Chapter 5:
Chip-tooth Chucky
"Trixie, Honey?! Would you come here for a moment?" Mr. Belden called. "Mr. LeBlanc is preparing to leave, and I need to speak with you, please."
After heaving a heavy sigh of relief, his daughter hollered back, "Be right there, Dad!"
Trixie had been looking for an excuse to cut their visit with Mr. Benoit short. She didn't appreciate being scolded for simply asking a question. In truth, she and Honey had been listening to Bernie quite carefully. It was just that this Rougarou stuff was terribly confusing- especially coming from someone who spoke as if they had a mouth full of marbles.
Honey, too, seemed just as anxious to go. "It's been very nice meeting you," she politely told Mr. Benoit. "I do hope your shoulder's better soon."
Bernie grunted and reached for the pack of cigarettes he'd laid on the table next to the swing. "You just remember what I told you, mon cher. Don't go venturing out at night," he cautioned.
As the two girls started down the steps, Trixie called over her shoulder, "You coming, Hallie?"
Trixie's cousin remained on the swing. "I'll catch up with you in a sec," she said. "Bernie and I still have a little unfinished business. As soon as we've settled up, I'll give you the grand tour of the place. Then you and Honey can help me move my stuff into our cottage."
"Not if Bernie turns into a Rougarou and eats you first," Trixie grumbled under her breath. "Not that I could get so lucky."
Hallie cast her glare. "What was that, Cuz?" she asked snippily. "Ya'll have to speak up. I didn't quite hear ya?"
Honey, who'd caught every word of her friend's mumblings, pushed Trixie ahead. She was sure that Hallie and Mr. Benoit had heard the sarcastic remark, too.
"That sounds good," she told Hallie. "We'll wait for you in front of the office."
Once the two New Yorkers were safely out of earshot, Miss Wheeler warned her partner that she needed to watch her mouth. She also reminded Trixie that it wouldn't hurt to cheer up a little. Honey had never seen her friend so grumpy.
Trixie responded by crossing her arms and pursing her lips. If Honey had wanted her to be a happy camper, she should have made her that voodoo doll. And Trixie didn't hesitate telling her so.
"Boy, oh boy, would I be smiling then," she said. "Why I'd stick a pin right between that doll 's 'beautiful' eyes! And honestly, Honey. What is it with this Beau guy, anyway? Suddenly everything's Beau this or Beau that with Hallie. I thought she was supposed to like Dan. Do you think we should warn Dan about Mr. Sweet Talk?"
Honey agreed the Idaho girl did seem to be a bit infatuated with the young Cajun man. Only she felt that she and her girlfriend ought to keep out of it. "I think it would be best if we let Dan find out for himself," she advised. "It's not like Dan and Hallie have spent much time together, Trixie. If something is going on between your cousin and Beau, it really is none of our business, you know."
Trixie sighed. Honey was right, of course. She always was. Still, Dan was a good friend of theirs. And Miss Belden didn't want to see him hurt. So the vacillating girl decided to put off her decision. Besides, Mr. Mangan and the other boys were nowhere in sight.
Coming up to her father, who was tapping his foot and checking his watch, Trixie asked, "What's up, Dad?"
"Mr. LeBlanc thinks it's time the boys and I were getting our feet wet," he said. "He believes there's no better way to learn than by doing. So this afternoon, we're going to double up and get our first lesson in alligator hunting. The LeBlancs are waiting in their trucks, and the boys are changing into work clothes in the cabin. I need to be doing the same, but I wanted to make sure you'll be alright while we're gone?"
"Gleeps, Dad, we'll be fine!" Trixie cried her bad mood dissolving. "I wish Honey and me were going out on one of the boats! Aren't you excited?"
Mr. Belden smirked. "A little, he confessed. "But nervous, too. I gather your cousin's grandfather is not an easy man to please. Your Uncle Harry says he's a bit of a tyrant. So I want you girls to be on your best behavior. Mind your Aunt. And whatever you do, stay away from Chip-tooth Chubby. "
Honey giggled. "That's Chip-tooth Chucky, Mr. Belden," she corrected. But we promise we'll steer clear. Right, Trixie?"
