Hiss and Make Up

by Leigh Landry

  “Jeez, what did you do to this guy?”

  “I told that one that he needed to reevaluate his priorities.”

  “Wow, mind your business much?”

  “I’m not the one who called the station asking how to convince his fiancee to push back their wedding if his team made the playoffs.”

  “Seriously?”

  “In his defense, he offered to pay her parents back for the deposit on the hall and the caterers.”

  “Gee, sounds like a real winner. But I don’t see this guy sneaking onto your sister’s property to plant a venomous snake.”

  “No?”

  “For starters, this guy’s not subtle.”

  “Good point,” Marc said. “What else?”

  She put the paper face down to start a new stack. She’d spent the last twenty-four hours thinking about what kind of person would plant a snake in a bunch of kids’ toys. The whole thing sounded ridiculous, but nothing else made sense. Someone did this. Intentionally. Why was the real question.

  “Whoever did it has to know who your sister is, where she lives, and when she’d be gone.”

  Marc slumped in his chair. “I know.”

  He looked defeated. Family had always meant everything to Marc, and it was obvious he still felt that way. He would fight a bear for his sister, but he had no idea who to fight here, which was clearly killing him.

  “So we’re looking for a dedicated stalker,” she said, “or someone who knows you well and has a serious grudge.”

  “But wouldn’t a stalker come after me?” He shook his head. "Doesn't fit. I could see them going after Denise if coming after me didn't work first, but I haven't had any problems. Nothing other than the theft."

  “And these.” She tapped the stack of hate mail. “But why would a stalker or some irate listener steal your stuff?”

  “No idea. None of this makes sense.”

  “So we’re back to someone you know.” She had already come to that conclusion, but she figured it was better to talk it out with him before flinging her theory in his direction. He didn’t handle it so well last time she did that. Better to lead him to the truth than vomit it on him.

  Maybe she had people skills after all.

  "But that doesn't make sense either. Why would they steal my dad's things? Why not come after me?"

  "Unless they didn't know they were your dad's. Maybe they thought it was your stuff." Sierra chewed on the inside of her mouth for a minute to help her think. "Or! Maybe they do know you, and they knew it was your dad's things and that taking them would hurt you and your mom and sister."

  "But who? Honestly, I don't have a whole lot of people who know me that well."

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Vengeful ex-girlfriend?”

  She didn’t want to know the answer to this any more than she’d wanted to know who his dance date was all those years ago. But the question needed to be asked.

  “I haven’t had a serious relationship for a couple of years.” He chuckled. “At least.”

  She relaxed a little. While she hated thinking about Marc with someone else, she hated the idea of dealing with an irate ex even more.

  Marc stood and nodded at the stack of papers. "Keep looking. I’ll be back in a minute. Maybe something will jump out at you."

  Sierra glanced back at the massive pile of paper growing in the printer’s output tray. This would take forever. But it had taken a whole lot of convincing to let her help figure out who was behind those snakes. She couldn’t back out over a few emails.

  The more she thought about someone trying to hurt Denise and her kids, the more it bothered her. And Marc was right that Denise wasn’t one of her favorite people. Whoever was doing this was a real shithead for making her come to Denise’s defense.

  And if she was feeling protective of Denise, she couldn’t imagine how much this must be tearing up Marc.

  Not that she should be worrying about Marc’s feelings. On anything.

  Or her feelings about Marc’s feelings.

  Still, someone had to stop whoever this creep was, so why not her? Especially if she could get paid in the process. Getting paid meant Luna wouldn’t miss therapy. Liz could keep rescuing cats. And Sierra could stop disappointing them.

  She sighed and grabbed another handful of hate emails. Time to earn some reward money.

  Luckily, Marc had caught Janelle in her office on a Saturday. They’d had a lot of turnover recently, so she was catching up and updating their hiring page.

  Marc tapped his foot in the HR office while he waited for her to return. This chair was one of the most uncomfortable things he’d ever sat in, but at least he’d escaped the discomfort of sitting a foot from Sierra and not being able to touch her.

  “Here ya go hon’. Sorry, sent it to the wrong printer.” Janelle shuffled in, filling the room with an ocean of sickeningly sweet floral perfume.

  Marc took the sheet of current job openings and cleared his throat as he fought back a cough. “Thanks.”

  “Your friend should be able to find something in there.”

  He glanced at the list and frowned. “You’d be surprised.”

  “Send ‘em over to me with their resume. Some of these haven’t been posted yet.”

  Marc nodded, his eyes still glued to the pointless list in his hands. Sierra would never agree to anything on there.

  Back at his desk, Sierra was still reading emails. Marc flopped in his chair. He’d been up until after midnight, rushing to turn in his summary after the game went into overtime. After that, he couldn’t fall asleep, because all he could see was that snake, coiled and ready to strike at him. And what little sleep he did get could never have prepared him for this day.

  More snakes.

  More Sierra.

  Sure, he could have let Sierra take that snake to Dale alone. He could have taken a nap. But no. He had to take her to lunch and next he would be sitting through an almost three-hour game with her. Why?

  He watched her frown into her stack of papers, still unable to believe he was sitting next to Sierra. Sierra Menard. His Sierra.

