Читать книгу Belinda Blake and the Snake in the Grass - Heather Day Gilbert - Страница 12

Chapter 5

Katrina picked up on the first ring. “What’s going on? I have a client showing up in five.”

My big sister was a psychologist in Albany, and her job oozed importance. After all, she helped people straighten out their lives.

I didn’t waste her time. “I need to find a rich-looking outfit to go out to eat at a really swanky place. Where could I find something fast? I’m on the Upper West Side right now.”

Katrina rattled off names and addresses of several upscale consignment shops. Her memory was like a steel trap—unlike my own swirly-twirly memories of things that had no relevance whatsoever. And that wasn’t the only way Katrina was my direct opposite.

Although we both had curly hair, hers was long and brunette while mine was bobbed and blonde. While my skin was tanned and freckled like Mom’s, hers was porcelain white. Katrina was the responsible one, the one my parents called first when major life upheavals occurred. She had made good on her college degree and had added a Master’s on top of it.

Meanwhile, I spent my time pet-sitting exotic animals and playing video games.

“What’s the big occasion?” she asked.

“There’s this guy in the manor house, and he’s asked me to dinner.” I decided to leave off the bit about the dead body I’d found in my yard.

“Guy in the manor house.” She dropped her voice to a near-purr. “Sounds rich. Literally.” She groaned. “Oh, sis, I have to go. They’re buzzing my next one in. See you at Thanksgiving?”

“Sure thing. I hope you’re bringing some of your homemade rolls.”

As I hung up, I brushed away any pangs of homesickness so I could focus on the job at hand.

Rasputin’s owner, Reginald Foley, had typed up a neat list of bullet points explaining the proper care and feeding of his ball python. My limited internet research had showed that Reginald was quite unusual in his snake handling methods. Most snake owners didn’t take their snakes outside or bathe them every other week, but Reginald swore it kept Rasputin happy, and I’d agreed to do those things while he was away.

Which meant today had to be a bath day for the snake. Reginald would make his weekly call tonight, and he wouldn’t be happy if Rasputin hadn’t gotten squeaky clean yet.

Of course, this would fall on a day I had a date with an unbelievably good-looking man who was far above my station in life. A day when I really should shop for an outfit that would make me look like I fit in with the Greenwich socialite crowd. A day when I needed to wash my wayward curls.

Still, it had to be done. Since it was already three in the afternoon, I needed fortification before attempting the snake’s bath. I tapped at cabinets until I located the fridge, which had been cleverly disguised with faux-cabinet doors. I pulled out salami, sliced Swiss, Dijon mustard, and pickles, then slapped them on a deli roll on the counter. I felt a bit shady digging around in someone else’s kitchen, but Reginald had instructed me to help myself to the food. He had even stocked his fridge and cabinets according to the food preferences I’d specified in my application form.

There were some definite perks to pet-sitting for the wealthy.

I sank onto a pale blue French armchair and watched Rasputin as I ate. Sometimes, the snake’s slow movements were more interesting to me than TV. By the time I finished my sandwich, he had draped himself over his water bowl, so I decided to get the bath going. I could probably slip him in and out before he knew what was happening.

I walked down to the oversized bathroom, finding the warm water dispenser Reginald had described. It actually poured non-chlorinated water into the tub at just the right temperature for Rasputin’s bath. No muss, no fuss.

I hoped.

After prepping the snake’s larger cage so I could slide him right into it after he had freshened up, I returned to his transportable cage to retrieve him for a bath. Predictably, he flipped into a ball, but not before I got my hands around his middle. He seemed fairly calm as we walked down the hall.

In the bathroom, I tried to gently transfer him to the tub, but he refused to let go of me. I leaned in closer and plopped him into the water with a little splash. He froze for a moment, then began darting from one end of the tub to the other using extended, S-shaped movements. I leaned back, hoping he wouldn’t slither right up and out onto the pale wood floor, but he seemed to calm down and relax into the water’s warmth.

My phone rang, so I dried my hands and slid the phone from my pocket. It was Stone.

“Yes?” I hoped I didn’t sound snippy, but I was sort of preoccupied.

“Sorry to bother you again, but I wanted to let you know that I moved our reservation up by an hour, if that’s okay? My friend Dietrich said we could swing by tonight, but he’s heading out around nine for some party, so we’d have to get down there earlier than I thought.”

I swallowed my apprehension, hoping I’d have time to find something to wear. “Sure. No problem.”

“Will see you out front, then. Red already knows where to pick you up.”

“Okay, thanks.” My face flushed as I thought about spending one-on-one time with Stone at a fancy restaurant, and I was glad he couldn’t see me.

I hung up and turned to set the phone on the sink. When I spun back around, there was no snake in the tub.

Something dark moved above me, and I snapped my gaze upward. Rasputin had somehow curled himself around the shower rod, and none too loosely. His tongue flicked out once, twice—like a warning. I’d read that snakes used their tongues to test the air temperature, but I still felt threatened.

I adopted the firm tone I’d used when kenneling fractious dogs at my dad’s office. “Come on, big guy. You’re all done here. Let’s get you back in your comfy cage.” I didn’t want to come at the snake head-on, but there was no way to sneak up on him. Reginald had told me ball pythons rarely bite, but I had my doubts.

With my left hand, I snapped my fingers in front of him, then clamped my right hand over his back. I stopped snapping and grabbed him behind his head, like Jacques had shown me. The snake surprised me by loosening his coils and turning remarkably docile, so I could easily pull him from the shower rod. Once he was securely in-hand, I raced directly up the hall and deposited him in his larger cage. As if relieved, he slid right into his hiding place, which was a large plastic stone with a hole cut out of it. I figured I wouldn’t see him until tomorrow, which was more than fine with me.

I took stock of my appearance and glanced at the clock. I had time to shower, but there certainly wouldn’t be enough time for a shopping excursion. I ran into the guest room and rummaged wildly in my backpack, finally retrieving a bell-sleeved floral maxi dress from Anthropologie I’d shoved in at the last minute. It looked second-hand, because it was, and it was crumpled. Since I had no idea where Reginald hid his ironing board, I would just hang the dress up in the guest bathroom while I showered and hope for the best.

As for shoes, I’d packed Doc Martens, Converse tennies, and Crocs. There was just no fancying any of those up. The clock was still ticking and I knew it would take a while to tame my curls, so I made a decision.

I would probably be the first chick to ever show up at The White Peony in Doc Martens, but hopefully the maxi dress was long enough to hide them. At the very least, I’d have clean hair.