Chapter 6:

More Swamp Fears

"Honestly, Hallie, did you have to throw the egg at her?" Trixie asked her cousin on the way back to camp. "Wasn't calling Mrs. Foret an 'old bag' bad enough?"

"It was impolite of me to be staring," Honey added quietly.

Hallie's face wasn't nearly so lovely when it was pinched with bitterness. "But all ya all just don't understand," she said. "She had it comin'. That dock blockin' Papa's boat launch? It belongs to the Forets. They told Papa they can't move it until the insurance company inspects the damage. But Papa says that's a bunch of bull…well, you know. They're just messin' with his season. Besides, both of ya heard Ol' Lady Foret threatening to shoot Fogerty."

Trixie and Honey had heard no such thing. True, Mrs. Foret had had a gun. And they couldn't deny that the upset woman had warned the girls to quiet the barking dog. But Mrs. Foret hadn't actually threatened to shoot Fogie. Maybe she'd grabbed her rifle, afraid that Mr. LeBlanc's "watchdog" had encountered something more dangerous? Like Chip-tooth Chucky!

Hallie's actions could have easily made a bad situation worse. And for what gain? More bitter feelings between the LeBlancs and the Forets? No matter how the girls looked at it, the rash teenager had been in the wrong. Plus, she'd inadvertently broken rule number one: don't feed the alligators!

"You can interpret things however you want," Trixie told Hallie. "If it'd been me, I wouldn't have wasted the egg on her. Your grandfather may have a lot of chickens, but there are a lot of hungry mouths to feed back at camp. There have been mornings I've seen Mart wolf down half a dozen."

"Jim, too," Honey confessed, counting the eggs in the tote. "You don't think that giant alligator will get a whiff of these and come after me, do you?" she added nervously, scanning both sides of the drive.

Hallie sighed and kicked a beer can that someone had tossed from their vehicle. As it flew into the water-filled ditch, she said, "Like I told ya before, nothin's gonna get ya, Honey."

Scooping up the piece of trash, Trixie then shook it out. She'd throw the can away when they got back to the camp. It was wrong to leave it littering the landscape.

At home, the Bob-Whites collected people's discarded aluminum. They put it in a special bin. When the hopper was full, the boys would take the valuable metal inside to the Recycle Center, where they traded it for cash which went into the club's treasury. Maybe she should suggest the LeBlancs do something similar?

But when the well-meaning girl mentioned the idea to Hallie, her cousin snorted and told Trixie to get off her high horse. Per the Idaho girl, the LeBlancs were a very environmentally friendly family - they were doing just fine without her helpful cousin's input. Hallie's grandfather and his sons already recycled.

So arriving at Anglers' Landing, Papa's granddaughter showed the Johnny-come-latelies where the trash cans were hidden behind the boathouse.

"The only thing that goes in that brown monster over there is rubbish," Hallie revealed, giving the massive receptacle a point. "The waste management company empties it on Thursdays, Cuz. Plastic, glass, and aluminum go in those blue bins lined up against the fence to be recycled. And paper and cardboard get stuffed in the gray cans."

As Trixie sheepishly tossed the crumpled beer can into the aluminum bin, Hallie went on to explain that her Uncles also collected other scrap metals, but they kept those at Uncle Zach's house.

With another mission crossed off the list, the girls took a quick peek inside the boathouse. Unlike Papa's shed, the big open building was neatly organized. And Hallie noted that this was her Uncle Sam's doing. "He's a bit of a neat freak," she admitted as the girls gaped in wonder at the LeBlanc's vast assortment of fishing gear. "So if ya go borrowin' anything, be sure ya put it back where ya found it."

Trixie could have spent days exploring the nooks and crannies of the intriguing space. But Hallie was anxious to finish her tour of camp. So herding the girls back outside, she pulled down the massive bay door.

Next, three young ladies proceeded to the outdoor kitchen, which sat on a raised stone patio next to the shelter house. The partially covered kitchen wasn't much different than Trixie's mother's in design, except it was open to the elements on three sides. The stainless steel appliances appeared well-used. But they surpassed Moms' in quality, and Trixie wished her mother were there to see them.

