Chapter 9:
Payback's A Bugger
Flip, flop, flip, flop, flip, flop.
Trixie was beginning to loathe the irritating noise. So casual it sounded. So carefree. As if the person making it hadn't a worry in the world.
Well, the Sleepyside girl was going to give Ms. Franken-Feet something to worry about!
Throwing back her head, the seething teen let out a long, wailing howl at the moon. "A curse be on Miss Hallie Belden!" it warned. Trixie's deplorable cousin and her heart-stomping clodhoppers had better watch their step, or the Rougarou would get them! The spirits of the swamps weren't the only ones they'd angered.
As Hallie jumped, from far off, in the deepest depths of the darkness, the beast returned Trixie's bawl. The unknown creature had moved off. But it had heard the New York girl's summoning and echoed her chilling sentiment.
"OK, Cuz, very funny," Hallie called crossly. "Ya can come out now. I see ya there behind that tree."
Trixie chuckled and remained still. Hallie's voice had had a nervous uncertainness to it. And the Sleepyside young lady was enjoying seeing her cousin squirm.
"That's a good way to get a rock thrown at ya," Hallie warned, scooping one up.
Wickedly grinning, Trixie emerged from her hiding place. "What's the matter? Scared I was a Rougarou?" she asked. Miss Belden wasn't about to let on that she'd been listening in her cousin and Dan's conversation.
Hallie scoffed and reached for the recycle bucket in her cousin's hand. "Ah, I knew it was you all along," she said. "But come on, I'll help ya sort this stuff. Papa gets mighty steamed if we hold up the sweets. He doesn't tolerate slowpokes, Cuz."
As a rustle came from the shrubbery, not meters from where Trixie had been hiding, the New York girl was suddenly glad for the company - even if it was her rotten cousin's. There was safety in numbers. And like Jim was constantly reminding his Shamus, you never knew where danger was lurking.
Returning to the dining shelter, the two Miss Beldens found that Aunts Liz and Renee had lit the citronella tiki torches lining the walkway. The party, which was still raging under the patio lights, was bound to be winding down after dessert. But as long as a crumb of cake was left, there would be reason to celebrate. And Trixie decided that she wouldn't let Hallie ruin the rest of her evening.
Dan, to his curly-haired friend's surprise, was seated at the table, whooping it up with the other boys. Trixie had half expected the young man to call it a night after being so ungraciously dumped by Miss Sugar-Pops. But Mr. Mangan appeared to be in high spirits. Though Trixie suspected it was a big act.
"Don't give me that," Beau scoffed at something Dan had just said. "I'm sure Hal told me you were going to be a fireman, City-Slicker?"
As Trixie and Hallie retook their seats in front of their served-up treats, the darker-haired boy let out a hoot. "I think you'd better clean the Spanish moss out of your ears, Pretty Boy. This Joe's headed for the police academy."
After Papa had given the go-ahead to eat, Hallie reached for her fork. "I see ya boys are getting better acquainted," she chuckled.
Beau dipped his finger in his cake's icing and then gave the white fluff a sample. "I guess you could say that," he grumbled. "Only these goons refuse to tell me what they do in that club of theirs, Sugar-Pops. They are giving me some line about it being a 'semi-secret' - whatever the heck that means?"
Cap gave his buddy a whack to the back of his head. "It means the Bob-Whites don't go around bragging about the stuff they do, Beau. Unlike you," he laughed.
"Honestly, all ya all are bein' ridiculous," Hallie declared through her mouthful of tropical dessert. "I say we dub Beau a brother bird of the feather and let him in on all the poop. All ya all cool with that?"
Only Trixie was hardly "cool" with the notion – in fact, it made her steaming hot, and she slammed her hands down on the table. "Hallie Belden, where do you get off!?" she exclaimed. "Only Bob-Whites can nominate new members!"
"Says you!" the Idaho girl spat. Hallie then leaned her long body down the table toward Jim. "Hey, Mr. President," she called, "are there any rules on the books statin' honorary members can't elect new plebes?" The New York teens had made Hallie and her brothers ceremonial Bob-Whites on their camping trip to Idaho.
Jim hemmed and hawed before replying. "None that I recall?" he finally admitted, sheepishly glancing over at his best girl.
