Author's Note: Please be advised, this story has been changed from K+ to T for teen. It has been suggested that it might be too frightening for some younger readers.
Chapter 14: The Plot "Chickens"
"How many does that make?" Trixie asked Honey as she dug three more pennies from the bottom of her purse and placed them on the kitchen counter.
"Thirty-eight items, total," Honey returned, taking a count.
"Sixteen pennies, eight dimes, five nickels, four quarters, three paper clips, and two hair barrettes."
Trixie set her bag aside and then, turning her jeans pockets inside-out, came up empty-handed. "All we need is a partridge in a pear tree, and I'd say we're all set," she chuckled. "That gives us thirteen shiny items to go in front of the door, thirteen to place under the bathroom window, and another thirteen, minus one, to put under the tree outside our bedroom loft. I don't think putting objects below the window with the air conditioner or the picture window overlooking the bayou is necessary, do you, Hon?"
"Agreed," Honey said, recounting the coins and what-not as she placed them into a soup bowl from the cupboard. "And thank you again for going to all this trouble, Trixie. Since we can't return the poppet to Madam Dupart tonight, I'll feel safer knowing we're taking precautions against the Rougarou."
Trixie let out a grunt and smacked the penlight flashlight she carried in her purse against her hand, trying to get the light to come on. It was a fine time for the batteries to go dead. "I hate to say it, but me too," the frustrated girl confessed. "I just hope taking the doll back to the store will lift any spell Mama Marie might have placed on us."
Thanks to Miss Belden's "naughty" relative, Trixie and Honey were in a pretty kettle of fish. If Madam Dupart had indeed cursed the girls, and wolf-men did roam the swamps of Louisiana, Trixie and Honey's lives could be in jeopardy. Or so they thought.
Therefore, with or without Hallie Belden, the Sleepyside girls had decided not only to guard themselves against the Rougarou. But also to do the right thing and return the red talisman to Swamp Mama's the following morning. Neither young lady was looking forward to the daunting task - or the hot bike ride. But returning the poppet and apologizing to the shop's owner was only proper.
Going to the front door, Trixie peered into the shadowy night. "What do you say we look for a rock to complete our final batch of thirteen items while we're out?" she asked Honey, who'd joined her with their bowl of shiny objects.
Miss Wheeler, chewing on a length of her hair, mused over the proposition. "I hesitate to use a stone," she concluded sensibly. "They're everywhere you look around Camp, and I'm afraid a Rougarou might not stop to count it, Trixie. Only I don't know what else to suggest?"
Trixie admitted she, too, was all out of ideas. Then, spying Hallie's forgotten shrimp boots, she was struck with a thought. "What if we use one of the alligator teeth I bought for Bobby?" she asked. "I'd bet they'd catch a hairy beast's eye, Honey."
"Oh! I think that'd be perfect!" Honey returned brightly as Miss Belden headed for the ladder leading upstairs to retrieve one of the souvenirs from her suitcase. "If I were a Rougarou, one of those grisly things would definitely stop me in my tracks."
Returning, Trixie dropped the glossy tooth in the ceramic bowl as her friend held it out, bringing a ting. Then, as the wary duo stepped out of the cabin into obscureness, Honey whispered, "I do hope Hallie will be OK at her grandfather's house."
Only Trixie could care less if Hallie was safe. As far as she was concerned, they'd all be better off if the Rougarou decided to make a midnight snack of the shameful young lady. Shoplifting deserved some kind of punishment, didn't it?
"Hallie will be fine," Miss Belden returned dryly. "And even if she's not? That's what my no-good, rotten cousin gets for swiping that doll, Honey. I still can't believe she stole the dumb thing."
Trixie had refused to turn on the porch light. The cabins sat too close together. The yellow bug light might alert her father and the boys next door that the girls were out and about. So, as Honey fumbled in the dark, looking for the best spot to place their first set of sparkly objects, she returned flatly, "You mean former cousin. And I don't think Hallie believes she was stealing, Trixie."
Trixie dropped down on the porch swing. "Maybe," she said skeptically. "But I think, on some level, Hallie knew she was doing something wrong, Honey. Hallie didn't want me to find the doll when we were at Josette's. That's why my 'former' cousin insisted I trade colors with Beau's Mom rather than pay Mrs. Benoit for it. Sometimes, I think getting to do whatever she wants has warped Hallie's brain."