There was a full-sized built in oven/grill combo, refrigerator, and sink. And if those weren't impressive enough, then the freestanding appliances certainly were. In fact, Trixie and Honey had to ask Hallie what some of the doohickeys were.

The two New York young ladies had never seen a Cajun boiler, fryer, or smoker before. And Trixie wondered just how much help she and Honey would be when it came to fixing dinner. She felt like a fish out of water around such unusual beasts.

Only as the Sleepyside Miss Belden voiced her fears, Hallie put her cousin's mind at ease. "Aunt Liz is one of those people who believe too many cooks spoil the gumbo," she laughed. "She plans our meals and does most of the cookin'. Mom and I help out by cuttin' stuff up and tossin' the grub on the tables." Hallie paused for a moment, making sure the girls were alone. "Mom's not exactly a good cook," she admitted softly. "In fact, Dad tried to con Ollie into comin' with us to help out in that department. But Ollie said there weren't no way she was comin' down to Louisiana, and I quote."

"Was Ollie afraid the alligators might get her?" Honey asked. She glanced over her shoulder, still nervous that ol' Chip-tooth might have followed the girls.

After letting out a hearty chuckle, Hallie divulged, "Nah, Papa. Last Christmas, when he was visitin', that old charmer took a shine to Ollie. Accordin' to him, any woman who could bake a biscuit so light and look good doin' it deserved a man of her own and shouldn't be workin' for Dad. Papa kept tellin' Ollie she'd make a mighty fine wife. He wouldn't leave her alone."

Trixie and Honey giggled. Poor Ollie. It seemed Mr. Benoit and his son weren't the only tomcats roaming the banks of Bayou Chevrette.

Hallie then asked Honey to hand her the basket of eggs. The jumbo beauties they'd collected would have stayed fresh on the countertop for two weeks if left unwashed. Still, Hallie moved to put the eggs in the refrigerator where they'd last for months. Not that the horde of hungry alligator hunters wouldn't have polish them off by the end of breakfast the next day. But the wise girl didn't want any unwanted critters gobbling up the tasty morsels first.

There were pluses and minuses to having your cook space outdoors. The biggest plus? It helped keep the cabins cool in the extreme heat of summer. But, the biggest minus, in Honey's view, anyway, was that the food drew buzzing insects. Only smiling, Hallie assured the worried girl that Aunt Liz lit plenty of citronella candles to ward off the winged pests.

"Those planters over there are filled with lemongrass and rosemary, which help keep insects away, too," she said. "Plus, Mom has a trick of her own. See that squirt bottle sittin' by the grill? It's filled with mint mouthwash. A squirt here, a squirt there, and bye-bye bugaroos."

Trixie laughed and grabbed the bottle. "Voilà," she cried, giving a quick spray in Honey's direction, "Instant insect repellent and air freshener all rolled up in one!"

As Honey dodged the refreshing aqua mist, she giggled. "If it works? I'll use it as perfume!" she confessed.

Having finished their tour of camp, the three girls headed toward cabin one to snag Hallie's bags. Eager to be out from under her parent's roof, the Idaho girl had already packed up most of her things. It would be a simple matter of transferring them to the new location.

Along the way, the young ladies ran into Hallie's Mom, who was en route to the washroom with a basket full of dirty towels. Aunt Renee had a book balanced atop the heaping load, and as it slipped to the ground, Trixie rushed to pick it up. It appeared that her aunt planned to do some reading while the laundry tumbled.

And that's when it dawned on Trixie that though she and Honey would have a lot of work to do in the coming days, they'd also have plenty of time to relax – or in the girls' case, get down to some serious detective work. And Trixie smiled.

Returning the paperback to Aunt Renee," she asked, "Good book?"

"Yes, very interesting," Mrs. Belden returned as her niece tucked the thin volume between the towels and the side of the basket. "Zach loaned it to me. It was written by a friend of ours who's a biologist. He's been studying the North American Red Wolf."

