Chapter 16:

Edge Pieces

"For crying out loud, Mart! Just chill out already!" Trixie grouched as she and Honey returned their borrowed bikes to the rack under the carport. "We weren't gone that long."

Mart had been wearing ruts in the gravel beside the commuter van, waiting for the young ladies return. "Chill out?!" he exclaimed, his voice raising an octave. "After what I discovered hanging on my cabin door when I got back from Mr. LeBlanc's? I think not, dear sister. I do believe I've ascertained what happened to one of Papa's Rhode Island Reds. And may I say it didn't meet a pretty end."

"Well, that accounts for two of the seven," Trixie told Honey, who was reaching for the shopping bag in her bicycle's front basket.

"Two of seven?!" Mart shrieked with confusion. "Chickens?

"No, chicken claws," his sister replied. "That is what you found, isn't it, Mart?"

"Yeah, but how'd you know?" the shaken boy asked.

"Trixie and I found one dangling on our cottage door before we left for Swamp Mama's," Honey explained. "The foot didn't come from one of Papa's hens, Mart. It came from Mama Marie's shop."

"Aunt Liz bought seven of the feet yesterday afternoon," his sister added.

Mart's eyebrows shot skyward. "Aunt Elizabeth?!" he cried with disbelief. "The dear woman practices voodoo?"

"That would be 'hoodoo'," Honey corrected. "And we don't know for sure, Mrs. LeBlanc was the one who purchased them, Mart. It's only a guess."

"An educated guess," Trixie harrumphed. "The creepy things were charged on an Anglers' Landing credit card." Miss Belden then told her brother about the girls' visit with Madam Dupart's granddaughter. "So the long and short of it is, we don't know if the chickens' feet are some kind of warning or are charms meant to protect us, Mart," she finished.

Mr. Belden let out a low whistle. "Dare I suggest we have a word with Aunt Liz? I believe she's at home. I saw her car sitting in the family's drive on my way back to the resort," he said.

Honey was of the same mind. "Talking to Mrs. LeBlanc isn't a bad idea, Trixie," she said. "We don't have to ask her if she left the chickens' feet. Just tell Aunt Liz we found them and see if she volunteers any information."

Trixie agreed it was probably the teens' best course of action. She was anxious to see how Aunt Liz would respond – but she wouldn't have to wait. Mrs. LeBlanc's blue sedan had just pulled up under the carport.

"Just the young people I was hoping to find," the cheerful lady said as she climbed out of her auto. "Did you have fun shopping, girls? While you were gone, I decided to whip up a big batch of chicken salad for lunch. Do I have any takers?" Trixie and Honey hadn't told Aunt Liz the true reason for their trip to town. The young ladies hadn't wanted to rat on Hallie.

"Sounds delicious," Honey gulped politely, hardly in the mood to eat poultry after the morning the teens had had. "Chicken salad is one of my favorites."

"Mine, too," Trixie jumped in. "But speaking of chickens, I'm afraid the most alarming thing has happened, Aunt Liz. You'll never guess what we found hanging on our cabin doorknobs by ribbons. Chicken's feet! Do you know who might have left them there? Or why?"

"It's got us terribly worried," Honey added, her hazel eyes widening.

Aunt Liz laughed as she handed Mart the big plastic bowl of sandwich spread, which had been sitting on the car's passenger seat. "Oh, dear," she said. "I never stopped to think you might find the silly things distressing. I'm afraid I'm the one who put them there." Mrs. LeBlanc then opened the car's rear driver's side door to retrieve a loaf of bread and two family-sized bags of potato chips.

The teenagers exchanged glances. Not find the chicken's feet distressing? What did the motherly woman think the grisly claws were? Christmas wreaths?

Mart cleared his voice as if he was having trouble swallowing what he'd just heard. "I must admit I'm unfamiliar with the practice of leaving festively-tied poultry parts at the entrance of one's abode, Aunt Elizabeth," he said. "I would be fascinated to learn more about this local custom."

Aunt Liz hemmed and hawed, which Trixie found highly suspicious. "Well…it's not really a local custom, per se," the stumbling lady replied. "More of a superstitious family tradition. And certainly nothing for you to worry your heads about," she added with a lilt. "So come now. Off to the kitchen with you. We have sandwiches to make. We wouldn't want the chicken salad to spoil in this heat, would we?"

