Up in Flames (8 page)

“Oh, I’ll be able to identify them, but I’m not sure how much that will help.”

Cal was instantly alert. “Why? What are they?”

“Give me a few minutes, then I’ll show you.”

She bent over the trays again, barely aware when the two men moved farther away, talking softly so as not to disturb her. Within seconds she was absorbed in her work, moving pieces gently with the pick or using the forceps to mount them on slides for a closer look. They were softer than she expected and the legs were easily disjointed, which explained the lack of large pieces.

Moving between the computer and the microscope, she began checking what she had against descriptions and photographs she found online. It was rough science, but enough to confirm her suspicions. She was glad she wasn’t the one who had to figure out what it meant.

She rearranged the pieces into five groups on each tray as she worked. Four groups represented positively identified pieces from four different species; the fifth and largest group consisted of pieces as yet unidentified. She’d do more later, but some were too small and would probably never be identified. She didn’t think it mattered. What she had found was enough to tell her this case would either be very easy to explain, or damn near impossible.

“Okay,” she announced loudly from the front-office desk. “Let me show you guys something.”

They were beside her so fast she knew their patience had been strained. She rolled her chair to the side so they could both see around her to the monitor.

“I’ve identified four insects down to family and genus—two spiders, and two beetles. The exact species might be different, but not significantly.”

“In English,” Cal said. “Does that mean you can’t tell if it’s a ladybug or a June bug?”

“It means I can tell you if it’s a ladybug, but not whether it’s a variegated ladybug or a seven-spotted ladybug.”

He snorted a laugh. “I think getting it down to ladybug is good enough. Or whatever they are.”

“Not ladybugs, unfortunately. Not even close.” She opened the first picture.

Cal started visibly. “Holy shit!”

“Damn, is that thing real?” Dr. Monroe asked.

“Very real,” she assured them.

Each man leaned closer to get a better view. On the monitor, a pale, spindly-legged spider stood on sand beside a man’s boot. The spider’s bulbous body was fully half the length of the boot, with its long legs spread out, spanning slightly more than the full heel-to-toe length.

“What in the hell is it?” Cal asked.

“That’s a camel spider, one of more than a thousand species of Solifugae arachnids.”

“Damn,” Cal muttered. “Are they as dangerous as they look?”

“Not to people. They’re not venomous, just fast.” Before they could ask more questions, she closed the picture and brought up another.

This time Cal was prepared, more curious than startled. “A tarantula?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m pretty sure I can identify which one—Theraphosa blondi, commonly known as the Goliath birdeater. It’s similar in size to the camel spider, and again, fairly harmless to humans, although its fangs can puncture the skin.”

“Christ,” Dr. Monroe muttered. “I never thought I’d be afraid of a spider, but that thing’s creepy.”

“
That
was on her body?” Cal asked.

“Parts of it.” She changed the picture again. A large beetle filled the screen, its shiny black shell and barbed legs menacing in a Darth Vader sort of way. But it was the two curved horns protruding from the sides of the thorax, and the curved horn atop the head, that had the greatest impact. The two men were expecting weirdness by now, but still appeared awed by the picture.

“The Atlas beetle,” she told them. “From a group known as rhinoceros beetles.”

Cal gave it a calculating look. “I suppose it’s huge, too.”

“Medium size as beetles go,” she told him. “Three or four inches.”

She clicked her last picture onto the screen, a beetle with a yellowish head and mottled, light-colored elytra. “Now, that one’s huge. Six to seven inches. It’s a Hercules beetle.”

“Not dangerous?” Cal asked, obviously recognizing the trend.

“Neither one is. They eat fruit and rotting vegetation.”

Dr. Monroe frowned at the screen, rubbing his cheek absently as he thought. “I don’t get it. Why would pieces of the most god-awful weird insects be in that girl’s clothes and hair?”

Sophie leaned back in the chair and looked at them, shaking her head. “I don’t get it, either, because here’s the really weird part. That camel spider is from northern Africa and the Middle East. The tarantula and beetles are from Central and South America. None of them could survive here naturally, and they wouldn’t be kept in the same environment.”

Cal stared at the computer screen, but his gaze seemed unfocused as his mind turned over the problem. “How would someone come in contact with all those species? A zoo?”

She nodded. “It’s a good place to start. Collectors keep them, too, although they usually specialize in one species.”

