Free Rattlesnake Crossing by J. A. Jance

off the damned air-conditioner."
    With that she picked up her valise from its spot in the doorway and started into the room.
    "I'd be careful if I were you," Joanna warned. "The floor in here collapsed because the whole thing's been rotted out by termites. Underneath the roll flooring, what's left of the wood is little more than powdery cardboard."
    Once again the medical examiner swung around to face Joanna. "Excuse me, Sheriff Brady," she snapped. "My boss sent me here to do this job because I happen to be a trained technician, the senior trained technician in our department. I don't know what that means in your bailiwick, but in mine it means that I know what I'm doing. It also means that I'm qualified to do my job without any unnecessary supervision from you or anyone else. So if you'll excuse me—"
    Reaching the center of the room, she slammed the heavy valise down once more. The thud of the case on the floor was immediately followed by a loud, ominous crack. What had appeared to be flat flooring up to then tilted sharply downward. In slow motion, the valise began to move, sliding down a ski slope of worn linoleum toward the jagged-edged and ever-expanding hole into the crawl space.
    As the bag of equipment slid away from her, Fran Daly reached down and made a desperate grab for it, but she missed. Eluding her fingertips, the still upright valise slipped out of reach and then dropped majestically from view. When it landed in the dirt of the darkened crawl space some five feet below, it did so with a distinct splat—one that included the muffled tinkle of breaking glass.
    "Shit!" Fran Daly exclaimed.
    Joanna had a sudden, vivid remembrance of her father, D. H. Lathrop. "What goes around comes around" had always been one of his favorite expressions. Those words came back to his daughter now with such clarity and meaning that it was all Joanna could do to keep from laughing.
    With some difficulty she managed to contain herself. "If this is your idea of crime-scene preservation, Dr. Daly," Joanna said sternly, "then it would appear supervision is very much in order. I'll leave Detective Carbajal here to keep an eye on you. He can give you any assistance you might need."
    Glancing at the young detective, Joanna saw that he was having almost as much trouble keeping a straight face as she was. "Is that all right with you, Detective Carbajal?" she asked.
    Sobering quickly, he nodded. "Sure thing, Sheriff Brady," he managed. "I was just on my way out to the van to pick up some lights. I've been taking pictures this whole time, but it's really dark down there in the crawl space. If Dr. Daly and I are going to do any kind of meaningful work, we'll need more light. If that's okay with you, that is." He turned deferentially to Dr. Daly.
    She waved him aside. "If you say we need lights, we probably do. Go ahead and get them."
    "And Sheriff Brady is right about this floor, Dr. Daly," Jaime added. "It's extremely treacherous. In fact, I don't think it would take much for the whole house to cave in to the crawl space. That being the case, on your way over to the ladder, it might be wise if you stick as close as possible to the outside wall. And if you can wait long enough for me to come back with the lights, I'll bring along a couple of hard hats as well. We probably shouldn't be down there without them."
    "All right, all right," Fran Daly grumbled reluctantly. "I'll wait right here until you get back."
    Smiling to herself, Joanna backed away from the door. "I'll leave and let you two get to it, then," she said sweetly.
    "And if you need anything else, Chief Deputy Voland and I will be right outside."
    Out on the porch, Jaime Carbajal convulsed with laughter. "What planet did she come from?" he demanded when he was finally able to talk.
    "Pima County," Joanna replied. "As long as Doc Winfield's out of town, we're stuck with her."
    "Let's hope it's for this case only," Detective Carbajal said. "I wouldn't want to make a career of