I giggled. “Gators really aren’t normally aggressive. You know that. And it’s usually the female gators protecting their nests that get violent.”
“Yeah, but this one, it’s bad for business.”
It took a second to dig my phone out of my purse. I snapped a few photos of Chubbs.
“Amos, with a gator this size, I’m reluctant to do anything if it hasn’t caused a problem. We’re going to have to call the state on this to get permission to take it. You’re not a homeowner, and this is a city-owned public golf course. The only reason my dad was able to trap that other gator was because it tried to attack someone.”
He let out a sigh. “I know. But I was hoping you could tell me if you think it might go away. Is it mating season or something? Can we do anything to discourage it from hanging around?”
“Mating season’s a few months away. There’s not a lot to do to deter it from sunning itself on your golf course. It thinks this is its habitat. And honestly, it kind of is. They were here first.” As if on cue, the alligator pushed itself up and walked slowly toward the pond. It moved deliberately, as if it were an old man with creaky joints.
Amos and I watched as it gracefully slipped into the water and disappeared.
“When the temperature rises in the summer, their metabolism increases, and that’s when they go looking for love,” I said. “Worst-case scenario, it spends the winter with you, then finds a different home and a girlfriend.”
Amos grinned. “Well, people sure do love to stare at him. I’ll make sure to keep folks away.”
“I’ll contact a local officer today and get guidance on this situation. How about that? Since I just got home, I want to find out if any state rules or regulations have changed. We also might have to call the Fish and Wildlife department.” I lowered the sunglasses back onto my face. “Also, make sure your staff and the guests know not to feed Chubbs. No bread, no chicken wings, no jalapeño poppers, nothing. That’s the biggest reason gators become nuisances, because people feed them and they come to expect snacks.”
“Got it. Thanks, Maggie.” Amos pressed a button on the golf cart dash and the electric engine hummed to life. He did a U-turn and we headed back to the clubhouse.
“So, back to Gene,” I said casually. “What have you heard?”
“Oh, right. Get this. Apparently, his wife is getting a huge life insurance payout.”
“I heard that too. Can’t believe Gene could even get life insurance, in his line of work.” Goodness knows I’d struck out on that front. I’d spent three hours on the phone with one insurance company last week.
“Right? And I’m also hearing that she’s been trying to buy out that cupcake shop she’s working at. You know the one, it’s called Big Sugar?”
“Yeah, I drove by it, but haven’t been in.”
“She apparently wants to own the place. Oh, and I’ve heard she’s been hanging around with a much younger man lately.”
My eyebrows shot up to my hairline. “What’s her name again?”
“Barbara, but she goes by Barbie. Barbie Robinson.”
“Interesting retro nickname. Timely, though,” I murmured, wondering if Alex Holt knew about Barbie-the-cupcake-baker-with-the-younger-side-piece.
“Oh, and here’s another detail. One of our caddies is friends with some computer hacker guy. He’s an animal rights activist. Apparently, he had a few run-ins with Gene too.”
A memory of a decades-old rumor about Gene tormenting racoons popped into my head. “Not surprising. Gene wasn’t exactly kind to animals. Did you get a name?”
“I didn’t, but the caddy comes in at two. I’ll ask and text you.”
Who knew that the golf course was a hotbed of gossip?
I was still holding my phone, and itched to pump Alex Holt for information. When I finally said goodbye to Amos and got to my car, I found his card and my thumbs flew across the screen.
“Wahoo Police. Holt.” Goodness, his voice was gruff and masculine.
“Hi,” I giggled, sounding a bit like my sister. When I was nervous, I tended to mimic her high-pitched tone. “I’m finished with the gator call, and I was wondering if you have a few moments this afternoon to chat.”
“About the gator, or Gene’s murder?”
I hummed, hoping to sound coy. “Why not both?”
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