"Sure enough, Dad," his daughter agreed. "And don't you worry one little bit! You and the boys will do great! Mr. LeBlanc is going to be very impressed!"
Hallie began her tour of Anglers' Landing at the office. The two-story clapboard building had been built by Papa LeBlanc's grandfather in the early nineteen twenties when he'd first opened the resort. The entrance was under a covered porch, overlooking the water like the cabins.
As the girls followed Hallie inside, Trixie was reminded of Mr. Lytell's country store back home. The office wasn't nearly as large. But the sagging floor creaked just as loud, and the atmosphere was equally dark and dusty.
The small space also had no air-conditioning like Mr. Lytell's shop. But the ceiling fan whirling overhead at least made the room bearable. Well, physically bearable, that is.
The taxidermy fish and deer heads decorating the place made Trixie uncomfortable. It was as if their beady glass eyes were following her everywhere she went. And worse, their unmoving lips seemed to be whispering, "Go away, stranger, you're not welcome here."
In fact, it was all the shaken young lady could do to keep from running outside. And Trixie wondered if all of Mr. LeBlanc's guests got the willies when checking in. But as she gazed about at the pictures on the wall of happy-faced fishermen displaying their catches, the teenager decided it must only be her.
Well, not just her. Honey looked mighty pale and was being awfully quiet. But Hallie seemed oblivious to the oppressiveness. She was being her usual informative self.
"Uncle Sam and Max live in the apartment upstairs," she announced, pointing at a staircase to the right of the front desk. "Uncle Sam used to own that brick house out by the entrance, but he lost it in the divorce. Uncle T. and Camille reside there now. Papa's not real happy about it. He gave Uncle Sam and Camille that property as a wedding gift."
As Hallie slipped behind the check-in desk, she went on with a whisper, "Maybe I shouldn't be tellin' ya this, but I overheard Mom tellin' Dad that Camille caught Uncle Sam and Max having an affair. Only according to Mom, Aunt Camille was already involved with Uncle T. at the time. Camille was working for him at the gas station, ya see. And I guess Papa walked in on them smoochin', and he told Uncle Sam. But my Uncle wasn't able to prove it in court."
Trixie winced. She didn't care who'd cheated first. As far as she was concerned, cheating was wrong. But as her father always said, one shouldn't judge someone until they'd walked a mile in their shoes. Even good people were known to make mistakes from time to time. Lord knows, Trixie had made enough of them.
Still, Honey had been correct as usual. It was feeling more and more as if the girls had somehow landed smack dab in the middle of one of those drippy soap operas Di liked to follow. And that type of television program wasn't Trixie's cup of tea. She much preferred crime dramas. But even Trixie had to admit that her favorite show often revolved around love triangles gone awry.
And this particular notion spurred a thought in the young detective's mind. Was it possible that Papa's recent troubles were somehow linked to Hallie's Uncle's divorce? Maybe whoever had messed with his lines had done it to get back at Sam or Maxine? After all, those tags helped pay their salaries.
Of course, Trixie knew the idea was pretty preposterous. Still, for some reason, she couldn't quite shake the idea. Thankfully, though, Honey, who'd become disquieted by Hallie's latest bombshell, attempted to steer the topic in a less tawdry direction.
"Your grandfather must own a lot of property," she commented quietly.
The Idaho girl reached into a cubby-holed unit hanging on the wall. Pulling out the mail for cabin six, Hallie began sorting through the envelopes. "Yeah, it's been passed down from generation to generation," she replied absently. "When my great-great grandfather kicked the bucket, Papa got the resort and the house. And his brother Terrance was left the gas station and processing facility in town."
Shoving the mail back into the slot, Hallie murmured something about there being no insurance check and then went on, "Aunt Izzy ended up with a worthless plot of land deep in the swamp behind Papa's place. She has a shack out there, but I've never been. The story goes Great Grand Pappy told Aunt Izzy on his death bed that if she loved the gators so much, she should go live with them. And that's what Izzy did. My great aunt and her Pa had had a fallin' out over huntin' the monsters."