Mrs. LeBlanc then began herding the young people out of the shade and into the sunlight. Only Trixie planted her feet. "But Aunt Liz," she objected. "Can't you see? We will worry unless you tell us why you put the claws on our doors?"

Mrs. LeBlanc fumbled. "Oh, but Trixie, dear, it was really rather silly of me. If I tell you, I'm afraid you'll think your Aunt Liz has bats in her belfry."

Trixie laughed. "After some of the things we've been thinking? We're not ones to judge. So please, Aunt Liz?" she begged.

The hesitant woman finally caved in. "Well, you might say, the chickens feet are lucky charms, Trixie," she began. "Yesterday, while Renee and I were chatting with Mrs. Richard, Della reminded us how Mama LeBlanc used to hang chicken claws on the fisherman's doors to keep alligator poachers away." Aunt Liz stopped, her round face reddening. "Just like a hen scratches backward, a charmed foot is thought to scratch back at would-be thieves," she went on. "And silly me decided it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. So I went out and bought a foot for each hunter's door."

Honey appeared tremendously relieved. "Oh, Trixie, that makes perfect sense!" she chimed. "And Aunt Liz," the pretty girl went on, "I don't think you're batty at all!"

Mrs. LeBlanc chuckled. "I wouldn't say that," she replied. "And neither would Renee. She accused me of being as wiggy as Nadine."

"Who's Nadine?" Trixie asked.

"My mother-in-law," Aunt Liz replied with a grin. "I think you would like her. She, Mrs. Richard, and Aunt Izzy were inseparable before Mama moved to Florida. The three ladies made quite a colorful trio. Poor Izzy took it hard when Nadine divorced Papa. Aunt Izzy is the one who introduced Mama to Lucas. She blames her brother for driving her closest friend away. Thank goodness Izzy still has Della."

"Aunt Izzy and Mrs. Richard are friends?!" Trixie exclaimed with disbelief. "But Aunt Izzy is a witch, and Mrs. Richard is so religious?"

Mrs. LeBlanc's eyes sparkled with amusement. "And Mama LeBlanc is a Native American shaman," she revealed. "At least she claims she's descended from one and possesses the same mystical powers. Renee believes her mother is a bit of a ding-a-ling. But that is beside the point, Trixie. Izzy, Della, and Nadine may have different beliefs, but deep down inside, they all have a deep respect for nature and a love of helping people. They see themselves as sisters of different mothers. They're breathing proof that co-exist is possible."

"That kind of reminds me of you, Honey, and Di," Mart told his look-a-like sibling. "Of course, there's no mistaking which of you is the Dizzy Izzy of the bunch," he added, receiving an elbow to his midsection.


As Mr. Wise-cracker and Mrs. LeBlanc started for the outdoor kitchen, Trixie and Honey begged off, promising they'd be along momentarily. The girls wanted to run to their cabin first. Honey needed to get the chocolate mints she'd picked up at the grocery store into the refrigerator to firm up after being out in the heat. She also didn't want Mart to get a glimpse in the bag and spoil his bedtime surprise.

So off the girls went.

Only upon reaching the cottage Trixie cringed as her hand brushed against the foot hanging on the doorknob. A part of her wanted to rip the repulsive thing away and burn it in the fireplace. Detective Belden wasn't convinced that Aunt Liz had put the claw there against poachers. It was plausible. But it was just as possible Mrs. LeBlanc was covering up her true motives.

"Hurry up and put your Dinky Pinky stuff inside," Trixie told Honey as Miss Wheeler stepped over the coins on the welcome mat, preparing to enter. "I'm going to run and check out the chicken foot on the boys' door. I want to see if it looks like ours. I'll be right back."

Two seconds later, however, Trixie was scratching her head. Oh, not from the insects buzzing around it. But because there was no sign of the chicken's foot, her brother had mentioned.

Racing back toward cabin three, the out-of-breath girl caught up with Honey, who was coming down the walk.

"Mart must have done something with the foot," Miss Belden told her friend. "I couldn't find it anywhere, and those red and black ribbons are pretty eye-catching. Even from here, I can tell there's a claw hanging on Bernie and Beau's door."

