Oh God, her mind jibbered. Oh God, oh God.
“What’s happened?” Ted was panicking. “An earthquake?”
The Fish & Wildlife agent saw the mamba, dropped his handcuffs, and scrambled back and away.
“Sergeant!” someone shouted. “There’s snakes loose in here!”
Ted’s reaction was immediate. He catapulted forward like a runner out of the blocks, bulling into his surprised captor and knocking him flat. A couple of members of the SWAT team moved to intercept Ted, but their hearts weren’t in it. They were mostly concerned with the black mamba; they knew that the venom of the mamba was fatal unless there was immediate medical attention. Alex thought that Ted, in his panic, might easily prove a match for them—in his uncontrollable panic,he was as dangerous as a PCP user.
Intensely curious and easily agitated, the black mamba was one of the most aggressive snakes in the world. Now the limber tree snake raised its head off the ground, attracted by Ted’s frantic movements. It pointed at Ted like a water witch seeking water.
Blind fear propelled Ted across the room.
He was fast, but the black mamba was faster.
He blundered into an overturned cabinet and, sensing danger, turned to face his pursuer. His eyes widened. Instinctively, he thrust out a hand to ward off the menace just as the mamba struck, a black blur of lightning speed.
Ted shrieked as the snake hit his outstretched palm.
Shrieked and shrieked as the mamba’s supple body sliced the air again, missing him by inches.
The wildlife agent had found his voice at last. “A mamba!” he shouted. “There’s a mamba in here!”
Another voice shouted with authority, “Everybody out. Now!”
A rattlesnake, trying to protect itself against the stumping boots, struck out, sinking his fangs into one of the agent’s thighs. It was unfortunate timing on his part.
The mamba, distracted by this new enemy, wheeled and raced in the rattlesnake’s direction, scattering wildlife agents and police.
“Everybody! Get out get out get out get out! Now!”
Ted, whimpering in fear, blundered past Alex. Her captor, still holding Alex by her manacled wrists, turned to follow the team leader’s order. He did a little dance as a mojave rattler glided past his foot.
“Get out! Get out! Get out! Get out!”
Everyone else’s attention was focused on retreat, warding off snakes with their shields and emptying their weapons in the general direction of the mamba.
“Now now now now now!”
Ted reached the tunnel to the cat exhibit.
“What are you doing? Ted!” Alex shouted as she was hustled toward the opposite door. “That was a black mamba! If you don’t get help—”
“Like I’d believe anything you had to say!” he screamed, darting into the tunnel.
The mamba had been shot to pieces, along with a few of its unfortunate compatriots.
The other snakes—most of them shy rattlers—had retreated into corners and under the overturned furniture.
“The old lady’s got antivenin,” her captor shouted at her elbow as she was jerked out of the room with the retreating agents. “Polyvalent serum!”
“Tunnel’s covered. We’ll get him.”
“You see that goddamn mamba?”
“Fastest thing I ever saw!”
They were out of the reptile room, but it was still dark and Alex’s senses scrambled through her brain like a mouse in a maze.
A voice she recognized said near her ear, “Let her go. She’s not one of them.”
Nick’s voice. Nick.
“It’s all right. Go ahead.” Alex recognized Cindy Gallego’s voice.
The cuffs came off. “Ted’s in the tunnel,” Alex said as he pulled her into his chest and encircled her with strong arms. “The mamba—” She stopped again, trying to marshal her thoughts. “If Ted doesn’t get some antivenin, he’ll be dead in twenty minutes.”
“Shhh, they know.”
“Even then it could be too late.”
“Don’t try to talk now,” Cindy Gallego said. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”
Suddenly she remembered. “The kittens,” she said, but didn’t know if anyone heard her.
Nick’s voice, right beside her, boomed, “Call the paramedics now. She’s been shot.”
Epilogue
Cindy Gallego lifted the gate of the jaguarundi’s cage and walked back to the edge of the clearing where Nick McCutcheon and Alex Cafarelli stood.
