of your chin and one on your throat.”

  “I hate shaving.” Travis licked a finger and rubbed at the dried blood. “Maybe I’ll grow a beard.”

  “Don’t you dare. I hate beards. They make men look older.” She turned and gave him a hard look. “If you cover up that handsome face with a graying beard, you might not be as attractive to the nineteen-year-olds you favor.”

  Travis sighed. “I’m not interested in nineteen-year-olds.”

  “I was nineteen when you started seeing me.” Travis flipped up the visor as Bethany braked sharply for a large brown leaf she’d apparently mistaken for a squirrel. The leaf having safely blown to the other side of the road, she accelerated with a lurch. “Dara Prince was nineteen, wasn’t she?”

  “I have no idea how old Dara Prince was,” Travis said tightly.

  “Who’s Dara Prince?” Jan piped up from the back. “Is she a princess?”

  “No, mademoiselle,” Travis said. “She was just a student in my class, and a poor one at that.”

  “You had no interest in Dara Prince?” his wife persisted.

  “No, Bethany, I did not.”

  “Oh really?” She looked over at him with one of her dangerously sweet smiles. “Then why did you say her name twice in your sleep last night?”

  CHAPTER 11

  1

  After the discovery of the rat, Christine thought they would have to slap Bethany to stop her screaming. “For God’s sake, Beth, it’s only a rat!” Tess had shouted above the noise.

  “A big rat. Dead. In the refrigerator!�
�

  “Yeah. Dead. It’s not going to hurt anyone. It just looks gross and it stinks.”

  “I’m going to throw up,” Bethany announced.

  Christine had suddenly felt calm, almost amused by the uproar caused by a simple rat, repulsive though it was. “Beth, Tess, I think you both need to go home,” she said. “Then I’m going to call the police.”

  “You want us to leave you here with that?” Bethany had asked in horror, pointing at the rat.

  “I don’t think I’m in any danger. You have to drive Jan and Travis to school. Tess, you’ve been up for hours and you look exhausted. The police might not arrive for an hour or two. I’m going to take a shower and try not to sound like a hysteric when the cops come. I want you two to go about your day and let me take care of myself. I’m not an invalid or a child.”

  “But you’ve been through so much—” Bethany protested.

  “When Chris says she wants to be alone, she wants to be alone,” Tess said gently. “She’s the most stubborn woman alive and there’s no use arguing with her. But before we leave, we’re searching this house. After all, that rat didn’t get in here by itself.”

  “You think there are more rats?” Bethany asked fearfully.

  Christine noticed Tess’s attempt to control laughter. “No, I don’t think this one was brought by his friends. I think the person who brought it might still be hiding in here.”

  “Oh, good heavens, how stupid of me!” Bethany had exclaimed. “I’m not usually this dim-witted, Chris. I’m just—”

  “Jumpy. So am I,” Christine said. “But I think Tess’s idea is a good one.”

  The three of them toured the whole house, where they found not even a window unlocked. “Then how did someone get in to leave the rat?” Tess had asked.

  “I don’t know, but the police are better at discovering points of entry than we are,” Christine said. “At least we know no one is here now. So you two scram.”

  After they’d left, Christine ran upstairs and turned on the shower. While she stripped off her running shoes and jeans, Rhiannon appeared.

  “At last!” Christine exclaimed. “I thought you’d run back to the Prince house to live with Pom-Pom.” The cat stared at her with big golden eyes, then weaved around her legs, rubbing silken fur against the skin. “And how could you let someone get into our house with a rat? Oh, because the rat was almost as big as you, you decided not to defend your turf?”

  Actually, Christine was vastly relieved to see the cat, whom she’d been afraid had run away in fear or perhaps even been killed and buried by whoever had invaded this house. She hadn’t expressed her fears to Tess and Bethany. Bethany probably would have cried, and Tess would have called endlessly for the cat in her loud, rough voice that would send Rhiannon into hiding for the rest of the day.

  While Rhiannon sat loyally by the glass door, Christine spent twice as long as usual in the shower. The hot water eased some of the soreness from her arm muscles that had rigidly held the weights so long yesterday, and a bar of glycerin soap softened her dry skin that bore bruises on her thighs from her attacker’s grinding hipbones. The memory made her shiver.

  She shampooed her hair twice, rubbing easily over the stitches in her scalp, wondering if she should let her hair grow long. But her short style was so easy to maintain—a little gel, a little blow-drying over a circular brush, and she was done. Five minutes, tops. She had a great complexion, as Tess often commented, and wore only powder, lip gloss, and mascara. She never bothered with jewelry except for a watch. She spent all day handling and showing the stuff. Her only beauty obsession was her nails. Well-manicured nails were a must for modeling rings and bracelets to best effect for customers, and she often felt like she spent an inordinate amount of time applying nail polish.

  When she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a cozy fleece robe, Rhiannon sat calmly on the bed having her own bath. “Getting ready for company?” Christine asked. “You’ve always been vain. But then, I guess I am, too.”

