Peete and Repeat (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 3)

by Karen Musser Nortman

  Looking around as Larry checked in at the campground office, Frannie thought it should seem like the start of a perfect weekend. However, getting here this time wasn’t ‘half the fun,’ as one of their group said all too frequently.

  By the time the Shoemakers and Ferraros had parked and set up their campers in adjoining sites, it was early afternoon. Ben and Nancy were in the site on the other side of Frannie and Larry; Rob and Donna were right across the road. Rob and Ben had already dragged two picnic tables together and Donna and Nancy had covered them with bright vinyl tablecloths. The Terells’ terrier/boxer, Chloe and Nowak’s Schnauzer, Bugger were tethered near the chairs in the shade. Frannie added their old yellow Lab, Cuba, to the menagerie.

  Donna and Rob walked over from their site. “We should have taken those sites up there.” She pointed up the slope to the next row, slightly more shaded. Donna was never happy with any site they had.

  “These are easier to get into,” Frannie couldn’t resist pointing out.

  “I suppose.” Donna grudgingly agreed. “Hey, did you notice that little trailer next to us? Isn’t it adorable?”

  They looked across the road where she pointed at a small white squarish trailer with gray trim, partially hidden by Nowak’s unit.

  “What is it?” Ben asked. “It doesn’t look familiar at all.”

  “It says ‘Kraus’ or ‘Knaus’ or something on it,” Donna said.

  “German, maybe? I’ll have to check the ‘net,” Rob said. They stared a moment and then returned to their plans.

  “I’ve done an excellent job of arranging the weather for this weekend,” Mickey said. “70s and no more rain in sight.”

  “Can we get that in writing?” Rob laughed at him. “Speaking of perfect weather, are we riding this afternoon?”

  “We certainly have time,” Larry said. “Maybe just the stretch from Reston to Burdensville?”

  “And do a little shopping at Burdensville?” Donna asked.

  “And have a little pie at the Reston Pie Shoppe when we get back,” Frannie added.

  “I suspected there would be pie involved when I suggested it,” Rob said. And to his wife, “If you’re shopping, do I need to drive the truck over?”

  Donna grinned. “No, I have a basket. Jewelry doesn’t take much space.”

  Rob rubbed his head in mock despair and they unloaded their bikes from the backs of trailers and pickup beds.

  The campground was across the river from the trail; to get to the trail they first followed a path along the eastern end of the campground. The campsites on this end were seasonal sites, occupied by large trailers and fifth wheels, and rented for the summer. Some even had small wooden decks with pots of geraniums and perennial plantings around the edges. Frannie noticed that their favorite, a trailer made to look like a log cabin, sat in the same site again this year.

  The group pedaled on a gravel trail to the highway, rode along the shoulder for a quarter of a mile to the bridge, and then across the bridge to Reston and the paved bike trail. At the trailhead, they pulled out water bottles for a little refreshment and then headed west toward Burdensville, five miles away.

  The trail was shaded, but they caught glimpses between the trees of the sun sparkling off the river. Rob pointed out their campground across the river as they passed. Quaint bridges over picturesque ravines and streams tumbling to join the river broke up the ride. At the end of one such bridge, a small clearing held a bench and a rustic information kiosk. Mickey and Donna collapsed on the bench, while Frannie and Jane Ann examined the postings in the kiosk. One flyer printed on green paper sported a sketch of a building and information about the ‘Old Power Plant.’

  Frannie peered at the sketch, and then turned around and looked across the river between an opening in the trees. She pointed and said to Jane Ann, “That’s what that building is. I’ve noticed it every year but never knew what it was.”

  A large, gray, monolithic shell of a building clung to the steep cliff along the river. Discoloration streaked its face, almost like the tracks of tears. It appeared to be on the verge of being engulfed by the trees and other vegetation all around it, seeming to grow out of the cliff.

  Nancy looked up from kneeling to retie one of her shoes. “What?”

