Chapter 11:

Swamp Mama's

As Hallie loped toward the entrance of Laron's Home Fix-Its, Trixie hung back with her best friend. Honey was moving slowly and didn't look too steady on her feet. The girls should have brought bottles of water with them. With the heat, Trixie worried the ashen young lady might be getting dehydrated.

"Are you doing OK?" she asked.

Honey nodded and lifted her bangs from her forehead. "I'll be fine," she replied, forcing a smile. "It's been quite a morning, hasn't it?"

"I'll say," Miss Belden agreed. "You're not thinking of going home again, are you, Hon?"

Honey paused in mid-step and took her friend's arm. "I haven't stopped thinking about it," she admitted guiltily. "Seeing that pig nearly pushed me over the edge, Trixie. Why I almost texted Daddy right then and there. I would have fainted if I hadn't looked away."

"Oh, Hon, I'm so sorry," Trixie returned sheepishly. "It must have been awful for you." Miss Belden had been having so much fun on the trip into town that she hadn't stopped to consider that Honey might be feeling differently.

"Oh, it was!" the less adventurous girl declared. "I kept worrying what would happen if we were to get stuck in the mud and have to get out of the truck and walk, Trixie. That same pack of coyotes that killed the boar could have gotten anyone of us. The dead hog was twice our size."

As Hallie reached the store's front door and hollered at the two slow-pokes to put some fire under it, the girls started on their way, but out of the blue, Trixie stopped her friend.

"Did you say, 'pack of coyotes'?" she asked curiously. "Is that what Beau told you, Honey? Cap thought it was just one?"

Honey appeared perplexed. "Well, I think that's what he told Hallie and me," she confessed. "But I was so upset, Trixie; maybe I was mistaken."

Trixie had to admit it was possible. When Honey was out of sorts, her fears tended to magnify and distort her memory. Still, Trixie wouldn't be satisfied until she knew what the Louisiana boy had said.

So when the girls finally caught up with Hallie at the door, the Sleepyside Miss Belden asked her cousin. And Hallie confirmed that Beau had indeed indicated that "coyotes", plural, had attacked the boar. But he hadn't used the word "pack" –just implied there had been more than one.

But Hallie also told her probing relative that she was making too much out of the discrepancy in the young men's account. "I'd be more suspicious if their stories matched," she chuckled. "Those two Daniel Boones may be best buds, Cuz, but they're always at sixes and sevens. Besides, what does it matter if it was one mangy mongrel or a dozen?"

And to that, Trixie had no answer.

Entering the tightly packed hardware store, Hallie led Trixie and Honey to the domestics department. There, Miss Wheeler picked out a nice coffee maker. And the three girls proceeded to the check-out line.

To Trixie's exasperation, the store was busy. In the aftermath of Tropical Storm Deloris, the majority of Saint Estelle's citizens were making repairs to their property. As a result, the girls found themselves in line behind six other shoppers, all of who looked to be of retirement age.

"This is going to take forever," the New York Miss Belden moaned, checking her watch. "What if I wait for the two of you outside?" she asked hopefully.

But Honey raised a finger to her lips. "Shh," she whispered, with a knock on her head. "I just overheard that man with the pipe wrench tell the tall gentleman wearing the red suspenders something about Papa getting what he deserved for taking matters into his own hands, Trixie. If you can keep quiet and be patient, we just might learn something that will help us with our case."

Only the other equally restless Miss Belden had a better idea. "Why don't we just talk to 'em?" she asked with a roll of her eyes. Hallie then approached the man with the suspenders and tapped him on his shoulder. "Howdy, Mr. Gilbert," she said. "Remember me? I'm Lucas LeBlanc's granddaughter, Hallie Belden—Renee's daughter. Cuz, Hon, come on over and give a grip in greetin'. Mr. Gilbert plays Texas Hold 'em with Papa on Friday nights. "

Mr. Gilbert, now shaking hands with the two New Yorkers, appeared startled and quickly glanced about as if looking for someone. Trixie suspected the man hadn't immediately recognized her cousin and wanted to make sure Papa wasn't with the young ladies.