Honey admitted she'd noticed it, too. "We'll have to ask Aunt Liz if the ribbon colors have special meanings," she mused. "I never thought to ask Olivia."

As the pair rounded the office on their way to the kitchen, they saw Mrs. Robert's sedan sliding to a stop under the carport next to Aunt Liz's car. Slipping out from behind the wheel, the silver-haired lady appeared in a terrible hurry as she scuttled off toward cabin four.

"She must be here, checking up on Bernie," Honey said. "That cough of his doesn't seem to be getting any better."

"Maybe Bernie's not drinking his ginger tea," Trixie laughed, catching a glimpse of the thermos tucked under the traiteur's arm. "I still don't understand how Mrs. Robert finds time to brew all that stuff. I'm beginning to think she has a magic whizzing horse over at that alligator farm."

Honey gave her terrible friend a swat. "Shame on you," she scolded, at the same time giggling. "Aunt Renee has been sharing Papa's tea and insists it's wonderfully sweet and soothing, Trixie. I'm sure it tastes nothing like…well…you know."

Miss Wheeler was adding that she might ask to try some of the herbal concoction to help calm her own nerves when Mr. Benoit stepped onto his porch and lit up a cigarette.

The devout lady in the pressed dress had already started up the steps. And though the Sleepysiders couldn't hear what Mrs. Robert was saying to Mr. Benoit, the shame on you gesture she was giving him by stroking her fingers spoke volumes. The good doctor was anything but happy with her patient.

Only Bernie, un-phased, was laughing and appeared to be laying on the smooth talk. After taking one final drag of his smoke, he stamped out its glowing end in the glass ashtray sitting on the railing before slipping the butt into the pocket of his tee. Mr. Benoit then escorted Mrs. Robert into the cabin with a ladies-first wave of his good arm.

As the cabin door shut, Trixie hypnotically watched as the chicken claw on the knob swung back and forth on its ribbons like a pendulum. "Have you ever known anyone who saves their cigarette butts like that?" she mused aloud in a faraway voice. "I wonder why Bernie does it?"

Only Miss Wheeler had no answer. It did seem odd. But so did Cajun man. So she pushed her transfixed friend on down the path.

Finally reaching the kitchen, the young ladies found Aunt Liz busily packing a lunch cooler for Renee and her father. Mart, leaning against the counter next to Mrs. LeBlanc, was preparing his second sandwich. Glancing up at the girls, the annoyed young man announced, yet again, that they were "tardy".

Elbowing in beside the aggravating toad, Trixie wondered, what was it with boys? They always seemed to be calculating activities right down to the exact second they were supposed to take. Why, it was absolutely maddening! "I didn't know we were on a time clock," she grumbled, reaching for the loaf of bread. "Sorry if we took too long," she added more sincerely to Aunt Liz.

"You're fine," Mrs. LeBlanc returned, going for an ice-pack in the refrigerator's freezer. "Was that Della's car I heard pulling in?"

Trixie and Honey confirmed that it was. "Mrs. Robert is over at Bernie's," Honey replied. "She seemed to be in an awful rush. We didn't speak to her."

"Bernie mentioned Della was coming when I spoke to him this morning," Aunt Liz said, closing the cooler lid. "I invited him to join us for lunch, but apparently, he's meeting Josette in town after his appointment with Mrs. Robert. Bernie said he'd pick up something to eat at the cafe." Grabbing the handle of the oversized lunchbox, Mrs. LeBlanc announced that she was on her way to Papa's. "I'll be back shortly," she finished.

Once Aunt Liz had gone, while the teenagers were enjoying their mid-day meal, Trixie asked Mart what he'd done with the chicken claw on the boys' door.

"I interred it behind the bower," the sheepish young man revealed through a mouthful of chips. "I reasoned the fetish had been anathematized."

"You what?!" his sister exploded, squeezing her sandwich, sending a blob of creamy filling rolling down the front of her shirt.

"I believe he buried in the backyard," Honey translated quietly as her friend struggled to clean up the mess.