  “An old power plant over there,” Frannie said. “There’s a poster on the kiosk about it.”

  Nancy stood. “Oh, right. There’s a great nature center on the hill above it—you can’t see it from here, but Ben and I stopped there once when we were up here by ourselves. I think there’s a hiking path from the campground to the center—maybe a mile and a half. We should put that on our schedule for the weekend.” Nancy loved schedules.

  Donna rose from the bench and hobbled over to join them. Jane Ann looked back at her. “What’s the matter, Donna? Knee trouble?”

  “No,” Donna said a little sheepishly. “I just got these shoes, and I thought they were so cute, but they didn’t have my size so they might be a little small.” Donna, being the shortest, barged to the front of the group of women. “What are you looking at?”

  “That building—it’s an old power plant,” Frannie said. It dominated the other side of the river.

  “Oh, wow,” Donna said, swinging her camera up and moving down the sloping bank as she said it. Her foot caught in a tree root and she started to pitch forward. She caught herself by grabbing a small tree trunk, but not before one of its branches slapped her on the face.

  “Ow! Dammit!” she yelped. Nancy rushed to her aid, while Frannie and Jane Ann exchanged wry glances. These antics were to be expected with Donna. Jane Ann, a retired nurse, examined the scratch when Donna got back up to the sidewalk and pronounced it survivable.

  “It feels awfully close to my eye,” Donna said, as she limped back to her bike.

  They mounted their bikes again and, with some false starts and a little wobbling, continued on the path. Since their speed was moderate, to be generous, they were often passed and more frequently met by other cyclists and a few hikers.

  As they neared Burdensville, the path crossed another wooden bridge over a deep ravine and wound up a gradual hill. Coming around a gentle curve, a pair of hikers approached them. It was like double vision. Two middle-aged women in matching cowboy hats, printed t-shirts, and khaki shorts moved along briskly. Their faces and blonde hair were identical, their fanny packs slung in the same manner, their strides in unison.

  Frannie’s group met and glided by the two hikers, but they caught a glimpse of quick smiles and nods of greeting. Frannie looked at Donna, riding next to her, and saw the same look of astonishment that she felt on her own face.

  “Wow,” was all Donna could say, uncharacteristically brief. Further discussion faded as they focused on climbing the gentle grade of the hill. Before long they rode into the outskirts of town and concentrated on watching for stop signs at street crossings and signs pointing to the business district.

  Larry, in the lead, stopped when they reached the center of town. After conferring with Rob, he led the group down the cross street to an area three blocks long of old rehabbed store fronts, theaters, bed and breakfasts, and restaurants. The sidewalks were raised and fronted with angled parking spaces alternating with bike racks. Larry and Rob chose a rack in front of a restaurant as a landing spot for the group.

  They spent the next couple of hours roaming the shops and exploring a small museum. The smell of baking bread sucked them into a small bakery where Donna bought cinnamon rolls for the next day’s breakfast and Mickey purchased two pounds of his favorite coffee.

  “We’d better head back if we’re going to have time to stop for pie,” Rob said.

  “You may have to take me to the emergency room,” Donna said to him, suddenly remembering her injury.

  “We’ll see—it’s hardly noticeable.” Rob was used to appeasing his wife and knew that she was most concerned with how she looked. They returned to their bikes, stashed their purchases and were soon heading back east on the
bike trail.

  On the return, Frannie watched for the old power plant. Its solid, almost windowless face fascinated her but also gave her a sense of foreboding. When she spotted it, she asked Nancy, “Can you get down to that power plant from the nature center?”

  “I think there’s an old path, but they don’t encourage it. We didn’t try it when we were there.”

  As they neared Reston, they caught up to the twin hikers. Frannie wondered what life would be like, looking in a mirror constantly. But the appearance up ahead of the Pie Shoppe distracted her, as anything offering dessert was wont to do.