The cat remained crouched at the far end of the cage for a long time. Just when Alex had begun to despair that the jaguarundi would ever venture out, she bolted into the clearing, her coat gleaming like graphite in the last rays of the sun. She streaked across the clearing and into the brush, a dark dream. Alex guessed she was making for a crevice in the jumble of rocks at the canyon’s edge.
It had been hours since a team of Arizona Game & Fish operatives had found Ted lying near the margay enclosure in the tunnel, delirious and violently ill. They administered the antivenin on the spot before Air Evac’ing him to Tucson. It had been almost that long since Alex was treated and released by the paramedics for the bullet graze in her side.
Now the jaguarundi, wearing her new radio collar, was free again and she could search for her kittens.
Alex guessed the jaguarundi kittens were still alive; Rollie Watkins had confessed to trapping the cat almost two days ago to the hour. The kittens were already learning to hunt, so if their mother found them soon enough, they would be all right.
Alex hoped she’d been able to pinpoint the cat’s territory well enough. It was up to the jaguarundi now.
On the way up to the canyon, Cindy Gallego had asked Alex what she’d do with the photograph of the jaguarundi she’d taken. The answer had always been at the back of her mind, even before Watkins kidnapped the cat. Seeing Maybelle’s shrine to man’s arrogance hadn’t as much decided for her as reinforced her decision.
She would not publish the photograph. Cindy Gallego had assured her that Game & Fish wouldn’t announce their finding to the general public; although, of course, there would be studies. The news would get out; it was only a matter of when. But Alex would not be the one to betray the animal’s whereabouts.
Forever after she would have been known as the woman who shot the first photo of a wild jaguarundi in the United States, revered (or at least envied) by her peers. It would have been enough, although she’d never be well-known outside that small, exclusive group of wildlife photographers. Not like Caroline ...
Caroline. Her memory still ached in Alex’s heart. Caro had tried all her life to run away from her unbearable childhood. And Alex hadn’t even known ...
To take away someone’s childhood had to be the greatest crime. Uncle Wiggly had come close to taking Alex’s, but he hadn’t succeeded because of Caroline. She’d sacrificed herself to save Alex. No matter how tangled her friend’s motives, Alex had to believe that the greater part of Caroline’s sacrifice had been made out of love.
Nick took her hand in his. A shiver ran through her as she realized how quickly this man had found his way into her heart.
“I guess that’s it,” said Cindy Gallego, starting up the trail. “They’ve got their chance.”
Alex glanced into Nick’s eyes and saw her future there. “I guess that’s all anyone ever really has,” she said. “A chance.”
AFTERWORD
Due to a lack of evidence, DOUG CHILDERS was never prosecuted for his role in the endangered species smuggling. He left the sheriff’s department and became a security guard for Target stores in Reno, Nevada.
LATTE failed in her bid to win a Grammy for her gangsta rap song, “Don’ You Dis Me, Fucka.” Two years later, she ran in the Republican primary for governor of California but lost. Her views, somewhere to the right of Pat Buchanan’s, came to be known as Nouveau Conservative.
LUTHER VAN CLEEVE starred in several subsequent films: Jagged Impact II through IV,
Terminal Dispatch, and Lethal Retribution. After a successful if limited career, he retreated to Moab, Utah, where he started the Caroline Arnet Foundation for Aspiring Actors. Divorced from his wife shortly after the wrapping of Jagged Impact, Luther never recovered from Caroline Arnet’s death.
KYLE JOHNSON shaved his head bald, grew a handlebar mustache, and fled to Puerto Vallarta, where he lived comfortably on the fortune he’d amassed from trafficking in endangered species. Six months later, his sojourn came to an end on a rocky stretch of beach when he was killed instantly by a free falling hard-shelled mollusk, dropped from the approximate height of two hundred feet by a seagull which mistook his bald head for a hard surface on which to break open its dinner. The dashing americano was mourned by many, including a number of ladies who had found his bald head irresistible.
