Tortoise Soup by Jessica Speart

Author:Jessica Speart [Speart, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Endangered species, female sleuth, Nevada, Wildlife Smuggling, special agent, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Jessica Speart, environmental thriller, Rachel Porter Mystery Series, illegal wildlife trade, nuclear waste, Las Vegas, wildlife mystery, Desert tortoise, Mojave Desert, poaching
Published: 2012-05-07T20:00:00+00:00

The conservation center seemed to be the next logical place to hit, after learning about Bill Holmes’s high and mighty connections. But Holmes was nowhere to be found. If any of the staff knew where he was, they weren’t talking. I cornered a portly guy in baggy jeans with ragged cuffs for a quick interrogation.

I hit him with a right. “Does Holmes usually take days off unannounced?”

“I don’t know,” the young biologist ducked.

I hit him with a left. “Did he call in sick?”

“Can’t say,” the scientist swerved.

I countered with a jab. “Is he at home now?”

“I’m with the Smithsonian. I don’t know where he lives,” my opponent blocked.

I moved in for the kill. “Then he is at home!”

“It didn’t come from me!” The biologist quickly turned and walked away.

Uppercut and knockout.

I jumped in the Blazer and pulled Holmes’s list of addresses out of the glove compartment. I also dragged out a map, hoping to decipher my way. Then I stepped on the gas and made a beeline for one of Vegas’s newer subdivisions.

Holmes’s street address was in the middle of a ritzy development. I double-checked his list to make sure I hadn’t gotten it wrong; but there were no two ways about it. Holmes was living among the crème de la crème. Either he was quite a nifty saver or something else was supplementing his income.

I pulled into his driveway and let Pilot out as I headed for the front door. The doorbell chimed a few classical notes, but no one was home. That made it the perfect time to snoop around. I peered through the front windows and saw that Holmes was sorely lacking in the decor department. A purple bean-bag chair sat plopped in the middle of the living room, positioned in front of a thirty-five-inch-screen TV. Above it hung a black velvet portrait of Elvis decked out in enough sequins to have made Liberace drool. There was no other furniture in sight.

I moved around to the back of the house as Pilot occupied himself marking the only bush on the grounds. Rounding a corner, I nearly tripped over a makeshift cactus garden badly in need of water. Next to it stood a small plastic pool that was bare. I pulled an empty bucket up to the back window and turned it upside down to stand on top, catching a glimpse of Holmes’s kitchen. This room appeared to be a little more lived in, with a yellow Formica table and four green plastic yard chairs. A clock with dice in place of the hours hung above his stove. On the floor was a plastic mat with a water bowl and a dish full of food that looked crusty and old. I leaned in closer, pressing my face against the glass to get a better view, when something jumped up, startling me badly. A tabby cat rubbed its body against the window and then turned to hiss at me, warning away an unwanted intruder.

I retraced my tracks to the front of the house in time to catch Pilot uprooting the lawn.

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