“They sell those in pet stores?”

“I’m not sure. There might be restrictions on bringing them into the country, in which case collectors have to smuggle them in.”

“Black-market bugs? This is going to be one strange investigation.” He stared at the computer screen, thinking. “How about universities? Don’t they study these things for agriculture or something?”

She raised her eyebrows, considering it. “Maybe as part of a research project. I can ask a few people I know, see if I can get any leads for you.”

Cal smiled wearily. “I’d appreciate it. Otherwise I don’t have a clue how to find out why our victim looks like she died in an exotic insect massacre.”

Before they left, Sophie did her best to preserve the bug bits, dipping them in a diluted alcohol solution to harden them, then storing them in plastic containers lined with absorbent paper. She made arrangements to come back some evening after work, armed with textbooks and her own laptop. If this case ended up in court, she wanted her report to be as accurate and thoroughly documented as possible.

“Don’t talk about this with anyone,” Cal warned her as they left. “It’s information that hasn’t been released.”

“You mentioned it in front of Zane.”

“To get his reaction.” She was pretty sure there hadn’t been one, which would explain Cal’s grumpy look. “And don’t forget to bill the Barringer’s Pass PD.”

Her first professional fee. She’d write it up as soon as she figured out the going rate for criminal bug analysis.

Zane didn’t ask questions when Cal dropped Sophie at the Reznick work site. He wanted to, but asking might make it look like he considered her a friend, someone who was on his side and willing to keep him informed. He needed to discourage that. She’d already shown enough loyalty by hesitating to leave during work hours, and her brother-in-law hadn’t looked happy about it. It might be the only thing he and Cal agreed on. He could already see how the investigation was shaping up—it would be him versus the police. No Thorson ever came out on top in a contest between the two, and he didn’t want Sophie caught in the middle. Or worse, siding with him.

She didn’t offer any information. He wondered if it was because Hooter was always around to overhear. Or maybe she was keeping their big bug findings secret. That would be the smart thing to do, even though not knowing made him irritable and snappy. He hoped Manny or Cory would show up the next day so he could send Sophie home.

They didn’t.

“Shit,” Hooter grumbled. “I thought we were building that retaining wall today. What good’s a scrawny little girl gonna be?”

Sophie straightened and jammed her fists on her hips, just as he could have predicted she would. “I can pull my share,” she declared.

“What’s your share, sweetheart, twenty pounds?” He turned a distasteful look on Zane. “I’m not getting my leg crushed because princess here lost her grip on a rock.”

“Your body parts won’t be in danger because I’ll be the one helping you muscle the rocks in place. Sophie can drive the loader.”

“I can?”

He’d decided it on the spot, just to shut Hooter up. The idea of turning over the loader to Sophie again gave him a slightly sick feeling, but it wasn’t as if he had much choice. He gave her a challenging stare. “You got a problem with that?”

She smiled. “Nope.”

“Then get over there and warm it up while we get the ramps in place.”

Hooter looked at him like he’d lost his mind. He wasn’t happy about it, either, but he was in a tough place—if he made any concession for Sophie’s inexperience, Hooter would take it as a sign that he could walk all over her.

He drove the loader onto the flatbed himself, then off again at the site. Showing confidence in her was one thing, but not to the point of risking twenty thousand dollars of heavy equipment. It was hard enough to give her instructions, then turn his back and get to work with Hooter.

She did fine. Maybe digging up a body had taken the edge off her quest for adventure, or maybe it was just a determination to look good in front of Hooter. In any case, she worked slowly and carefully, filling in the excavated area around the pool, then scooping up boulders in the shovel while he and Hooter made sure they fit securely into the sloping berm below the pool. He was absorbed enough in the work that he didn’t notice a car pull in, or see the man walk down the sloping hillside until he was nearly beside him.

“Mr. Reznick!” Zane pulled off a dirt-stained glove and shook hands with the movie director who was his biggest client so far. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Just got here. My wife and daughter are going through the house with the interior designer.” He dismissed them with a wave of his hand as he surveyed the backyard with a smile. “You’ve made a lot of progress here. It’s looking great, Zane.”

“Thanks.” The relief he felt went far beyond that simple word; he needed Carl Reznick to show off his landscaping to the rest of the Hollywood escapees whose estates dotted the mountains around Barringer’s Pass. His future business depended on them.