Mart nodded and then ducked as Trixie tossed her dirty napkin his way. He was lucky it hadn't been her sandwich. "I suppose when we've completed dining, I ought to go excavate it?" he said with a question mark.

"Bingo," the irritated girl returned, taking the boy's empty plate before he had a chance to reload it. "So go get your shovel and get to work, Igor. The "dining" room is closed. Honey and I will meet you behind your place once we finish cleaning up. We're going to ring your cabin with salt when you're through. You better pray Aunt Liz was honest with us and that chicken's foot is meant to warn poachers. If not, you might just have raised a zombie from the LeBlanc family crypt!"

Mr. Belden looked to Honey and then made a familiar swirling motion at the side of his head with his finger. "As Moi remarked earlier," he told his worked-up sister. "There's no mistaking which of you is the Dizzy Izzy of the bunch."


By the time dessert rolled around that night, Trixie's melodramatic streak had passed; the stressful day had taken its toll. In fact, it had pulled just about everyone's plug – especially the newbie alligator hunters'. They all looked like zombies.

The New York sportsmen's initial excitement at filling tags was beginning to wear off. The gentlemen's aches and pains were compounding, as were their frustrations. Alligator hunting was a nitty-gritty job. And though the hunters hadn't brought in a bad haul, it hadn't been shining either.

Beau was the biggest winner of the day. He'd managed to fill all his tags, and the following morning would be starting on Papa's. Hallie, who was back to being the Cajun playboy's number-one groupie, came in a close second. The Idaho girl had wrestled in a whopping five-hundred-pound gator! But that was the extent of the day's glowing news.

Uncle Sam and Jim had discovered three more cut lines. And while the other teams hadn't reported any vandalism, the fishermen hadn't managed to snare Houdini, which was beginning to pose a problem.

"Gleeps, Jim, that's terrible," Trixie said as she set a piece of peach pie in front of him. "I still find it chilling that alligators are cannibals. You mean that massive bull actually ate the legs and tails off some of the gators snagged on your lines?"

"That's right," Jim replied, as his best girl dropped into the seat next to his. "Sam's sure it's Houdini who's doing it. Worse, we're required to tag the mangled remains, and they aren't worth much to the buyer. The sooner one of us takes down Houdini, the better."

"I would say so," Trixie shuddered. "I bet Papa's going to be pretty steamed when he hears that big meanie's been snacking on his alligators."

"I imagine that's an understatement," Jim agreed, taking a bite of his dessert. "So how's Mr. "LeBlanc doing, anyway?"

"Much, much, better," Miss Belden replied. "Papa spent most of the day sleeping. He claims he's ready to swing back into action. But Aunt Renee and Aunt Liz are insisting that he gets a couple more days of bed rest. They want to make sure that his back won't give out again."

Jim smiled and held out a fork of pie, offering the young lady a taste. "Would it be bad of me to say I'm glad?" he asked. "I haven't seen much of you lately, and I'm looking forward to some R&R tomorrow. Sam's a swell captain but he pushes a guy to his limits. He's not happy if his brother shows him up. The two are awfully competitive, and I get the feeling they don't always get along."

"Mart said Uncle Sam and Zach got into it on boat launch yesterday," Trixie admitted, passing on the offering. "Do you have any idea what spurred the fight, Jim?"

The red-headed boy downed his dessert and then lowered his voice. "I don't know how it started," he confessed, "But I heard Sam telling Zach that he better watch his back. I thought he was kidding. Sam had been joking that their father was going to turn into a Rougarou when the sun went down. I guess Papa LeBlanc, on the morning he fell out of his boat, had told the EMTs that he had been attacked by one of the creatures. Anyway, Sam's comment got Zach all riled up, and I heard him saying something about putting their father in a home. That's when Sam took a swing at him. Sam's real devoted to his Dad, Trix."

The cogs in Detective Belden's head were turning. She didn't move to tell Jim about finding the Shady Rest brochure in Uncle Zach's desk drawer - or her thoughts surrounding it. The young man was bound to think his schoolgirl Shamus was jumping to conclusions. So until she had proof that Papa's number one son was up to foul play, Trixie decided to keep her suspicions to herself.