  Chapter Two

  Late Friday Afternoon

  The Reston Pie Shoppe was a white frame building standing alone on a side street off the tiny business district. Four large bike racks along the front and one side attested to the nature of the clientele. The group parked their bikes and tromped in through a side door. Jane Ann and Donna headed for the restroom. Everyone else stood at the counter staring up at the ten-foot long blackboard on the wall proclaiming the day’s offerings.

  Frannie scrunched up her face and agonized. She loved pie. Deciding what kind to have at anytime was one of life’s most difficult inconsequential decisions; at places like this she verged on collapse.

  “What are you having?” she said to Larry, next to her. Like it mattered. They didn’t have the same favorites and in no way would his choice influence hers. It was a stalling tactic. She had to decide first what type she wanted this time: fruit, cream or chiffon. And then one crust or two? Once she narrowed her choices, she would consider which of those kinds she would be least likely to make herself, and it had to be one no one else was ordering.

  He said, “Apple, I guess.”

  “Bor-ring,” she said, although she did love a good apple pie. On the other side of Rob, Mickey ordered butterscotch, another of her favorites.

  “I’ll have the fresh blackberry,” she blurted out to the forty-something woman behind the counter, and was immediately besieged by doubts. Maybe she should have ordered lemon meringue; she couldn’t make meringue to save her soul and they were masters here. She was about to change her order when she noticed Larry watching her and laughing.

  “What?!”

  “You. You’re thinking about changing your order, aren’t you? We’ll be here five days; you can come back every day.”

  “I can come back two or three times a day if I want. I don’t need your permission,” she retorted. The woman set a heavy white china plate in front of her, with a fragrant heap of purple berries and golden brown lattice crust.

  “I’m sorry—it’s just out of the oven and didn’t come out of the pan very well. And I should mention that they are fresh blackberries but not local—a little early for that yet. I can get you something different if you’d like.”

  Frannie picked up the plate. “Absolutely not. This looks wonderful.” She shot her husband a defiant look, grabbed a fork out of the container on the counter, and carried her pie to a table where Mickey and Ben were already seated. Donna and Jane Ann had returned from the restroom, Donna looking much relieved that the scratch was negligible, but still limping. The others soon joined them and dug in, trading bites and offering deep, introspective critiques such as “Wow!” and “Mmmm.”

  Frannie glanced up at the sound of the front door opening. The two women they had passed on the path entered and walked to the counter. Under their cowboy hats, their chin-length blonde hair fell in soft waves framing their round faces, reminding Frannie of the women in the old “Beautiful Hair-Breck” ads both in color and texture—pale and very fine. They moved as one, and both placed their right elbows on the counter, ordering “Cherry pie, please,” in unison. The counter woman didn’t know for sure how to react, and with obvious effort kept her expression very neutral, but pleasant.

  The women carried their pie to an open table, slung their cameras on the right corner of their chair backs and seated themselves with identical movements. Uncanny.

  Mickey poked Frannie in the thigh. “Close your mouth,” he said with a grin, “your pie will fall out.”

  She did, and wiped the edges of her mouth with her napkin.

  “Don’t you think it’s kind of odd? How do they even do that?” she whispered back at him.

  “Habit, I guess. They must spend a lot of time together,” he said quietly.

  “Anyone up for going farther or are you all wimping out?” Ben asked the group.

  “Wimping.” “Wimping.” “Ditto.”

  “I’d go a little farther, “ Rob said. “What are we doing for supper?”

  “Brats,” Nancy said. “Simple, and we all brought sides ready to eat, so you guys have time to ride further if you want.”

  “What about you?” Rob said to his wife. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

  “No, I’ll be fine,” Donna said. She touched her cheek, grimaced, and put on her bravest look.

  The front door opened again and a tall man decked in serious biking attire came in. Frannie was watching the twins’ synchronized actions, when the man in biking gear, having purchased only a bottle of water, (who does that in a pie shop?) turned just as one of the women looked up from their conversation. Her mouth dropped open and an anguished expression crossed her face. Her sister followed her gaze, but frowned and set her mouth as if gritting her teeth. It was the first difference between the two that Frannie had observed. The man, in turn, eyed them both, confused. He seemed about to speak but thought better of it, turned, and hurried outside.