TED LANG recovered from the mamba bite, although he was extremely ill and nearly died. Seeing that a televised trial had turned O.J. Simpson into a nationally beloved icon, he confessed to killing Caroline Arnet, then promptly pleaded not guilty. Unfortunately, his agent had overestimated the public’s interest in sitting through another year of even a sensational murder trial; the ratings were so bad that after three weeks the Ted Lang trial was canceled. Ted changed his story and took a plea. He was sent to the Greenoaks Correctional Facility of Southern California, where he worked on his book between improving his tennis game and learning to become a gourmet chef. His book, Innocent! The Ted Lang Story, appeared in hardcover to indifferent sales and lukewarm reviews.
CAROLINE ARNET’s heirs recently signed her with the Richard Silverstein Agency, which specializes in deceased stars. To date, her likeness has been displayed on T-shirts, caps, glasses, art, books, videos, computer software, and commercials, including the enormously successful Coca Cola ad, seen for the first time on Super Bowl Sunday. The commercial, accomplished with the latest digital technology, features Caroline in a I930s-style swimsuit cavorting among the ice floes with the Coca Cola polar bears. Caroline Arnet is currently earning thirty million dollars a year.
As acting sheriff in the wake of Sheriff Kyle Johnson’s sudden departure, NICK McCUTCHEON’s first official act was to sell off all department vehicles older than three years. Running unopposed for sheriff of Gilpin County, he won handily. When his ex-wife remarried and went on a month-long honeymoon, Ellie spent the time with Nick and his fiancée, Alex Cafarelli. Ellie pronounced Nick’s fiancée “way cool,” and looked forward to being the flower girl at their wedding.
ALEX CAFARELLI never published the photograph of the jaguarundi. Nick McCutcheon hired Ginny McGrew to paint a diorama of the area to go along with the framed photo, kept in a place of honor in Alex’s stone house in the Tucson Mountains. Ironically, Alex’s shrine to the jaguarundi paralleled Maybelle Deering’s; they both had to be kept secret. Nick, Alex, and Ellie spent two weeks in the summer camping throughout Colorado. Alex was particularly affected by the mining town of Leadville, where the tragic beauty Baby Doe swept silver magnate Horace Tabor off his feet. Baby Doe Tabor’s brief, fragile moment in the sun reminded Alex of Caroline. Alex decided to name her cat Baby Doe, “Baby” for short. She would forever remain grateful to Caroline for saving her from Uncle Wiggly. Finally she began to understand why her long-ago school friend had looked so hard for security in fame and fortune, and why she could never find it.
Without Maybelle Deering at the helm, the HOTEL SONORA fell into disrepair and started a long decline culminating in Chapter Eleven bankruptcy. The hotel was eventually bought by a German conglomerate which gutted the interior and turned it into a western-theme resort catering to German tourists. Amenities include chuck wagon dinners, staged videotaped shootouts, and karaoke.
THE JAGUARUNDI AND HER KITTENS have not been seen since, although Arizona Game & Fish has been keeping track of the female by her radio collar. Fortunately for the jaguarundi, the new tenant of Maybelle Deering’s house is a marijuana grower who planted his crop in various spots in the canyon. He has rigged the area with booby traps, which has kept the traffic there to a minimum. The rumor about a jaguarundi sighting isn’t a strong enough incentive to risk losing an arm, a leg, or a life.
________________
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For their expertise on wildlife photography, police work, endangered species smuggling, and venomous snakes, thanks to wildlife photographers Marty and Annette Cordano; Officer John Cheek of the Tucson Police Department; John Romero, law enforcement supervisor for Arizona Game & Fish, and Jim Vial, PhD, research associate at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum. Any technical mistakes in these areas of expertise are my own, due to assumptions on my part or questions I forgot to ask. Thanks also to Tracy Bernstein of Zebra Books, Rob Cohen of the Rob Cohen Agency, Kim Lamb Gregory, Carol Davis Luce, Glenn McCreedy, and Vicki Lewis Thompson.
Turn the page for a preview of
NIGHT WIDOW
By Carol Davis Luce
NIGHT WIDOW
Carol Davis Luce
CHAPTER 1
Where Are They Now? Washed up? Hiding out? Dead?
SYBIL SQUIRE….
