Chapter 3:

A Creepy Turn

"But I don't understand?" Trixie told Hallie as Aunt Renee pulled the van alongside a faded gas pump. "Why doesn't Papa's sister want him to fill his tags? And what in the world is a Rougarou?"

After airing her dark warning, Great Aunt Izabella had stormed off and climbed into a rusty Rambler which she'd left parked in front of the service station's convenience shop. The crazy woman was still sitting in the driver's seat, glaring out the open window at the out-of-towners. It was giving Trixie and Honey a bad case of the heebie-jeebies.

"Aunt Izzy doesn't believe people shouldn't be allowed to hunt alligators," Hallie explained with a roll of her eyes. "Papa says it's 'cause gators were on the brink of extinction when she was our age. Ever since the early 1800s, alligators have been harvested in huge numbers for their meat, hides, and the oil they produce. So Louisiana was forced to ban hunting in the sixties and early seventies to replenish their numbers. But now that the gator population is thriving, people can hunt again. Only the state tightly regulates it. Papa says Louisiana has nearly three million alligators. That's more than even Florida."

"That's quite correct," Hallie's mother interjected, giving the young people a glance in the rear-view mirror. "In the mid-nineteen eighties, Louisiana also began an alligator ranching program to boost conservation of the population, Trixie. Farmers are currently allowed to harvest alligator eggs from nests on private lands. Once the eggs have been incubated, hatched, and the alligators reach about four feet in length, the farmers must return a certain percentage to the wild. But the remainder can be sold for their meat and hides.

The program benefits nearly everyone. The ranchers have a marketable product to sell. The land owners can make money by providing suitable nesting habitats. And people like my father are able to hunt again. Plus, it makes most conservationists happy because the alligator population and their environment are being protected and monitored."

Jim unbuckled his seat belt. "You say most," he remarked keenly. "I take it some people still have a problem with the hunting season, Ms. Belden?"

"Yes, Jim," she replied, reminding the young man to call her Aunt Renee. "There remains debate whether it's truly necessary and humane. Some citizens, such as my father, feel it keeps the alligator population in check. If numbers are allowed to swell, certain other species, such as turtles and frogs, which are part of the alligators' diet, begin to dwindle. Pa also sees hunting as a way of preserving his Cajun heritage. The LeBlancs have been living off the bayou for hundreds of years.

But those like my Aunt Izzy think certain traditions should be allowed to fade. They argue that alligators, as cannibals, keep their own kind under control. They'll also tell you that the scaly brutes actually benefit the wetlands. Alligators dig holes in swampy ground, which provides homes for fish, snakes, and turtles, increasing their populations. Aunt Izzy has more empathy for the alligators than the humans encroaching on their territory."

"Where do you sit on the annual quest to snare the a. mississippiensis, Aunt Renee?" Mart asked.

The thoughtful woman sighed. "I'd like to be able to side with conservationists, Mart," she replied honestly. "But there are too many people in Southern Louisiana struggling to make ends meet. They depend on the hunt to feed their families. And I must admit that I'd likely be out on the water with Pa and my brothers today if I hadn't hurt my back in a car accident a few years ago. But that doesn't mean I approve of trophy hunting.

Some of my father's customers leave me cold. All they're interested in is the thrill they get from the pursuit. They have no genuine interest in anything beyond acquiring another mounted head for their display case. But I can assure you. My father and the boys waste no time in educating them.

Pa also makes sure that no part of the harvested gators goes to waste. The meat is donated to the local food bank if a hunter doesn't want it. And the profit from selling the skin is used to protect the bayou's banks where the alligators' nest."

"Cap kind of sits on the fence about hunting, too," Hallie added. "But yesterday, after he and our good buddy Beau saved the neighbor's little dog Muffin from the jaws of ole Chip-tooth Chucky, he's more of the mind that the gators need to be controlled." At the mention of "Beau", the beautiful girl's dark eyes sparkled, and Trixie raised an eyebrow.

"You should have been there, Cuz," the animated young lady went on to say. "Beau jumped right on that ole alligator's back. And Cap, who I've never seen move so fast in all my life, actually rushed in and snatched that yapping dust mop out of harm's way! Chucky almost got one of Mrs. Richard's grandchildren too," she added darkly. "The little girl was splashing in the water around the dock, and ole Chucky would've had her for lunch if her Papa hadn't scared him off."

