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“How the hell did it get there?” Montoya asked, ready to open the lid.
“Don’t!” Bentz warned. “Fingerprints.”
“Yeah, and a poisonous snake!” Kristi reminded them. “And I don’t know how it got here, but I don’t think it slithered in on its own.” She cast the tub a disparaging glance. “I only lifted the lid once to drop in this”—she motioned to a half-full garbage bag, its seam split—“and found my little friend. He made a valiant attempt to strike me, but missed.”
“Jesus,” Montoya whispered.
“Are you okay?” her father asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “But I will be.”
“Someone from animal control is on his way,” Montoya said, looking at his phone. “Be here in ten.”
“Good.” Bentz didn’t think the snake could escape with the bungee cord holding the lid in place. “Let’s go inside.” As they walked through the garage to the kitchen, Bentz felt a slow-burning rage coursing through him.
Probably the same psycho who killed Jay.
And now, it seemed, not the Rosary Killer.
They’d barely gotten inside, a shaken Kristi offering water or coffee or soda, when the animal control truck rolled up to a stop outside. “Here we go,” Bentz said, and they all returned to the garbage tub. The officer, Alex Johnson, was a burly black man with an easy smile and dark eyes.
“Someone called in about a snake?” he asked.
“In there.” Kristi pointed. “Water moccasin.”
“How big?”
“Don’t know. Big enough.”
“Any chance I can take the tub? Since it’s already contained?”
“Fine with me.” Kristi didn’t care if she ever saw the garbage bin again. “All it has in it is the snake. I cleaned the can out last week and the garbage hasn’t been picked up yet this week.”
“Then I’ll bring the container back when we’ve gotten the snake back to where he belongs,” Johnson said. “Just let me take a peek at him. Y’all step back.” They did, and when the big man raised the lid, he let out a low whistle. “Yeah, that’s a cottonmouth all right. A big fella. But there’s somethin’ else in here. On the lid.”
“What?” Bentz asked.
“An envelope? Like an invitation of some kind? Taped to the inside here.”
Bentz’s heart nose-dived. “Ah, hell.”
Beside him Kristi sucked in her breath and shook her head. “Again?” she whispered.
“Son of a bitch.” Montoya’s voice was barely audible.
Johnson said, “Let me see if I can get it without getting him all agitated again.” To the snake: “You behave.”
“Wait,” Bentz said, “I think you’d better remove the snake from the bin. We’re going to need to dust it for prints and examine it. Evidence.”
“Got ya,” Johnson agreed.
In the distance Kristi heard the sound of a motorcycle roaring to life and run through its gears as it sped into the night.
Johnson went back to his truck, returned with a long-handled hook, a bag, and a cage. Then while they watched from a safe distance, he flipped open the lid and, using the long hook, snared the angry snake, then deftly slid the twisting serpent into a huge bag that he quickly secured. “Anything else?” he asked with a grin. In his hands the bag wiggled and shook as the snake tried to get free.
“That’s it. Just the one,” Kristi assured him.
“Okay. Anytime,” Johnson said, hoisting the writhing bag and heading back to his truck, parked at the curb in front of the house.