  She wasn’t really concerned with her appearance other than being clean, though. She had taken her time showering because she needed time to regroup, to collect her thoughts, to literally catch her breath before calling the police. She needed not only to calmly discuss finding the rat but also to report the phone call she’d received at the hospital last night.

  The shower had calmed her. Breathing was not such an effort now, and she certainly felt more presentable. She slipped on black corduroy jeans and paired them with a copper-colored sweater to give her face more color. She still looked pale, so she added blush on both cheeks and a touch of peach shadow on her eyelids. That was much better, she thought as she looked in the mirror, although the bruise on her temple still showed a glorious blue-purple. “Cheer up,” she told her reflection wryly. “In two days the bruise will be an attractive greenish yellow.” She slid her feet into black suede loafers, then went downstairs.

  Before she called the police, she brewed a pot of coffee and sat down to rest for what seemed like the first time in hours. Had it been only two days ago she’d been working at the store, slightly bored because business was so slow? That was before the body had been washed ashore by the flood, before she was attacked, before the anonymous call to her hospital room, before the rat left in her refrigerator. Really, couldn’t whoever was in charge of life give her a break for a while? Maybe just one afternoon, enough time for her head to stop throbbing? Which reminded her, because she’d left the hospital before the doctor signed her release papers, she hadn’t gotten a prescription for pain medication. That would teach her to break the rules.

  When the coffee was ready, Christine took three bracing sips, then called police headquarters and asked to speak directly to Deputy Winter. Another deputy had wanted to give her the runaround, but she could be forceful when the occasion required, although she didn’t think of herself as an aggressive person. “Well, all right,” the deputy said in annoyance, “but you just about missed him. Winter, got some woman here on the phone hell-bent on talkin’ only to you. Must be sweet on you.”

  “Deputy Winter here,” he said in a moment.

  “This is Christine Ireland and I wanted to talk to you in particular because you’re already familiar with our situation,” she explained, embarrassed by the other deputy’s accusation. “When I got home from the hospital today, I found a dead rat in my refrigerator.”

  “A what?”

  “A rat. Not a mouse. A really big river rat. Dead, thank goodness.”

  “Nice welcome home gift. Did you throw it out?”

  “No. I didn’t think I should tamper with a crime scene.” How stupid and melodramatic that sounded, she thought. “I mean, I don’t think this was a joke. It must be some kind of crime to do this to someone.”

  “It is. How about I come over and take a look?”

  “I would certainly appreciate it.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  Ten minutes later Christine saw the silver Crown Victoria with the six-pointed gold star painted on the side pull into her driveway. That would make it two days in a row, because he’d been here yesterday looking for the diary. Christine opened the front door and tried for a light tone. “So nice to see you again, Deputy.”

  He seemed to take his cue from her. He smiled and removed his hat. “And meeting again under such pleasant circumstances is all the nicer. I trust you have a snack for me in the refrigerator.”

  “I guarantee that no hostess has served you one like it.”

  Christine didn’t know why she felt relieved as soon as she saw him. She had no answers as to who had attacked her, called her, or violated her home, but the edge of terror that had been vibrating under her skin for hours seemed to dull a bit as soon as Michael Winter stepped into her home.

  She caught a glimpse of the door across the street opening a crack so the elderly Mrs. Flint could catch as much of the conversation as possible. She probably had her hearing aid turned up as high as it wo
uld go, Christine thought, but she still raised her voice: “I’ve made coffee. A gourmet blend.”

  “Nothing like gourmet coffee and a river rat to get the circulation going in the morning.” The deputy turned his head and called, “Don’t you agree, ma’am?”

  The door across the street slammed.

  “How did you know she was there?” Christine asked.

  “Eyes in the back of my head. Comes with the profession. She’ll now move to the front windows and peek through a crack in the curtains.”

  Christine looked. The curtains parted an inch. She began laughing. “I think you have ESP, Deputy Winter.”

  “No. Just experience.” He stood directly opposite her. At five-ten, Christine looked most men in the eyes. She had to look up about three inches into Michael Winter’s mahogany gaze. “I can smell the coffee from here,” he said.

  “Better the coffee than the rat. He’s shut up tight in the hydrator drawer of the refrigerator.”

  “I’ll take a look at him first. Then maybe you’ll offer me a cup of coffee.”

  Rhiannon was stationed at the top of the stairs. She peered at the stranger curiously but made no move to run for the bedroom. “That’s Rhiannon. She was Dara’s cat,” Christine said as she saw Winter glance at the animal. “She and Patricia’s dog, Pom-Pom, didn’t get along, so I took her when I moved out of Ames’s house.”

  “Was Dara really attached to the cat?”

  “Extremely.”

  “And yet Dara’s father believes she ran off and left the pet she loved.”

  “He’s come up with several explanations for her abandoning the cat. He’s stumped when I ask why Dara never even mentions Rhiannon in her letters.”