HIGH WATER HELLION
A Luanne Fogarty Mystery

In the middle of the pavement, a reptile, the size of a petrified tree trunk and just as prehistoric, rose up on it four legs and lumbered toward the lure of water, or what was in it.  As he left the pavement he made a croaking sound, louder and more urgent than a frog, but just as primordial.  “Lovely,” I thought. “It’s gator mating season which means hurricanes, too.”

“Gators,” I said.  “Tony has asked me to come down here to look for something in his aunt’s lake, during alligator mating season.”