He motioned to Sophie to kill the engine, and told her and Hooter to break for lunch. Reznick’s gaze followed his, and he raised an eyebrow. “New employee?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice.” He smiled appreciatively. “She’s sure an improvement over the other guys.”

Zane figured the next question would be
What happened to those two guys, anyway?
and he didn’t care to explain that they were afraid to work for a murderer. Reznick was in and out of town so much, he might not be aware of the case. “Did you check out the outdoor kitchen yet? Let me show you what we’ve done.” He steered Reznick away and killed the next fifteen minutes showing off their progress and explaining what was left to do. Reznick seemed more than satisfied, and Zane hoped it helped balance out the rumors the man was sure to hear if he stuck around town more than a day.

Their tour of the grounds ended near the truck where Hooter and Sophie lounged on opposite sides, eating lunch. Wrapping up his conversation, Zane was only half aware of Sophie asking Hooter about a bottle of water. Hooter motioned at a cooler a few feet away in the shade, and something about Hooter’s attentive look made Zane pause. The big man had stopped shoving Doritos into his mouth, and watched alertly as Sophie walked to the cooler.

Suspicion rippled like a chill across his skin. Hooter was up to something. He didn’t know what, but Sophie was obviously the target.

Reznick stopped talking, following his gaze. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Zane mumbled. But he was sure it was something, and the anticipation on Hooter’s face told him it couldn’t be good. He started to call out Sophie’s name, but the word died on his lips as she raised the lid on the cooler.

Sophie froze. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it was long enough for Zane to see a grin start to spread across Hooter’s face, and long enough for him to realize he couldn’t head off whatever was about to happen. He stood as still as Sophie, and felt Reznick go motionless beside him, aware that some drama was about to unfold.

In the silence, something rattled. Zane envisioned marbles rolling against plastic and couldn’t make sense of it.

He held his breath, unsure as to what he was waiting for. Sophie stooped down, intent on whatever was in the cooler, then darted her hand inside. He still had no idea what she was doing, but whatever it was, Hooter hadn’t expected it. His smile faded to an expression of pure astonishment as Sophie straightened, holding something in her hands. Something big and very much alive.

6

H
e couldn’t see
what it was until she turned, and then his face fell into an expression that must have mirrored Hooter’s. Beside him, Reznick choked on something between a laugh and a gasp.

Sophie’s right hand grasped a long snake just behind its head. Her left hand had a firm hold on its wriggling, twisting body, a couple of feet behind the head. Below that, another foot of snake thrashed the air in angry protest at being caught.

Two thoughts slammed through his brain—one, that several large species of snakes had that pattern of brown blotches, including rattlers, and two, that he’d distinctly heard a sharp rattle before she grabbed the snake.

Even Hooter wouldn’t go that far. Would he? The only thing holding Zane in place was Sophie’s confidence. No one handled a snake like that without experience.

His mind was still whirling as she turned and grinned at him, displaying the snake. “Look, a bull snake! Isn’t he a handsome specimen?”

Three pairs of eyes stared at the huge snake. No one answered. The snake’s tail found her left arm and wrapped around it. Zane noted the action, typical of a constrictor, and the row of spots that ran below the blotches. A bull snake, just as she’d said, with a rattle that mimicked a rattlesnake’s. He’d run across several over the years. His heartbeat slowed to slightly less than panic speed as he turned a fuming glare on Hooter. The man looked slightly ill.

“Gosh, I wonder how it got in the cooler?” Sophie mused loudly. Even Reznick got the implication; Zane saw him flick an amused glance at Hooter. “Poor guy, we must have disturbed him when we moved all those rocks. I’ll put him by that stand of pines.”

She walked away, the snake calming rapidly in her hands, probably enjoying the heat of her body after the chill of the cooler.

Zane was going to throttle Hooter. Reznick’s chuckle brought him to his senses, holding him back from creating a scene in front of his best client. “Hot damn,” he said, “there’s something sexy about a woman handling a snake, isn’t there?”

Zane shot a startled look at him.

“That’s one tough girl you’ve got there, Zane.”

“Uh, I guess.”

“You guys probably run across snakes all the time.”

“Not much.” The noise and vibrations of the heavy machinery usually drove them away. And once disturbed, they weren’t likely to seek refuge in coolers.

“Well, your girl has certainly seen them before. Sure looks like she knows what she’s doing.”

