Ripped To Shreds

by Jeanne Glidewell

  Everybody loved her? Are we talking about the same Bea Whetstone? I wanted to ask. I'm sure somewhere in the sisterhood code of ethics there's a clause obligating Desireé to love Bea. But I certainly didn't love the woman and had even fancied killing her myself. Not seriously, of course. The point is, I had just recently met the gal. If I'd had the time to get to know Bea better, I've no doubt I'd have despised her even more intensely. I could also attest to the fact she wasn't high on several other people's lists either. Both Jan and Barb Harris had made no secret of the fact they had little use for Bea. And Desireé́ and I both knew her ex, "Ricky", wasn't a big fan of her sister.

  I watched Desireé straighten up a pile of packages in her "toy" department, clearly an attempt to speed up my departure. Forget Tommy, I'm not sure I'd even know what to do with some of the toys sold there—nor would I want to know! I studied Desireé's nails as she restacked the doodads. They were the exact shade of purple as her blouse. And, as you know, there are about eighty different shades of purple to choose from. There was a nail salon two doors down from the Naughty Pine, but my guess was she polished her own nails on a daily basis, in order to match whatever outfit she was wearing at the time. She easily could have been wearing a black blouse on the day of Bea's death, which she might have complemented with matching nail polish.

  Before I departed, I encouraged Desireé once again to think about contacting the police. As Bea's sister, I told her, she should feel duty-bound to give a statement in case the investigators found it useful in the case. She may know of some seemingly inconsequential detail she hadn't already shared with them that could prove to be a crucial clue to what exactly happened to Bea. Without waiting for a reply, I turned to walk back to the door. I could feel her eyes burning holes in the back of my shirt. For a second I even thought I smelled smoke. Before I could exit the building, Desireé was already talking on the phone again. As the door closed behind me, I heard part of her first remark. "Sorry, honey, I had some crazy, senile old woman in here asking me if—"

  I considered myself neither senile nor old. I'll admit I was still on the fence about "crazy", but I resented being called insulting names by some red-headed bimbo whom I'd discovered was most definitely "soiled rotten." I'm not proud to tell you this, but I felt compelled to give her the finger through her shop's plate glass window. So I did! In fact, I wiggled all of the fingers on my left hand, giving her a whole flock of birdies. To my dismay, Desireé mistook my obscene gesture as an enthusiastic wave, and responded with a half-hearted one of her own.

  After my uncomfortable experience with Desireé, I was anxious to get home and see what Rip thought about my conversation with her. I'd leave out the part about the teddy, complete with a thong, or I'd never hear the end of it. I suddenly had a strong desire to reach down into my jeans to insure my underwear wasn't all "tucked in," so to speak. Resisting the urge, I climbed into the cab of the truck and fired it up.

  * * *

  "I think I know Rick well enough by now to judge his character."

  I'd just informed Rip I'd stopped by the shop to visit with the ranger's ex, and he was annoyed I had any doubt the man wasn't entirely above-board. He was also appalled that I'd suggest Rick could, or would, ever hurt another human being. In an irritated tone, he said, "Don't you think that a man who'd demonstrate such genuine concern for a moose and her babies has to have been blessed with a pure heart and a deep desire to protect all living creatures? Good grief, Rapella. I sure hope you didn't give Destiny—"

  "Desireé."

  "—your name. I wouldn't want it to get back to Rick that you were snooping into his and his ex-wife's relationship."

  "Was comparing the types of firearms you and the ranger both like all it took to convince you that you know what makes the man tick? Was sharing a laugh about passing gas in an elevator all that was necessary for you to conclude he's incapable of having another, darker side? Is a man's opinion of tighty-whities the new litmus test for determining his ability to kill? I have to say, dear, your quickness to absolve the ranger sounds a little hasty to me."

  "Think what you will, Rapella. Richard Myer seems like a decent fellow to me, and I choose to take him at face value."

  "I like Ranger Rick too, Rip, but it doesn't mean I'm going to judge him through rose-colored glasses. During your underwear debate, did Rick happen to mention he has arranged a pow-wow with his ex-wife? Apparently, they made a deal to keep something strictly between the two of them. Something sinister, I'd bet. And tonight he's going to her place to hash it out."