Lacking a response, Trixie expelled a puff of air and swirled her finger in the basket of alligator teeth sitting on the counter. The grizzly souvenirs were on sale for fifty cents apiece. And it dawned on her that one or two would make a nifty gift for Bobby. Not only were the jagged ivories inexpensive, which fit her meager budget, but the more off-putting something was, the better the little boy liked it. And she'd promised him she'd bring him back a little something.
So after picking out the best pair, Trixie dug out her pocket change. "How much is Louisiana sales tax?" she asked her humored relative.
"Ah, Come on, Cuz, you've got to be kiddin'?" Hallie scoffed. "Papa's got jars and jars of these silly things in the back. Take as many as ya want. They're on the house. You're family, after all."
Trixie was beginning to think being lumped in with the LeBlancs might be a dubious honor. And she only needed the two teeth. So as Hallie stuffed the trinkets into a small paper bag, the more principled girl slipped a dollar ten into the cash register's check slot. Moms had taught Trixie that every penny counted when times were lean. Besides, it was the Bob-White thing to do.
In the meantime, the other conscientious B.W.G. member had been straightening the tourist brochures in the rack next to the door. But finishing there, Honey noticed that the resort's help-your-self coffee station needed a little T.L.C. too. The liquid in the coffee maker's glass carafe must have been days old. Not only was it blacker than tar, but it also had an oily blue film floating on top.
Asking where she could pour it out, Miss Wheeler was instructed by Hallie to "Follow me".
Leading the girls through the back storage area, where the LeBlancs kept their cleaning supplies and fresh linens, the tall girl stopped at a closed door. Giving the bolt in the middle of the knob a twist, Hallie explained, "We keep this door to the laundry room locked. There's a guest entrance around back. Papa leaves the facilities open twenty-four /seven."
As the three young ladies stepped inside the stuffy room, Hallie flipped on the overhead fluorescent light and pointed to a deep sink in the corner. "You can dump the coffee there," she told Honey.
As Miss Wheeler proceeded to do just that, Trixie snooped about.
The laundry room, though bigger than the office, only had one small window. In it, a rattly air-conditioning unit was trying unsuccessfully to keep up with the heat. And Trixie wished again that she wasn't so overdressed.
The cans of soda in the pop machine next to the washers and dryers sure looked enticing. But the over-heated girl had used the last of her change on Bobby's gift. So Trixie settled on sucking on an ice cube which she'd scooped out of a metal dispenser on the opposite wall.
At least in this room, there weren't any animal heads looking down on her disapprovingly. And Trixie allowed herself a wee giggle of relief. "Where to next?" she asked Hallie, who'd taken a seat atop one of the dryers.
"Papa's place," Hallie returned with a groan. "He's got chickens; we need to gather the eggs for breakfast in the morning. I would have done it earlier when I fed the feathered freaks. Only one of the ornery biddies was still in the nesting box and tried to peck my eyes out."
"Lovely," Trixie thought silently. "Just like at home". Excepted back on Crabapple farm, caring for the chickens was usually Mart's job. Here? That big-mouthed lucky duck got to play in the water while his suffering sister was expected to slave away.
Only so far, the only one doing any work had been Honey. And as she came Trixie and Hallie's way with the now sparkling carafe, Hallie jumped down from her perch, causing a huge house spider to scurry out from under the dryer.
Letting out a cry of alarm, Honey released her grip on the fragile pot. As it hit the concrete floor, it shattered into a million pieces. Rushing outside, Honey fell to her knees in the spongy grass.
"I'm so, so sorry," she wept as the other two girls rushed to comfort her. "I'll replace the pot, Hallie. Honest, I will. "
"That ol' thing?" Hallie chuckled, truly caring less. "Don't give it another thought."
Only Trixie knew her quivering friend wouldn't be able to rest until she'd gotten Papa, a whole new coffee maker. Honey understood the value of money. Even though her family was wealthy, she still had to earn every penny of her Bob-White dues. Jim had made the rule. And he strictly enforced it.
Besides, being a B.W.G. meant doing the responsible thing. The young people hadn't come to Anglers' Landing to make things harder on the LeBlancs. They'd come to make them easier.
