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The second I saw the arm protruding from the mouth of the alligator, I knew it was going to be one of those days.
“We need to get out of here. Now!” I used my arm to shield Minerva from the gruesome sight. Despite her protests about being manhandled, we made a hurried retreat from the condominium.
Once we were outside and safe from the fearsome alpha predator, I dug out my phone.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Minerva Longet, who wasn’t accustomed to being told what to do unless it was coming from a director, put her fists on her hips and fixed me with a death stare. “Elmo Simpson, I demand to know—”
I put my index finger to my lips, shushing the woman. When the 911 operator asked me what the emergency was, I bit back a panicky laugh. Sometimes life in Paradise Springs, Florida, was stranger than fiction.
“I need to report an accident, or a murder, or something, at the Sea Breeze Resort.”
“Can you be more specific, sir?” The operator’s tone was a combination of cross and bored. Paradise Springs was a community filled with oddballs and a head-scratching history, so I was going to have to be 100 percent honest. Honesty, among some folks, is a rare commodity in these parts.
“Um, yeah.” I stole a glance at Minerva, who was patting her hair to make sure every silver strand was in place, and swallowed. There was no way she was prepared for what I was about to say. “I think Fran Cohen’s been eaten by an alligator.”
As I told the operator the address, there was a whoosh of air followed by a whump like a sack of potatoes had fallen to the floor. A quick glance in the semiretired actor’s direction confirmed she’d fainted.
Yep, definitely one of those days.
A few minutes later, a navy-blue Paradise Springs police cruiser barreled into the parking lot like a scene straight out of an old Starsky and Hutch episode. It skidded to a halt mere inches from my feet.
An officer practically leapt from the vehicle. Then almost tripped over himself as he tried to get his gun out of its holster while he marched toward me. “What’s this about a gator and someone in danger, Simpson?”
“Morning, Officer Nimoy.” I tipped my ball cap to him. “I think it’s a little too late for the someone in danger part.”
“What do you mean?” The cop pointed at Minerva, who was resting on a blanket I’d fetched from my truck while we waited for his arrival. “This woman clearly needs help.”
Thomas Nimoy had been on the Paradise Springs Police Force for almost three years. In that time, he’d gone from a rookie who was scared of his own shadow to a semicompetent cop, on most days. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, though. That led to a noticeable lack of respect many folks in the community showed him.
It didn’t help that his pale skin, short black hair, and hawklike nose conspired with his last name to give him a look that reminded people of a certain pointy-eared alien from a classic science fiction franchise. While nobody called him “Spock” to his face, whenever the name was uttered in Paradise Springs, everyone knew it was in reference to the officer standing in front of me.
“I think it’d be best if you see for yourself.”
After confirming the still-unconscious Minerva wasn’t experiencing any breathing problems, I led the way inside. Nobody else seemed to be around, so she’d be okay for a minute.
Using as much stealth as my cat, Oscar, had, which wasn’t a lot, I led Spock back through the condo. An unnerving clicking sound emanated from the bedroom. It sent shivers down my spine. I knew the sounds that trapped small animals made.
This clicking was different. It wasn’t coming from a frightened rodent. This creature wasn’t frightened at all.
Unsure if the sound was coming from the gator’s claws or teeth, I tiptoed to the bedroom door and opened it a sliver.
From over my shoulder, Thomas took a look. An intake of breath followed by the rapid thump, thump, thump of work boots fading away made me shake my head. The cop had run away. So much for overcoming his own shadow.
A second look at the gator calmed me. From a professional perspective only. Despite the horrific scene, the reptile seemed content. It was situated next to the bed, its eyes were closed, and it was still. An apparently full belly didn’t make the animal any less dangerous. It would make it a little easier to wrangle once the police gave me the go-ahead. Thank goodness for small favors.
“Fran, what did you get yourself into this time?” With a heavy heart, I closed the door and speed-walked out of there, relieved I’d brought my tranquilizer gun with me.
When I stepped back outside, Thomas was attending to Minerva. She was seated upright and was breathing normally between sips of water from a plastic bottle. That was good. She was one of my most reliable customers. And made amazing orange scones. I wouldn’t want someone like that to get hurt.
Spock flipped open a little notebook with a one-handed flair that could only have come from hours of practice in front of a mirror. “Explain.”
“I can’t possibly…” Minerva fanned herself with her hand and closed her eyes. I couldn’t help thinking that she was taking advantage of the situation to add some acting drama to the mix.
“Minerva called me this morning.” I showed the call log on my phone to Spock as proof. “She told me there were noises coming from inside the wall she shares, er, shared, with Fran.”
“You live next door,” he asked her as he took a photo of the call log.
“Yes.” She pointed a bony finger toward a seafoam-green-colored door ten yards down the hall. “I’ve lived there since I retired from the stage. A revival of Oklahoma was my final performance. It was a smashing success. I’m sure you read about it.”
