by Tonya Kappes
I was happy to see a man on a horse trotting over. The man leapt from the horse and handed me the reins. I did what Queenie had written down in my notebook to do. I took the horse’s reins and gave him a carrot from my apron.
There was a steady stream of men and their horses for the entire thirty minutes. The reenactment was planned down to the second. Julip did her job, running to the injured soldiers, and she did the exact same thing every time. I was starting to see the pattern of the Battle at Camp Wildcat. After the first round of cannons from both sides went off, they did it again, giving each side time to have men die. Then the men with the swords charged each other in the middle, knocking out more men.
“Charge!” A group from the other side came flooding over to our side. Some had swords while others had guns. Right away, I noticed Lester Hager was one of the men. I was glad to see that he had shown up. I bet Queenie was pleased too.
Bodies were dropping left and right. Julip was picking up her game. She was beginning to linger a little longer with each injured soldier while I had nothing to do because most of the horses had already been taken off the field because their men had gotten killed or injured.
“Surrender!” shouted many voices from my group of soldiers. Some of them were “shot” or “stabbed” while others ran off into the woods. The way it was playing out seemed very real and I could picture how it’d happened back in the day.
“I said surrender!” I heard Darnell scream before he fell to the ground in what could’ve been considered an Oscar-worthy performance. His arms flailed, his legs shook to keep him from falling down, and his fake blood pack squirted all over the place, finally sending him to the ground in a pile of body parts.
“Wow,” I gasped, giving him a slow nod for his amazing performance and watched as Julip threw her hands up in the air as the soldier who pretended to kill Darnell jabbed the bayonet at her.
She giggled and put her hands down when the soldier ran away towards the battle.
The crowd must’ve enjoyed the reenactment as well because they cheered with delight. The more the crowd cheered, the more aggressive the other side’s soldiers charged my poor soldiers with gunfire, sword fighting, and regular fist fighting before they finally took what was left of my side as prisoners of war. Even poor Julip.
I was supposed to surrender too, but I quickly took the clothes off that were on top of my regular clothes and hurried to the sidelines with the onlookers to grab me some of that kettle corn before it was gone.
After the smoke cleared and the pretend prisoners of war had been taken into custody, the bugler gave the final toot. He played Auld Lang Syne as the winning side, which was the north, held up their beaten up flag. The crowd roared with hollers and claps.
Queenie took her spot in front of the crowd and held a microphone. The crowd erupted into another round of applause for her. She beamed with pride. No one dare leave their posts.
The dead were lined up along the tree line. The horses were tied up to trees, and the prisoners of war, including Julip, had their hands up in the air with a soldier behind each of them. It was actually kinda cool and I really enjoyed it.
Too bad Hank couldn’t’ve been there. Though I’m sure he’d seen plenty before.
“Mae, we got us a problem.” Dottie ran up to me, out of breath. “Someone stole the Bassetts’ motorhome.”
“What?” A few kernels of kettle corn dropped from my mouth.
“Gone,” her lips opened wide as she slowly articulated the word. “Stolen.”
Nine
“Do they know?” I asked Dottie as we stood in the empty camper lot where Frank and Barbara Bassett had parked their big motorhome.
“Yes. How do you think I know?” The lines between her eyes were deeply creased. “They came back from the reenactment and their motorhome was gone.”
Gravel spitting up under tires grabbed my attention. I turned and looked over my right shoulder, lifting my hand and shielding the sun from my eyes to see it was Hank’s big black car.
He got out and looked between me and Dottie, peeling his sunglasses off his face. There was a deep set worry in his green eyes that told me something wasn’t right.
“What?” I asked.
“Are the Bassetts in the office?” he asked Dottie directly.
“They are and they are a mess.” She shook her head, pinching her lips together. “I’ve never had this happen. Ever.”
“First time for everything. This is why we keep good insurance.” I made a side note to try to see a little more of the sunny side of a situation that looked all too bleak.
“Mae, this is very serious,” Hank told me like I wasn’t taking it that way. I was, but I also had a tendency to try to see the glass half full. If I’d not done that all my life, I’d be stuck somewhere other than here.
“Sorry,” I said instead of going head to head with him. “What can I do?”
“I’ll need to see the video footage of your security cameras.” His words stuck me like one of the swords the reenactment soldiers were using. “You did get those up and running, didn’t you?”
He must’ve seen the look on my face.
I licked my lips and gnawed on the edge of the bottom one.
“Mae,” he signed and ran his hand over his hair. “That was one of the first things that needed to be fixed when you started fixing things up.”
“It’s one of the things you told me to get to fixed after Paul floated up to the top of the lake.” My eyes gazed over at the pier where my dead ex had appeared after his prison break. “It wasn’t a priority with me.”
“Then how do you figure I find who stole the motorhome?” He asked in a sarcastic way.
“I don’t know.” I shot back. “Maybe some good old-fashioned detective work like they did before there was all this technology to do it for you.”
His eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched. His chest lifted.
“I’m sorry.” I hurried after him after he started to walk back to his car. “I didn’t like how you scolded me.”
