Vanishing Act by Barbara Block Page A

hundred dollars.”
    He paused in front of a door. “That much?”
    I nodded.
    He pushed it open.
    â€œThink about a corn snake. They’re attractive and they’re easy keepers.”
    â€œHow much do they go for?” Tommy asked.
    â€œAnywhere between eighty and one twenty-five,” I informed him as we stepped inside his room.
    It looked like your standard college-student disaster area. Clothes, all that Tommy possessed from the look of it, were piled on a chair next to a state-of the-art stereo system. A couple of garbage bags full of empty beer cans stood along the far wall. Tommy’s lacrosse equipment lay on the floor nearby, as did his scuba gear, weight-lifting belt, and golf clubs. Books and papers covered every inch of the desk’s surface. A couple of Syracuse lacrosse posters sat next to pictures of bands I’d never heard of. The room smelled of sweaty socks and stale beer.
    â€œSorry for the mess. I guess I should dig it out. Melissa used to help me clean up. But since she’s gone ...” Tommy shrugged his shoulders and closed the door behind us. “I never seem to get around to it.”
    It’s amazing. Twenty years of women’s lib and nothing has changed, I thought as I negotiated the distance to Burma’s cage. Getting to it involved an obstacle course of shoes, socks, and empty pizza boxes. “Nice setup,” I observed. If the room was a mess, Burma’s cage was pristine.
    Tommy nodded. “I make sure to keep it that way. You want to see her?”
    â€œSure. ”
    I watched him as he unfastened the metal clips and took the top off. Burma uncoiled herself and glided upward. Tommy reached in and grabbed her. His grasp was gentle but firm. He seemed at home with her. He stroked her for a minute before handing the boid to me.
    She lay quietly in my hands. “Nice coloring.” She was seven feet at the most, thin by Burmese standards. Marks was right about this one. Bryan was full of it. She didn’t have the power to strangle a girl of Melissa’s size. “Is she always this docile?”
    Tommy grinned, took her back, and put her around his neck. “She’s a real sweetie. She wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
    â€œExcept a mouse.” I looked for a place to sit and finally settled on an upside-down plastic milk crate. “When did you last see Melissa?” I asked.
    Tommy smiled nervously. “How big do corn snakes get anyway?”
    â€œBig enough.” It looked as if Tommy was having a change of heart. “Talking to me can’t hurt,” I urged.
    He stroked Burma. “I don’t know.”
    â€œI won’t tell your father if you don’t.”
    He hesitated again. I wondered if his father was really that protective, if Tommy was really that obedient, or if he knew something he didn’t want to tell me and was using his father as an excuse.
    I repeated the question I’d asked downstairs. “Don’t you want to know what happened to your girlfriend?”
    â€œOf course I do.” Given the circumstances, what else could the kid say? “It’s not that.” Tommy licked his lips. I tried to catch his eye, but he kept looking away from me.
    â€œMaybe you don’t want to talk to me because you have something to hide.”
    His eyes darkened again. “That’s ridiculous,” he snapped.
    I shrugged. “Sorry. I just figured from the way you’re acting ...”
    â€œYou’re wrong.” Tommy kicked the pizza box by his foot for emphasis. Burma arched her back and hissed in alarm.
    â€œThen tell me when you last saw Melissa,” I said to Tommy as he calmed Burma down.
    â€œFine.” The boid relaxed her spine. “I saw Missy two days before she disappeared, but I spoke to her on the phone the evening before. Everything was okay.”
    â€œWhat did you two talk about?”
    â€œThe usual stuff. The paper she had to