Honey looked at Trixie, wondering what she'd gotten herself into. "Goodness gracious!" she gasped. "Do alligator attacks happen frequently?"

The older Ms. Belden smiled. "No, they are quite uncommon," she said. "As long as you avoid the alligators, they shouldn't bother you, Honey.

The problem is that the Richards run an alligator farm and are so comfortable around the monsters they sometimes get a bit lax. You'd think it'd be just the opposite. Mrs. Richard should know better than to let Muffin run free and to let little Louise play in the water when a nuisance alligator is in the area."

"Uncle Zach says Chip-tooth Chucky is a regular visitor around Camp," her daughter added. "Apparently, the monstrous critter has been coming and going since Uncle Zach was knee-high to a bullfrog. I guess it all began when one of Papa's guests tossed Chucky the trimmings from the fish he'd been cleaning. Ever since the hungry goliath has haunted Anglers' Landing. But it's mostly at night when people are asleep. You can hear his growls coming from the darkness. It's mighty spooky."

Dan chuckled and gave Hallie a gentle elbow to the ribs. "I sure hope I don't have to use the outhouse in the middle of the night," he said.

Aunt Renee laughed as Honey's eyes widened with alarm. "Don't worry," she told the young people. "The cabins have indoor plumbing. But just the same, I want everyone to understand that there's to be no feeding the alligators. Got it?"

In unison, the Bob-Whites nodded. The Idaho Belden's had given the New York teenagers a lot to think about - especially the boys. The male members of the B.W.G.s now had new respect not only for the mighty reptiles but also for what they'd come to do. Alligator hunting wasn't just for sport. It was much more complex and an undeniable part of life in the swamplands.

Jim, the biggest outdoors-man in the group, had grown especially silent. "If Chip-tooth Chucky has become a nuisance, I'm surprised no one's tried to take him out." he quietly said, finally voicing his thoughts.

"They might have if there weren't laws against it," Aunt Renee returned. "But Chucky isn't the one to blame, Jim. Ole Chip-Tooth is merely a victim of circumstance. You can't shoot him just because he's after your pet. Or if you think he might harm your child. If the Richard girl was being physically attacked, that's different. But normally, if an alligator becomes aggressive or bothersome, you must report it to the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries and let them determine the best course of action."

As Aunt Renee slid out from behind the wheel to top off the gas-guzzler's tank, Daddy and the boys headed for the mini-mart to pick up hot dogs, chips, and sodas for everyone. Mart's stomach had been loudly rumbling for the last twenty minutes, and Mr. Belden didn't want Aunt Renee and the girls to have to make lunch once they got to camp.

Trixie and the other young ladies waited in the van. Aunt Izabella had finally left. And though Trixie was dying to learn more about the eccentric woman, Hallie still hadn't explained what a Rougarou was. So her curious cousin asked again.

"Ah, a Rougarou is nuthin but a made-up swamp monster," Hallie guffawed, smirking. "It's just another name for the boogieman, Cuz. When I was smaller, Mom and Dad would send us kids to spend the summer with Papa, and he'd always tell us to stay out of the swamp, or the Rougarou would get us. It's how parents in these parts keep their precious little darlings from wandering off and getting into trouble."

Honey, who'd been intently listening, jumped as her cell phone let out a jingle. Digging the device out of her purse, she noted that the incoming message was from Di. Honey had texted Diana earlier, letting her know about the B.W.G.s' spur-of-the-moment adventure.

"Di apologizes, but she says she's sort of happy she wasn't able to join us," Honey laughed, reading Miss Lynch's reply. "I'm supposed to remind you that alligators have very sharp teeth," she went on to tell Hallie.

Trixie's cousin's thin lips curled into a smile. She and Diana got along famously even though Di was as timid as Hallie was bold. "Tell Miss Scaredy-cat I'll expect her next time," she returned, chuckling. "And if she doesn't show? Add that I'll send the Rougarou to get her."

As Honey grinned and typed in the tongue-in-cheek reply, Hallie added to Trixie, "Rougarou are reported to have razor sharp teeth too, Cuz. Some claim the creatures are werewolves, while others believe they are shape-shifters. Everybody's got a different story, but it's all a bunch of hooey if you ask me."

Trixie let out a shiver though she had absolutely no clue why. She didn't believe in things such as werewolves, did she? The only werewolf she'd ever encountered was on a dark October night. And he'd only come to Crabapple Farm looking for candy.