  "Your over-active imagination is running away with your common sense, my dear. So the former spouses have some sort of agreement. What does that prove? They have a daughter in common, for goodness sake! Their meeting tonight could easily be to discuss a custody agreement. And both are probably close to his older son, as well. I'm sure their post-marriage relationship is based on a long list of compromises to make sure the decisions they make are what's best for their children. In my opinion, you should be looking into the conflict between the campground owners. The rift between them sounded serious and unrelenting. Hard to say how far the Browns might have gone to retaliate after the justice system failed to protect them from unfair business practices being perpetrated against them by the owners of a competitive campground. Especially when the Browns' livelihood depends entirely on their ability to lure RVers into staying in their campground."

  I nodded in agreement. Rip's assessment of Desireé and Ranger Rick's situation was reasonable. I've never been through a divorce, thank the Lord, and never plan to be. I could only imagine the degree of cooperation that must be worked out between divorced parents with regard to the well-being of their children. Granted, there were times during Regina's upbringing, I considered begging Rip to run away from home and take our rebellious daughter with him. But in the event of a divorce, I would have fought tooth and nail to retain custody, or at least joint custody, of the spoiled, noisy, messy, ungrateful and aggravating brat that I loved unconditionally.

  I also had to agree with Rip about the feud between the RV park owners. It wouldn't hurt to look into the extent of the contention between the two parties, if I could think of a conceivable reason to arrange a meeting with Leo and Charly Brown.

  I prepared tuna-salad sandwiches for lunch while I mused over possible ploys to get an audience with one or both of the Browns. Dolly, who'd been giving me the cold fur since she'd finished her breakfast, suddenly rushed into the kitchen and attached herself to my left leg like a large, furry growth. She knew from past experience she was about to be the recipient of the juice I'd drained from the tuna can. I glanced over at Rip, who was seated at the table, licking his lips and waiting impatiently for me to set his plate down in front of him. My gaze drifted back to Dolly, now licking her chops as well, while winding in and out of my legs. Clearly, she was impatient for me to set the bowl of juice down in front of her. Gee, I wonder from whom Dolly had picked up her exasperating habit?

  Chapter 13

  "Ma'am, what would you say are the best-selling souvenirs here in your store?" I asked. "Preferably those that would appeal to children."

  I picked up each item in turn, checked its price and quality before returning it to its designated spot on the shelf. I was the lone customer in the store at the time. The sales clerk sat at a desk behind the counter with her back to me as she added up receipts on an adding machine and notated the resulting figures in a ledger. She had her hair all tucked into a teal-colored ball cap, presumably to keep it up off her shoulders. It was warm in the store that morning as a fire crackled in the pot belly stove in the middle of the room.

  "Sorry, I really don't know much about any of them. This is just my third day helping out in the store until permanent help can be found," the woman replied. I recognized the voice immediately and turned to walk toward the front counter as the lady continued to respond with her back to me. "Frankly, everything is so over-priced, I haven't sold much of anything. So far t
oday, only a toothbrush and a four-pack of biodegradable toilet tissue have left the building: two items it'd be hard to put off buying until a later time."

  "Jan?" I asked. "Is that you slaving over a hot ledger?"

  "Oh, hello, Rapella!" Jan stood up and chuckled when she heard her name. "I didn't see you come in and was too wrapped up in what I was doing to recognize your voice. I'm trying to make heads or tails of the receipts piled up all over this desk. It's a rat's nest, let me tell you. How are you this morning?"

  "Fine. And you? Other than being buried in paperwork, that is. I was surprised to hear your voice because I'd never have expected you to be working in here. But I have to say, it's nice to find someone with a much more cheerful disposition working in the store today." Before Bea's disappearance, I'd begun to dread having to come into the store for any reason whatsoever and had avoided it as much as possible.

  "Thank you. However, I can't imagine too many folks with a less cheerful disposition than Bea Whetstone. Can you?" We exchanged smiles, but I instantly felt remorseful for disparaging a woman who'd just recently met with such a gruesome demise. No one deserved a fate like that. Not even the disagreeable woman who had co-owned the campground and spent much of her day running its store while ripping off and haranguing the customers.

