Weird.
My gaze went to the side of the truck. A magnetic sign was stuck on the extended cab door, and the words sent a chill up my spine despite the thick, warm humidity.
Gator Gene: I trap ’em, you snack ’em
I scrunched up my nose. What the hell? That made no sense! Even his slogan was ridiculous.Snack what? Such a dick. Why washehere, anyway?
I hustled back to my own truck and locked the door once I was safely inside. If Gene was already trying to catch the gator, there was no reason I should hang around. The last thing I wanted was another confrontation with him, especially if we were the only two here.
I leaned forward. In the fading daylight, I thought I spotted what looked like a good-sized gator sitting on the bank, near the left side of the ramp. It was difficult to tell exactly, because the area was overgrown with scrub brush and covered in what appeared to be several plastic bags filled with trash. The late-day shadows could also be playing tricks with my vision, but it sure looked like a dark gray reptile.
But if the gator was there, where was Gene? His truck was running, but he was nowhere in sight.
My hand went to the roomy glove compartment, where I stashed my favorite pink industrial-strength flashlight. I set it in my lap.
The sun had faded to a deep orange-red glow. Gators were most active at dusk and dawn. Gene was probably in the brush somewhere with a weapon, waiting to ambush and kill the creature. I’d heard he sometimes preferred shooting them with a semi-automatic. No way did I want to get caught in that crossfire.
I eased the truck forward, intending to get a peek and drive away.
I slowly accelerated and stopped just before the ramp, giving myself enough clearance to peel away if Gene appeared. After pressing on the brake, I put the vehicle in park.
To get a better look, I rolled down my window and grabbed the flashlight, clicking it to life with my thumb. When I aimed the beam of light out the open window, I expected to stare into the glowing red eyes of an angry gator.
Instead, the ray of illumination revealed something far worse.
A bloody and lifeless Gator Gene.
Chapter Five
An hour and a half later, I was still trembling as I sat in my truck in the parking lot, watching crime scene techs comb the riverbank. The horrific sight of Gene’s body face down in a puddle of blood and muck was burned into my brain.
So was the image of a bullet hole in the back of his skull.
It was fully dark now, and the bright police spotlights that had been erected atop makeshift poles threw off an eerie glow that made the gently swirling river take on a menacing, inky hue. Gene’s body was covered in a blue tarp, and every time one of the officers pulled it aside, I had to look away.I’d seen enough already.
I clutched my phone in my right hand, checking it every thirty seconds. The only person I wanted to talk with wasn’t answering my messages and calls.
Hey, where are you?I texted my sister.Something terrible is happening here at the industrial park. Call me ASAP.
I included a gif of a cat on its hind legs, pressing its front paws together in a pleading gesture, figuring she might be more likely to respond if I included a cute animal image.
Thirty minutes dragged by, and still she didn’t respond. I fiddled with the air conditioner, turning it to full blast. It wasn’t like Vera to not return my texts. Where was she? Keeping the details of what I’d seen bottled up inside was making me queasy.
A tap-tap-tap on the driver’s side window startled me, and I yelped.
I rolled the window down. A man in a light blue button-down and a dark gray tie loomed large on the other side. He held up a badge, its gold metal glinting in the wan light. A cop. Just what I’d been waiting for.
“Ms. Margaret Andrews?”
“That’s me. But you can call me Maggie.”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions. Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle?”
“Of course. The responding officer told me to hang out because a detective would eventually want to talk with me. Since I found the body and all. I didn’t think it would take this long,” I babbled while fumbling to turn off the truck’s engine.
My legs felt rubbery as I climbed out.
“Detective Alex Holt,” the officer said, extending his hand. “I’m with the Wahoo Police Department.”
