Audiobook \"How to Sex Your Snake - A June Nash Mystery\"
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (US Midwest- Chicago, Great Lakes)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Chapter one, I was going too fast. Gravel was spinning out from under the wheels of my pickup and I could feel the tire slipping, threatening to launch me into the grove of prickly pear cactus that ran the length of the curvy road or was it cacti blast? I didn't care. I just wanted to get this over with. I tightened my grip on 10 and two and pressed my slipper foot down on the gas. When a mailbox appeared, I hung a hard left and steered up a rock lined drive until it opened into a field. A rickety two story farmhouse popped into view for a second before I spun the truck till I was facing the main road again and slammed on the brakes. My purse took a nosedive off the bench seat and spilled its guts all over the floorboards. I really had to start zipping that thing. My wallet, cellphone and assorted bits of life were now buried ankle deep in the stuff that normally lived in. No man's land under the seat. I'd have to pick through it all later for now. I wiggled the rearview mirror till I had a good view of the narrow steps leading up to the front door and laid on the horn. The sound scattered a flock of doves from a cluster of scrawny mesquite trees in the front yard. And I instinctively ducked as they flew over the truck somewhere deep in the pile of stuff. My cell phone rang. I kicked my feet around and hit something solid. Instead of a phone, I found myself holding a pocket sized volume titled 20 Minutes To Death. 12 Fatal Black Mamba Encounters by Dewey Nash. Star of television's number one nature show. Gone Herp. Uh My prolific twin brother, he really knew how to grab his audience in the three years since the show had made him an international TV star. He had written eight bestsellers as my cell continued to ring, I flipped the slim book over and looked down at the photo of Dewey. A pair of cloudy gray eyes peered out from under the locks of shoulder length curly black hair while the upturned collar of a brown leather jacket protected against an imagined breeze above the photo. A series of blurbs sang praise for the author. All were filled with words like thrill seeker and daredevil and prominently featured some play on the word sex appeal. While my brother and I aren't identical, it's easy to see that we're siblings. We've got the same hair though. Mine is usually contained in a thick ponytail, same face, same eyes on my brother. The image evokes an air of mystery and romance on me. The urge for people to ask if I'm lost with a grunt. I tossed the book on the passenger floor and kicked my feet around till I found my phone. I managed to unlock the screen and answer just before it stopped ringing June. You need to come inside. Dewey said I really didn't need to do anything of the sort. This was Morgan's Place and my no Morgan streak was holding strong at nine years, 11 months and seven days, there was no way I was going to break that when I was so close to an even decade. I have a stuff to get back to. I said, and I did as do his personal assistant, I answer his fan mail, set up his appearance schedule and run interference from his hardcore fans, the dozers and while it might not sound like much, it easily fills my days till this morning. We've been in Costa Rica on a three week shoot and I hadn't been able to check my messages or log into my email because as it just so happens, there's no internet in the jungle. We'd landed at two in the afternoon, Dewey had mumbled something about something. Maybe Children with eating disorders. I hadn't really been listening. He had taken our suitcases and disappeared into a waiting cab for home since I was never really off the clock. And since there was a big 20 city book tour coming up, I'd gone straight to my favorite dive for a greasy cheeseburger and a relatively stable wi-fi connection. I'd only waited through a quarter of my messages when Dewey had texted, meet me at Morgan's. I'd ignored him. All I wanted to do was finish my work so I could get home and jump in the hot tub. I desperately needed to soak a few layers of rainforest out of my pores. And of course, there was my no Morgan streak to consider Dewey's next text said my job was at stake. So here I was, you need to start leaving your Mustang at the airfield. I said when gone Herin became the number one show on the Roar and soar Network. Dewey's agent had negotiated not only the use of a private jet, but also a salary ridiculous enough that Dewey could live anywhere he wanted in the blink of an eye. My brother had us back in the sleepy little town where we'd grown up 19 dusty miles from the Mexican border, the village of Horseshoe Bend, Arizona population 2627. It wouldn't have been my first choice, but he likes wandering the hills looking for reptiles and I like the money. He pays me to be his assistant. So Horseshoe Bend, it is just come inside. Why the drama I asked this isn't about me and Morgan, is it in the three months that we'd been home, Dewey had been on a nonstop crusade to get me to bury the hatchet with his best friend. Just hurry up. He disconnected before I could say no blast. Dewey's popularity in my mouth made steering clear of going viral. A constant challenge. I'd been trying to cut back on my cursing since I'd come to work for my brother. And you never knew when a tirade was going to end up on youtube auto tuned by a creative fan. I got out and slammed the truck door. The doves who'd settled on some feeders in the side yard took off with an angry fluttering of wings. I caught a flash of red among the brown bodied birds and shielded my eyes for a better look. When the flock turned into the burning intensity of the desert sun, I flinched and looked away. It was probably somebody's lost macaw at the front porch. I ignored the black metal railing that looked as unstable as the house took the concrete steps in two strides and pounded a fist on the door. It wasn't latched. And as it swung wide, I choked the inside of Morgan's house. Smelled like an active sawmill. Do we? My eyes didn't want to adjust to the blackness of the front room. I leaned in the door to feel around for a light switch and came up empty blast. Who didn't have a light switch next to the front door, Dewey? I'm here. There was no answer if he thought I was hanging around all day. I stormed in expecting to sink into a couple of inches of sawdust. Instead I skidded over some sort of sticky mess, went head over heels and landed ******* my right hip and hand. A thin layer of goo squished under my various body parts as I pushed myself up off the bare wood floor. What were the boys doing in here? June Dewey sounded far away and then pounding footsteps. Brought his voice closer. Did you fall? There's something sticky all over the floor. I wiped my fingers on my shirt and they bounced down the fabric. Don't move. You'll track it all over. Called out. Just give me a second. There's a switch in the hall here somewhere. I flashed on the idea of Morgan coming home with a bag of groceries and dropping a gallon, jug of syrup on the floor. He'd always been a bit of a klutz as a kid. No, his dog would have had fun with the maple le Spill. Wait, his dog, Morgan had a dog and while she sounded like the sweetest thing in the world, she was from all accounts, the dumbest. Her longest running issue was remembering how a doggy door worked after cleaning up the umpteenth puddle of **** left on the floor directly in front of the escape hatch. Morgan finally gave up and started leaving the backyard, sliding glass door open all the time since whatever I slipped in was too thick to be pee. I started thinking about the other things that come out of dogs and just like the fool who touches a hot plate. I lifted my fingers to my nose and sniffed instead of the expected doggy byproduct though I inhaled the distinct aroma of hot pennies. My mouth went dry and my stomach tried to crawl up my throat. I was the daughter of a nurse. If you weren't rolling, change, the smell of copper meant only one thing found it. Do we called out? I blinked when the tiny entryway filled with light and then I screamed. I was standing in a drying pool of blood.