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

by Karen Musser Nortman

  The campground was full this weekend and people in almost every campsite were busy with supper preparations. Kids on bikes, scooters and skateboards raced by her in a never-ending chase, and dogs reacted to her passing with raucous barks, yips, growls and just bored stares.

  As she left the bathroom, she glanced over at Richard’s site and noticed he was sitting by his camper in a lawn chair. She stepped off the road, watching for uneven ground.

  “Excuse me?”

  He turned in the chair, closing his magazine, and looked at her, raising his eyebrows. He still showed no sign of recognizing her.

  “Yes?”

  She plunged ahead. Larry would kill her. “I’m sorry to bother you but just wanted to express my condolences. I understand you knew the twins…?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say knew them, not well anyway—I had met one of them on a cruise several years ago. Not sure which one—Val, I think.”

  Even though she had suspected him of being a womanizer after seeing him on the float that afternoon, she was still taken aback at his detachment. He also didn’t remember her walking with Val the evening before. Obviously she was too old to warrant his attention.

  But she said, “Oh, I see. I misunderstood.”

  He gave a wry smile. “Apparently the sheriff did also. She stopped earlier; I guess someone told her I was in a romantic relationship with one of the women. But we were only casual acquaintances.” He examined her rather accusingly.

  Frannie nodded, wondering at the same time if she could find a casual acquaintance to buy her a necklace like Val’s.

  “Apparently you knew them?”

  Frannie shrugged. “Not really. They were camped across the road from us and we visited with them last night a little bit.” She decided not to mention that they had also found the bodies. “I need to go. Sorry to bother you.”

  He said, “No problem,” and went back to his magazine before she had even gotten turned around for her careful trek back to the road.

  By the time she returned to the campsite, supper preparations were in full swing. She couldn’t even remember what they had planned to have until she saw Larry removing salmon filets from a plastic bag of marinade and carefully arranging them in the fish baskets.

  He looked up when she approached the table, frowning.

  Chapter Nine

  Saturday Evening

  “I know, I know, I was out without permission,” Frannie said.

  “You should at least let someone go along, in case you pass out or something.”

  She sighed and let herself down carefully on the picnic table bench to watch his preparations. Donna sat down rather heavily beside her, causing the bench to bounce. Frannie tried not to flinch.

  “How are you feeling?” Donna’s voice was full of concern.

  “Quite a bit better with some aspirin and a little nap.”

  “We’ve got a great supper almost ready. Salmon, you know, and I made some of those rolls of mine that you love. Jane Ann’s working on a salad and Nancy has those bacon and cheese potatoes in the slow cooker.”

  “Sounds fantastic. Can I do anything? Set the table?” Frannie smiled. She wasn’t used to Donna being so gracious, although as Frannie had come to know her better on an earlier trip, she now found her less abrasive than she used to. Or, at least Frannie was more willing to overlook a lot of Donna’s outrageous behavior.

  Donna got up, bouncing the bench again. “No—sit tight. Or whatever makes you comfortable.” She smiled sympathetically. “We have it covered. Do you want your chair over here?”

  This might be the only time ever that Donna waited on her, instead of the other way around. “Sure.”

  Donna dragged the recliner over, retrieved the pillow from where she had dropped it in the dust, pounded it off, and moved a little table next to the chair.

  “Can I get you more iced tea? Or are you ready for some wine?”

  “Tea would be great,” Frannie answered. “I’d better wait on the wine.” She got herself arranged in the chair again, and watched Larry baste the filets on the grill. Jane Ann set a bowl of coleslaw on the table and pulled a lawn chair up beside Frannie.

  “So what did the sheriff have to say? Did she tell you anything?”

  Frannie shook her head, trying to ignore Larry’s scrutiny. He believed she was meddling in police business again. Not that she had ever really meddled—she just had ideas that sometimes turned out to be correct.

  “The ME hasn’t finished the autopsies yet. Other than that, her lips were sealed.”

  “Unlike some people I could name,” Larry said.

  “You are a grouch today,” Jane Ann told her brother. “Frannie can hardly get in much trouble—she can barely move.”

  “I wish I believed that,” he mumbled.

  Mickey showed up with a tray of more salmon. “Larry’s always a grouch. That’s nothing new.” Before it could turn into one of their regular sparring matches, Nancy appeared with a tablecloth and tray of citrus-hued plastic dishes and silverware.

  “Okay, guys, this stuff has to go somewhere else while I set the table.” She started moving the trays and bowls to the bench and small tables. Mickey jumped up to help her.

  “Wow. Check it out. We are all underdressed.” Donna stood, hands on her ample hips, staring out at the main road. Frannie followed her gaze. A tall woman, not heavy but thick through the middle, wobbled along on spike heels and a strapless, very fitted, very short rose-colored dress. Her hair was piled high in an elaborate hairstyle difficult to fully appreciate from this distance but certainly requiring more than the wake and shake that Frannie practiced.

  Mickey looked up from the grill. “Whoa! Jane Ann, you could take a page from her book!”

  Frannie let out such a snort that she had to hold her side. “Mickey, you idiot! You’re married to Grace Kelly and are lusting after Miss Trailer Trash of 1982?”