"I suppose that ornery donkey you call a grandfather is off alligator hunting on such a fine day?" he asked Hallie, giving the fellow he'd been speaking with earlier a nudge.

From playing poker with her brothers, Trixie knew that a "donkey" usually referred to an inexperienced or sloppy player who called too many bets and generally lost.

"Naw, Papa's home in bed," Hallie replied as the line moved ahead one. "I thought all ya all would have heard? He took a spill getting' out of his boat and twisted his back this mornin'."

"Dear me, I surely hope Lucas is alright?" Mr. Gilbert returned, causing Trixie to eye him suspiciously. "It'd be a shame if he didn't tag out this season. Isn't that right, Ralph?"

Ralph was the man with the pipe wrench. He, too, was in Papa's card group. "Yes indeedy, it surely would," the stout retiree replied. "Can't skunk ol' Lucas out of his gator money if he isn't making any, now can we, Eloi? Do tell your Papa we wish him a speedy recovery," he told the Idaho girl.

Hallie grinned and assured the men she most definitely would. But then there was a lull in the conversation. That is until Trixie came right out and asked the gentlemen if they had any idea who might have tampered with Mr. LeBlanc's alligator lines.

Only Papa's nickel and dime gambling buddies denied having heard about the upsetting vandalism - just as they had Mr. LeBlanc's accident.

"Why that's just terrible," Mr. Gilbert had said. "I can't believe anyone around here would do such a thing. Can you, Ralph?"

"I surely can't," Ralph echoed. "It's just terrible, Elio. Just terrible."

The pair of senior citizens then changed the subject by yakking about the weather. And this left Trixie banging her head against the wall. It was clear that the two older Cajuns were through speaking with the young ladies. And Trixie wondered what they were hiding.

True, Mr. Gilbert and Ralph didn't come off as the kind of fellows who'd be out rustling a friend's livelihood – especially if it was already putting easy money in their pockets. But the two men had definitely been acting suspiciously.

As a result, Trixie exited the hardware store feeling more frustrated than when she'd gone in. She was now in full-blown detective mode. But the girls' brief chat with the two grey-haired gossips had provided them with no leads as far as their swampy mystery went. Just more unconnected puzzle pieces. And as the young sleuth's eyes readjusted to the bright sunlight, she slowly came to accept that the assorted passers-by looked no more like alligator thieves than her Aunt Alicia or Uncle Andrew did.

Not that Trixie would know an alligator thief if she saw one. The puzzling mystery of who was cutting Papa and his neighbor's lines was beginning to drive fledgling PI bonkers. But the day was young, and the vexed girl's frustration only fueled her determination to nail the guilty party.

So as Hallie drawled, "Where to next?" Trixie glanced up and down the street and asked if the grocery store was nearby. "I need to pick up some clam juice and neon pink food coloring for Mart," she told her cousin. "I think we ought to get our running out of the way before we go poking around town. Beau warned we wouldn't have much time to dawdle."

"Clam juice and food colorin'?!" the Idaho teen hooted. "I know that fuzzy-headed squirrel is out of his tree, but what in the Sam Hill does he need that stuff for?"

"Trixie and I think the boys are pranking each other," Honey explained. "So if Mart offers you a glass of pink lemonade, I wouldn't advise you to drink it," she added with a giggle.

Hallie snorted and shook a stone from her flip-flop. "Ya better believe I won't," she said. "But hey, I'm up for a good gag as much as the next guy. So follow me. The Dinky Pinky is just a hop-skip-and-jump from here. If we cut through the park, ya can see the lake and get a glimpse of the driftwood art. People around here make statues out of the stuff."

A short time later, as the out-of-towners were trudging up the sidewalk in front of the local food mart, the store's automatic doors parted, welcoming the sticky girls with a blast of arctic air.

Trixie, after declaring "welcome to heaven", led the way inside the air-conditioned store and then proceeded down the soup isle. There, the curly-haired girl had expected to find the first item on Mart's list, clam juice. But alas, no so such luck. And after the girls had done some deep searching, Honey was finally able to locate the briny broth beside the tomato juice in the beverage aisle.

