Read Online Photo, Snap, Shot by Joanna Campbell Slan - Free Book Online Page B

that Sheila had a “sleep over” guest of her own, but I didn’t say anything. I figured Chief Holmes wouldn’t have let Sheila “off load” my daughter unless he was sure Anya was safe.
    I threw myself into a frenzy of cleaning. I scrubbed the kitchen floor, washed windows, and I was dusting the ceiling fans when a big black snake fell onto my bed.
    I ran out of my bedroom screaming. I sprinted past Gracie and into the front yard, hollering for all I was worth. I was standing out there bellowing like a bull calf in one of those National Geographic specials when Mert’s truck pulled up and out hopped Johnny.
    “Kiki? Calm down. You okay? You hurt?” He grabbed me and pulled me close so he could inspect me.
    “Snnn-snnn—snake.” I managed.
    “I’ll go kill it.”
    “No!”
    That was weird, I know, but see I didn’t want to hurt it. I just wanted it out of my bedroom. So I grabbed Johnny and stopped his progress. He smelled of sweet grass and fresh air, with a hint of musk, like he always does. “No, kill, no.”
    He started to snicker. I had him by one of his huge biceps and I was hanging there like fruit off a tree. “Whatcha planning to do with it? You want it for a pet?”
    “No,” I was catching my breath. “Just don’t kill it. Anya would be mad.”
    “You beat all,” he said, pulling me close before he kissed me. Johnny has these kisses that cause your knees to go weak. Mine always do. One of these days, I’m going to wind up on the ground in a puddle afterward.
    We were locked in an embrace when Detweiler pulled up, his tires spinning gravel. He stomped out of his big Impala with his eyes on fire. Johnny turned loose of me, saw the lawman glaring at us, and winked at me. “I’ll go take care of the bedroom.”
    “What the … ?” Detweiler’s next word was not suitable for a PG audience.
    “Snake. Big one. This long,” I made a gesture separating my hands.
    Detweiler’s nostrils flared and he pawed the ground.
    Oh, boy.
    This was bad.
    I added, “In my bedroom.”
    That didn’t help. I tried to clear the situation up. “Uh, Johnny’s in my bedroom.”
    Detweiler snorted. I thought I saw steam come out of his ears.
    The door slammed behind us and Johnny’s feet crunched along my walkway. “I got it. Holding it in my hands. It’s big, too. Wait ’til you see this snake of mine.”
    I could hear him, but I couldn’t see him.
    Fortunately, Johnny couldn’t see through me to Detweiler. The cop had his hand on his gun. His expression was murderous. I could see him calculating and I could sense him pulling the gun from the holster.
    “Stop. Don’t you dare!” I thought for a minute I was going to faint.
    But Johnny stepped between us. He offered the detective and me a scooped-up section of my bedspread stretched between his arms. “That’s your snake, missy,” he said.
    A four-foot-long piece of clotted dust.
    “I’m guessing there was dust built up on the fan, and centrifugal force sort of packed all that dust together and made it thick like a piece of felt,” said Johnny, with wonder in his voice.
    I wobbled toward my kitchen. “I’ve got to go sit down.”
    ___
    Johnny brought in Mr. Gibbes. He was the cutest thing, a white puff ball with a lively expression and mischievous eyes. Detweiler stalked along behind man and dog.
    “He’s just a pup,” said Johnny as he set down Mr. Gibbes’ traveling bag and handed over the pooch. “Inside is his food, dishes, leash, and something extra, I need to explain to you.”
    Johnny reached into the bag and withdrew a colorful piece of fabric about a foot long and four inches wide with Velcro on each end. “This’s a wanker wrapper.”
    “Huh?” Detweiler and I spoke in tandem. Gracie was leaning against the cop, taking all this in, and staring at the excited dog in my lap. Her tail was beating a double-time rhythm as she stared up at the detective with loving eyes.
    “See, this guy likes to squirt. He’ll hose down your