So facing her fears, Miss Wheeler stood up and wiped her eyes. Spider or no spider, she had to go back inside the building. There was broken glass to sweep up. And Honey had seen a broom in the supply room.
After no further encounters with their eight-legged friend, the girls headed off to Papa's house via the rutted driveway which ran between it and the fishing camp. Along the way, they passed another modest home that Hallie explained belonged to her Uncle Zacharie and his wife, Elizabeth.
Like Hallie's Uncle Sam, Papa had given Zach and his wife the piece of the property when they'd first settled down. The couple had two grown daughters. But both had moved away. One was living in California and was training to become a makeup artist. The other had a new baby and took up residence in New Orleans with her attorney husband.
"Aunt Liz is just as nice as pie," Hallie drawled as the trio carried on. "She works part-time at the Dinky Pinky grocery store in town and gets our food at a discount. It's a pretty sweet deal. So if you get a hankerin' for anything, just tell Liz, and she'll pick it up when she goes in. She usually gets home about three, and we start supper around five."
"Does everyone always eat together?" Honey asked as she stopped to retie the laces on her sneaker.
"Except for lunch," the young lady returned. "You're on your own, there. Mom and I usually pack Dad and Cap sandwiches they can throw in the cooler. But not to worry. The cabins' cupboards and fridges are overflowin' with all kinds of yummos. Mom and I helped Liz do shoppin' for all ya all yesterday. I made sure we picked up some of that strawberry pop ya like, Cuz."
Trixie was stunned. It was a nice gesture. If the tables had been turned, she doubted she would have thought to do the same. Trixie had never paid close enough attention to know if Hallie even liked soda. Let alone what her favorite flavor might be.
"Gleeps, Hallie, thanks," she said, feeling somewhat like a schmuck.
"No prob," the grinning girl returned. "Like I said before. We're all grateful for all ya all's help."
Arriving at their destination, Trixie and Honey found that a tall chain link fence surrounded Papa's yard. As they followed their escort up to the front gate, a white muzzled Beagle rushed out from around the house.
As he jumped toward the newcomers, baring his teeth and snarling, Hallie snorted and ordered the old boy "down".
"This vicious fella is Fogerty," she laughed as the aging pup began wagging his spiky tail. "Papa refers to him as his watchdog. But Fogie's more bark than bite. Aren't ya, fella?"
As Hallie lifted the latch and the girls cautiously slipped into the yard, the Idaho teen warned Trixie and Honey not to let Fogerty out. "He'll chase anything that moves," she explained. "And once he's on something's trail? Fogie won't listen if you try to call him back." Hallie grinned and gave Honey an elbow. "Kind of like someone else we know," she laughed.
Honey tried to hide her amusement. Only it was useless. The comparison between the over zealous dog and her nose-to-the-ground partner was…well…pretty on the nose. But Trixie didn't exactly appreciate the funning remark.
"Just show us the chicken coop," she told Hallie.
The hen-house was located on the far side of the house. Because the swamps were full of predators, the birds were not free ranging. They had a large enclosed coop where they roosted at night. And to it, Papa had attached a substantial chicken-wired run with the help of his sons.
After Hallie snagged a wire basket which she'd left hanging on a nail outside the coop, she showed the girls how to access the structure's nesting box, and they gathered the warm brown eggs. Contrary to her earlier bellyaching, Trixie realized that taking care of Papa's chickens would be a snap.
In the morning, before collecting the eggs, it would be her and Honey's job to open the hatch, which separated the hen-house from the grassy enclosure. Doing so would allow the plump red hens to come and go between the two throughout the day. Then at night, before it got too dark, Papa would shoo the squawking flock back into the coop and close the door.
Making things even easier, the chickens had an automatic feeder and water dispenser. All the two girls would have to do was ensure that the two receptacles were full. That, and sprinkle a few handfuls of scratch down the run.
Papa kept the supplies they'd need in a rickety shed out back. The lean-to was cramped, as Mr. LeBlanc was one of those people who saved most everything. But Hallie knew where everything was, and soon the two Sleepyside girls did too.
But as the tall young lady was about to explain where the outside water spigot and hose were located, Fogerty, who had long since tired of trailing the young ladies, began raising Cain out front. With their curiosity peaked, the trio of teens dashed to see what the ruckus was about.