As Honey carefully arranged thirteen coins in the center of the welcome mat, she found herself agreeing. "Bathroom window next?" she asked as her friend rose from the swing, brushing away a buzzing nuisance.
"Sounds like a plan," Trixie returned, sounding more chipper than she felt. "Do you want to spray down with bug spray first?"
Honey, nervously glancing over her shoulder, watching for movement in the darkness, admitted she'd rather just get their mission over with. "If the mosquitoes get too bad, just tell me, and I'll just breathe on them," she volunteered, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "I gargled with mint mouthwash after brushing tonight, Trixie."
Miss Belden emitted a squeak of amusement, recalling the spray bottle of mouthwash Aunt Renee kept by the grill to ward off pests. "Did you remember to floss before you brushed?" she asked, pretending to be worried. "I wouldn't want to be out here risking my neck with some naughty little girl."
Giving her teasing friend a push down the steps and around the side of the cottage, Honey giggled and told Trixie to relax. On this occasion, Miss Wheeler had been a good little girl.
Once the girls had their Rougarou buffets in place, the Sleepyside sleepyheads headed back inside.
"What if we pull out the hide-a-bed and camp out down here tonight?" Trixie asked Honey as her friend closed the front door and bolted it to the outside world. "The living room is much cooler than the loft. It'd be nice to wake up feeling refreshed in the morning."
Honey liked the idea and didn't need coaxing. Sleeping on the main level meant the young ladies could shut and lock the upstairs window. Miss Wheeler's repairs to the torn screen were intended to keep out the bugs – not hairy man-beasts. So, the tired twosomes headed for the ladder to fetch their pajamas and pillows.
Upstairs, as Trixie flipped on the small lamp on the nightstand, Honey went to the dresser and pulled out her cotton nightgown. But as Miss Wheeler was rummaging through the drawer for her hairbrush, the pair of keen-eared detectives heard the leaves on the oak outside their window rustle.
Immediately turning off the light, Trixie cautiously moved toward the yet-open window as Honey backed away. "It's probably only a raccoon," Miss Belden whispered to her friend as the rustling became louder.
Taking a deep breath, Trixie then leaned into the screen, hoping to get a glimpse of the ring-eyed creature. Only her eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness, and as she heard a human-like yelp, followed by a soft thud, the horrified girl jumped back with alarm.
"That didn't sound like any raccoon to me," Honey stuttered as the pair huddled in the corner of the dormer, wondering whether they should look for a weapon or flee down the ladder.
"That's because I'm not a raccoon," came a grunt from below. "Have you girls lost your minds? Why'd you have to kill the light? Didn't you hear me calling you?"
Rushing to the window, Trixie and Honey peered down to see Cap standing beside the oak tree, with Beau lying in the grass nearby. Mr. Benoit was rubbing his tailbone, and Trixie smirked. It seemed Beau wasn't good at everything – climbing trees certainly wasn't up his alley.
"The nerve of you two peeking in on us like that!" Honey scolded, throwing her hands to her hips. "You should be ashamed of yourselves!"
Trixie's cousin sheepishly stared at his feet while shuffling his mocs. "We weren't spying on you," Cap mumbled embarrassedly. "Beau and I aren't Peeping Toms, Honey. We came to talk to you."
"Then why didn't you just come to the front door?" Miss Wheeler asked.
The pony-tailed boy gave his grinning buddy a nudge to get up. "Mr. Smooth-Move here didn't want to disturb my sister," he explained. "I warned him it wasn't a good idea."
As Beau rose and brushed off the seat of his pants, he spied the girls' pile of shiny objects under the tree. "I see you were expecting us." he chuckled. "Or maybe I should say, r-r-wrooo!"
Trixie wasn't humored, and she eyed the young men suspiciously. She was curious to know what the boys had to say and why they didn't want Hallie to hear. Apparently, the pair had yet to catch wind that Miss Sugar-Pops had moved out.
"Very funny," she called down with a hiss. "And if you must know, Hallie's not here. So why don't you late-night Don Juans go around to the porch, and we'll meet you there in a minute. I don't think Daddy would be too happy if he caught you standing under our bedroom window."