  Of course, she wasn’t exactly his anything anymore. Not that she ever was. But it had been nice to think of her that way. Especially after she left.

  The idea of her disappearing again? He wasn’t ready to let that happen yet.

  It was more than wanting to see her again. Sure, he could stare at her mouth and bare arms all day long. Even cranky and stubborn looked good on her. And he couldn’t ignore the heat he felt whenever she stood near him. The earthy, fresh scent of the woods still lingering over her skin.

  Besides all that, a fresh pair of objective eyes might clue in on something he hadn't noticed before. Or tell him if he was overreacting.

  She landed on a particularly long and detailed message threatening to harm every part of his body and the children he didn't have yet. Her eyes widened as she read on. He didn’t think anything could shock the smack-talking spitfire who used to hang upside down in trees with him.

  "Hey, Marc! How's it going?"

  The high-pitched whisper over the cubicle wall belonged to Chloe Guidry. She was a perky blonde with the annoying habit of popping in at exactly the wrong time, like a pesky little sister.

  “Hey,” he said. “Chloe, this is Sierra. She’s helping me go through some notes for…um…for a potential story on her old college football team.”

  Sierra raised an eyebrow, and Marc stared her down, willing her to go along with the story for now. It was easier than explaining the whole outrageous truth.

  “Sierra, this is Chloe Guidry. She’s one of our special publications editors. Small world, actually. She and her family moved in at the end of our street not long after you and your dad moved out.”

  “Fascinating.” She flashed Chloe a fake smile before dropping her head to resume her reading.

  Marc nudged Sierra’s foot with his and squinted a Not cool look when she glanced at him. Sure, Chloe’s bubbly personality was a
little over-the-top, but she didn’t deserve Sierra’s disdain. And Marc had enough people to protect. Keeping an eye on his mom and Denise and her kids was all he could handle. And now he had to keep an eye on Sierra since she was going to insist on involving herself in this mess. He didn't have time to be Chloe’s emotional protector too.

  “Sorry,” he said to Chloe. “She’s not a morning person.”

  Chloe looked confused. “Oh, it’s after two o’clock now.”

  Sierra snorted, but kept her head down and continued to read. Ignoring the noise, Chloe straightened her back, raised her chin, and returned her pouty lip to its perma-smile position.

  Marc glanced at the wall clock. “Wait, did you say two?”

  Chloe nodded. “Just wanted to say, ‘Hi,’ so I’ll let you get back to work now. I know you have to be at the game soon. It was nice meeting you, Sierra.”

  Sierra grunted and threw a hand up in a half-hearted wave, which Marc read as her polite way of saying, That’s nice, now piss off. It could have been worse.

  He told Chloe goodbye, and she bounced off toward her desk. When he turned back to Sierra, he noticed her expression had morphed from amazement to confusion.

  “Where did you live before you moved back home?”

  “Metairie. I wrote for The Times-Picayune before dad got sick. Why?”

  “Then why would this person tell you to go back to Natchitoches?”

  “What? Let me see that.”

  He took the page from her and scanned the email. He didn’t remember this one at all, but that didn't surprise him. Before all of this, he'd only bothered to read the first lines of the cranky crackpot emails before filing them away.

  The message didn't say much else. A few generic threats sprinkled here and there. Nothing of real substance.

  “I got my degree at NSU,” he said. “I don’t talk about it. Never on the radio. But it’s not like the information’s hidden.”

  “Okay, but if it’s some pissed off caller, wouldn’t they tell you to go back to New Orleans? Or Metarie? Or The Times-Picayune? Something obvious that you do talk about or the last place you lived or worked, not the college you went to?”

  "Unless they didn't know where I worked last."

  Sierra opened her mouth to say something, but she closed it and pouted, her lips sticking out like big, juicy targets. He wanted nothing more than to nibble on those lips.

  "Well," she said, breaking her pout and snapping Marc out of his fantasy, "we know this person is from Louisiana."

  "Why?"

  She tapped a spot on the page and brushed her arm ever so slightly against his, sending tingles all the way up his arm. Tingles.

  "They spelled Natchitoches right,” she said. “Nobody does that unless they live here."

  "Fair enough."

  "Also, it has to be someone who knew you went to college there and didn't bother to find out if you lived anywhere between then and now. Because if it was someone who knows you now and not then, they'd use the New Orleans connection instead."

  “That’s a big assumption.”

  “But it fits. Whoever wrote this isn’t just some irate listener or reader. Whoever wrote this knew you long before you worked here.”

  Marc raised both eyebrows. Any lingering tingles were now long gone as he contemplated this information. "You might be right."

  "Uh, yeah."

  "Let's not get cocky." He put the paper down and considered what this new information could mean, but nothing made sense. "We don't know if this has anything to do with the other stuff."

  "Check the date. Does it mean anything to you?"

  Marc looked at the header. "That was a week before the equipment was stolen. Could be a coincidence."

  "Seems like an awful lot of strange, random stuff happening around you. Do you really think it's all a coincidence?"

  "Probably not, but how am I supposed to know what's connected and what's not?"