The next item on the list was food coloring. And all three young ladies agreed it should be with the spices in the baking aisle. And sure enough, to their relief, it was. Only, unfortunately, the only colors the Dinky Pinky carried were yellow, red, and blue.

"I guess Mart's out of luck unless you think red will do?" Honey said, looking at the back of one of the boxes. "The instructions say you can make pink if you only add a drop or two."

Trixie, who'd helped Moms frost many a cupcake in her day, explained that this was true. But the shade would be a soft pink – not screaming pink. And Trixie's brother had specifically stated he needed "neon". "Are there any other stores in town that carry baking supplies?" she asked Hallie.

"Not that I know of, Cuz," the towering girl returned. "So I vote we go ahead and get the red and hope Buzz-Brain's colorblind."

Trixie hesitated. But Honey noted that the girls had little choice. So in the end, Mart's sister decided what the hey. If her brother didn't' like it? Next time he could do his own shopping.

So with their mission complete, the teenage shoppers made a beeline for the front of the store. Unlike Laron's Home Fix-Its, the Dinky Pinky had three checkout lines open. And while the express lane was empty, Hallie guided the New Yorkers into line two.

"Charlotte will give us Aunt Liz's discount," she explained, snagging three bottles of water out of the cooler beside the candy racks. "I think you'll like her. She's pretty cool. She's a friend of Beau's from school. Charlotte likes to throw herself at him. But Beau doesn't go for that kind of thing."

Trixie and Honey shared a secret smile.

But as the slender cashier, with purple highlights in her hair, scanned the woman in front of the girls' items, it occurred to Honey that today was Monday. "Is school out because of alligator season?" she asked.

Grabbing Mart's items from Trixie's plastic tote, Hallie put them on the conveyor belt with the young ladies' drinks. She then explained that the high school was under a foot of water. "I imagine Charlotte is usin' the time off to pick up some hours," the young lady went on. "She's savin' to go to beautician's school. I guess ya could say Beau got lucky this year. Durin' huntin' season, he's usually forced to skip class and do his studyin' at night."

Trixie groaned. Beau was indeed lucky. When the Sleepyside Miss Belden got home, she'd have a mountain of work waiting for her. Too bad the tropical storm hadn't done a number on her high school!

But as Charlotte finished with her customer and moved the belt ahead, Hallie pushed Trixie and Honey forward.

"'Mornin' Charlotte," she said, without bothering to introduce her cousin and her friend. "Just a few things for Aunt Liz's tab."

Trixie pulled her billfold from her purse, preparing to pay, but Hallie told cousin, "It's on the resort."

Of course, the Sleepyside Miss Belden balked at the idea, but Hallie insisted, and in the end, Trixie let it slide. But only because Charlotte had just said, "I heard about what happened to Papa, Hallie. Everybody around town is talking about it."

Hallie snorted. "I guess everybody doesn't include Mr. Gilbert and Ralph," she said sarcastically. "We ran into those two ol' codgers over at the hardware store. They claim they hadn't heard about Papa's accident."

As Charlotte ran the box of red food color over the sensor at the checkout, she winced. "They were probably trying to be polite," she said, dropping her voice. "Most folks 'round here believe your grandfather's finally snapped, Hallie. Sheriff Theriot hasn't arrested Papa, has he?"

"Arrested Papa?!" Hallie exclaimed, drawing stares from around the store. "For what reason?"

"Don't tell me you don't know?" Charlotte gasped. "Well, the way I hear it, Hallie. Last night, Augustin and Lucien Foret were out setting jug lines, hoping to catch some catfish, when they spotted someone trolling the area where your Uncle Zach usually hunts.

Like most of the hunters around Anglers' Landing, their father had had his lines vandalized, and Mr. Foret's sons thought they'd cornered the poacher. Only when they went to investigate, they discovered that that poacher was your grandfather. Lucien claims he and his youngest brother actually witnessed Papa cutting an alligator off one of Zach's lines with a knife. Worse, when Papa discovered he'd been caught, Hallie, he started shooting at the men and took chase after them. Augustin says they're lucky they escaped with their lives."