On the porch, Trixie ordered Mr. Benoit to spit it out and make it fast. "What's so important it couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?" she asked, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.
Next to Miss Belden, Honey appeared equally annoyed. And Cap, leaning against the railing off to one side, looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. But Beau, front and center, had one of those irritating grins on his face. He was clearly enjoying himself.
"Easy Goldilocks," the devil-may-care Cajun said. "Pony Boy and I only came to ask you chicks to the big shindig at the Harmon's tonight. So how 'bout it, cute stuff? You and me. Under the stars."
Trixie's initial reaction was to tell Mr. Graceful to go take a flying leap. But seeing he'd pretty much done so already, she instead looked to Honey to see how her friend felt about the big invite. As far as Miss Belden was concerned, attending the fais do-do was out of the question. Her father would never allow it. So Trixie was relieved when her pretty friend vehemently shook her head, indicating she had no desire in sneaking off with the young men.
Only that meant Trixie had to tell Beau, "no thanks". And a part of Miss Belden felt a bit smug that the popular boy had asked her to the party. Jim had thought there was a better chance that his best girl would stumble into a nest of cottonmouths!
Well, that certainly hadn't happened. And Trixie almost wished the red-headed smart-alek had been a fly on the wall when Beau had asked her out. Or maybe she didn't. And that being the case, it was only right that Trixie let Beau down easy and tell him once and for all that she had no interest in him. But how? The inexperienced young lady had never been in this position before.
And that's when Trixie found herself saying the last words she ever thought she would.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Beau…," the curly-haired girl began with a stammer. "You're a fun guy and all… but I'm afraid I'm sort of interested in someone else. And I wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea by going to the Harmon's with you, you know?"
Beau laughed, hardly appearing heartbroken. "I knew you and Slick seemed pretty chummy," he admitted.
Cap snorted and moved just enough to give his pal an elbow. "Not Dan," he corrected under his breath. "Jim".
"Red?!" Beau exploded, bringing a nervous "keep it down" from Honey. "Come on, Goldilocks, you can do better than that? You and that puffed-up Boy Scout are always at odds over something. The guy's a total square."
"Jim is not a square!" Trixie insisted, her cheeks reddening. "And who it is, is none of your business. The point is, I'm not going anywhere with you, Mr. Benoit," she huffed. "So why don't you just go ask Charlotte or Shelia the dance? Or better yet, ask Miss Sugar-Pops. You'll find her at her grandfather's."
"Who's at her grandfather's?" came a startling drawl from out of the darkness. Coming up the steps, Hallie tossed her duffel bag on the swing. "Miss me, Beau?" she added dryly.
Trixie instantly knew that Hallie had heard the teenager's entire conversation. The Idaho girl had likely been spying on them. And Beau knew it, too. He'd been caught with his pants down, and Trixie grinned as the dirty skunk squirmed.
"Sure I did, Sugar-Pops," Mr. Benoit replied. "And you're just the gal I was looking for. Goldilocks was telling us you went to Pop's. I came over to see if you wanted to go hoofing at the Harmon's with Pony-Boy and me tonight?"
Beau had flat-out lied. That wasn't cool. And Trixie decided then and there that Mr. Benoit wasn't such a fun guy after all. "I don't think any of you ought to be going to that party," she butted in, waving a finger in the rat's face. "Gator hunters need their rest. You wouldn't want some city-slicker or square showing you up tomorrow, would you, Beau?"
Locking eyes with the angry girl, the brash Cajun then cracked a smile and blew Trixie a kiss.
"Come on, Pony-Boy," he said, pulling Cap out of his hiding place. "No party for these boys tonight, I'm afraid. The lady has spoken. Maybe next time, Sugar-Pops," he laughed, tipping Hallie under her chin.
Beau then proceeded to drag Cap toward the steps, and the Idaho boy glanced back at Honey. "Sorry about all this," Cap said.
Honey smiled weakly and let out a sigh. "As far as I'm concerned, it never happened," she replied. Only everyone knew that it had.
Once the boys had gone, the girls stood on the porch in awkward silence until Trixie asked, "Anybody feel like a bowl of ice cream? I think I saw a box of Rocky Road in the freezer."
