“You know what that smell is?” Lula said. “It’s the death cooties. I told you not to go out there, but do you listen to Lula? Hell, no. You have to see for yourself. Now we got death cootie smell in our car.”
I put the SUV in reverse, backed up about a quarter mile, stopped, and called the police. Twenty minutes later a patrol car pulled up behind us.
Lula checked the car out in the rearview mirror. “Twenty minutes and all that responds is this lame-ass patrol car. Did you tell them about the guy in the woods with the ax?”
“No. I told them about the vultures and the smell.”
The cop got out of his car and walked up to us. I rolled my window down, showed him my credentials, and gave him the short version of the story, omitting the guy with the ax.
He got back into his car, pulled around us, and drove to the end of the road. I rolled my window up and followed him. He parked, got out of his car, took a couple steps toward the trailer, and returned to his car. Ten minutes later a fire truck and an EMT rolled in, followed by another patrol car.
“This is more like it,” Lula said. “Only thing missing is the helicopter.”
I was getting antsy. I hadn’t intended to spend this much time here. I didn’t like leaving Grandma unattended, and I wanted to work on the Sidney DeSalle angle. I called Morelli a couple times, but he didn’t pick up.
Two firefighters went into the trailer. They had their respirators on, and Lula pointed out that they carried axes. They came out after a couple minutes and walked back to the cop cars. None of this activity seemed to affect the vultures. They kept pecking and clawing and ripping at the top of the trailer.
I put my hand over my nose and mouth and joined the group of men at the cop cars. They were sufficiently far enough away from the trailer that the smell was almost bearable.
“What’s in there?” I asked.
The fire guy had his respirator off and was smiling. “Raccoons,” he said. “A lot of them. It looks like they broke in, ate everything they could find, including rat poison, and couldn’t get out. Then they died and exploded. I don’t know who owns this rust bucket, but he’s got wall-to-wall raccoon guts in there.”
“No human guts?”
“None immediately visible.”
I went back to Lula and inched the Porsche around the fire truck and EMT.
“Raccoons,” I said, leaving the cop cars behind, bumping my way over the crude road.
“Say what?”
“Raccoons broke in, died there, and exploded. No humans. No snakes.”
“That’s damn disappointing,” Lula said. “That’s anticlimactic.”
I called Morelli again and still no answer. I called Grandma, and she said she was on her way to the bakery. She was in the mood for a cannoli.
“Are you alone?” I asked her.
“Yep,” she said, “but it’s okay because I’m wearing my necklace. After I get my cannoli, I thought I’d stop in to see if Dolly has time to fluff up my hair. Stanley Bonino is at Stiva’s tonight. He was a big deal in the K of C, and he was friendly with Jimmy. I hear he’s laid out in Slumber Room Number One. They’re expecting a crowd. Shirley Balog said she’d pick me up.”
“Are you sure you want to go to Stiva’s tonight? The sisters might be there.”
“I don’t care about the sisters. I already picked out my outfit. I’m going to wear my navy and red dress. It has a good neckline to show off my necklace.”
“Tell Shirley she doesn’t have to pick you up,” I said. “I’ll go to the viewing with you.”
“You’re a good granddaughter,” Lula said when I hung up. “That viewing is going to be a nightmare.”
* * *
—
I was in my apartment reading Connie’s report on Sidney DeSalle when Morelli called.
&nb