“Then, yep.”
The owner was big and burly, with enormous fiery red mutton chops that covered the entire space between his nose and lower lip. He wore a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Had a tattoo of a ship’s anchor on one forearm, and a dancing girl on the other. Wore his pants low, beneath his beer belly, with no belt. He sized me up. “You don’t look much like a caretaker, you don’t mind me saying so.”
“I’m more of a cook with a squirrel problem.”
“You guys serve squirrel over there? Fried squirrel, milk gravy?”
The assistant manager sauntered over. He was tall and gaunt, with facial skin so leathery you could strop a razor on it. He wore a patch on his work shirt that told anyone who cared that he was Earl. It had been quite a while since I’d seen anyone saunter, and I took a minute to watch him. It’s kind of a lost art and Earl was good at it.
“Let’s start over,” I said. I put out my hand. “I’m Donovan Creed.”
The big man took it. “I’m Jimbo Pim, this here’s Earl Stout.”
I nodded at Earl and concluded the handshake and said, “I’m the caretaker and breakfast chef at The Seaside. I’ve got the breakfast part down, but I need some kind of bomb or spray to kill the squirrels and other varmints in the attic.”
Jimbo rubbed his beard in a practiced manner with his thumb and index finger.
“Is Beth planning to shut the place down a few weeks?”
“No.”
“Then I’d recommend against the bomb. Put’s one hell of a sulfur stink in the air, takes about two weeks to get ‘er gone. Not only that, but sprays and mothballs and the like can cause breathing problems for your customers.”
“In that case, what do you recommend?”
“You been up in that attic?”
“Not yet.”
“Then you don’t know what the hell’s up there. Them live oak branches hang way over the roof. You could have five species of snakes in there, maybe some raccoons to boot. The bomb and spray don’t work on all critters. You kill the snakes you’ll be overrun with rats. You kill the rats, the snakes will work their way into the living areas, and nothin’ says ‘leave’ faster than snakes on a doorknob.”
“Is that a local saying?”
“It should be. A few years back I found a corn snake wrapped around my bed room door knob.”
He waited for me to ask about it, and I was convinced nothing would happen until I did.
“What did you do?” I said.
“Stuffed him in a shoebox, put a bible on it and took him to the woods the next day.”
“You weren’t worried he’d get out in the middle of the night?”
“Snakes don’t mess with The Word.”
I looked at Earl. He nodded and said, “Goes back to Adam and Eve.”
“Something else,” Jimbo said. “It’s against Florida law to kill tree squirrels.”
Thinking Jimbo might be having sport with me, I looked at Earl again. But Earl nodded solemnly, so either they were both joshin’ or they shared the same opinion about the killing of squirrels.
“But, they’re basically rodents, right?”
“In Florida they’re game mammals,” Jimbo said, “so they’re protected under state hunting regulations.”
I shook my head.
Earl said, “I know. What’s the world coming to, right?”
“Any legal way around it?”
“Squirrels chew wires,” Jimbo said. “They’re a major fire hazard. You’re probably close to a serious problem already, so you could go to a state wildlife damage control agent and apply for a depredation permit.”
I frowned. “That sounds lengthy. You got any quick and easy solutions? I’m not hung up so much on the legality.”
“Have you discussed these plans with Beth?”
“She’s turned the squirrel problem over to me. Getting rid of them had been her husband’s pet project, the one he hadn’t been able to solve, and I’d like to do this for her.”
“She’s a hell of a woman,” Earl said. “Charlie was a lucky man.”
Jimbo said, “It pains me to see her so broken-hearted. They had the perfect marriage, far as the rest of us could tell.”
Earl added, “She used to laugh all the time. That’s what she was known for, friendly smile, big laugh.”
“Don’t see her doing much of either these days,” Jimbo said.
We fell silent a moment.
“The squirrels?” I said.