As Trixie and Honey stared blankly at one another, not quite buying the startling account, Hallie began to laugh. "Honestly, Charlotte, you and I both know you can't trust a word out of a Foret's mouth. Mark my words, they were the ones out stealin' gators, and Papa spotted 'em. I mean, think about it. Why would Papa release one of his teams' own gators, for pity's sake?"

Charlotte shrugged and finished ringing up the last of the girls' items. "Oh, I hear you," she confessed, smacking her gum. "And few around here believe your grandfather is a thief, Hallie. I mean, the Lord of the Bayou? I mean, really?

But I hate to say it," she went on, glancing about and dropping her voice just above a whisper. "There are those who think Papa has been releasing peoples' alligators, hoping to appease the spirits of the swamps. Rumor is your great aunt Izabella has cursed her brother and has summoned the Rougarou to get him.

Aunt Izzy is a witch," she added for the Sleepyside girls' benefit.

Snatching one of the bottles of water off the counter, Hallie opened it up, took a chug, and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Yeah, well, even so, Papa doesn't believe in the Rougarou," she said flatly.

As the teenager with the violet hair bagged the young lady's purchase, she begged to differ. "Not according to Glen Garrison," she returned. "Glen was one of the paramedics who responded to your grandfather's accident, Hallie. He said that when they revived Papa, your grandfather was blubbering something about being attacked by a Rougarou."

"A Rougarou?!" Honey and Trixie chorused.

Charlotte nodded. "Now do you understand why some people think Mr. LeBlanc's is… well…?" The girl finished her sentence by twirling a finger at her head.

Grabbing their parcel from off the rounder, Hallie decided she'd heard enough. "Goodnight Irene, Charlotte!" she burst. "Papa may be crazy, but he's crazy like a fox. He was all riled up because paramedics wanted to take him to the hospital, and Papa didn't want to go. Can't you see he was messin' with them?"

"My father said Mr. LeBlanc also told the paramedics to go jump in the Bayou," Trixie added, backing her cousin up.

At this, Honey emphatically nodded and attempted to set the record straight. "The real truth is, Papa slipped getting out of his boat, Charlotte. He bumped his head and injured his back. Hallie's grandfather had been out guarding his lines against thieves. And like the Forets, Mr. LeBlanc thought he'd spied them. But I'm guessing the Forets were thinking the same thing. It was nothing but a tragic mix-up."

The future beautician sighed, noting she'd suspected as much. "You'll find gossip and superstitions run rampant around Saint Estelle," she told the out-of-towners. "Standing behind this register, I tend to hear it all."

But as the customer behind Hallie pushed her cart into the tall young lady's leg for the second time, growing more impatient, the girls decided they better be on their way. So telling Charlotte not to work too hard, they were starting for the door when the teenage cashier called out after them.

"If you see, Beau, tell him I still don't have a date for tonight's fais do do over at Willy Harmon's!" she chimed.

And as the automatic doors opened, searing the girls with a rush of hot air, Hallie called over her shoulder, "Sure thing!" but then confessed to her cousin it would be on a cold day in July.

This time as Detective Belden took to the streets, she felt as if she and her partner were finally getting some place – but where was still the big mystery. Beau's loose-tongued admirer had provided the young investigators with a boatload of, let's just say, "interesting" information regarding their case. Only now, Trixie and Honey needed to hash through the earful and try to make sense of it. Miss Belden had a hunch that somewhere, among the fishy garbage, a wooden horse was peeking out at her.

Of course, as far as Hallie was concerned, that horse's name was Foret. The angered teen was certain Papa's biggest rival had sent his boys out to make trouble for her grandfather. And Hallie intended to tell Papa just that the moment they got home.

But Honey liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. She argued that the Forets had probably been on the lookout for the sleazy alligator-stealing swampers, just like Papa LeBlanc. Hallie was jumping to conclusions, as far as Miss Wheeler was concerned.

And Trixie decided both girls could just as easily be right. She wasn't sure which side of the fence she was on –if either. It was too easy to think the Forets were behind peoples' woes. And too hard to believe Papa.

