I turned and ran and didn’t stop until I reached the path. There, I paused, ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of my nightgown, and tied it to a tree.

Then I ran again. The path was ten times longer than it was during daylight hours. My breath came in short, hard pants. And a stitch in my side threatened to bring me to my knees.

Finally, I reached the clubhouse and pounded on the door. “Randy!”

He didn’t answer.

I pounded harder.

The door jerked open, and the man on the other side gaped at me. “Mrs. Jones, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Anarchy. He was bitten by a snake. We need the police and an ambulance.”

He peered past me. “Where is he?”

“The woods.”

Randy, who wore plaid pajamas, frowned. “Why is he in the woods?”

“Snake. Bite. He could be dying. Please, call the ambulance and the police.”

“We don’t need the police for a snake bite.”

“The police are for the body.”

“The body?”

“There’s been another murder.”

He held up his hands. “Hold on. What happened to you?” His gaze took in my scratched skin, ripped nightgown, tear-stained cheeks, tangled hair, and cowboy boots.

“I heard someone in the woods. Anarchy and I went to investigate. We found a body—Buffy Geller’s body. Then a snake bit Anarchy.” That last part was the most important. “He needs an ambulance.”

“You found a body yesterday.”

“I’m aware. This is a new body. Would you please call an ambulance?” When he continued to stand there with his mouth hanging open, I asked, “Or let me use the phone?”

He opened the door wider. “Come in. I’ll call."

I followed him to his office, where he called emergency services and explained our two problems. He hung up and turned to me. "They’re on their way. Why didn’t the detective come with you?”

“Snake bite. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“The woods. Anarchy is still in the woods.” Alone. Possibly dying.

Randy was slow on the uptake.

“If we go to him now, the emergency personnel won’t know where to find him.” He made a good point. Right now, waiting for men who could get Anarchy to a hospital was more important than my need to be with him.

“How long until the ambulance gets here?”

“Twenty minutes.” He rubbed his palm across his mouth. “Would you like to borrow a shirt?”

I glanced down at my sheer nightgown and blushed. “That would be nice.”

He brought me a clean denim shirt, and I put it on and rolled up the sleeves. The shirt’s hem only reached my upper thighs. I didn’t complain. The length was still lower than the remnants of my nightgown.

“Band-aids? Antiseptic cream?”

“My husband’s alone in the woods. Snake venom is running through his veins. I’ll worry about my cuts and bruises later.”