"The North American Red Wolf?" Trixie repeated slowly. She'd heard of "grey" wolves but never "red" wolves.

"That's correct," Aunt Renee said. "They used to be common throughout the East and the South Central United States. Only today, they are considered the world's most endangered wolf, with only twenty estimated to be left in the wild. And those are in North Carolina. The last surviving Red Wolves in Louisiana were thought to be captured and moved into captivity in the 1970s."

"Gleeps, Aunt Renee, that's really sad," Trixie said. "I think I better understand why your Aunt Izzy is so protective of the alligators. I guess the Red Wolves weren't nearly as lucky as the gators, were they?"

"No, I'm afraid they weren't," the educated woman returned. "Though there are those who believe the Red Wolf may still exist in small numbers in these parts. Hallie's great Aunt claims to have seen them. And our friend Dr. Guidry recently found evidence that could support her claims.

"Coyotes and Red Wolves were known to breed together," Aunt Renee went on, shifting the weight of the heavy basket to her hip. "And Dr. Guidry, who's been studying local coyote scat samples, has found several specimens containing more than forty percent Red Wolf DNA. He also uncovered a single sample which turned out to be a hundred percent Red Wolf. This was a very unexpected and exciting find. Dr. Guidry has since set up trail cameras in the area where the sample was taken and has gotten several compelling photos of what he believes to be a full-blooded Red Wolf."

Trixie noticed that Honey's face had gone pale. She suspected her timid friend had just added "Red Wolf" to her list of top swamp fears.

"Goodness, Mrs. Belden," the unnerved girl said. "You should tell Jim about Dr. Guidry's findings. He'd be very interested in the study. Grey Wolves were once thought to be extinct in New York. But my brother mentioned something recently about a hunter in Upstate killing one thinking it was a coyote."

Aunt Renee smiled; her interest peaked. "Jim and I will have to trade stories," she told Honey. "If he'd like, I'll let him borrow Dr. Guidry's book when I'm through."

"Gee, Mom, Jim's not gonna have time to read that boring ol' thing," Hallie scoffed. "Why I betcha the minute that red head of his hits the pillow tonight, he'll be off to dreamland. Gator huntin' takes it out of you," Hallie went on to tell the other girls. "Just ya wait and see. The boys will be draggin' when they get in this afternoon."

"Very true," Aunt Renee admitted, trying to check the time on her watch. "They are also going to be extremely hungry. Were you able to finish collecting the eggs at Papa's?"

Trixie winced, wondering if Hallie would tell her mother about the girls' encounter with Mrs. Foret. She seriously doubted her cousin would. And she was proven right.

"Yeah, they're in the icebox," was all Hallie said. "But you'll never guess who swum by to say howdy to Cuz and Hon?"

"Oh dear," her mother returned. "Not Chucky? Your grandfather said he'd been eyeing the poultry again."

Honey gulped, then mumbled, "Again?"

"Yeah, again," Hallie admitted, giving her a shove. "So next time, don't go actin' like such a big ol' chicken, and maybe Chucky won't look at ya like dinner."

Hallie had only been teasing, but Honey wasn't in the mood for jokes.

And neither was Trixie.

"Speaking of dinner," she said to her cousin, "If you're still set on moving into our cabin, shouldn't we hop to it? I don't think your Aunt Liz would be too pleased if we were late for our first night slinging hash."

As Hallie let out a big "yuppers", Honey rushed to tell Aunt Renee about breaking the coffee carafe.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Belden," she apologized. "As soon as we get back to the cottage, I'll call Miss Trask and have her overnight a new one."

Aunt Renee only laughed and told the fretting girl not to be silly. "That old thing? I'll simply have Liz pick up a replacement the next time she's in town," she said, sounding so much like her daughter that it gave Trixie the shivers. "Only you must do something for me in return, Honey. I'd like you to stop calling me 'Mrs. Belden'. It's 'Aunt Renee'. I want you to feel like you are family while you're here."

Appearing somewhat uncomfortable, Honey vowed that she'd try. Only she continued to stress that she be the one to replace the coffee maker. And after a bit more back and forth, Aunt Renee finally conceded.