Spock looked at me, then raised an eyebrow, like he wanted me to verify her claim but didn’t want to insult her. All I could do was shrug. I’m more of a movie on demand kind of dude.
Before he could ask more questions, another police cruiser arrived. This one lacked identification stickers and the lights and sirens on Spock’s vehicle. The hi-gloss black paint job told everyone who was behind the wheel.
The Paradise Springs police chief had arrived.
She emerged from the vehicle like a queen rising from her throne. Dressed in a short-sleeved navy-blue uniform shirt, matching work pants, and black work boots, Susan Eikenberry radiated no-nonsense authority as she glided toward us. With long legs that went on forever, long hair the color of the rising sun, and piercing blue eyes, she also exuded the glamour of a swimsuit model. Which she had been before turning to a career in law enforcement.
“Witness interviews can wait, Officer Nimoy. We need to get the scene secured. Now. Before more evidence gets…eaten.”
“Yes, sir, I mean ma’am, I mean Chief.” Composure completely gone in the presence of his imposing boss, Spock shot off a poorly executed salute and dashed to his cruiser to call in for reinforcements.
She shook her head and turned toward me. “You mind taking the lead on neutralizing the gator? I don’t want Thomas to hurt himself.”
“Anything I can do to help.” I tipped my cap to her.
“Then get to it.”
Sixty sweaty and curse-filled minutes later, the reptile was inside a cage in my truck bed where it couldn’t harm anyone. The remains of the arm had been transferred to an evidence kit. According to Spock, it would be used to ID the victim.
A crowd had gathered while we removed the animal from Fran’s condo. There were the usual onlookers, shielding their eyes under the cloudless sky. Tourists dressed in garish tropical-style shirts stood shoulder to shoulder with locals who had nothing better to do than see for themselves what the fuss was all about.
Shoot, even Una, the street performer, was in attendance, juggling oranges while she circled the crowd on her unicycle. Every now and then, she’d hold out her top hat to collect tips. P. T. Barnum would have been proud.
Among the throng was the owner of the Sea Breeze Resort, Jolly Roger Raines. The man was friendly enough and, as the largest employer in the Springs, worked hard with other business owners to keep the local economy thriving. Still, with the slicked-back hair and tailored suit, I couldn’t get past the fact that he looked like he’d just come from central casting for a Godfather reboot as Gangster Sidekick Number Two.
I waved at him, figuring he’d want the scoop. Instead, he turned and hurried away, followed by two men dressed in black pants and white polos. Apparently, he’d seen enough. As he disappeared into the building, he put his cell phone to his ear. Probably informing his insurance carrier what had happened. I was glad I didn’t have to make that call.
Weird. He was normally a chatty sort. People responded to stress differently, I guess.
I was checking the cage for potential weak points—one could never be too careful when it came to a ten-foot-long reptile with a taste for human flesh—when Susan strolled up to me. She donned a pair of reflective shades as she leaned against the truck.
A bead of sweat trickled down my cheek. I wasn’t sure if it was due to the intensity of the sun’s rays or the woman in front of me.
She gave me a disarming smile and shook her head. “Quite the circus we’ve got thanks to you. Now I have to cancel my spin class.”
“Hey, I’m only the messenger.”
“True enough. You don’t get all offended when I blame you for things, though. I appreciate that.” She opened her notebook to a blank page. There was no dramatic flipping it open like her junior officer. Chief Susan Eikenberry didn’t need to do something like that.
“I got Minerva’s version of what happened. Now I want yours.”
A breeze blew in from the Gulf, filling my lungs with salt-tinged air. I’d escaped to this small burg in the Florida Panhandle to put the soul-crushing tech industry behind me and enjoy a simple life. Things like the sound of the waves crashing on the beach, the smell of the salty air in the morning, and some of the best barbeque this side of Kansas City.
Even my current job as a wild animal relocation specialist had a certain simplicity to it. I caught wild animals, removed them from places they shouldn’t be, and returned them safely to the wild. Life wasn’t complicated.
Until now.
I gave her the same information that I’d given to Spock. “When I got here, I did some checking in Minerva’s condo and couldn’t find anything. She swore up and down she’d heard something, so I thought I’d talk to her neighbor on the other side of the wall.”
“That would be Francis Cohen.”
Depending on who you talked to, Mr. Cohen was either a knight in shining armor or a dragon that put fear in the hearts of the town’s residents. Originally from Philadelphia, the retired attorney had moved to Paradise Springs so he’d never have to see snow again. Over the years, he’d been a vocal supporter of rezoning undeveloped land to make it attractive to the tourism industry. His outspokenness had rubbed some folks the wrong way.
He was also a history buff and was supposedly writing a book chronicling the town’s quirky history. There was concern among the OG crowd—longtime residents and independent businesspeople—that the project would unearth secrets people wanted kept buried.
The man had been a lightning rod of controversy. And, by all accounts, had reveled in every moment of it.