  Not meaning to use a play on words, I solemnly responded, "I really do hope Bea didn't suffer too much and I pray she now rests in peace."

  "Me, too." Jan agreed, although the joyfulness in her voice said otherwise. "I'm only here for another forty-five minutes. Boonie asked if I'd fill in on occasion until he has hired someone to run the store on a regular schedule. A work camper in site B-2 comes in at eleven-thirty to work the remainder of the day."

  "I see. How's Boonie doing? He must be devastated. I feel so badly for the poor guy."

  "I do, too. He's lost without Bea. That's why I felt I should ask him if I could fill in here at the store while he deals with more pressing matters, such as the many responsibilities and obligations regarding her death."

  "I thought you just said he asked you to help out?"

  "Um, well, I, uh, I meant, what I meant was, I meant he asked me to run the office after I offered to help out in any way I could. Yes, that's what I meant to say. You know, well, um, you know, because, like you, I felt so sorry for him, being so lonely and depressed and all. And, of course, you know, that he's, well, um, he is so very, very upset about the loss of his wife, as you can imagine."

  As Bea stumbled through her remarks, I crouched down, squatting on the floor, to sort through the souvenirs lined up on the bottom rack of a metal stand. In that position, I was hidden from Jan's view from behind the counter. I nearly toppled over when I heard the creaking of the back door as it swung open and Boonie's low-timbered voice say, "Hey, sweetie, you getting that mess all straightened out? I know I'm repeating myself, but you look incredibly sexy this morning. Your beautiful baby blues match your cap perfectly."

  I froze, now too embarrassed to stand up and make my presence known. But I had the distinct feeling Jan had wordlessly alerted Boonie about me when he stopped speaking abruptly in the middle of his next sentence, "Maybe we can find something funner to do this—"

  More fun, I wanted to say to correct him, and no doubt scare the dickens out of him in the process. But, because I might hear some more interesting exchanges between the two if he didn't know I was in the room, I remained silent.

  Jan giggled nervously, and made light of his comments. "Oh, you big flirt. I'm happy you're at least trying to lighten your spirits by kidding with me like that. But you can't fool me. I know how devastated you are, and I just can't imagine how hard it is for you to go on without the love of your life."

  You can't fool me, either, I thought. I wasn't sure if she was trying to convince me or Boonie about how distraught he really was. He'd certainly sounded jovial to me when he greeted the temporary help; a woman with whom he couldn't have been well acquainted if this was truly her first time in Wyoming. When my bent knees began to cramp, I stood up and faced the pair, trying not to appear as uncomfortable as I felt.

  Boonie glanced over at me, and then replied to Jan's remarks. In a total about-face, his voice had morphed from one of good-humor to one of deep, but unnatural-sounding, despair. "Yes, it's been so difficult for me to go on without my one true love. The support I've received from so many people like you two lovely gals has helped a bit, but it certainly doesn't erase the pain of losing her."

  I'm not sure what kind of support he'd received from Jan, but I knew I hadn't offered him support of any kind. In fact, we hadn't even spoken since news of his wife's disappearance first broke. And I wasn't buying his pathetic attempt to convince me of his devotion to Bea, or his grief at losing her. Both he and Jan appeared flushed and wore expressions of apprehension, undoubtedly worried I had figured out the truth about their relationship. I faked a look of compassion, and said, "My heart and prayers are with you, Mr. Whetstone. At least you have the comfort of knowing that Bea is in a better place now."

  "Yes, that's true. Thank you." With his head hung low, Boonie took a brief sideways glance at Jan and walked out the back door.

  Jan turned to me and asked, "Isn't that sad? The poor man's so broken-hearted. So, have you found what you're looking for today?"

  "Not yet." Actually I'd found more than I was looking for. I'd found more evidence of a compelling motive for two suspects in Bea Whetstone's death. "I'd like to buy about a half-dozen or so souvenirs, preferably a variety of popular items. I have a couple I'm interested in. If you don't mind, I'll just set the ones I want to purchase here on the counter."