But Miss Belden did confess to Jim that she and Honey had heard the rumors about Papa having been jumped by a Rougarou. And after making sure no one was listening in on their conversation, the cautious girl removed the gum wrapper containing the unidentified gray hair from the pocket of her dungarees.

Handing Jim the course strands, Trixie asked, "Any idea what kind of fur this is? I found it in the chicken coop this morning." The young lady then explained what had ensued with Mr. LeBlanc's Rhode Island Reds.

After emitting a low whistle, the puzzled young man concluded the hair must have come from a coyote.

"But aren't coyotes tan?" Trixie objected. "And how would one have gotten into the yard, Jim? The gate was closed when we got there, and Mart didn't find where it had dug its way in under the fence."

"If hungry enough, a coyote is capable of scaling a chain link fence," Jim explained, "and their coats do vary in shade, Trix."

"But would a lone coyote be able to tear the chicken coop door from its hinges?" the anxious young lady pressed.

"That does sound more like a bear," Jim admitted with a sigh. "Maybe the scrap of fur is from an earlier incident?"

"Or from a Rougarou or a Dire Wolf," Trixie suggested darkly.

Mr. Frayne chuckled and tapped the intent girl on the tip of her bug-bitten nose. "You're letting your imagination run away with you," he said.

"Am I?" Trixie countered. "Would an ordinary coyote be able to take down a two-hundred-pound wild boar, Jim?" Now, she had the young man's attention.

"Explain," Jim said, straightening.

And so Trixie told the young man about encountering the dead hog during the four-wheel trip she and Honey had taken with Mr. Benoit. "Cap and Beau both said the tracks were coyote," she finished. "But Cap claimed the footprints were made by one animal."

Jim put down his fork and rubbed the back of his neck. "If so, that mongrel must have had one heck of a hankering for ham," he said. "Either that or the boar was sick or injured when the coyote attacked it. Can you remember how to get back out to the kill site, Trix? If there's time tomorrow, I'd like to get a look at those tracks for myself."

Miss Belden was ready to do cartwheels. She'd been itching to go back and investigate. Besides, if Jim wanted to see those prints? That meant the young outdoors-man had doubts that a coyote had killed the boar.

"You better believe I can remember," Trixie cried excitedly, her eyes sparkling. "You, Mr. Frayne, have just earned yourself another piece of pie!"

Jim laughed and admitted he could certainly go for another slice. "But only if enough to go around," he added.

"If not, you can have my piece," the happy girl laughed. Returning the strands of gray hair to their silver wrapper, Trixie then stood up and slipped the packet into her jeans pocket.


A short time later, Trixie was telling Honey about her conversation with Jim when the pretty girl's face fell.

"You should have told me about the hair when you found it," Miss Wheeler said quietly, handing her friend a soapy plate. "I'm supposed to be your partner, Trixie."

Miss Belden squirmed as she rinsed the dish under scalding water and then wiped it dry. "Please don't be hurt, Honey," she pleaded. "You know how my mind runs wild. I didn't want to worry you needlessly. I thought it best to get Jim's opinion on the strands first. I swear I planned to tell you about them, no matter what he said."

Honey reached for the last dirty glass sitting on the counter. "I guess it's my own fault," she admitted softly. "If I'm going to be a detective, can't I have the spine of a jellyfish, can I? And I do want to be a detective," the young lady added earnestly.

"Ah, Hon, you're the best one around," Trixie said honestly. "And you forget, jellyfish may not have a spine and appear all harmless and beautiful. But they pack one dickens of a sting. Just ask Mart. He got stung by one last year at the beach."

Miss Wheeler smiled. Mart was helping Aunt Liz load her car while the girls did the supper dishes. The young man had put in a good day's work, and Mrs. LeBlanc had dubbed him "a real keeper".

"I hope Mart's special marinade lures in Houdini tomorrow," Honey mused aloud, her train of thought wandering. "Cap was telling me that horrible creature has been taking bites out of the other alligators, Trixie."

"That's what Jim said too," Miss Belden revealed, lost in different thoughts. "You are going with us tomorrow, aren't you, Honey? I mean, when your brother and I go to check those prints? Of course, you don't have to if you don't want to." Trixie knew coming across the dead boar had truly traumatized the young lady.

