Chapter One
If alligators are the descendants of dinosaurs, this teeny reptile was disappointing millions of years of evolution.
The cute little two-footer paddled lazily in a backyard pool, circling a giant green alligator float. Maybe he thought the pool toy was his momma.
“Get a look at that beast. I can’t believe this crap. What a way to start the new year.” The homeowner was one of Wahoo’s newest residents, if the moving boxes piled to the side of the salmon-colored stucco home were any indication. He ran a hand over his sweaty bald head and glanced at his preteen son, who was capturing the entire scene on his cell phone.
Northerners. They were so adorable. They always lost it over their first flying Florida cockroach and when they spotted that first alligator in the wild.
Or in their pool.
I set my duffel bag on a glass patio table, which was shaded by an umbrella the same hue as the house. “It’s a baby. Not dangerous at all. Probably more afraid of us than we are of it. No need to panic.”
“Oh, I’m plenty afraid of it, don’t you worry. You don’t see this kinda thing in Jersey. We’ve been here only ten days, and this monster shows up in our pool. Is trapping gonna take all day? I have some business to get to. First of the new year and all that shit. Gotta hustle, you know.” The guy’s thick New Jersey accent came out in one staccato string.
“Dad, you’re a wuss, not a hustler,” the kid chimed in. Both father and son sported baggy cargo shorts, potbellies, and fresh sunburns on their pale skin.
“Oh, I’m a hustler all right. But if your mother sees this, she’s going to get on the next plane to Newark.” The guy screwed up his face as he gestured toward the pool with a meaty hand. “My wife’s in Orlando, doing some shopping. I want this thing gone before she comes home.”
I shot him a reassuring smile. “Shouldn’t take long to catch him. I could get in the pool and grab him, but I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”
The guy’s jaw dropped and his eyes fell to my chest. Perv. He was in a tank top, and a downy pelt of hair covered his beefy shoulders.
“Kidding,” I said. “You don’t happen to have a pool net, do you?”
I had a snatch hook in the truck, but this gator was so small that a net would work just as well.
“Are you qualified to catch that thing? You look kinda young. What did you say your name was?” The man squinted at me in disbelief, probably because I was all of five-three and, at twenty-five, still routinely carded at bars.
“Maggie. Maggie Andrews.” I unzipped my duffel and fished my laminated Florida gator permit out of a plastic zip-top bag. It declared that I was a certified trapper under the Statewide Nuisance Alligator Program, charmingly known as SNAP. I handed it to him.
His eyes flicked to the card, then he hastily gave it back. “OK, Maggie. I’ll grab my pool skimmer.”
“Mind if I take a photo?” I called out.
The guy stopped in his tracks and turned. “I don’t want it out there publicly, like on social media. I’m a private person. Unlike this joker over here.” He jerked a thumb toward his son, who stuck out his tongue.
“Oh, it’s for my own records. I like to have photos of the critters I catch. So I can show future clients.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
He waved his hand at the tiny gator. It was now undulating through the water, using its tail to glide smoothly along the surface. When it reached one end of the pool, it did an Olympic-level turn underwater, as if it were doing laps. The January air was hot as Satan’s wet fart, and I couldn’t blame the little guy for wanting to take a dip.
The creature was probably having the best swim of its life.I was definitely jealous.
I stood at the edge of the pool and snapped a couple of photos on my phone while the guy hustled over to a white aluminum shed on the side of the property.
“For my records, what’s your full name? I didn’t quite catch it on the voicemail,” I said.
“Bruce Doyle,” he hollered. “That’s my son, Brandon.”
“Nice to meet you both.” I returned to the table, rooting around in my large duffel. After I found my notebook, I jotted down Bruce’s name and info. Then I attached a roll of duct tape to a clip on my belt and took out a bag of mini marshmallows.
The kid sidled up to me. “What are you doing with those?”
I went to open the package. “You want some?”
“Sure.”