Jessie and Violet exchanged a questioning look. They’d hoped to talk to Rose a little more. Jessie remembered the worried look on Rose’s face when Eve talked about the ghost alligator. Did Rose believe in the ghost, too?
Swampwater led the way across the small room from which he sold tickets for the tours, as well as sunglasses, hats, maps, and a few souvenirs. Swampwater put his book on a counter that, like Billie’s, had an old-fashioned-looking cash register on it.
Jessie’s eyes widened. “Look,” she whispered to Violet. “His book. It’s about ghosts!”
It was true. The book was called Ghost Facts for Everyone.
Swampwater opened a door on the one wall in the room where there wasn’t a window.
A blast of cool air flooded the tour office. It was like diving into a pool, thought Violet, as she followed Swampwater and her sister and brother into the museum.
The Aldens found themselves in a larger room lined with shelves and glass cabinets. As at Billie’s bait shop, an air conditioner roared noisily in one corner of the room. “Close the door behind you,” Swampwater told Violet. “I keep it cool to protect my collection. The hot wet air in these swamps makes things get moldy and rot.”
Violet quickly closed the door.
“Look at these!” Henry said.
“Alligator teeth,” said Swampwater. “I find them from time to time.”
“Alligator teeth,” said Jessie, giving Swampwater a sharp look.
“And these are turtle shells,” guessed Henry.
Swampwater nodded. “Found those, too. I don’t kill things for my museum. Just take what I find in the swamp and give it a good home.”
“What are these?” Jessie pointed to several curling, pale, leathery-looking scraps.
“Alligator eggs,” said Swampwater.
In spite of herself, Jessie jumped back.
“Oh, they’re not the actual eggs. Just the shells from an alligator nest, after the baby alligators had hatched. Believe me, I didn’t try to get any eggs from a nest with the mother alligator sitting on it!” Swampwater said.
“Alligators build nests?” asked Henry.
“They do. They’re ready to start having families when they’re about seven or eight years old and about seven or eight feet long. The mother builds a nest, lays eggs, and takes care of the nest. She protects it and keeps it warm and even turns the eggs so they don’t get too warm on one side and too cool on the other,” Swampwater said. He pointed to a photograph on the wall. “There’s a nest, with the mother next to it. Sometimes she sits on it. If you look closely, you can see the eggs.”
Henry bent so close that his nose almost touched the picture-frame glass. “How big do alligators get?” he asked.
“Pretty big,” said Swampwater. “I’ve seen fourteen-footers and I’ve heard of bigger.”
“What do they eat? Do they eat people?” Violet asked.
“They’re meat-eaters and they’ll eat pretty much anything they catch — turtles, raccoons, dead animals. They’ll even leap straight up out of the water to catch birds.”
“And people?” asked Violet again.
Swampwater held up his hands. “If you swim in water where there is an alligator, an alligator might mistake you for something to eat. That’s how most alligator attacks happen. And yes, I’ve heard of them coming after boats, too, when they think they’re threatened by the boats getting too close.”
“So you don’t get too close to them, even in a boat,” said Violet.
“That’s right. They can be very dangerous, no doubt about it. You can’t take chances with a gator,” said Swampwater.
“The baby alligators are cute, though,” said Jessie. She’d found another photograph on the museum wall. This one showed a mother alligator in the sun, surrounded by baby alligators. The young alligators had bright stripes and yellow blotches.
“Sometimes they stay around their nests for a few days. Then they take off. A mother alligator might just eat her young if they hang around too long,” said Swampwater.
“Gross,” said Violet.
“Hey, look! A white alligator,” said Jessie.
They all turned to peer at a small stuffed alligator on the top shelf of a display case. It was a little over a foot long.
“Albino,” said Swampwater. “Born without pigment. They don’t live long in the wild. About eighty percent of all baby alligators turn into something else’s dinner before they grow big enough to be safe. For an albino alligator, it’s about one hundred percent that die very small, very young. I’m surprised this one lived as long as it did.”