"Of course, I'm going," Honey insisted, refocusing on the task at hand. "Are we going to hike or take the bicycles? The road was in terrible shape."

Trixie was replying that they'd start out biking but probably end up walking, when Dan shuffled up. "Sorry, kitchen's closed," she laughed as the dark-haired young man went from cupboard to cupboard, appearing to be looking for something more to eat.

Honey splashed soapy water on her curly-haired friend. "If you're still hungry, Dan, there's some yummy chicken salad leftover from lunch in the fridge. I'd be happy to fix you a sandwich."

The young man paused and grinned. "That's nice of you, Honey," he said, "but I'm stuffed. Either of you know where I might find some old shopping bags? Ben thought there might be some in one of the cupboards. They need to be white."

"Don't tell me to lure in Houdini?" Trixie giggled as she recalled Dan thought he could fool the big alligator into thinking the bags were birds. "There's a whole bin full of plastic bags up at the dumpsters, waiting to be recycled. Honey and I just stuffed a white one from the Dinky Pinky in it before dinner."

"Why don't you go with Dan and show him which receptacle they're in, Trixie," Miss Wheeler suggested. "Mart will help finish drying the dishes, won't you, Mart?" The young man had returned while the teens had been talking.

Mart swiped the dishcloth his sister had tossed over her shoulder. "For you, my dear, anything," he told Honey. "Although I do find myself feeling somewhat famished. And that chicken salad has been calling out Moi's name…"


And so it was, as Honey fixed Mart a sandwich, Trixie and Dan started for the recycle center. The teenagers' path was unlit. The LeBlancs only fired up the Tiki torches when they were having a party. And neither teen had thought to bring a flashlight with them.

But the dimness suited Trixie just fine. The moon provided enough light to keep from stumbling. And it was nice strolling along with Dan in silence. With anyone else, the lack of conversation might have been awkward. But it wasn't so with her laid-back friend. Trixie just felt warm and comfortable.

Gazing up at the waxing moon, Miss Belden smiled with satisfaction, noticing its pale, orange halo. "It looks like we've got some rain coming our way," she noted softly. "Aunt Liz says there isn't any in the forecast. But if the stars are right, there's a storm about three days out."

"All the more reason to get Mr. LeBlanc's tags filled as fast as we can," Dan returned as the pair continued on. "Mr. Maypenny claims the heavens are never wrong. I sure do hope he's getting along OK. It'll be nice to get home. This trip hasn't turned out quite like I'd hoped."

Trixie guessed Dan was referring to what had gone down between him and Hallie. And she didn't want to think about Miss Flip-Flop and work herself into a lather. "So what's it like to alligator hunt with Ben?" the peaceful young lady asked, changing the subject.

Dan shrugged. "OK, I guess. He's not a bad guy. But he complains a lot. Mostly about Papa and his Dad."

"Really? How so?" Miss Belden asked, her attention peaked.

"Ben blames his grandfather for breaking up his Mom and Dad's marriage," the young man returned. "He thinks if Papa hadn't been meddling in his father's affairs, his parents would still be together, and Maxine would be wearing his ring. Ben's still got it real bad for Max."

"Gleeps, no wonder he's been griping," Trixie said. "Seeing your father hooked up with the girl you love must be hard. Not to mention working for Papa after all that."

"You can say that again," Dan agreed. "Ben insists, at the end of the season, he's giving Anglers' Landing the big heave-ho. If he can't get a job on an oil rig, he's going to work for his stepfather at the gas station. Ben claims he wouldn't be helping fill Mr. LeBlanc's tags this year if he'd won his own in the lottery. But his name wasn't pulled, which is another sore spot of his. I gather Ben's pretty jealous of Beau."

"Hallie said that most people aren't as lucky as Beau in the draw," Trixie admitted. "It makes me wonder how Beau ended up with so many tags? You'd think the Department of Game and Fisheries would distribute them evenly. The system seems unfair to people like Ben. Honey and I caught a glimpse of Ben's mother at Mama Marie's today."

"A knock-out, isn't she?" Dan said, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

"If you say so," the young lady beside him laughed. Trixie wondered if Mama Marie was correct and Ms. Camille had the blood of a wolf running through her veins. Miss Belden's smitten friend sure seemed to be under Ms. LeBlanc's spell. "Where have you seen Ben's Mom?" she asked.