"Yummy-yum," Honey replied, heading for the cabin's entrance. "The last one in is a rotten egg!"
Hallie remained frozen. "Me too?" she asked, eyeballing the pair.
"We can't exactly hold a good giggle and gab session without you," Trixie returned as Miss Wheeler held open the door. "So grab your bag so we can get at it. You are planning to stay, aren't you?"
The Idaho girl grinned and fetched her belongings. "Only if all ya all promise ya won't stick' pins in me while I'm snoozin' tonight?" she chuckled, pushing her way past.
"Are you ready to admit that you shouldn't have taken that doll?" Trixie asked as the three made a beeline for the icebox.
"Yeah," Hallie said, popping down on the folding step stool beside the counter. "On the way to Papa's, I got to thinkin' that you and Hon were right. I don't know why," she added, as Honey dug around in the utensil drawer, looking for an ice cream scoop, "but sometimes I do some pretty dumb stuff that I end up regretin' later on down the road."
Trixie knew exactly what her cousin meant. She, too, had a nasty habit of acting without thinking things through. "I think it runs in the blood," she admitted, removing three empty bowls from the cupboard. "I suppose there's no use in denying we're related?"
"I suppose not," Hallie laughed. "We're just one big dysfunctionally happy family, Cuz."
Honey giggled as she dished up the girls' chocolate marshmallow dessert. "I don't think 'dysfunctionally' is a real word," she said. "We'll have to run it by Mart. But what's important is that you two have called a truce to your awful feud. I'm terribly glad you've decided to go with us to Swamp Mama's tomorrow, Hallie."
"What do you mean go to Swamp Mama's with you?" Hallie said as Trixie handed her a spoon. "I'll stop by Mama Marie's the next chance I get and apologize to Madam Dupart if it'll make ya feel better, Hon. But like I said before. This gal's going gator huntin' in the morning'. You and Cuz are on your own."
Trixie snagged a bowl of ice cream and shoveled in a spoonful to keep from igniting another fight. It wasn't like she and Honey could force Hallie to go with them to return the poppet. And her cousin did seem to realize she'd done something wrong. At least it was a step in the right direction.
"You aren't going to shoplift again, are you, Hallie?" the New York Miss Belden asked once she'd swallowed.
"Nah, I've learned my lesson, Cuz," the tall girl promised. "No more five-finger discounts - I don't need that big bad Rougarou biting off my hand when it comes to git me," she added with a laugh.
Only Honey wasn't laughing.
"I must beg to differ," Mart said the next day as he led Trixie and Honey up to the boathouse. "I do believe Aunt Elizabeth was quite impressed with my culinary skills."
"Oh, I do too, Trixie," Honey giggled, her mood highly greatened after surviving the night. "Not every teenage boy knows how to place two pieces of bread in the toaster and press down its lever."
Miss Belden grinned. The threesome had been having fun all morning. Not only had Mart been a great help in the kitchen and with camp chores, but he'd been keeping the girls in stitches while they worked. Trixie was glad now that Hallie had gone alligator hunting.
"I suppose your right," she conceded with a sigh as the teens carried on their merry way. "Making toast is a bit much for some. I'm sure if Aunt Renee had been there to witness your mastery, she would have been quite envious, dear brother."
The picked-on boy was having a hard time keeping a straight face. "Ah, yes," he replied, at his own expense. "And to think, I owe my great know-how to our poor overworked mother. Imagine, even with all that drudgery around the farm and having to care for a wee toddler, the dear woman found not only time to transform her daughter into the perfect little homemaker but also her middle son."
"Your future wife will be a very lucky woman," Honey laughed, taking the boy's arm. "So tell us, Mart, how do you plan to use the food coloring and clam juice? You know Trixie and I are dying to know. Does it have something to do with preparing the bait buckets?" Mr. Belden was carrying his Dinky Pinky bag, and the teens were on their way to complete the unpleasant task.
"All in good time, my dear," he replied, patting the young lady's hand. "So do follow me. And let me show you how this is done."
Mart then led the girls to a gravel pad on the far side of the boathouse. There, the LeBlancs had set up what looked to be a break area with a wooden picnic table, a few faded folding lawn chairs, and a dinged-up chest freezer. Just beyond, tucked into the edge of the woods, Trixie noticed a work shed.