Reznick’s obvious admiration made him uncomfortable, especially after his sexual comment. “Sophie grew up in the mountains,” he said, watching as she knelt beneath a group of bristlecone pines, placed her hands gently on the ground, and let the snake slither away. “She’s also an entomologist, so I guess she’s used to handling creepy crawlies.”

“An entomologist,” Reznick said, surprise in his voice as he looked at Zane. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, got a doctorate in it. She just hasn’t found a job in that field yet. That’s why she’s working for me.”

“Huh.”

Reznick’s thoughtful expression looked more interested than his bland “Huh” would imply, tweaking Zane’s level of discomfort. If Annie’s gossip was true, the man was on his third wife, and for all he knew the guy went for educated types. He didn’t care to encourage his interest.

“Just helping out a friend by giving her a job.” He let his gaze linger on Sophie before settling a direct look on Reznick. “Actually, we’re a little more than friends.”

“Ah. Good for you.” Reznick gave him a sly smile. “Well, I’d better go see how much damage the wife and her froufrou designer have done to my bank account. Catch you later—I’ll be in town for a while.”

He watched Reznick stride toward the house before turning back to his pitifully small two-man crew. Anger came back fresh and strong. “Hooter.” The man looked up, his expression guarded, proving he wasn’t entirely stupid. “You’re done working until I call you. Take off.”

Hooter’s large face turned to stone. Zane could see him weigh his options—denial, outrage, threats. Apology wouldn’t occur to him. The payments on his new truck probably would—at least, Zane was counting on it to temper the fury that mottled his cheeks.

“How’m I supposed to do that?” he finally growled. “My truck’s back at the lot.”

Zane pulled his own keys from his pocket and tossed them to Hooter. “Leave the keys under the mat.” He watched Hooter weigh the pros and cons of having Zane’s personal vehicle. Since it was Will’s truck and Zane was responsible for it, he helped Hooter decide. “By the way, if you’re ever out at the Backstreet Bar, keep an eye on your truck. I heard someone’s going around keying paint and slashing tires.”

Hooter’s mouth pulled into a cross between a snarl and a smile. “Good luck getting that loader back to the lot,” he said as he stalked off.

Sophie said nothing until Will’s silver pickup disappeared down the driveway, then strolled up to him, hands in her pockets. “You ever hear of cutting off your nose to spite your face, Thorson? It was a harmless bull snake. I told you, I can handle Hooter.”

He narrowed a glare at her. “And I told him to back off. He didn’t listen. My employees don’t follow orders, they’re out.” Except he couldn’t fire Hooter while he was the only experienced mason he had. It burned like acid in his stomach.

She sighed. “So how
are
we going to get the loader back to the lot?”

“The same way we got it here. Two of us can handle it.” They could if he let her drive it onto the flatbed and help winch the heavy chains that kept it in place. He grumbled a curse as another spurt of acid ate at his stomach lining. Her soft palms would bear the calluses from this job for months to come.

He had to remember it wasn’t his problem. “Let’s get back to work. Lunch is over.”

It took them longer than it would have with Hooter helping, but they did it. Sophie was pleased that she’d done a competent job, and Zane didn’t look quite as grumpy, so she counted the day a success.

She was walking to her Jeep, sore but happy, when he climbed the three steps to the office and unlocked the door. “Hey,” she called out. “Aren’t you going home?”

“I’ve got paperwork I haven’t been able to get to while the cops kept me out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She turned back, pocketing her keys. “I can help with that.”

He stopped, hand on the open door. “I didn’t hire you to do office work, Sophie. Go home and get some rest.”

She ignored him, marching up the steps. “I can type, and I believe I know my alphabet well enough to file. I’m sure I can do something.” Pushing past him, she picked up a scattering of letters that had fallen through the mail slot. “Plus, I could use the money. Of course, you’ll have to pay the same rate as manual labor. But don’t worry, I’m worth it.”

He didn’t even argue, which she figured was proof that he had more to do than he could handle on his own.

She started by playing back messages from the phone on Annie’s desk, and immediately wished she hadn’t. The first two were from clients, canceling jobs they’d had lined up. Zane didn’t say anything, but the twitching tightness along his jaw showed the frustration he couldn’t hide. She debated asking, but had to know. “Were they big jobs?”