“Is anybody here?” demanded someone loudly from the office.
“In the museum,” Swampwater called. “I’m coming.”
He went back into the tour office. Jessie, Violet, and Henry followed. A group of people stood there, looking hopeful. “Is this the right place for a swamp tour?” a red-cheeked woman asked.
“It surely is,” said Swampwater.
“Is the ghost on the tour? The one we heard about at the diner in town?” the man with her asked.
“Well, I can tell you about all kinds of ghosts,” said Swampwater. “Step right this way to buy your ticket.” Swampwater winked at the three Aldens.
“You should see the museum, too. It’s great,” said Jessie.
“Thank you for showing it to us,” Violet said to Swampwater.
“Anytime, anytime,” said Swampwater, as they left.
“A white alligator,” said Jessie. “Like a ghost.”
“Except no one’s going to think a little tiny alligator like that is a big, people-eating ghost alligator,” said Henry.
“And Swampwater says they never grow up. It’s very sad,” Violet said.
“It seems as if Swampwater might like the idea of a ghost alligator after all, though,” said Jessie. “He’s reading a book about it. And telling the tourists about it, too.”
“It did seem that way,” Henry agreed. “It seemed like it might be good for his tour business, unlike Billie’s fishing camp.”
“Do you think Swampwater could be the one behind it all?” asked Violet.
“I don’t know,” said Jessie. “But I think we do have to consider him a suspect.”
“That wouldn’t make Gaston very happy, if lots of tourists came to see the ghost instead of being scared away by it,” observed Violet.
Henry shook his head. “The more we know, the more mysterious this mystery gets.”
“I know another suspect. What about Beau?” said Jessie suddenly. “Remember, Billie said he’d been acting awfully mysterious lately.”
“And he thinks the camp is too much for Billie,” said Violet.
“Maybe he and Travis are working together,” said Jessie. “Maybe …” She stopped short. “Look,” she whispered, pointing.
They’d almost reached Billie’s camp. And there ahead of them, as if their talking about him had made him appear, stood Beau.
He wasn’t alone. He was talking to someone.
“It’s Travis,” breathed Violet.
Quickly they slipped behind one of the big old trees at the edge of the road. Quietly they moved closer, keeping a sharp eye out for snakes.
“Well, I don’t know,” said Beau. “It’s a good price, it’s true.”
“A better offer than anyone else will make you,” Travis said. “And your grandmother will get used to it, trust me. After a while, she’ll hardly even miss it.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Beau said.
“You’ve been thinking about it,” Travis said impatiently. “Do we have a deal or don’t we?”
“Just give me some more time,” Beau said. “I need more time.”
“Okay, but my offer isn’t going to last forever,” Travis warned. With that, he turned and walked back toward the fish camp.
Beau stood watching him go. Then he sighed. He looked around as if to make sure no one was watching. Then he pushed aside some bushes, stepped out past th
e children, and disappeared into shadows of the trees.
When they were sure he was gone, Jessie, Violet, and Henry stood up. “Do you think Beau and Travis were talking about selling the fish camp?” Violet said.
“It sure sounds like it,” Jessie said. “I can’t believe it. Could Travis and Beau be working together to get Billie to give up the camp?”
“Look at this,” Henry said. He pushed aside the branches where Beau had disappeared. Hidden behind them was a narrow trail leading into the swamp.
“Where do you think he was going?” asked Violet.
“I don’t know, but he was sure acting mysterious about it,” said Jessie.
“We could follow him,” suggested Henry.
“We have to get back to the camp,” said Jessie. “Besides, we should go when we know he isn’t, well, wherever it is he’s going on that trail. So he can’t catch us.”
“True,” said Henry. “We want to catch him.”
Chapter 7
Lost in the Swamp
Grandfather put on his life vest and looked up at Billie. She was standing on the dock. “I’d send Beau with you to act as a guide, if I could find him,” Billie said.