Proceeding to the shed, Mr. Belden warned the girls they might want to pinch their noses. "The LeBlancs store their bait buckets inside to keep them safe from predators," he explained, unlatching the door. "When we go in, we'll gather the empty buckets and take them to that freezer by the boathouse. Aunt Liz keeps it stocked with meat well past its expiration date - she picks it up for a steal at the market. All we have to do is fill the buckets half full with either chicken or beef, snap on the lids, then lug them back to the shed where the meat will thaw and ripen in the heat."
Trixie suddenly felt nauseous and wished she hadn't eaten breakfast. Her eggs and sausage had tasted mighty good going down. But they surely wouldn't coming back up. "That's disgusting!" she said.
"Indeed so," Mart agreed. "So shall we get it over with?"
Entering the shed behind her brother and Honey, the first thing Trixie noticed, besides the overpowering stench, was the plastic milk jug sitting on the tool bench under the window. The opaque container had caught the young detective's eye as it appeared to be filled with a disgustingly familiar pink slime. Someone had labeled the jug, "Appendages Off!", and Trixie had no doubt whatsoever who that someone was.
Pointing the container out to Honey, her partner giggled. "I suppose we should be relieved Jim and Dan didn't make him eat that horrid porridge," the humored girl said.
Miss Belden grunted and moved to pick up the jug containing the chunky concoction. But the moment she touched it, Mart let out a whoop. "Can't you read?" he demanded, snatching the container away.
Trixie snorted and glared at him. "Only English," she said. "I should have figured you were the mastermind behind that fishy slime. And here Honey and I were feeling sorry for you, thinking Jim and Dan had made you eat that stuff as a joke. But it looks like the joke's on us."
Mart howled with laughter. "Eat it!" he cried. "The only thing crazy enough to consume this repugnant conglomeration is an alligator." Mart raised the jug in the air. "What you see before you is Moi's secret chicken marinade," he announced. "Once I add the final ingredients, it's guaranteed to attract the voracious beasts like no other substance found on Earth."
"Meaning the neon food coloring and clam juice," Trixie groaned.
"Precisely," Mart returned. "Anecdotal evidence suggests alligators are attracted to bright colors which contrast with their environment, oh one-of-little-knowledge. Crocodilia also have one of the most acute smell receptors in all of the animal kingdom. The massive carnivores can smell blood or an animal carcass from miles away. Ergo, it only goes to reason, the more foul-smelling one's bait, the more likely an alligator will be drawn to it."
"Or repelled from it," Honey laughed as she headed for the buckets.
Uncle Zach had asked the teens to ready eight new batches of bait for the next day. So, as the girls gathered the supplies they'd need, Mart, like some mad scientist, carefully measured and added just the right amount of clam juice and pink dye to his marinade. He then recapped the jug and shook the dickens out of it.
"Ah, perfection," he announced as the concoction in the container glowed brightly through the milky plastic. "I do believe its ready to be added to one of Max and Moi's bait buckets for tomorrow. Dear sister," the boy added as he held open the door for a loaded-down Honey, "Would you be a love and retrieve an indelible marker from the top drawer of Uncle Zach's desk, for Moi? It's over in the corner. The lovely Miss Wheeler and I will meet you by the boathouse. Do remember to shut the door behind you."
Trixie grumbled, not too keen on being told what to do, but didn't raise a stink – things smelled bad enough. So, going to the desk, she was rummaging around for the pen, when something caught her eye that made her gasp. Among Hallie's uncle's papers was a brochure and application for the Shady Rest Boca Raton, a senior care center. And someone had filled in Papa's name and information on the application!
Returning the documents to the drawer, Trixie quickly located the pen and headed out to join her brother and friend. The musing detective was anxious to tell Honey about her startling discovery. Trixie wondered if Uncle Zach had been messing with people's alligator lines, hoping to pin the vandalism on Papa. He would have known his father would try to take matters into his own hands.
Cap had mentioned that Uncle Sam believed his brother wanted to be the next Lord of the Bayou. If Uncle Zach could make Papa look unstable, he could convince Uncle Sam and Aunt Renee they should have their father committed to the home. As Mr. LeBlanc's oldest son, Uncle Zach would then be able to take over the family business!