But as the phone in Hallie's shoulder bag began buzzing, Detective Belden's attention was directed elsewhere. Beau was calling to give the girls an update. He and Cap had located not one but two props over at The Cemetery. The boys were currently in the process of pulling the used parts off the old motors. Once they were through, they hoped to haggle with the junkyard's owner to get a good deal on both, which would give Mr. Benoit a spare. But it also meant it'd be another twenty minutes or so before they headed over to the café."

However, tucking her phone away, Hallie suggested the girls get going. "Josette's is over on Vine," she said. "That's on the other side of downtown."

That's when a light bulb came on in Trixie's head. "Didn't Beau say Swamp Mama's was on Thirty-fourth and Vine?" she asked.

"It's on the corner before we get to his mom's," her cousin returned. "If there's time, we'll take a gander through the window at all the weird junk Madam Dupart carries. I've only been in the shop once with Mom. She was getting some jasmine incense. But Beau says Mama Marie will put the evil eye on ya if you don't buy somethin'."

"You mean like a curse?" Honey gasped.

"Yep," Hallie laughed. "But I don't believe in that kind of stuff, and neither should you, Hon. Papa says no harm can come to ya unless ya start thinkin' Hoodoo's real."

To Trixie's surprise, Vine Avenue had once been a residential street. The quaint bungalows lining the shady lane now housed a series of unique boutiques, galleries, and eateries. It was a virtual tourist's paradise. And Honey commented that she'd like to return and browse the various establishments when the girls had more time.

Only today, there was only one destination Trixie had any interest in. And that was Swamp Mama's, which headed the procession of bewitching businesses. Even from the sidewalk, the New York Miss Belden could tell it was different from the other shops in the neighborhood. With its dangling storm shutters and peeling paint, the store had unsettling air about it.

The mysterious and macabre had always held a special draw for the curly-haired teen. And as she and her traveling companions went up Swamp Mama's stone steps and over to the window, Trixie had her fingers crossed she'd find what she was looking for. But as she peeked through the dusty glass, she was seized with disappointment. Maybe she should have asked Hallie to cross those blue-nailed toes of hers.

On display, in the front window, was an unlikely array of faded leather-bound spell books, religious candles, and drawstring bags containing who knows what? There were mortars and pestles, strange carved masks, and cork-topped apothecary jars filled with unknown oils and herbs. But the one item Trixie hoped to find was missing.

"Do I have to guess what you're looking for?" Honey giggled in her best friend's ear.

Pressing her welted nose against the glass, trying to peer deeper inside the dimly lit store, Trixie admitted that she'd been hoping to find a Voodoo doll. But the intent girl hadn't bothered to whisper, and over-hearing, Hallie began he-hawing.

"Don't tell me," the Idaho girl said. "Ya want one with a big ol' mouth and a buzz top? Right, Cuz?"

Trixie winced and glanced at Honey, who appeared just as humored as Miss Belden's cousin. "Who else?" Trixie replied, evading the truth. "I thought Swamp Mama's was supposed to be a voodoo shop? What kind of Voodoo Shop doesn't carry voodoo dolls?" she added with a scoff.

"Madam Dupart supplies all of the spiritual and metaphysical community," Hallie explained. "In fact, Aunt Izzy is one of her regular customers. And Aunt Izzy is a witch."

"So we've heard," the Sleepyside Miss Belden groaned. "Still, that doesn't answer my question, Hallie."

Hallie rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Mama Marie's got some dolls," she scoffed. "So come on; I'll show 'em to ya. I saw 'em hangin' on a pegboard near the counter."

"Do we have time?" Honey asked nervously. She didn't want Madam Dupart giving the girls the evil eye if her friend didn't make a purchase. As far as Miss Wheeler knew, most of the money Trixie had in her purse belonged to Mart.

Hallie took Honey's arm and pulled her to the door. "If ya stop standin' around, we do," she replied. "Beau said he'd send me a text when the guys were done at The Cemetery."

The interior of Mama Marie's smelled of sage and citrus. The thick, unmoving air was hard to breathe. And Trixie caught herself holding her breath. She felt as if she was intruding on a place she should be. And yet she was too enthralled with her surroundings to suggest that the girls leave.

