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I heard the door to my bedroom slam shut.
“Stay here and watch the door,” Carl told Big Dog. “Make sure they don't come out.”
Carl stormed into my kitchen and started going through my cupboards. He found a half-empty bottle of gin and drank two fingers from the bottle.
“Jesus,” he said, capping the bottle, returning it to the cupboard shelf.
“I thought you weren't supposed to drink on duty.”
“Yeah, except when you find snakes in closets. I'm calling Animal Control.”
I was still on the counter when two Animal Control guys arrived. Carl and Big Dog were in my living room, guns drawn, eyes trained on my bedroom door.
“They're in the bedroom,” Carl told the Animal Control officers. “Two of them.”
Joe Morelli showed up a couple minutes later. Morelli wears his hair short but always needs a cut. Today was no exception. His dark hair curled over his ears and his collar and fell onto his forehead. His eyes were melted-chocolate brown. He wore jeans and running shoes and a gray-green thermal Henley. Under the shirt his body was hard and perfect. Fortunately, at this particular moment, under the jeans he was just perfect. Although I'd seen that part of him hard, and it was pretty damn fantastic. His gun and his badge were also under the Henley.
Morelli grinned when he saw me on the counter. “What's going on?”
“Someone left a bag of snakes on my doorknob.”
“And you let them loose?”
“They took me by surprise.”
He looked back at the one I'd shot, still untouched on the hall floor. “Is that the one you shot?”
“I ran out of bullets.”
“How many bullets did you start with?”
“One.”
The grin widened.
The Animal Control officers came out of the bedroom with the two snakes in a bag. “Racers,” they said. “Harmless.” One of them toed the dead snake in the hall. “You want us to take this one, too?”
“Yes!” I said. “And there's another snake somewhere.” Someone screamed at the far end of the hall.
“Guess we know where to look for snake number four,” Joe said.
The Animal Control guys took off with the snakes, and Carl and Big Dog shuffled out of my living room, into my foyer.
“Guess we're done here,” Carl said. “You might want to check out your closet. I think Big Dog killed a pair of shoes.”
Joe closed the door behind them. “You can get off the counter now.”
“It was scary.”
“Cupcake, your life is scary.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Your job sucks.”
“It's no suckier than yours.”
“I don't have people leaving snakes on my doorknob.”
