Now!
Victoria's hand flew out, grabbed the sandal, swung as hard as she could. The heel caught the top of the snake's snout, pierced its hide, and slammed it to the tile. The snake coiled and shook its entire body, the sandal staying put.
"Princess! Are you in there?" Her mother getting closer.
"Stay out!" Victoria commanded, scrambling to her feet.
On the floor, the snake writhed, and the sandal tore loose. Victoria grabbed the tail and cracked the snake like a bullwhip. There was the crunch of breaking cartilage. She whipped the snake again, its head smashing against the tile wall. Then she dropped it, motionless, onto the floor.
"Princess! What's happening? Why'd you scream?"
The Queen came through the doorway. She'd taken the time to put on a swirling white silk gown and fluffy slippers. A beauty mask was propped on top of her head.
"Omigod!" Her mother shrank back, keeping her distance from the snake. "Those red stripes. Coral snake?"
Victoria sank to the cold tile floor, trembling. "Yeah, I think so."
"Are you all right?"
"I fell pretty hard, but I'm fine." Victoria rubbed her hip; there'd be a bruise within hours.
"Thank God. I should get some ice-"
"It's okay, Mom. Don't worry about me."
"Not for you. For the snake."
Oh. Her mother thinking more clearly than she was. "For evidence. That's a good idea, Mother."
"Evidence? What evidence? I've got a craftsman in Miami who can make a killer handbag out of that beauty."
Twenty minutes later, her mother had gone back to sleep and Victoria had changed into pink cotton sweats and sneakers. Outside, Monroe County deputies roamed the pool deck and parking lot. Inside the hotel suite, Sheriff Willis Rask stood astride the dead reptile and hefted Victoria's fuschia pom-pom sandal.
"You killed that monster with this little-bitty thing?" The sheriff wore a quizzical look.
Victoria shrugged.
When Steve arrived from the houseboat, he hugged her tightly and expressed all the right concerns, saying if he caught whoever did this, he'd pulverize the guy. Break every bone in his body, starting with his knees. Rask told Steve to chill out, then asked Victoria to tell him everything that had happened that night. She did as instructed, skipping the nude-coed-in-turquoisewater dream.
"Snake in a shower's a new one on me," Rask admitted. "Saw a toilet filled with mud puppies and scrub lizards once. Men's room at Charlie Harper's Arco on Tortuga Drive. Molly Alter's boy dumped the poor creatures there after Charlie caught him stealing cans of tire glue. Boy was a sniffer."
"Lizards and mud puppies won't bite you," Steve said.
"Maybe not, but if one licks your butt, you might trip over your own drawers and bang your head on the wall. Happened to Charlie."
Victoria pointed a sneakered toe at the carcass. "That's not a mud puppy, Sheriff. It's a coral snake. Someone tried to kill me."
"Maybe. Maybe not," Rask mused.
A little too mellow for Victoria's taste. The sheriff carried the scent of cannabis with him. Either Rask had just captured a freighter stuffed with marijuana or he'd smoked a joint on the drive over.
"Willis, I gotta agree with Vic," Steve said. "Whoever broke in planted the snake in the bathroom."
"Most likely true," Rask agreed, "but Ms. Lord could have gotten to the hospital in ten minutes. Plenty of time, and they're damn good with snakebites. If a local did this, he'd know that."
"What are you saying, Sheriff?" Victoria demanded. "This was just a practical joke? Like lizards in the toilet?"
"Ever see a baby gator bite a woman in the ass?" Rask asked.
A breathtaking non sequitur, Victoria thought. Weed will do that.
"Trailer park on Stock Island." Rask nodded at the memory. "Woman gets in the bathtub, plans to soak a while, file down her corns. Her husband neglected to mention he'd caught a baby gator that morning. Don't know if he planned to eat it or raise it. Woman's ass took thirty stitches, as I recall."
"Sheriff, someone ran Steve off a bridge. Now someone puts a poisonous snake in my shower. You don't see a pattern here?"
"Pattern, yes. Attempted murder, no. Like I told Steve before, if someone wanted to kill him, they wouldn't just toss glop on his windshield. And whoever was in your room tonight could surely have killed you if they wanted."
"They want to mess with our heads," Steve said. He walked to the mini-bar and tried to open it, but Victoria had hidden the key to keep her mother from charging booze to her room. "They want to foul up Griffin's defense."
"Which means," Victoria broke in, "that whoever's doing it is also trying to frame Uncle Grif."
"And is probably the real killer," Steve said.
"Can't comment on that," Rask said. "My position's gotta be that your guy's the one."
"Vic, you're not spending any more nights alone," Steve advised her.
"The houseboat's too small," she replied. "I need room to work."
"Then I'll move in here."
She didn't immediately reply.
How to say it?
"I need my space, Steve."
"Nice try, tiger," Rask needled him.
"Then give her official protection, Willis. Two deputies here all night. One in the corridor, one under the balcony."
"I dunno, Stevie. We got a budget crisis down here. . "
"Willis. This is important to me, okay?"
"Jeez, Stevie."
"My dad would want you to."
Playing that card, Victoria thought. Did Willis Rask owe his career to Herbert Solomon, getting him out of trouble all those years ago?
Rask sighed. "Okay, you got it."
"I don't want it," Victoria said.
"I don't care," Steve said.
"Are you listening? I don't want police protection."
"Not your call, cupcake."
"What did you call me?"
"Keep your cops here, Willis," Steve instructed. "Send in the National Guard, too, while you're at it."
"You can be so damn controlling." Pretending to be annoyed, but deep down, appreciating the way Steve stepped up to the plate for her. The concern in his voice. With all the doubts she had about their relationship, there was something about which she was always certain: Steve truly, deeply cared for her.
The sheriff crouched down and straightened the snake to its full length. "Think there's enough skin for a pair of boots, Stevie?"
"I was thinking more of a briefcase," Steve replied, crouching down beside him.
"Forget it, both of you," Victoria ordered. "Someone else already has dibs."
Twenty-nine
An hour later, Sheriff Rask carted off the dead snake in an Igloo cooler, promising to FedEx it to Irene's leather craftsman as soon as it was measured, photographed, and analyzed for evidentiary purposes. By nine a.m., Victoria and Steve were driving north toward Paradise Key.
Steve felt a stew of conflicting emotions. Relief that Victoria was okay. Guilt that he hadn't been there to protect her. Guilt over something else, too. His deception.
He hadn't told her about rooting around in his father's trash. He knew she would disapprove; the phrase "invasion of privacy" came instantly to mind. So, not a word about uncovering his father's mysterious phone calls to Reginald Jones, Chief Clerk of the Circuit Court. That was something he would have to investigate by himself.
Jones to Luber to Solomon.
Sounded like a double-play combination, with his old man the first baseman. But what the hell really went on two decades ago in all those capital cases? Back then, the courthouse was a beehive of little fiefdoms, with sleazy lawyers, greedy bail bondsmen, and corrupt cops buzzing in the corridors. Presiding over the messy business, perched on a higher plane in each courtroom, were the robed lords of the manor, some decent, some incompetent, and some nakedly opportunistic.