"I don't know, Trixie," Honey said a short time later as the young people started for Papa's to feed the chickens and collect the eggs. "I just can't picture Uncle Zach doing such a horrible thing to his father. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I believe Hallie may be right, and Mr. Foret's sons are the ones who have been stealing alligators. I don't buy for a minute that Augustin and Lucien were out jugging catfish last night. And I'm beginning to doubt they were guarding their own lines. If they had, they would have tried to chase Papa off, not vice versa."
"Brilliant conclusion," Mart said as the three marched along. "But that doesn't explain the papers in Zacharie's desk, Honey. On this occasion, I must concur with my sister. I find them highly suspicious. It may interest you both to know that at the boat launch yesterday morning, Uncles Sam and Zach got into a bit of a row. I don't know what was said. And Max refused to comment. But the argument did get rather heated."
"That is good to know," Trixie replied seriously. "Continue to keep your ears open, Mart. We may be on to something."
Only nearing Papa's front gate, Mart, as well as the girls, found themselves covering their ears. The squawk of chickens and dog barks was deafening.
Racing into the yard and around the side of the house, the teens discovered Fogerty in mad pursuit of Mr. LeBlanc's Rhode Island Reds. The old pup was having a high old time, only the flapping hens, not so much.
"Oh, dear!" Honey cried as they circled the happy hound. "Hallie must not have gotten the hen-house door latched when she took care of the chickens yesterday!"
Trixie and Mart's heads snapped to coop. The hen-house door was definitely standing open, but it was dangling on by a single hinge. Something or someone had nearly ripped the door from its frame.
Not mentioning this to Honey, Trixie hedged in the barking dog, and Mart snagged his collar. Dragging the protesting pup over to Miss Wheeler, the Belden boy asked the young lady to take the mischief maker inside and let Aunt Renee know what was going on.
Once Honey and Fogerty were in the house, the hens calmed down and began scratching for bugs. "Does it appear any of the chickens are missing?" Mart asked his sister as they surveyed the situation.
"Maybe two or three," she said, attempting to take a count. "It's hard to tell with them scattered all over the yard."
"Understood," her brother returned as the pair started for the hen-house. "Let's see if we can determine what happened to the unfortunate biddies. I don't believe our dear cousin was the one who allowed them to fly the coop."
"Nor do I," Trixie agreed as the pair neared the mangled door. "I'm glad you sent Honey into the house, Mart. It's hard to tell what we are going to find."
"Indeed," he said. "If the culprit was a raccoon, we'll find the missing chicken's bodies with their heads bitten off. If Mr. LeBlanc's beagle got them, the birds will be mauled but not eaten."
Trixie shuddered as she examined the chicken wire on the door. The honeycombed meshing had been slashed through violently before the door had been yanked open. The tears reminded her of those in the screen in the girls' loft. Only Honey couldn't patch this damage with a needle and thread. "No raccoon did this," she told her brother assuredly. "Any idea what may have Mart?"
Mart entered the disturbed coop, then squatted down, examining a significant scattering of red feathers and a few drops of blood in the straw. "My guess, a bear," he said.
Miss Belden disagreed. The chicken's food trough was still half filled with pellets and cracked corn. A hungry bear would have had a field day.
But then the observant girl noticed a tuft of hair caught in a wooden splinter of one of the nesting boxes. Removing it, Trixie held out the course stands for her brother to see. "Louisiana doesn't have gray bears, does it?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"No," the serious boy returned.
Trixie and Mart didn't need to be near twins to know what the other was thinking.
"A regular wolf wouldn't be able to climb Papa's fence, would it?" Miss Belden asked.
"Unlikely," Mart returned.
"One could have possibly dug its way under the chain link. Only there are said to be no gray wolves in the state," he added. "Unless Dr. Guidry was not hallucinating, and you wish to count the Dire Wolf."
"Or the Rougarou," Trixie added.
The young man nodded as his led his sister from the hen-house. "I believe the sooner you and Honey return that stolen poppet to Madam Dupart, the better," he announced. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Honey this morning, but that queer thing gave me nightmares last night. While the two of you are gone, I'll repair the chicken coop. It shouldn't be too difficult. I'll have those hens back safe and sound in no time."