“Yeah,” was his terse comment.

She took the hint and didn’t say anything else. Instead, she spent some time figuring out how Annie accessed the bank account and paid bills. Seeing the balance, she swallowed hard. “Zane, do you want to pay one of these bills entirely, or do installments on all of them?”

He jerked his head up. “You accessed my bank account?”

It might be private information, but if Annie could know it, it shouldn’t be a big deal. “The password was in the desk. You’ve got three bills due next week and they need to get paid.”

He covered the five steps from his desk and snatched up the stack of bills, flipped through them, then tossed them aside with a disgusted look. “Pay a little on each,” he told her and stalked back to his desk.

Her good mood drifted away like a cloud of vapor. Quietly, she paid something on each bill, leaving enough in the bank to cover payroll—she hoped. She wanted to tell him money would be coming in from other clients, but had no idea if that was true. For the first time she saw how easily a campaign of whispered rumors could sink his business.

By eight thirty her stomach was growling, and she’d run out of things she knew how to do. She wouldn’t even touch the stack of papers that looked like they had to do with health benefits. “I’m going home,” she announced.

“Okay.” He looked up, mouth tight and one hand massaging the furrows in his brow. As their eyes met, he lowered his hand and blew out a tired breath. “Thanks, Sophie. I mean it.”

It was the first time she’d seen him with his emotional barriers down, showing the strain he was under. “No problem.” She smiled back, sincerely glad she’d helped out. Something inside her warmed at sharing that honest moment of contentment with him. The next instant she realized they’d let it last a bit too long.

In the depths of his eyes, a familiar spark of attraction leapt to life. It was the same spark she’d felt ten years ago, the one that had burned between an inexperienced seventeen-year-old and a defensive, sullen twenty-year-old. And she knew, with a quaking certainty, that he saw an answering spark in her eyes. The silence became awkward, buzzing with a whole new tension.

She pulled her gaze away, requiring an almost physical effort, and looked down while fumbling for her keys. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she mumbled, then risked a quick glance. He hadn’t moved, but his gaze was emotionless again, shuttered. She might have imagined the spark.

Except she knew she hadn’t.

She had to think of something besides Zane. Something that didn’t make her hands tremble and her heart beat fast.

Bugs.

She’d promised Cal she’d check around to see if someone could help them figure out how the dead girl could have come in contact with all those exotic bugs. The obvious person was Robert Boon, the teacher who’d first piqued her fascination with insects back in high school, and who’d been a mentor to her ever since. His “amateur” monitoring of insect populations in the mountains was so thorough that even the forest service and private companies consulted with him.

She called him while standing in her kitchen, eating a sandwich.

“Sophie!” The joy in his voice brought a fond smile. “Great to hear from you! How’s the job hunting going?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Don’t give up; a little bird told me Pace Labs is looking at filling that opening soon, and they loved you when you interned there.”

The possible job in Juniper she’d been hoping for. “That would be terrific!”

“It would. I think it’d be the perfect job for you. There’s just, uh, one little problem.”

An ominous tingle crossed the nape of her neck. In this job market, she couldn’t afford even one little problem. “What’s that?”

“Your name was in the paper recently in connection with the body that turned up at that Thorson kid’s place.”

“His place of business,” she clarified. “Yes, I was the one who found it. It was awful. But it’s not like I’m a suspect or anything.”

Her little chuckle at the absurdity of that didn’t change Mr. Boon’s somber tone. “It’s the association with Thorson that worries me, Sophie.”

The little hairs on her neck were twitching now. “You mean Zane Thorson?” He had a first name, but all anyone cared about was the last one.

“Yes. The article said you worked for him.”

“I do. It’s just temporary, until I get in some place.” Like Pace.

She heard a deep sigh. “It might be better if you quit now,” Mr. Boon said.

She was getting a bad feeling about this. “Why?”

“Because it won’t go over well with Ron Cezerki at Pace. He’s the head of the entomology department, and the one who does the hiring. You probably weren’t around, but his daughter was brutally raped. She said it was Emmett Thorson, and everything the police could find supported her accusation. He was still in his teens, and already out of control. There was a long, messy trial, during which Emmett said some nasty things about the girl that I’m sure he made up, trashing her reputation. The whole thing really tore up the family, but the girl hung tough and was determined to see him locked up. Unfortunately, they couldn’t get a conviction.”