"Very well, if it will make you feel better, dear," she sighed. "But rather than have your governess order a pot? Why don't you run into Saint Estelle after finishing your chores in the morning and pick up one at the hardware store? Every little bit helps support the community. And I'm sure my daughter wouldn't mind showing you around town. You can do a little sightseeing while you're there."

"Town's close enough we can bike in," Hallie explained, all up for the idea. "Papa keeps a rack full of three-speeds for the guests. If we snag a bungee cord out of the boathouse, we can strap the box with the pot to the back of one of the bikes."

"Sounds like fun!" Trixie cried, all gung-go.

But Honey was being awfully quiet. And her closest friend wondered why. The pretty girl was usually the first to jump on the bandwagon when it came to having a good time. And Honey loved playing tourist.

Trixie was certain that something wasn't sitting right with her friend. And as soon as the two girls were alone, she vowed to find out what that might be. So telling Aunt Renee they'd see her later, she rushed Honey and Hallie off to cabin one.

There, the young ladies got straight to business.

Like Trixie, Hallie wasn't a slave to fashion. She'd packed relatively light for the trip. So slinging her duffel bag over one shoulder, the willowy girl tossed her smaller carry-on to Honey. She then asked Trixie to snag her boots off the rug near the cottage door.

Only Trixie was at a loss. The only pair of boots she saw was large enough to fit Mart, maybe even Daddy. So holding up the rubber wellies, the stymied girl asked, "These?" and Hallie let out a deep chuckle.

"Yeah, that's them," she said, giving her grinning relative a shove onto the porch. "Papa says I have 'franken-feet'. But he says once my big clod hoppers stop growin', he'll git me a pair of gator skin boots. Uncle T. has them specially made. They cost a real fortune. A good pair can go for thousands of dollars".

Trixie couldn't imagine wearing anything so expensive. She'd be too worried she'd scuff a toe or step in a mud puddle. But, to each their own. And Trixie decided Hallie would look good in pair. Alligator skin boots and blue and green toenail polish just went together like peanut butter and jelly.

At cabin three, Hallie made herself at home. There was no traditional bedroom of sorts. Upstairs in the loft, there were two double beds. And the convertible sofa in the main living area downstairs pulled out into a third.

So tossing her duffel bag into one corner of the living room, the Idaho girl staked her claim. "I'll bunk down here," she told Trixie and Honey, collapsing into a heap on the couch. "That way, my comin' and goin' won't disturb ya glam gals' beauty rest."

Trixie assumed Hallie meant when she started going alligator hunting. And those arrangements suited Trixie just fine. It would offer her and Honey some privacy. Trixie was anxious to ask Honey what was bothering her. She was also eager to start working on their case -only not with her pesky cousin in the room.

"That's cool with me, Hallie," she said, dropping the girl's rubber boots by the door. "How about you, Honey?"

Honey nodded her "OK", but Trixie again noticed that her friend didn't look happy.

"Shall I put this bag in the corner with your other?" the hazel-eyed girl quietly asked, indicating the carry-on.

"Naw, that saddlebag's got my bathroom stuff," Hallie indicated, getting up. "I guess I should go ahead and git it unpacked."

After the unenthusiastic girl had left, Trixie asked Honey to spill it. "I know that look, Honey Wheeler," she said. "Something's bothering you."

But before Honey could reply, Hallie returned.

"I left my toothbrush over at Mom and Dads'," she announced with a heave. "I'm gonna run and git it. Be back in a jiff."

Once Hallie had gone, Trixie tried again. "Come on, Honey, spill it," she said. "If you don't tell me what's bugging you, you better believe I'll drag it out of you."

But when Honey started crying, Trixie felt awful for pushing. "Ah, Hon, it can't be that bad, can it?" she asked as the weeping young lady went for a tissue in her purse.

"Oh, Trixie, yes, it can," Honey declared after blowing her nose. "I should never have come here. Tonight I'm going to call Daddy. I want to go home!"