The Stitching Hour (25 page)

I felt something brush against my ankle. Throwing all that good advice I'd received to the wind, I screamed and jerked away. I looked down just in time to see and feel an emerald green snake bite my ankle. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was on the verge of giving in to hysteria. But I couldn't. If this snake was venomous, then the more upset I got, the quicker the venom would travel through my bloodstream. If it wasn't venomous and I gave in to my panic, I was more likely to be bitten again by one or more of the snakes.

Why did I come here? Why didn't I leave well enough alone? Why wasn't anyone looking for me?

I slowly lifted my hands to cover my mouth and help drown out the whimpers I couldn't suppress.

Claude walked by, casually glanced inside the Lair of the Serpent, and then stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. “Marcy, what're you doing in there?”

Perhaps as curious as but more cautious than the rat snake, the rattlesnake had crawled along a faux branch just above the door. When Claude threw open the door, the rattlesnake fell onto him and bit him between his shoulder and neck. Claude cried out in pain.

Priscilla came running down the hall as I helped Claude from the room and closed the door to the Lair of the Serpent.

“Call an ambulance,” I said as Claude slumped to the floor.

Instead, Priscilla hurried over and cradled him in her arms. I'd left my purse and cell phone in my car, so I went into the office and called Ted on the Horror Emporium's landline.

“Marcy?”

I could hear the alarm in his voice. Sparing him the details for the moment, I said simply, “I'm next door. Call an ambulance for Claude and get over here immediately.”

B
oth Claude and I wound up in the emergency room, of course. Having been bitten by a Japanese rat snake, I fared much better than he did. I got my wound cleaned with a strong antibacterial cleanser and was instructed to return if I saw any signs of infection.

By the time the paramedics got Claude to the hospital, his trapezius had swelled to more than twice its normal size and was still growing. He was stabilized with antivenin, and then everyone was forced to leave the room so the medical staff could examine him further.

Officer Moore had been called in to keep an eye on Priscilla. I'd told Ted what she'd done to me—which was grounds for arrest on its own—and I'd explained what she'd done to Keira.

“When I saw the Taser, it all clicked into place,” I said. “Priscilla had used the stun gun to immobilize Keira and then injected her with poison. She killed her because she wanted to see Mr. Sherman and his family suffer the way her father had suffered when Mr. Sherman destroyed his business and how she'd suffered when her father had committed suicide.”

“Actually, it wasn't poison Priscilla injected Keira with,” Ted told me. “It was rattlesnake venom, though not the venom of the type of rattler on display in the exhibit. Under Detective Poston's interrogation, Sal—the exotic-pet shop owner—had confessed that a woman fitting Priscilla's description had come into the shop and bought the venom. She'd claimed she was a doctor and needed the venom to make antivenin.”

I was surprised. I hadn't thought Keira's murder had been well planned. I'd believed Priscilla had been waiting like a spider for some way to get back at Ken Sherman, and I felt that Keira having to work for the Horror Emporium at their grand opening celebration was merely a fly in her web that Priscilla couldn't pass up. But she'd known who Keira was all along. It was likely the reason the Horror Emporium had approached MacKenzies' Mochas about doing concessions in the first place. And, yet, in the end, Priscilla had been caught in her own web. Her husband was the one suffering for her actions.

Sal, of Sal's Exotic Pets, had recanted his denial of knowing Ken Sherman. He'd told Detective Poston that Mr. Sherman had approached him after Keira's autopsy results were presented to him and asked if anyone had bought venom. He'd told him a female doctor had bought some. When Sal had described the “doctor,” Mr. Sherman had put the pieces together and realized that Priscilla had used the ruse to obtain the venom that had killed his daughter. He had no idea Priscilla was the child of Jim Morris, but he blamed Blake for Keira's death because he'd forced her to work at the Horror Emporium the night she died.

After a short while, a nurse came out and told us that Claude had been taken into surgery for a fasciotomy.

Priscilla raised her tear-streaked face and asked what that meant.

The nurse said that since Claude had received a moderate amount of venom in the trapezius muscle, the doctor had to cut the fascia to relieve the pressure and guard against acute compartment syndrome.

“B-but will C-Claude be all r-right?” Priscilla asked.

“We believe so.” With that, the nurse returned to her post.

I walked over and patted Priscilla's hand. Yes, she'd shoved me into a literal snake pit and would certainly have killed me had she found me alive before Claude did, but she was a sad, pitiful mess sitting there. Plus, I couldn't help but think about that little girl with the lank brown hair and the outrageous outfits who'd had to become a mother to her siblings when she was only seven years old. Priscilla had been through a lot of pain. Granted, she'd dished out her fair share of hurt too, but the peacock was broken and cornered . . . and about to be caged.

She looked at me in surprise and then crushed me to her ample chest.

Ugh. This is almost as bad as the snakes.

“I'm so sorry, Marcy. I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay. And Claude is going to make a full recovery. I just know he is.”

“Do you really?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“I do.”

Manu and Officer Moore took Priscilla to the police station to charge her on multiple counts, including the murder of Keira Sherman. I asked Manu not to add my kidnapping and reckless endangerment to Priscilla's charges. He gave me a sideways look, shook his head, and said we'd talk about it tomorrow.

Ted took me back to the Seven-Year Stitch. I thought we were only going to pick up my Jeep, but I was deeply touched to see that everyone was still there waiting for me to return. They all cheered when I walked through the door.

Ted gave my hand a squeeze and winked.

“You knew everyone was waiting, didn't you?”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “Didn't you think it odd that Manu and I took your statement in the ambulance on the way to the hospital? We didn't want you to miss your big night.”

•   •   •

Despite being thrown into the Lair of the Serpent by a madwoman, being bitten by a rat snake, and spending three hours in the emergency room, I had to admit that the anniversary party was a success. Upon hearing why I had been detained, most of the guests had stayed. They were eager to get all the juicy details. I even shared the front page of the
Tallulah Falls Examiner
the next day with Claude and Priscilla.

Fortunately, Claude did make a full recovery and was found to be not culpable in his wife's schemes. He'd bought the Taser gun for the protection of himself, his wife, and their employees; and he'd thought the two Seven-Year Stitch key rings Priscilla had brought back from my shop the Thursday before Keira's murder were gifts I'd given her.

Mom got a phone call the day before she was scheduled to leave Tallulah Falls. She'd gotten a job doing the costumes for a modern-day interpretation of a Hercule Poirot mystery. Alfred stayed on until she left and gave me his assurance that he'd see to it that she saw a cardiologist as soon as possible. A few days after their return, he called to tell me that she'd received a clean bill of health from the heart specialist.

“I'm guarding that woman's heart with my life, child,” he told me triumphantly.

“TMI, Uncle Alfred,” I said. “Do you know what that means? Too much information!”

I wanted them to be happy. I didn't want either of them to share all the gory details.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Amanda Lee would like to thank Ken Childress and Lydia Wiley of Bays Mountain Park and Planetarium, Kingsport, Tennessee, for their insights and expertise into snakes. The author is especially delighted that she didn't have to glean any of this knowledge firsthand! That said, any mistakes or misrepresentations about the snakes in the Lair of the Serpent are the author's own.

The author would also like to take this opportunity to thank Captain Charlie Womack of Treasures of the Sea in Lincoln City, Oregon, for his continued support, encouragement, and information.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amanda Lee
lives in southwest Virginia with her husband and two beautiful children, a boy and a girl. She's a full-time writer/editor/mom/wife and chief cook and bottle washer, and she loves every minute of it. Okay, not the bottle washing so much, but the rest of it is great.

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