Not dead yet. This stunning platinum blonde will be forever ingrained in our hearts for her femme fatale role in the 1950 Oscar win, The Shady Lady. One flash of her pale blue eyes and men were putty. Seems she hasn’t been hiding all these years. She surfaced briefly this year after police and paramedics were called out to her mansion in the Hollywood Hills. A housekeeper found the Golden Age screen idol unconscious at the bottom of her staircase with a blood alcohol level above .10.
Rehab again or the old folk’s home?
-- WashedUpStars.com
Piper Lundberg rushed through the ultra-modern house with the last of her personal possessions. No time for sorting and packing, it was grab and dump into whatever was handy. Almost done, she couldn’t get out fast enough. Gordon was supposed to be boarding a plane for Europe at this very moment, but knowing her soon-to-be ex-husband, she wouldn’t be surprised if he canceled his business trip to ambush her in their Santa Monica home.
Through a front window, she saw her best friend across the street stuffing shoeboxes into the back of her SUV. Lee’s Escalade was already stacked to the ceiling with Piper’s clothes, books, CDs and laptop.
Sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip. Her heart raced. It was a race to be free. Rounding the corner with the cumbersome recycled carton, Piper slipped on the polished hardwood. The box caught the edge of the doorway between the living room and dining room, spewing its entire contents across the floor. She groaned in frustration, wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her jeans, and dropped to her knees to retrieve the dozens of old video cassettes, DVDs, and mementos. Of all her possessions, this collection meant the most. As her fingers wrapped around a cassette, a black leather dress shoe pressed down on her hand, pinning it and the cassette case to the floor.
Piper jerked her head up. Gordon looked down on her. She expected to see that sanctimonious smirk that had, over the years, come to define him. His expression was hard, stony. When she tried to free her hand, he increased the pressure. She should’ve known it wouldn’t be easy. Gordon didn’t play fair.
“In a hurry, are you?”
She yanked her hand out from under his sole.
Gordon kept his foot on the cassette. He turned his head to stare out the window at Lee who was still struggling to load the SUV.
“Brought the dyke for moral support? Or is it the muscle?”
She bit down on her lip. Gordon knew she hated it when he called Lee it. A transsexual, Lee had made the full male-to-female transition several years ago. Lee Sikes, formally Leroy, was Piper’s first husband.
“I don’t want any trouble.” Piper tried to control her anger. “I don’t want anything of yours. I just want to go.”
Gordon pinched the fabric at his knees, lifted his slacks, then squatted down and picked up the cassette case. He’d just had a haircut. She could see the red skin above his collar where the ele
ctric shears had chaffed his neckline.
On his haunches, level with her face, he pinned her with his gaze. “You’ll regret this.”
****
Piper and Lee, with the help of Belle Vogt, had unloaded her belongings from the two cars and carried everything upstairs to the Vogt’s guesthouse above the garage. Piper left Belle and Lee in the driveway talking shop and hurried upstairs. She wanted a few moments to herself in her new home. She crossed the room, dropped an armful of clothes on the pulled-down Murphy bed, and glanced around. Assured she was alone, she made a beeline to the northwest corner window.
The late afternoon sky, recently purged by the hot, dry winds of the Santa Anas, was clear of smog. A red-tailed hawk soared high above hills thick with vegetation, casting a sharp eye below to the yucca plants, greasewood and royal palms for signs of prey. The hawk continued upward, growing smaller, following the winding road to the top near Mulholland where Brando once lived. The hawk dove, disappearing into the thick brush.
The hawk held little interest for Piper. What did interest her was the Mediterranean mansion on the huge lot next door. That she would have a birds-eye view was beyond her wildest expectations. Closest to the six-foot property wall was the pool. A small rose garden in full bloom extended off a brick patio at the rear of the stately house. The house belonged to Sybil Squire.
She scanned the grounds, looking for a glimpse of the owner. Someone was in the pool. Piper leaned closer to the glass. The old woman with platinum hair executed a strong, yet graceful, backstroke across the rectangular swimming pool. Except for a pair of black swim goggles, she was as naked as a newborn.
The Desert Waits Page 29
