“Of course not.” Dixie sounded offended. “I wouldn’t call the police about some possum rummaging for food. It was bigger than a possum. Way bigger. I thought it was a possum at first, and I went out to shoo it off. They like to eat up my strawberries, and I have an important pie competition coming up,” Dixie explained.
“Your strawberry pie is the best in the world,” her husband assured her.
“That’s because I grow my own berries.” Dixie had an air of authority about her whenever it came to cooking. “Anyway, despite the fact that I have a small fence around the garden, our possums can climb.”
“They couldn’t if you would let me shoot them,” Gary argued.
Dixie turned on him. “You are not shooting possums in our backyard. You could miss and hit one of the cats. I just want to keep them out of the strawberries.”
“I think we probably shouldn’t shoot anything in the backyard.” Roxie seemed determined to get back to the story at hand. “So you walked out of the house. What happened next?”
“I started toward the back fence. That’s where the oleander bushes are. I got about halfway there when I realized it wasn’t a possum.” Dixie shivered, clutching the lapels of her robe. “I got this real bad feeling. It came over me like a breeze, and I knew something was watching me. That’s when I focused in on it. I couldn’t see it very well, but I’m sure it was up on two legs and it was staring back at me, Zep. I saw its eyes flash like a cat’s in the dark and I heard whispering. I couldn’t make out what it was saying but I think it was talking. Something about sound.”
That was creepier than what had happened out at Archie’s. “Did the cats act weird?”
“They were all sleeping,” Dixie said. “I don’t let them out much. They’re indoor kitties. There are too many things that can hurt them out in the world. Anyway, I ran back in and woke up Gary and then I called you. Well, I called Delphine and she told me you were working for the sheriff now.”
“Only part time on cases involving animals,” he explained.
“Like your daddy and his daddy before him,” Dixie said with a smile.
“My baby has always been good with animals,” his mother said. “So gentle. Growing up, he would bring in the saddest-looking little things and help them get back to good health. I loved watching him with those sweet creatures. Except that raccoon he took in. It would throw food at me.”
“Only after he reached puberty.” He’d loved that raccoon. “And that was when he returned to the wild. He was abandoned, or probably his mother was killed. Now let’s get back to the potential werewolf out in Dixie’s backyard.”
“We’re going to go take a look,” Roxie announced. “Please wait in here. We’ll be right back.”
Dixie put an arm through her husband’s, cuddling up against him. “All right.”
His mother put a hand on his shoulder. “Baby boy, are you sure you should go out there? I could make you a charm.”
“I got all the charm I need, Momma. Why don’t you make some coffee? It looks like we might have a long night if I have to drive Roxie over to the Howells’.” If Major called an all hands on deck because they couldn’t find the teen, he would have to take her over.
His mother nodded. “I hope the two aren’t connected. It would be terrible if it turned out that Austin is the rougarou, but I did hear him spouting off to his momma at the Piggly Wiggly the other day, so it wouldn’t surprise me. That boy has a mouth on him.”
Roxie pulled the flashlight out of the bag she carried and opened the door. Like most of the homes in this particular neighborhood, Dixie’s backyard was large, far bigger than the house itself. It had once been her parents’ home, and she’d kept up the garden. To the right there were rows of vegetables and herbs coming in.
“Does your mom believe this stuff?” Roxie asked the question with a small smile on her face.
“My mother believes in anything that can make her and Miss Marcelle a buck,” he replied. His mother could be a menace. “Remind me sometime to tell you about her ghost-busting days. It was not pretty, but surprisingly profitable.”
Roxie grinned, a heart-stopping expression. “I’ll be honest. I find your mom amusing. I know I should shut that stuff down, but no one ever complains.”
It was the Dellacourt charm. That’s what his mother called it. “Oh, they might complain, but then they’re worried Miss Marcelle might actually have some hoodoo and everyone shuts up. The oleanders are in the back. They’re up against the fence she shares with . . . I can’t remember who lives right behind her.”