“Yeah. I knocked on his door but didn’t get an answer. Minerva said he liked to listen to audiobooks and probably had his headphones on, so she told me to use his spare key card.”
“And did you?” Her voice was as neutral as the Gulf waters on a calm weekday morning. It carried the subtle menace of a shark lurking in the shallows, though. I was glad Minerva had witnessed everything, otherwise her tone would have me quaking in my work boots.
“Yeah. He kept it inside the ornamental Philly Phanatic gnome by his front door. Minerva told me where it was.”
Susan raised an eyebrow that would have impressed the fictional Spock. “I see. And did you know a spare key card was kept there before that?”
A bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck. It wasn’t due to the weather. “No. Swear to whatever celestial being you want me to. Scout’s honor.”
“As if you were ever a Boy Scout.”
“I was. Well, okay, I was a Cub Scout for about six months. But I’m still telling you the truth.”
She stared at me for a few seconds. With her eyes hidden behind the reflective lenses, I could only imagine what her thoughts were. Eventually, she made a little circular motion with her finger. Continue.
“I opened the door. It smelled awful, like a swamp when the water’s low. There was a coppery smell, too. We went in. I was afraid Fran was sick. When he wasn’t in the living room or kitchen, we went to his bedroom. I knocked and called his name. Then I opened the door. The gator was by his bed. There was a lot of blood. That’s when I told Minerva we needed to get out of there.”
A wave of nausea rolled through me. I dropped onto the lowered tailgate with a thud. Susan fetched me a bottle of water from the cooler in the truck cab. I downed half of it in a single gulp.
While she gave me time to pull myself together, I studied the Sea Breeze. It was an impressive building, painted in soothing hues of beige, sky blue, and pale pink. It was also the largest structure in Paradise Springs. As such, it was regularly featured in the community’s promotional materials. Ten stories tall, it stood like a sentinel as it stretched the length of two football fields along the beachfront.
The building’s hub featured a two-story glass entrance. A coffee shop that served amazing java and a souvenir store were among the amenities located on the hub’s first floor. A set of escalators took visitors to the second level, where a lounge that offered live music three nights a week sold overpriced boat drinks to the tourists.
Privately owned dwellings were located to the right of the hub. Many of them were year-round residences for people like Minerva and Fran. The condos on the other side of the hub, in the left wing, were time-share rentals.
At street level, piles of new mulch lay at strategic spots, ready to be spread by the green-clad maintenance staff. Above, contractors were applying fresh coats of glossy white paint to handrails while housekeeping staff pushed hippo-sized linen carts from one dwelling to the next. A few cars exited the parking garage and turned right onto Gulfview Lane, the main east to west drag through town.
Amid a horrible death, life went on. I was left with an unsettling question among all the normalcy not far from where I was sitting. How in the world had a full-grown alligator gotten into someone’s home without anybody noticing?
“And you called 911 as soon as you got back outside?”
“Oh yeah. I was on the phone when Minerva passed out.” I drained the rest of the water and tossed the crushed bottle into the bed of the truck.
She tapped away on her notebook as she hummed a tune I didn’t recognize.
The wait made me want to scream I didn’t do it! But I held my tongue. Experience had taught me the hard way that discretion was the better part of valor.
“You’re the animal removal expert. Any idea how it got in?”
“No clue. It’s not like Fran could have brought it home on a leash. I suppose it’s not out of the realm of possibility that it wandered in somehow, but that seems unlikely. This close to the beach isn’t exactly prime gator habitat.”
“That’s what I was thinking. You’d think someone would have reported seeing an animal that big wandering around. I did a quick check before coming over here. There are no recent reports of gator sightings.”
I started to ask what she meant by no recent reports, then stopped. This was a town that prized itself on its bizarre personality. At least once a year, I heard a story about someone taking a gator on a leash for a walk. A couple of years ago, Drunk Paul ended up in the emergency room one night when he tried to ride a gator home from the Still Waters Pub. To this day, if you buy him a drink, he’ll tell you the story.
The current situation was weird, though. Sure, there were alligators in the area, both in the wild and behind a fence at a nearby gator farm, but the idea of one going for a stroll down Gulfview Lane was absurd.
Unless it had occurred under the cover of darkness.
“I suppose it could have gotten in unseen if it happened after dark. The front door was locked, though.”
Susan flicked through her notes. “The patio door wasn’t.”
“Really.” I removed my cap and wiped my brow. This bizarre scenario had just taken another step toward something out of a horror flick. “I can’t be 100 percent, but I don’t remember seeing that door open.”
“I didn’t say the patio door was open. I said it was unlocked. And undamaged.”
Silence hung over us like a wet beach towel as I processed her words. Fran had as many enemies as he had fans. My jaw dropped as the implication hit home.
“Someone put the gator in the condo.”
“And used it to kill Mr. Cohen.” She closed her notebook. “I think we’ve got a murder on our hands.”
End of Excerpt