He held up his hand for me to stop, his back to me.
“Hank, we are all on edge here. No one wanted their motorhome to be stolen. We’ll find it.”
“You’re always optimistic.” He turned around. His expression was serious. “Life isn’t always. . .” His hands gestured in the air as he searched for the right word.
“Unicorns and rainbows?” I suggested.
“What?” He blinked a couple of times. “Fluffy. I was going to say fluffy.”
“I prefer unicorns and rainbows,” I joked, with no response from him. “Fine.” I shuffled the toe of my shoe on the gravel. “What can I do to help?”
“For starters,” He pointed to the front of the campground, “I can’t have anyone coming in or out of here until we check all the gravel marks for footprints, tires, and any debris.”
“That’s impossible.” Was he crazy? “I’m about to host the big reenactment after party.”
“You’re not now. This is an official investigation.” He grabbed his phone out of the inside of this jacket pocket. When he did, a folded up piece of paper fell out.
I picked it up and noticed it was a map. I opened it and looked at it while he called in for more backup, making it very clear this was going to be a long afternoon and would probably go into the night.
The map was of some of the Daniel Boone National Park trails that surrounded the campground. There were lines drawn with red ink that led straight to Happy Trails.
“What is this?” I asked when he got off the phone.
“Follow me.” He grabbed some police tape from the trunk of his car and walked along the road going towards the front of the campground. “As you can see it’s a map of some of the hiking trails that dump into the campground. We’ve not found Greaser at any of the checkpoints, which makes us believe he’s still here.”
“But I thought you said someone probably picked him up.” My mind started to get all jumbled up as my heart sped up.<
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“Probably isn’t a for sure. We have to look at all angles. Those red lines are trails he could’ve taken from the prison to here.” He fisted his hand, leaving his thumb out, jabbing it over his shoulder. “And stealing a motorhome would be something right up his alley to get out of town.”
“You don’t. . .” My jaw dropped. “Greaser stole. . .” My voice trailed off again while my mind tried to catch up to my mouth. “You think Greaser stole the motorhome?” I gulped.
“It’s a possibility.” Hank put his hand out in front of him as a car was driving up, having them stop. “Here.” He peeled the edge of the police tape from the roll and handed it to me. “You walk that way and circle it around the storage units. I’m going to circle it around the office until my men get out here to do it properly. I’ve got to stop the traffic.”
I did what he said without even thinking about how I could get around this or where we were going to have the after party. It was already set up and we’d worked so hard on it.
By the time I’d gotten around the storage buildings, a line of cars had been stopped at campground’s entrance. Hank was walking car to car, letting them know the party was cancelled.
“What is going on here?” Queenie was running alongside the cars, waving her Jazzercise headband in the air. Her face was as red as her hair. “Someone better explain something to me fast!” she screamed.
Everyone was starting to get out of their cars. There was a domino effect of car doors slamming as people started to get out.
Dottie was in the office with the Frank and Barbara. And it was exactly where I wanted to be, especially once I heard Queenie calling my name.
“Mae West! Mae! You better have me another place!” she hollered as she tried to dance around Hank.
He had his hands out to his sides trying to reason with her. Her nose was curled and her lips going a mile a minute, no doubt giving him a good tongue lashing.
“What’s going on?” Abby Fawn had walked up to the police line where I was tying it off.
“A motorhome was stolen. Hank thinks Greaser stole it.” The reality hit me as the words came out of my mouth. The thought of him being in my campground sent goosebumps all over me. “Now we can’t have the party here and Queenie is going to kill me.”
“Easy.” Abby pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Hashtag reenactment party moved to hashtag town median.”
“Genius!” I grabbed her by the arms. “You keep doing all that social media and see if the radio station will pick it up. I’ll get everything in my RV and get it down there.”
“Is Hank going to let you out?” she shrugged.
“No.” My heart sank when I remembered he said no one driving in or out. “But you have a car right there. And they all have cars.” My finger drew down the line of cars. “There’s at least fifteen. Everybody can take something. We just have to get Hank to agree.”
Abby stood there and did all the social media and called the radio station while I walked over to Queenie and Hank, where I pitched Abby’s idea about moving the party to the median downtown.
“It’s perfect. The twinkle lights are still up from Christmas. It’s a gorgeous afternoon. The food is all ready to go and everyone can take a tray or two with them. The band can set up in the amphitheater.” I rocked on the heels of my shoes and clasped my hands in front of me. “It’s a better option than no party.”
“What if people don’t use social media and show up here?” Queenie was full of piss and vinegar.
“I can position one of my men at the entrance of the campground to divert them back to town. It’s only a few minutes’ drive.” Hank was on board. “It’s your only option, Queenie.”
“Fine. But you owe me.” She jabbed her long, bony finger into my chest before she twirled around and hurried back to her car in a huff.
Hank and I made several trips from the recreation center kitchen, where the food had been dropped off by area businesses, to the cars. Everyone was more than happy to do what needed to be done to get the food to the median downtown.
The police officers and sheriff’s department had shown up while we were transferring the food. Hank quickly gave all of them the lowdown while I helped everyone back up and head to town.
