hundred dollars.â
He paused in front of a door. âThat much?â
I nodded.
He pushed it open.
âThink about a corn snake. Theyâre attractive and theyâre easy keepers.â
âHow much do they go for?â Tommy asked.
âAnywhere between eighty and one twenty-five,â 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. Tommyâs 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 deskâs surface. A couple of Syracuse lacrosse posters sat next to pictures of bands Iâd never heard of. The room smelled of sweaty socks and stale beer.
âSorry for the mess. I guess I should dig it out. Melissa used to help me clean up. But since sheâs gone ...â Tommy shrugged his shoulders and closed the door behind us. âI never seem to get around to it.â
Itâs amazing. Twenty years of womenâs lib and nothing has changed, I thought as I negotiated the distance to Burmaâs cage. Getting to it involved an obstacle course of shoes, socks, and empty pizza boxes. âNice setup,â I observed. If the room was a mess, Burmaâs cage was pristine.
Tommy nodded. âI make sure to keep it that way. You want to see her?â
âSure. â
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. âNice coloring.â She was seven feet at the most, thin by Burmese standards. Marks was right about this one. Bryan was full of it. She didnât have the power to strangle a girl of Melissaâs size. âIs she always this docile?â
Tommy grinned, took her back, and put her around his neck. âSheâs a real sweetie. She wouldnât hurt anyone.â
âExcept a mouse.â I looked for a place to sit and finally settled on an upside-down plastic milk crate. âWhen did you last see Melissa?â I asked.
Tommy smiled nervously. âHow big do corn snakes get anyway?â
âBig enough.â It looked as if Tommy was having a change of heart. âTalking to me canât hurt,â I urged.
He stroked Burma. âI donât know.â
âI wonât tell your father if you donât.â
He hesitated again. I wondered if his father was really that protective, if Tommy was really that obedient, or if he knew something he didnât want to tell me and was using his father as an excuse.
I repeated the question Iâd asked downstairs. âDonât you want to know what happened to your girlfriend?â
âOf course I do.â Given the circumstances, what else could the kid say? âItâs not that.â Tommy licked his lips. I tried to catch his eye, but he kept looking away from me.
âMaybe you donât want to talk to me because you have something to hide.â
His eyes darkened again. âThatâs ridiculous,â he snapped.
I shrugged. âSorry. I just figured from the way youâre acting ...â
âYouâre wrong.â Tommy kicked the pizza box by his foot for emphasis. Burma arched her back and hissed in alarm.
âThen tell me when you last saw Melissa,â I said to Tommy as he calmed Burma down.
âFine.â The boid relaxed her spine. âI saw Missy two days before she disappeared, but I spoke to her on the phone the evening before. Everything was okay.â
âWhat did you two talk about?â
âThe usual stuff. The paper she had to
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