Trixie had been dreading returning the doll to Mama Marie. But Miss Belden couldn't deny she'd be glad to get rid of the not-so-lucky charm. "Thanks, Mart. I think you'll find everything you'll need inside Papa's shed," she said, giving it a point. "There's a roll of chicken wire leaned up behind the door, and Mr. LeBlanc has all kinds of tools hanging on the wall. The chickens' scratch and feed are in there too."
Trixie was showing Mart the water spigot when Honey came out the back door, appearing troubled. The pretty girl's forehead was pinched with worry lines, and she seemed to be muttering to herself.
"Everything OK?" Miss Belden asked as her friend wandered up.
Honey glanced back at the house and replied, "I honestly don't know, Trixie. It was so strange. Aunt Renee didn't answer my knock. And when I went in, she was lounging on the couch with a book, sipping tea. I asked her if she'd heard the commotion outside, and she laughed and said no, that she must have been absorbed in her reading."
"That is odd," Trixie said.
"And it gets even odder," Honey replied, her hazel eyes widening. "When I asked how Papa was doing, Hallie's mother said he was feeling a little better. She'd finally gotten him to drink some of Mrs. Robert's ginger tea, and she hadn't heard a peep out of him since. Fearing something wasn't right. I decided I'd better check up on Mr. LeBlanc. But sure enough, when I peeped into his bedroom, Papa was sleeping like a baby with the window wide open! The ruckus hadn't disturbed him."
Mart laughed and told the young lady to quit her fretting. "The poor man's probably exhausted," he said. "I imagine Aunt Renee is, too, from having to tend to him. If Moi were in the dear lady's shoes, I'd have pulled out my hair and be as bald as a billiard by now, I suspect. From my own experiences with Monsieur LeBlanc, as limited as they may be, I find the man rather… wearing."
Honey cracked a wee smile. "I suppose you're right," she conceded, chewing on her lip. Only the look on Honey's face told Trixie the young lady was anything but comforted.
On returning to their cabin to pick up the poppet and their purses, Trixie avoided telling Honey what she and Mart had discovered at the chicken coop. She did admit that predators had gotten into the hen-house and that three of Papa's chickens were missing. But Trixie left it at that.
Swamp Mama's was a short trip by bicycle. But it wouldn't be if Miss Wheeler was afraid a Rougarou or Dire Wolf might be hiding behind every turn. Of course, if real, both beasts were nocturnal, meaning the girls should be safe during the day. But somehow, Trixie doubted that would stop her partner from worrying. Still, she felt guilty for keeping Honey in the dark.
Once the doll was safely back in Madam Dupart's hands, Miss Belden vowed to show her friend the strands of gray hair she'd found. Trixie had wrapped them in a gum wrapper and tucked them in her pocket to get Jim's opinion on what animal they may have come from. But there was no need to worry Honey, until then, with silly speculation about Dire Wolves and Rougarou. The girls might as well enjoy their ride as much as they could.
The day was as hot and humid as the last -like every day in Louisiana seemed to be this time of year. But today, the hazy blue sky hosted delicate wisps of mare's tails –an indication that Bayou Chevrette could expect a storm in a day or so.
Trixie hadn't caught the weather forecast that morning. And as the pair of girls started up the front walkway, she made a mental note to check the moon for rings once it got dark. Moms held that a halo around the moon meant rain was coming. The number of stars in the ring indicated how far off the showers were. Hopefully, the bad weather wouldn't prevent the hunters from going out in their boats. But for now, that was the least of Trixie's worries.
As Honey headed up the steps ahead of her, Miss Belden's train of thought jumped to finding the papers in Hallie's uncle's desk drawer. The girls would have to watch Uncle Zach closely at dinner tonight. He could do or say something that might give himself away. If the man was indeed using unscrupulous means to get his father placed into a home, Trixie suspected Uncle Zach would go out of his way to paint Papa in a bad light.
Trixie was about to mention this to Honey when her friend let out a blood-curdling scream. Miss Wheeler had just reached for the cottage's door handle but had pulled her hand back as if something had bitten her.
"Honey, what is it!" Trixie cried, flying to the shaking young lady's side. And then Miss Belden let out a gasp. Hanging from the brass knob, by a twist of black and red ribbons, was the severed foot of a chicken!