Hank and I went into the office where Dottie was sitting with Frank and Barbara, who were rightfully so very upset.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bassett, I’m Detective Hank Sharp, and I’ll be working on getting your motorhome back safe and sound.” Hank shook both of their hands.
“I don’t want it back if a serial killer has stolen it.” Barbara eased up on the edge of the chair and nudged her husband. “Isn’t that right, Frank?”
“I just want my stuff out of it.” The bags under Frank’s eyes were dark. “I’m sure you have insurance, right?” Frank looked at me.
“We do. I’ll call him right now.” I headed over to my desk and thumbed through the old paper wheel address book looking for the phone number of Ken Heidelman, owner of Heidelman Insurance Agency.
Hank had pulled up a chair next to Frank and continued to ask them questions.
“Have you seen anyone unusual hanging around your motorhome?” he asked them.
“Unusual?” Barbara laughed. “Most of the people we find in these campgrounds are sort of unusual, if you know what I mean.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and looked at Dottie from underneath her brows.
“What does that mean?” Dottie spoke up quickly, not letting anything get by her.
“I’m just saying that. . .” Frank put his hand on his wife’s knee to stop her.
“My wife isn’t a fan of the RV life. I had to buy the big motorhome in order for her to feel like it’s a home.” His hand gesture didn’t work for long. Barbara smacked it away.
“Don’t silence me, Frank. I told you not to leave the keys in the console,” she warned with a sharp tongue.
Who on earth leaves their keys where they are visible, I wondered? Then I questioned whether or not I could use that bit of information with the insurance company.
“He is having some sort of later in life crisis, because we aren’t young. And he wants to travel all over the states and do these silly little reenactments. If you seen one, you’ve seen them all.” The sarcasm in her tone brought me out of my thoughts.
“Barbara , dear.” Frank once again tried to silence her.
“He’s right. I didn’t want to leave the comfort of my home, so he had the motorhome turned into a replica of our family room, including my electronics where I play computer games and keep up with my friends on social media.” She crossed her arms over her chest and let out a long, deep sigh. “I told you this sort of thing happens at these sort of places.”
“What sort of places?” Dottie was getting hot under the collar.
“Mae,” Hank said my name with a head tilt towards the door. His way of telling me to get Dottie out of the building.
Ken hadn’t answered the couple of times I’d dialed him, so I hung up the phone and gestured for Dottie to follow me while I grabbed Fifi from her dog bed.
“What? Mae, you heard her.” Dottie wasn’t budging. I walked over to her desk, giving her a stern look. “Fine, but that woman talks enough for four sets of teeth,” she spat and jumped up from her chair, grabbing her cigarette holder pouch.
She didn’t bother trying to be nice on the way out, slamming the door behind us.
“You can’t tell me that you’re happy with what she said in there.” Dottie snapped open the top of the pouch and took out a cigarette. She stuck the stick in the corner of her lip as she fumbled to get her lighter out of the little pocket of her cigarette pouch.
I put Fifi on the ground to let her do her business while Dottie and I discussed the stolen RV situation.
“Dottie, we are a business and we have to just ignore people like that.” There was no movement on her face that let me know she was understanding what I was saying. She was too focused on getting the lighter to work, taking her th
ree tries. “They have no idea how amazing living in a campground really is. Look at me. I had no clue either. Remember?”
Dottie shifted her weight to one side. One arm hugged her lower belly while the other arm held up the cigarette as she continued to smoke like a choo-choo train. She glared at me through the smoke.
“Seriously?” I fanned the smoke out of my face. “You’ve got to stop smoking. It’s not only killing you, but it’s killing me.”
The door of the office opened, and Hank stuck his head out.
“The office phone was ringing. I answered it and it’s Ken Heidelman.” He nodded for me to come back in.
Dottie threw the cigarette on the ground and started to snuff it out with the toe of her shoe.
“Not you, Dottie.” He put his hand out. “Just Mae.”
“You made me waste a good cigarette.” She bent down and grabbed it, trying to salvage what was left of it.
I shook my head as I walked into the door. I turned around and said to her, “Do you mind taking Fifi back to my camper?”
“Nope.” She looked past me and glared at Hank. “I need some good refreshing air.”
We ignored her snide comment and walked inside the office.
“Do you have the make and model of the motorhome?” I asked Hank when I saw that Barbara Bassett was being consoled by her husband.
“I do.” He flipped through his little notebook on my way over to the desk where the receiver of the phone was lying on its side.
“Hello, Ken,” I greeted him on the other end of the line.
“I see from my caller ID you called several times,” Ken said.
“Yes. I’ve got a claim to make on a stolen motorhome. It’s currently in the hands of the sheriff’s department, but I wanted to know what the steps were to get a claim started.” I knew he was going to need a police report and more, I just wasn’t sure what the more was.
I knew for sure I would get dinged big time for not having security cameras. I grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and wrote down the things he was telling me.
“I need your vehicle identification number as well as your motorhome insurance company name and policy number. Do you have a list of items in your motorhome?” I asked Frank.