Trixie was now beyond furious. She didn't appreciate being stepped over – or that Jim hadn't backed her up. "Then, in that case, Mister Co-president," she returned coldly. "I say Hallie's unofficial membership should be revoked!"
As Mart and Honey winced, the red-headed young man went on, "Oh, Trix, there you go overreacting again. Beau's a great guy; the fellas and I were just messing with him. There's no real reason not to tell him about our club activities. But if it makes you feel better, I'll nominate Beau myself."
Jim paused and looked at his club-mates. "All in favor of making Beau Benoit an honorary Bob-White, say I," he said.
Only before any of the B.W.G.s could reply, Beau laughed. "Not so fast, Red," he said. "No offense, but this Swamper's not so sure he wants to be in your goody-two-shoes club. I'm not exactly the spoiled rich-kid type who has lots of time on his hands if you get my drift."
"Oh, we get your drift," Dan said, bristling. "And 'no offense,' Beau. But if you did want in the Bob-Whites? My vote would be a no. You see, I'm not the rich-kid type either. But I'll tell you what. I'd much rather be a goody-two-shoes than a cocky no-good."
As Trixie grinned, both Beau and his provoker rose from the table, looking as if they might take a lunge at each other, and Honey cried out, "Boys, that's enough! We're all exhausted and don't know what we're saying. So let's all calm down and finish our desserts."
But Dan had known precisely what he was saying. And the New York Miss Belden suspected he'd figured out the identity of Hallie's latest crush. Mr. Mangan wasn't dumb.
"A superb idea," Mart concurred, kicking his sister's foot under the table.
Trixie took her cue and pulled Dan down by his arm. "That toad's not worth the black eye," she whispered.
As Mr. Mangan racked back his hair, he admitted, "Probably not," and began toying with his cake. "Sorry, Beau," he muttered, more for Honey's sake.
"Yeah, me too, Slick," the young Mr. Benoit returned. "I guess there's still a lot we don't know about each other."
There was an awkward pause following the boys' apologies, and Trixie used the opportunity to ask Papa LeBlanc how his talk with Sheriff Theriot had gone. "Did he have any idea who cut your lines?" she called across the table.
Papa shoveled in his last bite of cake and then washed it down with a slug of beer. It seemed the girls would be making another run to the dumpsters.
"Not a clue, Short-Stuff," he harrumphed. "But Mr. Richard had some of his lines cut, too."
"You did?!" Trixie cried across the way.
"Yes, my dear, I'm afraid so," the lanky man replied. "And when I spoke to Clete Hebert, over at Game and Fisheries about it, he mentioned that Marcel Foret had filed a stolen gator report."
Detectives Belden and Wheeler exchanged glances. That piece of news was very interesting. Maybe the Foret boys weren't behind Papa's troubles?
As Hallie got up and started collecting empty plates, she disclosed to her grandfather that the girls had seen Sure-Shot Shelly at the Foret's camp that afternoon. "I told Cuz and Hon that seemed mighty strange," she said.
Mrs. Richard folded up her napkin. The older woman hadn't been surprised by the news like Papa LeBlanc. "Mrs. Foret's been ill since the storm," she explained. "I took the poor dear some ginger tea this morning, but she could hardly choke it down. I told Shelly she ought to put up those cigarettes. She's only a shadow of her usual self, and I'm terribly worried about her. Tropical storms stir up all kinds of latent viruses," Mrs. Richard added fleetingly.
Mr. Richard rose to his feet and tapped his wife's arm. "Well, if anyone should know, it would be you, Mama," he said with a laugh. "But come, we need to be getting home to Muffin."
"Oh, but Richard, I should help Liz clean up first," the gray-haired lady objected.
But Aunt Liz laughed and intervened. "Now, Della," she said, giving her guest a squeeze, "I already have far more help than I know what to do with. So let me get your cake carriers. It's time we were putting these boys to bed."
As Mrs. LeBlanc headed to the outdoor kitchen, Bernie excused himself and walked down to the Bayou for an after-dinner smoke. The sinewy man had had several coughing fits during dinner, and Trixie was of the opinion that Mrs. Foret wasn't the only one who should be laying off the tobacco.
But as she watched on, Bernie lit up a cigarette and stuffed it between his lips. He then did something Trixie wasn't expecting. Beau's father pulled out a cell phone and began texting someone using the hand on his bad arm.
