Page 3 of Stilettos & Whiskey (Deputy Gemma Stone)

A red-headed woman in her forties ran into the street and waved her arms frantically. I slammed on the brakes. “Holy shit, lady! You got a death wish?”

She pounded on my window. “Help me! Please, you gotta help me. I don’t know what to do.”

A blue Ford skidded to a stop behind me and a teenage boy laid on the horn.

I flipped on my overhead lights and rolled the window down. “Ma’am, I need you to step over to the sidewalk, and I’ll talk with you there.”

“But this is an emergency!” Her expression was one of blind panic.

“I understand that, but the middle of the street is not safe for you or me.”

She threw up her hands in disgust and stomped back to the blue Ford. “What the fuck is your problem? I have a real emergency.”

“You’re the problem, lady. You’re making me late for work,” the teenage boy shouted. He put it in reverse and backed rapidly down the street, did a U-turn and sped off.

Oh, hell, it was going to be one of those days. “Charlie-24 show me out with a citizen at Reems and Thunderbird Road.”

“Copy, Charlie-24,” the dispatcher responded.

I parked my patrol car and got out. “What type of emergency do you have, ma’am?”

“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 is not at 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.

The snake hissed, uncoiled from around the cat and slithered up an ironwood tree.

The cat ran for its life.

“You maced Twiggy,” Florence yelled in outrage.

Mildred smacked Florence with her cane. “If she hadn’t, that damn snake would have eaten Sassy.” She raised her cane again.

“No!” I grabbed the cane. “Don’t make me arrest you for assault.”

An evil gleam lit Mildred’s eyes. “Did you know Florence doesn’t have an exotic animal permit?”

“Snitch,” Florence snapped.

I pulled out my cellphone.

“Who are you calling?” Florence demanded.

“Animal control. They have the proper equipment to wrangle a snake that size.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll get her down.”

I eyed the tree. Twiggy was about twenty feet up. “Don’t even think about it. Those limbs won’t hold your weight.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Florence spat.

I will not shoot her. I will not shoot her. “If you try to climb that tree, I’ll arrest you.”

“Fine,” Florence huffed.

I turned to Mildred. “I need your address and last name.”

“Miller and it’s 13622 North Reems Road.”

“You’re such a snitch,” Florence groused.

“And you’re a thief. Twiggy belongs to your ex.”

Wiping the sweat out of my eyes, I asked, “Is that true?”

“No! John gave her to me, and I can prove it.” Florence tapped on her cellphone.

“Hello?”

“John, I need you to tell this officer that Twiggy belongs to me.”

“Did she try to eat someone again?”

Oh, hell. Just what I didn’t need. A man-eating python.

A horrified look on her face, Florence quickly said, “No! Just a cat.”

“Just a cat,” Mildred repeated and raised her cane.

I took it away from her. “You might want to put some clothes on before the animal control officer arrives.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Red-faced, Mildred scurried into her house.

I dialed the number for animal control and sighed. Dammit! It was busy. As soon as Sergeant Bergman heard what I was dealing with, he’d come for a look- see. Reluctantly, I keyed my radio mic, “Charlie-24 I need animal control at 13622 North Reems Road for a twenty-foot python in a tree.”

“Copy, Charlie-24,” the dispatcher replied.

“George-20 show me en route to that location,” Sergeant Bergman advised.

“Copy, George-20.”

Florence held her arms up. “Come to Momma, Twiggy.”

Twiggy hissed.

“Has she ever attacked you?” Call me concerned.

Refusing to meet my eyes, Florence mumbled, “Kinda.”

“Kinda? It’s either a yes or a no.”

“Yes,” Florence spat. “Happy now?”

I backed away from the tree. “No.”

“It was my fault. I forgot to feed her, and she gets a bit snappy when she’s hungry,” Florence admitted, rubbing the scar on her right hand.

Twiggy hissed again.

“Did you forget to feed her last night?”

Florence just glared at me.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” To my relief the animal control van pulled up.

Tommy, a skinny Hispanic male, got out of the van. “How big is the python, Julie?”

“Twiggy is twenty feet long and hungry,” I answered.

“Not good.” Opening the back of the van, Tommy took out a snake stick, a bag and a frozen rat. “Show me where Twiggy is.”

I pointed up.

Twiggy hissed angrily.

Tommy held up the rat.

To my utter surprise, Twiggy slithered down the tree and politely took the rat from Tommy’s hand.

“I’ll be damned,” Sergeant Bergman said from behind me.

I bit back a yelp. We definitely needed to put a bell on him.

Tommy stuffed Twiggy in the snake bag. “Who is the owner?”

“I am,” Florence snapped. “All of this is unnecessary.”

“Do you have an exotic animal permit?”

Florence chewed on her lower lip. “No.”

“Let’s talk.” Tommy headed for his van.

Mildred stormed out of the house. “I’ve got something to say too!”

“Let me put Twiggy in the van and we can all talk,” Tommy said.

Florence stepped in front of him. “No, I’m taking Twiggy home with me.”

“That’s not happening. Twiggy comes with me until you have an exotic animal permit, and I verify you have a proper aquarium for her. I’m also writing you a ticket for animal at large,” Tommy replied.

Suppressing a grin at the horror on Florence’s face, I asked, “Do you need us to hang around, Tommy?”

“No, just email me your report number.”

“Will, do.”

Sergeant Bergman chuckled. “Chihuahuas, iguanas, chickens and snakes. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”

“Lots and lots of scorpions,” I muttered.

Sergeant Bergman stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Scorpions?”

“Believe me, you don’t want to know,” I said with a shudder.

He snapped his fingers. “The cat burglar call.”

“Yeah.” How did he keep track of all our calls?

His face split into a wide grin. “The snake beats them all.” He got into his patrol car and drove off.

I’m glad the sarge found a man-eating python amusing. I climbed in my car and cranked up the A/C.