But in the swamp, Trixie had a feeling it wasn't safe for youngsters to go trick-or-treating. Still, it was beginning to feel mighty like Halloween around the bayou. Deranged old ladies, man-eating alligators, and now wolf-like Rougarou? What next? This trip had definitely taken a creepy turn.

Finally reaching camp, Aunt Renee pulled the shuttle under a metal carport and killed its engine. "Welcome to Anglers' Landing," she said as she flipped the switch, which unlocked the doors.

As Mr. Belden and the wide-eyed teenagers spilled from the vehicle, Mart let out a drawn-out, "Ahhh". "A virtual sanctum sanctorum!" he remarked. "Ladies and gentlemen, I do believe we've chanced upon paradise."

But as Honey slapped a mosquito off her arm, she grumbled something to Trixie about paradise not having any bugs.

Only Trixie responded by giggling. On this occasion, she had to side with her brother. At first glance, the guest resort seemed both remote and enchanting. Currently, it was a bit weather-ravaged. But the observant teenager had been expecting as much.

Just the same, the six whitewashed cottages were nearly picture-postcard with their covered front porches and swings overlooking the swollen bayou. Each sat on raised blocks above the marshy ground and had been discreetly tucked into the edge of the thick woods.

In front of the cabins, the common green had flooded, making the scattering of picnic tables and grills unusable. Yet the gravel path connecting the privately spaced cottages was, for the most part, still passable.

Eager to explore her new home-away-from-home, Trixie wondered in which cabin she would be staying. The first four dwellings appeared relatively unscathed from the recent storm. But the two furthest from the carport and office were still boarded up. A limb from a centuries-old oak rested against the metal roof of one. And the other, which sat in a lower lying area, was in stagnant water up to its shutters.

Only as Trixie continued to take in her surroundings, she couldn't shake her discomfort at Mart referring to the camp as a "sanctum sanctorum". She had no idea what that was. But it sounded a lot like a lunatic asylum – which seemed rather fitting after meeting Dizzy Izzy.

But then the devilish girl got a gleam in her eye. "Gleeps, Stubble-head," she said, feigning complete ignorance. "I know you're suffering from mental illness and are anxious to get checked in and all. But I'm afraid I don't see your sanatorium sanctuary anywhere? Do you, Honey?" Trixie gave her girlfriend a "play-a-long" wink.

When Honey giggled, indicated "no", and then offered to help look for it, the blonde boy grimaced.

But that didn't stop Mart from reaching for Miss Wheeler's suitcase. After the crack he'd made about his sister resembling Hallie's great aunt, he'd been expecting a swipe sooner or later. Payback was simply part of the game.

As Aunt Renee and Mr. Belden headed for the office to pick up keys to the cottages, Hallie took Honey around back to show her the camp's shelter house and outdoor kitchen. Dan and Mart, like pathetic puppies, tagged behind. And Trixie would have gone too if Jim hadn't taken her arm and pulled her aside.

"Hey, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry we got into it yesterday," the redheaded boy began awkwardly. "Can we forgive and forget? I didn't mean all those things you think I did, Trix. Dan was just getting on my nerves, and I guess…."

Trixie smiled. "I know," she interrupted. "You don't need to explain, Jim. And I'm sorry too. I suppose I overreacted because I was upset with Hallie – and well, also with Moms. She'd just gotten done lecturing me about my getting into trouble all the time too."

Jim grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's not all the time," he admitted. "But it's still too often," he added. "And I'd sure hate to see something happen to you, Trix."

Blushing, Trixie took Jim's admission as a sign that he still thought of her as his special girl. That is until she caught him staring at Hallie as she came around the office with the rest of the Bob-Whites in tow.

Instantly miffed, Trixie's steely eyes shot daggers into the distracted young man. Only Jim sensed it, and he looked away.

"What are you staring at?" he asked.

"I'd like to ask you the same thing?!" she returned angrily. Then stamping her foot into a puddle, Trixie decided to give the dirty fink a bath.

As Jim jumped back to avoid getting wet, he let out a yowl and then exclaimed, "Gleeps, Trix, what's gotten into you lately?! I'll have you know I wasn't staring at anything. I was simply thinking that it's pretty dumb of Hallie to be wearing flip-flops and shorts with poisonous snakes and plants everywhere. At least that get-up of yours offers better protection. But aren't you hot?" he added with a shake of his head.