Trixie, who her brothers constantly accused of being nosy, had to wonder who he was contacting at this hour of the night. Was Bernie perhaps checking in with his wife? Or was the Cajun Casanova making a late date with one of his lady friends?
Only as Aunt Liz returned from the kitchen with Mrs. Richard's plastic ware, Trixie forgot all about Bernie. Mr. Richard had just extended an invite to the Bob-Whites. "You must come over and see us before you head back to New York!" he told the teenagers. "Mama would love introducing you to her babies."
"The Richard's alligator farm is open to tourists," Cap explained. "It's kind of a cross between an interpretive center and a theme park."
"Folks 'round here refer to it as Gator Gardens," Hallie added excitedly. "Mrs. Richard lets ya help feed the gators. And if ya are feelin' really darin'? Ya can take a zip line across the retainin' ponds!"
"The farm also has a sweet gift shop if you need a hat or shirt," Beau added.
The Bob-Whites all agreed that Gator Gardens sounded like a whole lot of fun, and Jim, speaking on the club members' behalf, thanked the Richards and promised that the young people would be sure to work in a visit.
It was a little after eleven when the girls returned to their cabin that night. Walking in the door, Trixie immediately noticed that the afghan she and Honey had put over the deer-head had slipped to the floor.
"If you were smart, you would have gone home," the buck's glazed black eyes hinted in greeting.
Picking up the coverlet, the Sleepyside Miss Belden told the moth-eaten monstrosity to hush up before returning its crocheted mask.
"What was that, Cuz?" Hallie asked as she shut the door. "Ya really need ta learn to speak up, ya know. Half the time, nobody can hear ya."
Trixie grumbled. What she really needed to learn was to keep her big mouth shut. "I was just talking to myself. You do it too," she defensively added as Hallie rolled her eyes.
But the tall girl waved her cousin off. "Whatever," she said. "I'm gonna go hit the shower while you and Hon rustle up your Dad and the boys some lunch for tomorrow. The fixin's are in the fridge, and ya'll find the bags in the cupboard next to the stove."
Honey had hoped the girls' work was done for the day, and she emitted a resigned sigh. "Come on, Trixie," she said. "The sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can get some sleep. I don't know about you, but I feel dead on my feet."
Trixie was suddenly struck with the image of a voodoo high priestess turning Honey's lifeless body into a zombie! Miss Belden had seen it done in a Hollywood motion picture once.
To stop the awakened corpse, the movie's heroine had to pour salt into the hideous creature's mouth and sew its lips shut. Heaven forbid if Trixie were to find herself in such a predicament! Why, she couldn't sew a stitch!
"Honey Wheeler! How dare you put it like that!" the unnerved young lady gasped. "Now we'll both be having nightmares tonight!"
Wandering into the kitchenette, Honey admitted her best friend was probably right. "Next time, I'll choose my words more carefully," she giggled.
Pulling a package of bologna out of the refrigerator's deli drawer, Trixie listened until she heard the water running in the bathroom, then moved to tell her friend about Hallie and Dan's little conversation out by the boathouse. "It was terrible, Honey," she admitted, drawing to a finish. "Hallie practically told Dan the horse wasn't any good."
As Miss Wheeler topped each sandwich with a slice of yellow cheese, she agreed with Trixie that her cousin could have at least recognized the time and effort the young man had put into the piece. Honey was glad, however, that Hallie had told Dan that she had her sites on someone else. "It would have been worse if she'd strung him along," the pretty girl attested. "Although I do think Hallie may live to regret it," she added. "Beau seems much more interested in you, Trixie."
Trixie snorted her disagreement. "Beau's no more interested in me than you are in Mart," she scoffed. "So let's talk about something else, Honey. Like, who's been cutting people's alligator lines? I must admit I was pretty blown away when Mr. Robert said he and old man Foret had been targeted just like Papa."
Honey asked her partner to pass her the box of cellophane wrap. "I was, too," she confessed. "But I have no idea how we'll ever be able to figure out who's behind their troubles, Trixie. It's not like we can go out on the water and search for clues."
Trixie had to admit that this was true. But she also pointed out that the boys could be their eyes and eyes on the water. It was too early in the game for the girls to get discouraged. And Detective Belden suggested that she and Honey snoop around St. Estelle while running their errands in the morning. Someone around town had to know something.