“We’ll be fine,” Grandfather said. “Your map is a good one.”
“Crying Bayou is a long way, though,” Billie answered. “But the way is well marked. It’s just outside Alligator Swamp. You’ll see my signs right up to the edge of it. You shouldn’t have any trouble.”
When the Aldens had told Billie they wanted to go to Crying Bayou, she had been surprised.
“We’re going to see if we can catch that ghost alligator before it scares away more fishermen,” Benny had explained.
“In Crying Bayou?” Billie had said.
“Where Eve said she saw it,” Henry had said.
“Well, if that’s where those fishermen think they saw it, too, they really were lost. It’s a long way from here. As a matter of fact, I don’t know what Eve was doing all the way over there,” Billie had said.
Now she leaned over and set a cooler in the pirogue. “Something to drink if you get thirsty and some cheese sandwiches. Also peanut butter.” She shook her head. “I’m out of chicken again, can you believe it?”
“Didn’t we just bring you some this morning?” Grandfather asked, surprised.
“I thought so, but it’s gone. I’m beginning to think I’ve got ghost chickens. They just get up and walk right out of my refrigerator.” Billie shook her head. “Go on. We’ll see you about sunset.” She untied the rope that attached the pirogue to the pier and tossed it to Henry. “Good luck.”
Jessie waved. Then she lowered her hand to her cap to shade her eyes even more. Who was sitting on the restaurant porch, peering out through the screen at them? She thought she caught a glimpse of dark glasses, but she wasn’t sure.
Henry steered the pirogue around a bend and the camp disappeared from sight.
The afternoon light was different from the morning light, but the swamp looked much the same. Benny kept an eye out for alligators. Jessie and Violet read the map and Grandfather sat by the motor.
At a wide bend, another boat came into view. It was Swampwater, leading one of his tours. He and Eve waved.
The boat hummed onward, cutting through the dark, sluggish water. Birds swooped overhead and Benny spotted another snake looped through a tree branch. Henry was careful not to steer the boat under that branch.
“We’ve reached the end of Alligator Swamp,” Jessie announced, looking up from the map.
“How can you tell? It all looks the same,” said Grandfather.
“Just ahead there is a short open stretch of water,” said Jessie. “Straight across, we should see a white marker. It points the way to Crying Bayou. Not far up the channel, we’ll see a tree with a split trunk. That’s Crying Bayou.”
A minute later, Henry steered the boat out onto a wide patch of water. They crossed it and Violet said, “There’s an arrow.” She pointed to a small white arrow made of wood, nailed to the stump of a tree.
Following the arrow, they turned up a very narrow channel. Branches leaned over the boat. “Watch out for snakes!” said Benny.
Luckily, they didn’t see any. They passed the tree with the trunk split into three smaller trunks.
“We’re here,” said Grandfather.
He stopped the motor. The pirogue floated gently on the water.
They saw no sign of an alligator, living or ghost. Jessie said, “Do you think that’s an alligator nest?” She motioned toward a big hump of mud and rotted plants and branches at one side of the bayou.
“With an alligator on it?” Violet asked, her eyes growing wide.
“I think it is an alligator nest, but an old one,” Grandfather said. “No tracks in the mud, and no broken plants around it where something heavy walked through them.”
“Let’s look at it,” Violet suggested.
Henry lifted an oar from the bottom of the boat and paddled enough to make the boat pull up next to the alligator nest.
“Make sure there are no snakes — or alligators,” said Grandfather. “Use the paddle.”
Henry gave the mound several good pokes with the paddle. Then he whacked the nest a couple of times. To everyone’s relief, no alligators came roaring down the side of the nest.
“I’ll take a look,” Jessie volunteered.
“Me, too,” said Benny. He jumped out of the boat after her.
It was a very big mound, almost like a small hill in all the flat water of the swamp. Keeping a sharp eye out for snakes or anything else that might bite, Jessie led the way up the mound. When she got to the top, she turned to give Benny a hand up.