"Ms. LeBlanc runs the forklift at T's," Dan explained. "She measures and records the size of the gators coming into their buying facility. If you'd like, I'll see if Hal's Uncle Zach will let me borrow the keys to the commuter van on Thursday, and I'll take you over there. I think you and Honey would get a kick out of seeing your Dad and others pull up to the station with their catches."

"Oh, that sounds like fun!" Trixie replied excitedly. "That is if Aunt Liz can manage prepping dinner without our help. I wouldn't want to leave her in a lurch. But maybe we can talk Mrs. LeBlanc into letting us have cold-cut sandwiches and potato salad for supper? We can make those in advance!"

Drawing up to the recycling center, the teenagers' senses were assaulted by the odor of decomposing onion peels and mudbug shells, putting all thoughts of Thursday's menu on the back burner. Wishing to snag a handful of bags and get away from the stink, Trixie wasted no time in directing Dan to the bin containing the number four plastics.

There, however, Miss Belden discovered a small scattering of cigarette butts in the gravel, one of which was still glowing. "Ooo, some people make me so angry!" she exploded, snuffing out the smoldering smoke with the toe of her hiker. "Imagine! Littering when the world's biggest ashtray is staring you right in the face!" Miss Belden then collected the smelly discards and properly disposed of them.


Once Dan had selected the best bags to serve as egret decoys, the young people started back for the outdoor kitchen. Trixie's anger over finding the discarded butts had faded some. The young sleuth was now more focused on figuring out who the careless smoker had been – what they'd been up to. Trixie knew chances were good that the culprit hadn't been Bernie. He always tucked the tail end of his cigarettes in his shirt pocket. And as far as Miss Belden was aware, none of the LeBlancs smoked.

This meant there'd been a stranger lurking behind the boathouse. And it was unsettling to think that whoever it had been, they had been there not minutes before the teenagers had arrived. Trixie would have thought she and her friend would have seen or heard someone. But they hadn't - and neither had Miss Belden and Mart when they'd been disposing of the supper garbage a short time earlier.

It was perplexing, for sure. Trixie was confident that no one of sound mind would choose such a foul-smelling place to enjoy a cigarette –let alone four. So why had the mysterious smoker been at the dumpsters? Had they been up to no good -or perhaps waiting on someone?

Nearing the darkened dining hall, Dan shook Trixie from her musings when he noticed that Mart and Honey had turned out the kitchen lights. "I guess everybody's gone to bed," he announced. "Come on, I'll walk you to your cabin. It's time we were hitting the hay, too."

But as the young people reached the front path leading up to the girls' cottage, Dan stumbled over his words as he tried to tell Miss Belden goodnight. "Thanks for going with me to get the bags and letting me vent," he began awkwardly. "It made this day a whole lot better. Get some rest, Trix."

"You, too," Trixie replied as the young man headed off. "I can't wait until Thursday," she added, calling after him. "Don't let the bed bugs bite, Dan!"

Then, after taking one more peek at the twinkling stars, Miss Belden was starting up the front walk when a chuckle came from the porch next door, causing her to spin.

"Red, my foot," heralded Beau Benoit's voice from out of the shadows. "Don't tell me you and Slick don't have something going on, Goldilocks. I've got your number."

Trixie's cheeks started to burn. "Why don't you just mind your own business and go in to bed," she hissed into the blackness. "Your mouth's got to be tired after all that running it was doing at supper tonight."

"Ah, but Goldilocks, I've been waiting up for you," the cocky Cajun returned, still chuckling. "I thought you'd want to congratulate me on filling my tags. So how about coming over here and laying a little sugar on me? Hmm? There's plenty of room on the swing."

Trixie finally understood how Miss Sugar-Pops had earned her nickname. "I'd rather kiss a bullfrog," she returned, heading for the door. "In case you haven't figured it out, Beau, I've got your number, too. Sleepy-tight, Mr. Benoit."


At eleven p.m., Trixie was still wide awake, counting the ticks coming from Honey's wristwatch on the nightstand. The sound of its measured strokes was as maddening as that of Hallie's flip-flops. And the sleep-deprived girl was growing more irritable with each second that passed.