An hour after crawling into bed, Trixie was still wide awake, chewing over the girls' case. It wasn't by choice. The loft was miserably warm. Worse, she was getting eaten alive by mosquitos.
The restless girl surmised that the window screen must have a hole in it. But she was too depleted to get up and check and much too hot to lower the glass even if so. In the morning, Trixie would see if she could remedy the issue. But tonight, the teenager would have to suffer.
Honey, thankfully, was somewhere off in dreamland. Though she hated bugs, Miss Wheeler wasn't being besieged by them -not like Trixie, anyway. And Miss Belden figured this had something to do with her friend's body chemistry.
Brian claimed some people just didn't taste as good to pests as others.
And Trixie laughed, despite her misery. Maybe it was those garlic kettle chips Honey had munched on with her hot dog at noon?
But as the young detective slapped yet another bloodsucker off the side of her neck, her keen ears perked up when she heard what sounded like a vehicle pulling up in front of the boathouse. Quietly slipping out of bed, so as not to disturb Honey, Trixie went to the window to see who was out and about at this late hour.
Only, to her frustration, the view from the loft was mainly of the sleepy Bayou. So the curious girl gingerly climbed down the ladder to the main level.
But as Trixie's bare feet hit the floor, Hallie woke up. The Idaho girl must have been a light sleeper. "What's up, Cuz?" she mumbled groggily from the sofa bed.
"Someone's up at the boathouse," Trixie answered with a whisper. "I came down to see who."
Hallie rolled over on her stomach. "It's likely just Beau, lookin' for a prop," she returned, almost inaudibly. "Go back and get some shut-eye."
Only Trixie continued tip-toeing toward the door. She wouldn't be able to rest until she knew who it was.
Stepping into the night, the New York girl then went to the far side of the porch and peered around the side of the cabin. It was hard to see in the dark, but the truck idling up by the boat house didn't appear red. And the stout figure who was hooking up a boat to it clearly wasn't Beau Benoit.
"That's Papa," Hallie drawled, causing her cousin to jump. "He's probably goin' bull-froggin'. At supper, I overheard him tellin' Aunt Liz that he had a hankerin' for frog legs."
After Trixie had regained her wits, she scolded the tall girl, who was peering over her shoulder. "Honestly, Hallie, did you have to sneak up on me?" she hissed.
Hallie snorted. "Payback's a bugger, isn't it, Miss Rougarou?" she rebuffed.
Trixie grimaced and pushed her cousin back toward the door. The peeved young lady didn't bother to reply. Instead, she noted that it seemed awfully foolish of Papa LeBlanc to be going out at this hour. The Lord of the Bayou had tags to fill in the morning.
And the Idaho girl simply shrugged. "What can I say, Cuz," she said. "Some folks are just night owls."
At around three AM, Trixie awoke in free fall. As she hit the floor, wondering where the heck she was, Honey rushed to her side. Outside the cabin, someone was lying on a car horn. Or, in this case, a truck horn.
Shaking the cobwebs from her head, Trixie was in the midst of asking her startled friend what was going on when Hallie called up the ladder, "Cuz, Hon, come quick! Somethin' wrong with Papa!"
Moments later, the three pajama-clad girls were racing down the front steps when they nearly collided with the boys and Cap, who were on their way up. Daddy and the Idaho teens' parents were already halfway to the boathouse, and Sam and Max were six steps in front of them.
As Trixie started off after the adults, Jim grabbed her arm. "Your father asked us to stay put," he told her.
The frustrated girl glanced over at her twin. But as Mart nodded solemnly, it dawned on his sister that this was no time to kick up a fuss and make waves.
But that didn't mean Mr. Belden's curly-haired daughter couldn't watch from a distance like Bernie and Bea were doing from the porch of the cabin next door. The two men had yet to utter a word. And Trixie hadn't looked over to see if they were there. But she knew from the smell of smoldering tobacco that they were. Only she couldn't have cared less.
That's because Papa's truck, which was sitting in front of the boathouse, still had its lights on. Only the man's fishing boat wasn't attached to the back of it. And his horn hadn't stopped blaring. Something wasn't right.
But thankfully, Uncle Sam was now on the scene. And as he swung open the vehicle's driver's-side door, the cab light came on, and Honey screamed.
That's when Hallie darted off, with Cap in close pursuit. The senior Mr. LeBlanc was hunched over his steering wheel. And Papa wasn't moving!