Free Tara Holloway 01 - Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure by Diane Kelly Page A

there?”
    “I don’t know what it was. But it was furry and had claws and pointy teeth.”
    “Another rat?” I pulled my gun out, too.
    “No. Too big for a rat. It looked, I don’t know, like a small bear or something.”
    Despite the lax laws in Texas regarding exotic pets, I sincerely doubted a bear had made its way into the neighborhood.
    There was no way to get out of the bathroom without passing the open cabinet. I’m not sure what Christina had seen inside, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
    A moment later, a furry brown foot with long black claws appeared under the open cabinet door. Whatever was in there was climbing out. A few seconds later, another foot appeared. Then another, and another. A face peeked around the door, a cute face with brown fur and black circles around the eyes.
    I rolled my eyes. “For God’s sake, it’s just a raccoon.” Having been raised in the country, I’d had plenty of opportunities to interact with these creatures, once engaging in hand-to-paw combat with a coon who’d tried to steal a bag of hot dog buns off the picnic table in the backyard. Raccoons were bold, sure, but they were no match for a couple of armed women. I stepped out of the tub and waved my hands at the creature. “Shoo.”
    But the beast didn’t shoo. Instead, it bared its teeth and charged me. “Holy shit!” I fell back into the tub, scrambling to get to my feet.
    “Just a raccoon, huh?” Christina held her gun aimed at the creature’s face.
    The raccoon stood on its hind legs two feet away, glaring up at us, lips curled back to show its fangs.
    “I’ve never seen one act like this before,” I said. “Maybe it has rabies.”
    “Rabies? Great. You better shoot it before it bites us.”
    I would already face an inquiry for shooting at Jack Battaglia. If I fired my gun again, my superiors would think I was a loose cannon, a liability to the department. I’d probably lose my job. “Why don’t you shoot it?”
    The raccoon wasn’t baring its teeth anymore. Without its fangs showing, it was actually kind of cute.
    “I can’t,” Christina said. “I couldn’t live with the guilt. And it wouldn’t be good for my karma.”
    “Screw your karma. I’ve heard that a person exposed to rabies has to get fourteen shots with a ten-inch needle.”
    “Then shoot the damn thing already.”
    I looked at the raccoon again. It blinked its big brown eyes at me. “Aw, hell. I can’t do it, either.”
    We tried again to shoo the critter out the door. Again it charged us, ramming into the tub. Not looking so cute anymore. We had to do something quick or the darn thing would climb into the tub with us. I shifted my Glock to my left hand and grabbed Christina’s gun from her. Bam! I put a hole in the floor only two inches from the varmint. Exactly where I’d aimed.
    The raccoon hightailed it out of the bathroom. Three much smaller raccoons scurried out of the cabinet and ran after it.
    Ears ringing from the blast, I climbed out of the tub, stepped to the door, and took a look. The mother raccoon lumbered into the living room and climbed over a windowsill, her babies trailing after. Thank goodness we’d opened the window.
    “What the hell!” Christina stepped out of the tub. “What do you think you’re doing, grabbing my weapon?”
    I handed her gun back to her. “If I’d shot my gun, I’d have to file a report. And if you’d shot your gun, you’d have to file a report. But since I shot your gun, neither one of us has to file a report.”
    She frowned. “You sure about that?”
    “I work for the IRS,” I said. “I know loopholes.” Actually, I wasn’t at all sure whether a report was required. But my logic sounded plausible on some level.
    She removed the clip from her gun and shoved them both back into her purse. I did likewise. Then I checked my manicure. The sparkly red polish was intact. Good.
    With the vermin vacated and our tour complete, we headed back outside, sitting down on the