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“Why don’t we go inside and grab some air conditioning, Vic?”
“Fine. I made coffee, if you—”
“Nope, goes right through me these days. But I wouldn’t mind a glass of cold water. Maybe even with an ice cube in it. You’re really not sick, are you? Because you look a little pale.”
“I’m not.” Not the way he thought.
Pelley took no chances. He took a mask out of his voluminous shorts and put it on as soon as we were inside. I got him icewater and poured myself more coffee. I thought about donning my own mask and decided not to. I wanted him to see my whole face. We sat at the kitchen table. Each time he sipped his water he pulled the mask down, then returned it to its place. The mustache made it bulge.
“I understand you found Mrs. Bell. Must have been a shock.”
“It was.” The sense of relief at having company—another human being in the Haunted Mansion—was being replaced by caution. This guy might be in what Canavan had called the 10-42 Club, but Zane was right; he was sharp. I thought I was in for an interrogation rather than a courtesy stop-by.
“Happy to tell you what happened, how I found her, but since I’ve got you here, I’m curious about something.”
“Are you, now?” Those eyes on mine. There were smile lines radiating out from their corners, but they weren’t currently at work.
“Officer Zane told me you’ve been around here for a long time.”
“Donkey’s years,” he said, sipping his water, wiping at his mustache with one big farmer’s hand, then returning the mask to its place.
“I know about the rattlesnakes that killed Mrs. Bell’s twins. What I’m curious about is how the posse got rid of them. Do you know?”
“Oh, you bet.” For the first time he seemed to relax. “Should, since I was in on that snake hunt. Every cop in the county who didn’t have the duty was in on it, plus plenty more guys and even a few gals. Must have been a hundred of us. Maybe more. A regular island party, except no one was having fun. Was a hot day, a lot hotter than this one, but all of us were wearing boots, long pants, shirts with long sleeves, gloves, masks like the one I’m wearing now. And veils.”
“Veils?”
“Some were beekeepers’ veils, some were made of that stuff—tulle, maybe—ladies wear on their Sunday hats. At least they did in the old days. Because, y’see—” Leaning forward, staring me in the eye, and looking more like Wilford Brimley than ever. “Y’see, a snake’ll sometimes rear up. If it’s scared enough, that is. Spray that poison instead of injecting it. If it gets in your eyes…” He waved his hand. “Short trip to your brain. Goodnight and good luck.” And then, with no pause: “I see your midnight visitor brought back Mrs. Bell’s snake pole, too.”
He meant to catch me off-guard, and he succeeded. “What?”
“Saw it in the garage, leaning against the back wall.” His gaze never leaving mine, waiting for my eyes to shift away, or any other tell. I held my eyes steady, but I blinked. Couldn’t help it.
“You must have missed that.”
“I… did. I guess…” I didn’t know how to finish, so I just shrugged.
“Recognized it right away by the little silver ring on the handle. Lady went just about everywhere with it, at least on the Key. Many folks along Rattlesnake Road and over the swing bridge in the Village knew it, too.”
“And the stroller,” I said.
“Yeah, she liked to push the stroller. Talking to it sometimes. Talking to those gone boys of hers. I’ve seen her doing it myself.”
“So did I.”
He waited. I thought of saying that stroller was in my bathroom last night and the dead twins were pushing it.
“You asked about the snakes.” He sipped his water and wiped his mustache with a cupped hand. Up went the mask. “The Great Snake Drive of Eighty-Two or Eighty-Three. I’d have to look it up to be sure. Or maybe you already did, Vic?”
I shook my head.
“Well, those of us who didn’t have snake poles had baseball bats, rug beaters, or tennis rackets. All kinds of things. To whack the brush with, you know. Also fishing nets. No shortage of nets on the Gulf. All the west coast keys are narrow, and this one’s narrower than most. Gulf on one side, Calypso Bay on the other. Only six hundred yards across at its widest point and that’s down by the swing bridge. This end, where the rattlers migrated to when all the building started down south, is about half that. From here you can see both the Gulf and the bay, right?”
“From the side yard, yes.”
“This house wasn’t even there then. Just palmettos and beach naupaka—the snakes loved that—and trash pines. Plus lots of bushes I don’t even know the names of. We spread out in a line, from the Gulf to Calypso, and north we went, beating the bushes and dragging those nets and pounding on the ground. Snakes don’t have much hearing, but they can feel vibrations. They knew we were coming. You could see the foliage shaking, especially the naupaka. Must have felt like an earthquake to em. And when we got toward the end of the Key, where the greenery ends, we could see em. Those suckers were everywhere. It was like the ground was moving. We couldn’t believe it. And the rattling. I can hear it still.”
“Like dry bones in a gourd.”