Trixie bit her lip to keep from laughing. Oh, well. Maybe she hadn't caught Jim's eye by dressing up. But at least he did sort of approve of her outfit. And best of all, be hadn't been admiring her cousin's. Trixie had been imagining things again. And she knew she'd better stop it before she began wishing things into being.

"Very hot," the sheepish girl confessed. "But I wanted to look nice for, well… the LeBlancs," she finished with a little white lie.

Then, as their friends returned, Jim went into the office to check things out and see what was keeping the adults.

Dan, who'd noticed the pair talking, went up to Trixie and asked her if everything was OK. Nodding her head, Trixie told the concerned young man that she and Jim had patched up their differences. To which Dan snickered and grinned.

"So Mr. Hard-head finally wised up, did he?" he cracked. "It's a good thing, Trix. You're looking mighty sharp today. Why, had you gone into that mini-mart, I bet all the young guys would have turned and looked your way."

Trixie nearly dropped her suitcase. At least someone had noticed that she'd tried to spruce up her appearance this morning. But now that they had, boy, did it feel uncomfortable! So she convinced herself that her friend had just been teasing. How could Dan really think she looked nice when standing in Hallie's long-legged shadow?

But as Jim returned, followed by her father and Aunt Renee, the curly-haired girl nonetheless let out a sigh of relief.

"Hallie, why don't you take Trixie and Honey and show them to their cabin?" Aunt Renee suggested, handing her daughter the key. Then, giving Mr. Belden the other, she said, "Peter, your brother and I are staying in number one with the kids, so I'll let you and the boys have number two. It's the largest, and you should have plenty of room."

"Does that mean Honey and I get our very own cabin?!" Trixie exclaimed excitedly, hardly believing her ears.

"It sure as tootin' does! And Mom says I can stay with you too!" her casual cousin crowed.

When Trixie's face dropped, Honey kicked her foot, warning her to be nice.

"Oh, won't that be fun!" Honey told Hallie. "Why, we'll be able to 'gab and giggle' all night, as you like to say! Isn't that right, Trixie?"

Despite Honey's indicator to lighten up, Trixie snorted. First off, her cousin never giggled – it was more of a deep annoying chuckle. And secondly, and more importantly, Daddy had told the girls that they'd be rising at four each morning, so staying up late was out of the question. But be that as it may, Trixie replied, "Yeah, sure. But don't forget. Mighty gator hunters need their sleep, Honey."

As Hallie took the steps to cottage number three, two at a time, with Honey on her heels, Trixie hung back and set her bag down on the gravel. She couldn't quite understand why she wasn't anxious to join in the fun. Hallie had been nothing if not pleasant ever since the Bob-Whites arrived. But the fact remained. Every time Trixie started to enjoy herself, she went for that familiar wet blanket. It was almost as if she wanted to be miserable.

So sitting down on the bottom stair, the confused young lady gave herself a time out. Maybe she'd feel better once she changed clothes and cooled off a bit. Trixie wasn't a warm-weather person, after all. She did better when the air was crisp, not stifling and still.

Yet, as the musing girl gazed over the bayou, she began to chill. The murky water was as mesmerizing as it was scenic. And the sighing teenager found it hard to believe that anything so lazily peaceful could hold as many hidden dangers as it did.

But then, as Trixie's quiet reflection was interrupted by a wheeze, followed by a cough and a curse, she slipped into detective mode. Her trained ears told her that the noises had come from inside cabin four. But the startled girl had assumed it was vacant?

Deciding maybe she ought to check it out, Trixie groaned when she heard Honey step out on the porch.

"Trixie? What's keeping you?" her bubbly friend called. "Oh, do come see! The cottage is absolutely delightful!" But then Honey wrinkled her pretty nose. "Well, except for the deer head above the fireplace," she added. "But I figure we can hang our B.W.G. jackets over it when we're not wearing them."

Trixie laughed, her lousy mood all but forgotten. "On my way," she told Honey, collecting her suitcase and heading up the steps. Only, just as the young sleuth was about to tell her partner about the strange sounds coming from next door, a parade of pick-ups, towing fishing boats, slid to a stop next to the van.

Bouncing out of the driver's seat of the first truck, a beer-bellied older man in a striped polo, jeans, and white rubber boots slammed his door irately. "Renee?! Git out here this instant, child!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "I need you to call Sheriff Theriot. Some no-good lousy bum has cut dun-near half our lines' n' stolen our gators!"