Pulling her pillow over her head, Trixie wasn't sure if she was trying to block the confounded noise or smother herself. Miss Belden was miserable. Her mind and body didn't want to rest. But that's how it always was when Trixie was hot on a case.

Only something about this case was different than the fledgling gumshoe's others. Trixie had set out to discover who'd been messing with Papa's lines. But now she was wondering if a few stolen gators were the real mystery, at foot? Miss Belden had begun to think the crime might be a red herring designed to divert people's attention away from more sinister matters.

Of course, she could just as easily be wrong.

Trixie hadn't pieced the puzzle together yet. She felt she was on the verge of a major breakthrough. But every time the young lady turned around, it seemed she was finding another of the jigsaw's edge pieces. Miss Beldens was sure she had all four corners in place. But how many pieces was she still missing? If only Trixie could finish the frame -then she'd be able to fill in all the details and see the big picture. Only Miss Belden knew it was unlikely to be a pretty one.

And on that grim note, the restless girl uncovered her head, climbed out of bed, and stuffed her fluffy pillow under her arm. Trixie needed some shut-eye. Maybe she'd have better luck sleeping on the hide-a-bed with Hallie?

But downstairs, that idea went out the window. Miss Belden's Amazon cousin was sleeping like a bear in hibernation. Hallie's gangly arms and legs were splayed out, hogging every inch of the lumpy mattress. Trixie wasn't able to budge the comatose girl over an inch!

So the cranky teen tried to get comfortable in the living room recliner. It wasn't easy. The abused chair didn't want to stay in the extended position. But slowly, Trixie's eyelids began to droop, and soon, she was lazily drifting off to dreamland - when Miss Sugar-Pops started snoring like a musk ox.

That is, what Trixie imagined a musk ox sounded like. If they did indeed snore? She really wasn't sure. And it really didn't matter. The point was, she'd never get to sleep now!

Grumbling, the fed-up young lady snatched up her pillow again and set off to find a better resting place.

Trixie was half tempted to try stretching out on the porch swing. She wasn't concerned that the Rougarou would get her. Honey had insisted they leave their piles of thirteen objects in place. Plus, with the chicken foot hanging on the doorknob and salt ringing the cabin, Miss Belden ought to be safe from just about anything that went bump in the night.

Only it was the things that went buzz in the night that Miss Belden was worried about. If she camped out on the porch, she would likely wake up looking like she had a bad case of chickenpox. Mart would have a field day. Nope, the porch was out.

But where could she go? The cottage wasn't much bigger than a postage stamp. And the only other room was the bathroom.

So, with a heaving sigh, Trixie decided to try the tub.


Once in the loo, Miss Belden closed the door, sealing herself off from outside distractions. Finally, she'd found some peace and quiet. But she'd also stopped the breeze from the window air-conditioner from reaching her. So, after opening the window, Trixie pulled back the flowery shower curtain from around the tub and crawled in.

Her rock-hard cradle was anything but comfortable. But the porcelain felt cool against the young lady's skin. And before long, she nodded off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Only it wasn't to last. An hour later, Trixie awoke, swearing she'd heard Honey's cell phone ring. "Oh, Hon, didn't you turn that thing off?" Miss Belden mumbled from somewhere off in la-la-land. She believed she was still upstairs in bed.

But the phone rang again. And this time, Trixie begged her friend to answer it. And someone did pick up the call -only the voice coming out of the darkness may have dripped like honey, but it didn't belong to Honey. It belonged to Mr. Benoit.

"Bonsoir ma charmante," she heard the man say, in an eerie reverb. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about ol' Bernard. Has your mari gone to bed, mon amour?"

It was then that Trixie snapped to full conscience, but she didn't move. The tub's high sides were amplifying the one-sided conversation drifting in through the open window.

"Easy now, mon Charmant," she heard the silver-tongued Cajun go on. "Did I not promise that if my boy got those tags, your dévoué Bernie would take care of Lucas, pour vous ne? You can assure your frère our dealings are fini. On the tombe de mon défunt mère, I swear I have been true to my word. "

Bernie then went quiet, and Trixie thought she heard the door to cabin four open and close.