Banishing the Dark (Arcadia Bell #4)(38)

Lon confirmed that the man was telling the truth once we were back in the SUV.

“Strike one,” I said wearily.

It was almost nine in the morning. Past my bedtime—again. I was tired and cranky, and whatever weight I’d lost in the hospital must have been creeping back on, because the waistband of my skinny jeans was starting to dig into my stomach.

“The other one’s in Ontario,” Lon said. “It’s not far.”

We had a better feeling about R&N Reptiles and Aquatics. For one, they’d taken a lot of flak from animal-rights groups who’d found their facilities wanting. Second, they were near the Ontario airport, and as Lon pointed out, most illegal exotic-animal imports were shipped via air.

None of this had me enthused to check the place out. And when I saw the dreary strip-mall building that housed the shop and the dusty unmarked delivery truck being loaded from a dock on the side, my internal creep-o-meter started beeping.

It didn’t help that the man loading the delivery truck—who was an Earthbound, the first one I’d seen since yesterday—was shouting profanities at the guy driving it, gesticulating wildly. Looked as if any second they might break into a fistfight.

“We’re not here to make friends,” Lon reminded me as we drove past the uncomfortable scene and made our way to the front. He parked next to custom aquarium installer, who headed inside through an unmarked door. Seemed he knew where he was going, so we followed his lead.

Row after row of metal shelving stretched over a long room with unfinished cement floors and dim warehouse lighting. Mismatched sizes of glass tanks and metal cages crowded the shelves, most with laminated signs on which were scribbled breed, age, and cost. Hundreds of snakes and lizards, stacked like cargo.

Snakes don’t bother me. Never have. But what bothered me now was the sad, shoddy state of the store and the wretched stench. Most reptiles don’t have a scent. But their urine and feces do, and that’s what I smelled now. Soiled cages that weren’t properly kept. It wasn’t simply noticeable, it was overwhelming. Two steps inside the door, and I was coughing, covering my mouth with my arm.

“Hey,” Lon said quietly, bending his head near mine. “You okay?”

“The smell,” I choked out, eyes watering from the sharp ammonia in the air.

“It’s a little rough,” he agreed. But he didn’t seem to be as affected.

Meanwhile, I was seriously wondering if I was going to be sick. “Jesus,” I murmured, catching another scent mixed in with all the dirty cages. “Death. Dead snakes in here.”

“An operation this big, I’d imagine so.”

“This is terrible, Lon.”

“I’m starting to understand why the animal-rights groups were up in arms over this.” He discreetly pulled up the hem of his shirt to wipe my face. “Can you do this? You could wait in the car.”

I shook my head, pushing away nausea. “I can do it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Wait, don’t turn around.” My stinging eyes followed the aquarium installer from the parking lot. He was chatting with a man who unlocked a door behind the front counter. It swung open into a brightly lit room lined with chicken-wire cages, big white plastic buckets, and tied-up burlap bags.

Neon-yellow and green scales flashed from behind the chicken wire. The door shut behind them. A sign on the door read, OFF LIMITS: EMPLOYEES ONLY.

“They’re definitely keeping tropical stuff back there,” I whispered.

“That’s a good sign, but don’t get your hopes up. Let’s find a manager.”

Breathing through my mouth, I surveyed the cavernous layout with Lon. We spotted someone stocking grungy freezers with vacuum-packed bags of frozen mice. He suggested we wait for one of the owners, Ned, who was apparently the guy who’d led the aquarium installer into the back room.

Five minutes later, Ned approached us at an uneven glass counter that displayed bottles of reptile supplements and medicines. Dressed in a gray polo shirt with the R&N logo on the front pocket, Ned was short and muscular, with a receding blond hairline. Even without Lon’s empathic ability, I could tell right away that the man didn’t trust us.

Guess that was fair, because I didn’t trust him, either. He reeked of lizard piss and cheap, chalky laundry detergent. Something else, too, the death I’d smelled when we walked in. It was clinging to his clothes and trailed from the door in back.

“Are you the couple asking for me?” he said in a guarded voice.

“We are.” I forced myself to smile. “You must be the ‘N’ in ‘R&N.’ ”

“That’s right. How can I help?”

Lon gave a fake name and said, “We’re looking for something a little different and heard you could help us.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” He leaned over the counter with his arms spread, hands gripping the edge for support. “What are you looking for?”

This guy didn’t seem like someone we could sweet-talk, so I got right to the point. “We’ve been told there’s a Pentecostal church in the desert that handles snakes. We don’t care about what they do there, but we’re looking for someone in that church—for personal reasons. And we were hoping someone here might’ve heard of it.”

Ned blinked several times and tightened his grip on the edge of the counter. “A church? Can’t say that I’ve heard of anything like that. What kind of snakes do they handle?”