Rounding the house, Trixie was the first to spot the brown and white pup slathering at a section of fence overlooking the bayou. Fogerty was highly worked up over something. Only none of the three girls could tell what it might be.
The band of water, which narrowed at this point in the bend, was so calm that it mirrored the sky. And not even a bird was chirping in the cypress trees scattered along it's banks. The stillness should have warned the young ladies that something was milling about in the undergrowth. But even Trixie missed the signal. She was more focused on the raggedy woman who'd just stepped out of the shack across the way wielding a rifle.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll shut that stupid hound up!" she cackled across the water.
As Honey took a step back and Trixie rushed to quiet the barking dog, Hallie mumbled, "I wonder what ol' lady Foret's doin' home? Usually, she's out on the water with her husband and sons huntin' gators this time of day. People in these parts call her "Sure-shot Shelly."
As Honey gulped, Trixie led the protesting dog away from the fence by his collar. Hallie's latest revelation had hardly been comforting. So it came with great relief when Mrs. Foret leaned her gun against the door so she could light up a cigarette. "That's better," the young ladies heard the smug lady harrumph.
And that's when Trixie was stuck by the remarkable resemblance between Mrs. Foret and Mr. Benoit. Surely it wasn't by coincidence? "Mrs. Foret's not related to Bernie, is she?" she asked Hallie.
Hallie snorted and rolled her eyes. She'd often wondered the same thing. "Not as Bernie tells it," she told her cousin.
Only the two girls' gossip session was cut short by Forgery, who'd begun whimpering and again, pulling toward the fence. Hallie decided she best put the troublemaker into the house. She instructed the girls to wait where they were while she drug the unhappy dog around to the back door.
Honey, meanwhile, couldn't have moved if she wanted to. She was still frozen with fear and hadn't torn her eyes away from the trigger-happy woman across the way.
Only Mrs. Foret was apparently tired of being gaped at. Tossing down her cigarette, she snuffed out the glowing butt with her toe. "You, Miss Prissy, in that flowery blouse! What are you starin' at?" she hollered.
As Honey stammered an inaudible apology, Hallie, returning from the house, did the unthinkable. "You, ya ol' bag!" she boomed out. "She's starin' at your ugly mug!"
Then, taking an egg out of the basket which Honey had been toting, the Idaho girl prepared to heave it across the way.
"Stop!" Trixie cried, catching Hallie's arm. But her intervention came too late.
As the brown missile landed in the soft mud on the opposite bank, shy of its intended target, Trixie was about to suggest that the girls hightail it back to camp, when a heart-stopping noise gripped the bayou.
"Did Mrs. Foret just hiss at us?!" Honey hysterically exclaimed, preparing to run. The Louisiana lady had again reached for her bolt-action rifle!
"No! That came from Chip-Tooth Chucky!" Hallie whooped as the hungry goliath burst from the tall weeds outside the fence.
As the mighty reptile crashed toward the water, Trixie ran to where Fogerty had been barking. It was suddenly clear why the old fellow had been so riled. Chip-Tooth Chucky had been stalking the property just outside the gate! Why that giant alligator had only been meters away from where the girls had come in!
As a cold chill ran down Trixie's spine, Chucky slipped into the murky water. All she could see now were the bumps of the big alligator's eyes as he moved across the bayou at lightning speed. Then, creating a great splash, the prehistoric giant heaved his massive weight up the bank. Lunging for the egg, Chip-tooth Chucky proceeded to swallow it with a single gulp.
"Gleeps, I didn't know that alligators could move so fast!" Trixie gasped as Hallie joined her at the fence.
"Up to thirty miles an hour on land," her Idaho cousin breathed. "Even faster, in the water, Cuz. They're mighty dangerous."
Trixie wasn't aware, but she'd been gripping the chain link fence so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. "Dangerous?" she thought wildly. Why that was the understatement of the year! If Beau Benoit truly had jumped on ol' Chucky's back to save little Muffin? No wonder Hallie had been impressed by the young man's heroics. Beau was either the bravest boy around –or likely the most fool-hearty!
