“The Crays won’t let you lay a finger on Alice,” Raven said.

Derek chuckled to himself. “We shall see about that. What sort of people would name a dumb old alligator Alice?”

“The sort of people who treat it like one of the family.”

“Hillbillies,” Derek said. “Did you bring extra cash?”

The crew of the television program arrived early to set up. With amazement the cameramen and lighting technicians watched Mickey Cray lead Alice from her enclosure to the swamp-like Everglades set at the other end of the property. Swishing her thick armored tail for balance, the huge gator trailed Mickey like a puppy. He was carrying a plump thawed chicken under each arm, so Alice would have followed him anywhere.

Wahoo was busy tending the crippled bobcat, trying to coax it to eat. The poor thing was limping in circles around the new pen, still frazzled by the long truck ride from Highlands County. Every now and then the cat would scrabble up and down an old telephone pole that Mickey had planted for that very purpose. Still, it took Wahoo almost an hour to get the animal calm enough to nibble from a dish.

He arrived on the Everglades set just as Derek Badger was emerging from the air-conditioned motor coach that served as a dressing room. The vehicle was jet-black and as big as a Greyhound bus. Derek wore crisply pressed khaki shorts, a matching safari shirt and hiking boots splattered with wet oatmeal to look like mud.

“What a poser,” Mickey said.

“Chill out, Pop.”

“Don’t we have some fire ants?”

“That’s enough.”

A rumpled assistant in orange sneakers and a corduroy vest began spraying something on Derek Badger’s arms and legs. Wahoo assumed it was insect repellent until the man in the vest told Derek to shut his eyes and then misted his face.

“What is that stuff?” Wahoo asked Raven Stark.

“Spray-on tan,” she said matter-of-factly.