Dying to get a closer look at the crime scene, I started traipsing through the desert, around the perimeter of the grounds. Careful to swing wide, out of police sight, I tiptoed through the thorny brush, trying to avoid the cacti, springing into my feet like cats' claws.

As my feet crunched along the grainy sand, I hoped I wouldn't step on any scorpions, or Gila monsters. The desert was a dangerous place to live, and the creatures that inhabited it were even deadlier. Suddenly I heard the "Sshhkkk!" of a rattlesnake. That sound meant only one thing--the snake was ready to strike. Fear prickled at my body, sharp as the cactus needles.

Looking to my right, there it was--coiled tight like a poisonous rope, with its tail held erect in the air, shaking fervently.

"Aaahh!" I screamed. I leaped backwards, tripping over a rock, and thudded to the ground. Too frightened to get up, I scooted on my butt, away from the angered rattlesnake.

But what really scared me was the snarly, but good-looking police detective standing over me, holding a be-headed rattlesnake in one hand, bloodied knife in the other.