Madam Dupart, seated behind the register on a stool, was busy with a customer while four other patrons milled about the cluttered store. Mama, who appeared to be about Papa's age, was wearing a flowing white dress and brightly colored scarf, which almost glowed against her striking dark skin.

As the three girls from Anglers' Landing weaseled toward the checkout, hoping to remain inconspicuous, the cypress planks beneath their feet moaned in complaint, drawing the store owner's attention.

"May I help you with something?" Mama asked, without looking up from the crystal amulet she was wrapping in tissue.

"No, no, just browsing," Trixie stammered as Honey attempted to duck behind Hallie.

When Mama, seemingly satisfied, had gone back to her transaction, the Idaho Miss Belden silently pointed her finger at the back wall. There, hanging by cords around their necks, were strange cloth figures with embroidered eyes and mouths. Some of the colorful dolls had been decorated with buttons, others with feathers and beads. But they all had one thing in common – they were all disturbingly appealing. At least to Trixie, they were.

"Are these real voodoo dolls?" the taken young lady gasped. "I don't see any pins anywhere?"

Madam Dupart cackled, causing the girls to jump. "Pins? There are no pins," she replied as she made a notation in her receipt book. "If you're looking for novelties, I suggest you try the gas station out by the highway. But be warned, young lady," Mama went on. "Any evil wished on a person will be returned threefold. The dolls you are looking at are poppets meant to bring their owners love, wealth, or good health."

Honey was confused. "So there is no such thing as a real voodoo doll?" she asked.

This time, Mama did glance up. "Vodou is a religion, not a magic art," she explained. "Haitian Vodouists do occasionally use dolls. But only to help communicate with the dead or their ancestors. The dolls are often placed near graves or hung from tree branches."

Trixie gingerly removed a red poppet from the crowded display. The tag, dangling from the doll's arm, promised it would bring its holder true love. And good to its word, it was. The Sleepyside Miss Belden had fallen head over heal for the unusual fellow.

"Isn't this just adorable?" she asked Honey, waving the poppet in the repulsed girl's face.

"Oh, Trixie, don't you mean grotesque?" she asked. "You don't really intend to buy that horrible thing, do you? Don't forget what happened the last time you bought something that ugly. Why we had jewel thieves chasing us all over New York City trying to get that Idol back."

"Relax, Honey," her best friend said. "Somehow, I don't think there's a diamond hiding beneath this charmer's blinking eye. I wonder how much he costs?" she added.

Hallie snorted and suggested that her observant cousin check the back of the tag. "It's right there in black and white," she said. "The thing is twenty-four ninety-five and not includin' tax."

Trixie let out a yelp and hung the wool poppet back with its pricey friends. "Gleeps!" she said. "I guess I don't like the silly thing quite that much. I wonder if Mama Marie carries anything less expensive? Say a lucky rabbit's foot, for example."

Honey winced, not knowing which was worse, the creepy doll or the grisly charm. But as Trixie headed off in one direction, determined to find a treasure, she and Hallie each went another.

Only before the Sleepyside Miss Belden had time to pick out a different souvenir, she felt a tug on her purse strap. Immediately spinning, the started teen had expected to come face to face with a pickpocket. But to Trixie's aggravation, she found only cousin Hallie. It seemed it was time to go. Beau and Cap were on their way to Josette's. And Honey was waiting for the girls by the door.

But as her long-legged counterpart began dragging Trixie toward the exit, Madam Dupart called out, "What? Leaving so soon?"

And the two Miss Beldens froze in their tracks. Mama Marie's voice was icy. And turning around, Trixie found the disgruntled shopkeeper with eyes narrowed and lips pinched.

"I'm, I'm, afraid so," the blonde Miss Belden admitted, once again stammering. "We have friends waiting for us at a little café just down the street. But we do hope to come back to do some more shopping before leaving town," she added. "You have a very nice store, Ms. Dupart."

Mama grumbled and then spritzed the air in front of her with a worrisome solution. "Tourists are you now?" she replied. "Then let this be a warning to you, my dear. We have a beast in these parts that's mighty fond of naughty little girls. So be sure you safeguard your windows and doors tonight. Lest the Rougarou will get you!"