  "Sure, no problem. Are they for your grandkids?"

  "No. Actually, I'm going to use them as an excuse to chat with the owners of the Sweet Sixteen RV Park. I have a sneaking suspicion there's more to Bea's death than meets the eye. My husband, whose career was in law-enforcement, and I have had very good success in solving murder cases in the past. We thought we might look into Bea's bizarre death as well, because it appears to us to have too many untied loose ends. I guess now that we're retired, we just have too much time on our hands."

  Jan looked baffled, but merely nodded. I don't know what had made me decide to open my big mouth about investigating Bea's death, but I hoped it wasn't a decision that would come back to bite me in the kiester as so many of my impulsive decisions had done in the past. I'd really just wanted to judge Jan's reaction to my statement, but as it turned out, she showed very little reaction at all. She just gazed at me with a blank expression before returning to her chair behind the desk that was covered with piles of receipts.

  As I continued to appraise the souvenirs on display, I wondered if and why Jan had lied to me about this being her first visit to Wyoming the day I first met her in the laundry room. If she hadn't lied, could she realistically have established a seemingly romantic relationship with the new widower this quickly after Bea's death and Jan's own arrival in Buffalo? Had telling me it was her first time in the state been an attempt to distance herself from her soon-to-be victim so as not to give anyone a reason to suspect her of any involvement in Bea's death?

  The awkward scene I'd just witnessed seemed to confirm Barb Harris's remark about an alleged affair between Jan and the victim's husband. I had no doubt at this juncture the rumor was true. Jan and Boonie had almost assuredly been carrying on an affair behind Bea's back. But had their relationship been a casual "no-strings attached" fling, or serious enough that one or both of them wanted Bea out of the picture? Enough so that perhaps they'd instigate a plan to do it themselves? We'd also have to bear in mind that anyone could have hired a hit man to take her out, in lieu of killing the woman on their own.

  As these thoughts ran through my mind, I selected a canvas hiking-style back pack with "Bighorn National Forest" stitched across the flap, and three stuffed animals: big horn sheep, moose, and bison, each with a "Buffalo, Wyoming" patch on one side. The rest of my purchases consisted of a pack of three
Wyoming-themed coloring books, a deck of playing cards with a photo on top depicting the Old Faithful geyser in Yellowstone, and a large snow globe that had shiny white speckles raining down on an elk standing in the middle of a meadow.

  I wasn't happy about spending almost ninety bucks on useless souvenirs, but I needed them to carry out the scheme I'd concocted to get my foot inside the door at the rival RV park. Plus, if I wasn't allowed to return them, I figured I could always pass out the frivolous gifts to the members of my bunko club the next time we visited Rockport.

  As Jan totaled up my purchases on the old-fashioned cash register, she casually asked, "So, you're doing a little investigating into Bea's death, huh?"

  "Yep!"

  "Were you involved in criminal investigation work before you retired, like your hubby?"

  "No. But I think I'd have been very successful in that line of work instead of all the dead-end jobs I did hold," I replied truthfully. The list of jobs I'd been hired to do over the years was nearly as long as the list of side effects on nearly every available medication. I'm positive that if swallowing one's own tongue was truly possible without cutting it off first, it'd be listed as a potential side effect of every drug, too.

  When Jan made no further comment, I paid for the souvenirs, wished her a nice day, and left.

  I'd parked our truck right outside the store, having planned to head straight to the Browns' campground. But as soon as I stepped outside, I realized the Chevy's front tires had both been slashed. I was baffled as to who would do such a thing, and why. The campground was nearly full, but no one appeared to be stirring outside of their RV's, so the likelihood of a witness was slim.

  I rushed right back inside the store to report the issue. Jan seemed as perplexed as I was. She called Boonie to inform him of the incident and he quickly returned to the store, indicating he hadn't seen anyone messing around the vehicle. But then, he'd been busy working on a weed eater that'd been refusing to start and hadn't been paying a lot of attention to anything else, he told us. Shaking his head in disgust, Boonie said, "Ornery damn kids!"