  Sierra hopped out of her seat. "You aren't supposed to know anything. I, on the other hand, am going to earn that reward money."

  "Wait, I said you could help me. I didn't say you could run off and figure this thing out on your own."

  Sierra rolled her eyes. "Then help me. I'm not going to sit around waiting for you all day."

  No, he couldn't ask her to do that. More importantly, she wouldn't sit around waiting for him even if he did ask her to.

  “Grab the rest of those emails.” He folded the job list and stuck it in his back pocket.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The UL game."

  “Oh, yeah. That fun-o-rama.” She grabbed the stack of emails and followed him to the stairs.

  “You might like it. Besides, I promised you nachos.”

  As much as he liked her company and the idea of sitting beside her through an entire game, he had a much bigger reason for taking her. He couldn’t risk her going off on her own and getting into danger, which meant he needed to keep Sierra close for as long as he could.

  There was no way he was letting her out of his sight yet.

  7

  Sierra tapped her nubby fingernails on the armrest and stared at the press box ceiling. Going to the game with Marc gave them the perfect opportunity to hash out their plan.

  Or so she'd assumed.

  Sure Marc had to pay attention to the game, but she’d figured they could talk between plays, since they had a lot to discuss.

  First they needed to figure out how to trace the author of that email. Then they could call the police to see if they had any leads on the equipment theft. The big task would be tracking down where this person got a young water moccasin. It's not like you can pick one up in a pet store. And if someone did find one in the woods, they'd have to know how to safely capture and transport it. Not exactly an easy task.

  Well, at least she got her nachos, because they sure as hell didn’t get a chance to talk about anything during the whole first half of the game.

  He’d had to type between plays. He’d had to concentrate. And to top it all off, the home team was losing, so all the reporters in the room were shouty and crotchety. So much for objectivity in journalism.

  That left her to spend the last hour reading through his hate mail by herself. As the clock wound down to halftime, Sierra breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Okay, my turn.” She ignored the reporters grumbling and shuffling around the press box as they stretched and left to pee or grab another drink. “I didn’t find anything else in these emails. Actually, I found a lot of interesting things. Man, you inspire a lot of rage. But nothing else that seems to tie in to our problem.”

  “My problem. You keep forgetting that detail.” He shook his head and grinned at her.

  “What?”

  He wiped at the side of her mouth with his thumb, cupping her face with the rest of his hand. Her whole body tensed, and she was afraid her eyes might supernova out of her head.

  “Cheese,” he said, letting his hand linger a little longer.

  “Thanks.” She had a million things she wanted to say and ask about snakes and enemies and thieves. But all she could do was stare into his eyes and examine the outline of his face, so familiar and so foreign at the same time.

  He broke eye contact. “I’ve got something to keep you busy during the second half.”

  “Oh,” she said, trying not to sound disappointed.

  He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket.

  “What’s that?”

  She studied the list he handed her. Field Assistant. Editorial Assistant. Obituary Clerk. Customer Care Representative. “What is this?”

  “The job list.” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “From the paper. I told you I’d get it for you.”

  She cocked her head to the side and considered if he was some kind of alien. A dense, half-witted alien.

  “Requires ‘excellent customer service & communication skills.’”

  “Maybe not that one,” he said. �
�But there are a bunch of others. There’s gotta be something in there for you.”

  Doubtful. She grunted and glanced at the listings again.

  Marc stood. “I’m gonna make a call.”

  “Trying Denise again?”

  “Nope,” he said, searching his phone for a number. “I know someone who might be able to help us find out where that email came from.”

  Sierra’s head popped up and her eyes widened. Now he was talking. Action. Progress. Maybe this wouldn’t be a complete waste of an afternoon after all.

  But after another hour of game time—complete with groans and curses and screams from the other sports writers—she was back to wondering what had been the point of coming here. Of being in a room full of people who ignored her. Of that job list. Of this stupid sport.

  Someone nearby announced the opposing team was taking a knee.

  "About time."

  Since the rest of the room didn't seem to share her sentiment, Marc stuffed his laptop into its bag. Then he grabbed her hand and rushed them both out of the room before Sierra got any threats of her own.

  "Nice work," he said. "You always that charming?"

  "Mostly," she shouted over the noise.

  They navigated a long, winding cement ramp and fought their way out of the stadium, escaping the sea of red shirts.

  "So, what's our game plan now?"

  Better late than never, she supposed. She kept reminding herself that this was a work event for him, but she’d been antsy to make progress. And, if she was being honest, she had been looking forward to spending time with him. Hearing his voice again and being inches from him in those chairs made her restless in a way that didn’t make sense. In a way she’d shut the door on years ago. In a way that had made her incredibly agitated.

  "Any luck with tracking that email?” she asked.

  “Not yet. They said they’d call me back when they traced it.”

  Well, that was something. Not much, but something.

  “I'll see if I can track down where those snakes came from. I can make calls tomorrow. Or Monday, since I don’t know who’ll answer the phone on a Sunday. I was going to check with breeders, dealers, and whoever else might be able to help. You can’t legally keep a venomous snake without a permit, so I can call the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries to see if anyone around here has a permit. That’s if they were keeping it legally.”