They balanced carefully and looked down.
“Do you see anything?” called Violet.
“No,” said Jessie. She studied the mound at her feet. “No,” she said again. “It doesn’t look as if anything has been here for a long, long time. At least, no alligators.”
“No ghost alligators, either,” added Benny. He was disappointed.
“No footprints? Alligator tracks?” asked Henry.
“No tracks,” said Benny. He put his hands on his hips. “Ghosts don’t make tracks.” That was one of Benny’s rules about ghosts. He didn’t believe that ghosts left tracks.
“Any place where someone could have hidden and jumped out?”
Jessie laughed. “You mean, dressed in an alligator suit? No. No way that could have happened. It’s a straight drop into grass and water behind me. No place to really hide.”
She and Benny scrambled back down the alligator mound and into the boat. Henry turned it around. It wasn’t easy in such a narrow channel. It took a long time. He didn’t turn the motor on until they were facing back out the way they came. He was afraid of getting it stuck in the mud.
“I’m glad an alligator isn’t chasing us,” said Violet. “It would catch us for sure while we were trying to get the boat out of the bayou.”
“No kidding. And you can’t go much farther up this bayou. Look how narrow it gets just up ahead,” Jessie said.
They headed back the way they came, across the short stretch of swamp pond. Violet and Benny each took a side of the boat and looked for channel markers and arrows. “There,” said Benny, and Henry turned the boat.
“There,” said Violet a few minutes later. “It’s one of Billie’s arrows,” and Henry turned the boat in that direction.
They saw another arrow and turned again.
Suddenly Jessie said, “Wait!”
“What is it, Jessie?” asked Grandfather,
“This isn’t right. We’ve made a wrong turn,” said Jessie. She studied the map. “We’ve made lots of wrong turns.”
“How could we? We were following the arrows,” said Violet.
“I don’t know,” said Jessie. “But we’re supposed to be headed west toward the fish camp, and we’re not. We’re going in the opposite direction. Look, the sun is setting behind us.”
Sure en
ough, the sun was going down above the trees to the west — directly behind the direction in which the boat was headed.
“Let’s take a look at that map,” said Grandfather. He and Jessie both studied the map.
“We do appear to have gotten mixed up, somehow,” said Grandfather. “I think we need to go back the way we came.”
But after they turned the first time, they couldn’t find the next turn. Each channel looked the same. One tree was a lot like another.
“Maybe if we keep heading west, we’ll find the way,” said Violet in a small voice.
“We could do that,” said Grandfather. “But maybe it would be best if we stayed where we are.”
“That’s what you’re supposed to do as soon as you realize you’re lost in the woods,” Henry agreed. “It makes you easier to find.”
“Lost,” said Benny. “Are we lost?”
“Yes,” said Jessie. “Yes, Benny. We’re lost in the swamp.”
“Lost,” said Violet. Her heart sank. “Oh, no.”
“It’ll be all right, Violet. Billie can find us,” Jessie said. She tried to make her voice calm. But she was worried.
Soon it would be dark. Then they would be lost in the swamp in the dark.
“It’ll be night soon,” said Violet.
“And we took lots of wrong turns,” Benny said. “How will Billie find us?”
“And the swamp is so big,” Violet almost whispered.
“Billie will find us,” said Grandfather firmly.
Jessie said, “I don’t know how we got lost. We followed the arrows.”
“But didn’t you say the arrows didn’t match the map?” asked Henry.
“That’s right. I didn’t realize it right away. I was looking at the arrows and not at the map. I wonder if Billie made a mistake when she drew the map,” said Jessie.
“Or maybe we just didn’t read it right,” said Violet.
“It’s a pretty clear map,” Jessie said. “Look.”
“You’re right. It’s a good map. And the way to Crying Bayou isn’t that hard — just long,” said Henry.
Something swooped overhead and Violet squeaked.
“A bat, I think,” said Grandfather. “Good.”
The Mystery of the Alligator Swamp Page 4
