Page 11 of Stilettos & Whiskey
“Twiggy is missing,” she cried.
Dammit! My plans for staying far, far away from Sergeant Bergman just went up in smoke. During the summer, it was mandatory to notify the sarge of any missing persons reports. “How old is Twiggy?”
“She’s ten.”
Crap, in this heat, kids didn’t last very long. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“When I put her to bed.”
“What time was that?”
The woman harrumphed. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters,” I said firmly.
“Probably around eight o’clock.”
I frowned. She hadn’t seen the kid since eight o’clock last night? “Do you have a picture of her?”
The woman held out her cellphone. “This is Twiggy.”
“That’s a snake,” I gasped in disbelief. “A very big snake.”
“She’s a tan and black reticulated python,” the woman corrected.
God, I hated snakes. “How big is Twiggy?”
“She’s about twenty feet long.”
Oh goodie. I pulled out my notepad. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Florence Hendrix.”
“And your address?”
Florence glared at me. “Twiggy isnotat my house. Don’t you think I checked.”
“I need your address for my report.”
“I don’t need a report. I need you to find Twiggy,” Florence shrieked.
I narrowed my eyes speculatively. “Are you hiding something?”
“Fine. It’s 13804 West Thunderbird Road,” Florence snapped.
A blood-curdling scream shattered the quiet morning.
“Oh, God, that sounds like Mildred.” Florence took off at a dead run.
I jogged after her.
A cat yowled in pain.
“Twiggy! Let go of the cat. Now!” Florence pleaded.
An elderly woman wearing nothing, but her bra and granny panties was smacking the hell out of the snake with her cane. “You promised she wouldn’t get out again.”
“Shit!” The damn snake was about to eat a tabby cat. I yanked my mace out and sprayed Twiggy in the face.