  Through the front windows, Frannie could see him mount his bike and head off in the direction of Burdensville. She glanced back to the twins, oblivious to the conversation around her. The angry twin had recovered her equanimity and reached across the table to take her sister’s hand, apparently asking what had upset the other. The second shook her head and pulled her hand back, turned her head and covered her mouth. She seemed to regain her composure and returned to her pie, as did her sister. They didn’t speak until they finished, but occasionally each stole glances at the other.

  Very strange, thought Frannie. Something about the man shattered their years of habit and ripped them apart, like Siamese twins being separated, in the blink of an eye. Frannie loved a good mystery but didn’t see any way she would solve this one without being downright nosey. And while she wasn’t averse to subtly poking around for information, she could hardly ask complete strangers outright to explain such an odd relationship.

  “Hey, zombie,” Larry broke into her trance, “Ready to go?”

  She looked at her plate. Her pie was gone. How annoying—she had finished it without even enjoying it. She slid out of her chair and carried her plate to a bin of dirty dishes. They all trooped outside and readied their bikes.

  While Frannie strapped on her helmet, the twins emerged from the cafe, both looking very strained. They headed down the bike path toward Newton, not talking. Rob and Ben took off in the same direction, while the rest turned toward the bridge.

  Frannie pedaled along beside Jane Ann as they reached the gravel path on the other side of the river.

  “Did you watch those twins?”

  “You mean when that guy came in? Really odd, wasn’t it? Looked like they knew each other but never spoke,” Jane Ann said.

  “Well, yeah—up until then they were like synchronized swimmers—every movement matched. Very weird.”

  They continued in silence, the uneven nature of the path requiring their full attention. Back at their campsite, they arranged their lounge chairs in the shade, and retrieved books and beverages from their campers.

  Donna sat down and gingerly removed her tennis shoes and socks. Her toes and heels sported several angry red blisters and she studied them with dismay.

  “I need my sandals,” she said, looking at her camper on the other side of the gravel road. “Nancy, would you mind? They’re right inside the door.”

  Nancy had just stretched out in a lounge chair with her book, but started t
o get up. Frannie, still moving her chair, said, “Stay there. I’ll get them.”

  “Would you untie Bugger, too, and bring him over?” Donna called after her. They all knew that Donna was the ‘high maintenance’ member of the group and that wasn’t likely to change, so Frannie just nodded.

  As she unhooked Bugger’s tether, she got a good look at the little trailer they had talked about earlier. It was boxier than American-made trailers and quite plain with a European-minimalist air about it. A small red pickup was parked near it but no sign of habitation. She led Bugger back and, after she handed Donna the sandals, tethered him to a nearby tree.

  “Could you get him some water, too?” Donna said, and as an afterthought, “Please?”

  The next hour passed with some dozing, some reading, and very occasional subdued conversation.

  Wheels crunched on gravel, and Rob and Ben rode back into the campsite. They stowed their bikes and helmets and joined the rest of the group.

  “You ride all the way to Newton?” Mickey asked.

  “Actually, we did,” Ben said. “We can go pretty fast when you guys aren’t holding us back.”

  “A little excitement on the trail, though,” Rob said. “Remember those twins we saw?”

  Frannie sat up, more alert, and Donna said, “What about ‘em?”

  “When we passed them coming back, they were in the midst of a shouting match,” Rob said.

  “Really?” Donna said. “What about? Did it have to do with that guy in the pie shop? What were they saying?”

  “We didn’t stop and ask if we could listen in on their conversation,” Rob said.

  “Oh, right,” Donna sat back, disappointed.

  “Rob wanted to,” Ben smiled.

  “So did you,” Rob retorted.

  “Well, we’ll never know,” Frannie said. “I think it’s time to start some supper.”