The Mystery of the Alligator Swamp Read Free

Billie paused and said, “I was going to make chicken gumbo, but I couldn’t find any chicken in the refrigerator. I know I had some.”
    “If it isn’t chicken gumbo, what kind is it? Does it have alligator in it?” Violet asked.
    “Not tonight,” said Billie, grinning. “Shrimp, fish, crab. Seafood gumbo.”
    “Oh, good,” said Benny, holding out his plate.
    Soon they were all eating gumbo as fast as they could.
    “I thought I’d be too hot to eat, but I’m not,” said Violet.
    “Hot? This is nothing,” said Billie. “Heat, mosquitoes, alligators, we have it all down here in the Atchafalaya Basin.”
    Benny asked, “The Achoo-fly-what?”
    “The Atchafalaya Basin,” repeated Billie. “That’s the official name of all this water and swamp along this part of Louisiana.” Seeing Benny’s expression, she added, “Don’t worry. You can call where I live Alligator Swamp. That’s the local name for it.”
    “Are there more alligators here than in the rest of the basin?” asked Violet.
    “No. But we used to have a famous alligator named Gator Ann. She’d come right up by the pier down here and just float along. I guess she knew she was safe here.”

    “Safe from what?” asked Henry.
    “People,” said Billie. “People hunt them. Sell the hides, the teeth, the jaws, eat the meat. But I don’t allow any hunting of anything in my part of this swamp. No guns. Fishing, that’s it.”
    “Don’t forget birdwatching,” a voice as dry as the rustle of leaves said from behind them.
    No one had heard him come in, but there he was, a man not much bigger, it seemed, than an elf. He wore a wide straw hat over hair that was almost the same color, patched and faded khakis, and an even more faded but unpatched long-sleeved blue work shirt. A pair of binoculars hung around his neck.
    Billie didn’t seemed surprised at all by the man’s sudden appearance. She said, “My old friend Gaston Doucet, meet my old friend James Alden and his grandchildren, Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny. Gaston lives just down the bayou. He’s a librarian.”
    “Retired librarian,” rasped Gaston. “Full-time birdwatcher.” He tapped the binoculars that hung around his neck. “Am I still invited to dinner?”
    “Pull up a chair,” said Billie. “I was hoping you wouldn’t forget the time, out there in the swamp watching birds with those fancy new binoculars of yours. Is Eve coming?”
    Gaston shook his head. He sat down and began to fill his plate. He took off his hat, but he kept his binoculars around his neck.
    “She’s not with you?” Billie asked.
    Gaston shook his head again. “Went off with Rose today.”
    “Eve is Gaston’s niece,” Billie explained. “Rose is a guide with one of the swamp tours around here.”
    Gaston seemed content to let Billie do most of the talking. She went on, “Eve’s about your age, Jessie. She’s a swamp expert, same as her uncle.”
    Gaston smiled a little at that. But he shook his head and said, “She was turning into a good birdwatcher, too. But now all she thinks about is that ghost alligator.”
    “Ghost alligator?” Benny cried. He looked around as if he expected the ghost of an alligator to come walking through the door.
    “Yep. The ghost of Gator Ann,” Billie said. “At least that’s what people say.”
    “Ghosts. Huh.” Gaston snorted.
    “Gator Ann? The alligator who used to live right out there in the bayou?” Jessie asked.
    “That’s right,” said Billie.
    Grandfather said, “Looks like you four might have another mystery to solve.”
    “No mystery,” said Gaston. “Just some fishermen who’ve been out in the sun too long.”
    “They see the ghost in the middle of the day?” Violet asked nervously.
    “Early mornings and late afternoons, right around dark, mostly,” Billie said. “A fisherman will fish all day long, but anyone any good at fishing will tell you the fish bite best at dawn and at dusk.”
    “How big was Gator Ann?” Benny