  “Careful, missy—you’re currently living in a trailer yourself, remember?” Larry said.

  Jane Ann laid her hand on Frannie’s arm. “Thanks, Frannie, but remember he had brain damage after tripping on his tongue years ago.”

  “Explains a lot,” Frannie nodded.

  The woman continued down the road toward the far end of the campground. They were all so engrossed in watching her halting progress that Mary Louise’s voice, startling in any circumstances, made them all jump.

  “I see you’ve noticed our budding country star!” She walked over from where she had parked her golf cart at the next campsite.

  “Country star?” Nancy asked doubtfully.

  “Jonie’s been on the ‘verge of a breakthrough’ for about twenty years. Every couple of years, she scrapes together enough cash for a trip to Nashville, knocks on doors, and comes back home to wait for calls.” Mary Louise pushed some stray hair back behind her barrettes. “Meantime, she sings for tips at a county line tavern near here. And I don’t think she’s above the poverty level, if you get my meaning.” She paused a minute. “She stands to inherit a lot of money someday from her uncle but he’s one of those ornery old coots who might live to 125 just to spite people.”

  “She walks out here? In those shoes?” Donna couldn’t believe anyone walking more than two or three blocks, and had forgotten her own foot troubles the day before from her ‘cute’ shoes.

  “Naw, she hitches rides and they drop her at the campground entrance. I think she’s interested in Mel Dubrak in that old camper you saw yesterday. At least that’s where she goes.”

  “You don’t have to let her come through here, do you?” Larry asked.

  Mary Louise let out a big breath. “No, I don’t. But I don’t mind. We’ve never seen any reason to stop them coming through here.”

  “I don’t want to cast unfounded accusations, Mary Louise, but you’d better be a little careful in that area,” Larry said.

  Mickey called, “Plate!” as if they weren’t all within ten feet of him. Nancy held out a platter and he opened each filet
basket, gently coaxing the fragrant contents on to the serving plate. She walked around to Larry and he did the same.

  “Man, you guys do know how to rough it,” Mary Louise said, admiring the array of bowls and baskets on the table. “I’ll get out of here and let you enjoy it.” They said their goodbyes as they took their places at the table. Frannie declined offers to bring her a plate and took a spot on the end of the bench, easier to get into.

  She gazed around at her friends, laughing and juggling plates and bowls, and the beautiful evening and thought of all the tragedy and pain of the day. Life is weird. The twins were very casual acquaintances, but that brief encounter was enough to snag a little part of her soul. She wondered if the sheriff had found any family to contact. To her knowledge, the only person whom she thought had a close connection, Richard, claimed it wasn’t that close. Mickey pulled her out of her reverie asking if she had a head injury. She responded maturely by sticking out her tongue and focused on the conversation.

  After the meal and kitchen chores were done, the whole group decided on a stroll around the campground. The dogs were leashed up and Frannie declined an offer to be pulled in the collapsible wagon that they used to move firewood. When they reached the main campground road, they decided to head west, hoping to see the beaver at work again in the river.

  Along the way, they met Jonie, the rising country star, hobbling along toward them, returning from the trailer.

  “Hey!” she called out as she approached. “Nahce nahght!” Her attempted Tennessee twang would not have gotten her a part in a local high school play, even in a very small school.

  “Sure is,” Larry replied, tugging back on Cuba’s leash. At her age, she was no threat to anyone but still big enough to frighten people not fond of dogs.

  “Any of you folks headed inta town later?”

  “Sorry, I don’t think so,” Mickey said, sounding sincere enough to get a tweak on his arm from his wife.

  “Awright—thanks anyway. Say, gonna be around a few days? You oughta come see my show—I’m a singer,” she actually batted her eyelashes. “And I perform almost every night up at Farrell’s on the county line. Name’s Jonie Rump, but my stage name’s Jonie Helene.” Her accent slipped the more she talked.

  “Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind,” Frannie said. She ignored the look from Jane Ann.

  Jonie gave them a coquettish little wave and sashayed by. When she was out of earshot, Jane Ann mumbled to Frannie, “Rump? Are you kidding me?”

  Frannie shrugged in innocence. “I didn’t say a word.”

  “Jonie Boob is more like it.”

  Frannie giggled. They were trailing behind the others, and Larry turned around to check on her.

  “Are you getting too tired? We can go back.”

  “No. I’m fine. I haven’t done anything all day.”

  “Just found a couple of bodies and made a spectacular one-point landing. Probably would have only scored about a six but spectacular anyway.”

  Actually, she had been thinking about turning around soon but now decided to stick with the group.

  “Technically, Donna found the bodies.”

  “Whatever.”

  When they got to the river, they saw no sign of the beavers. The setting sun filtered through the trees but the river was already dark in most places. The derelict trailer could only be glimpsed through the trees, small, angry, and threatening. Frannie saw no sign of life around it. They headed back to the campsite and settled into their favorite night time activity, sitting around the fire.

  “What’s for breakfast?” Mickey said. A vigorous discussion ensued. Frannie didn’t know from experience about armies, but there was no doubt in her mind that campers definitely traveled on their stomachs. Soon she excused herself, received several sympathetic looks and went in to bed.

  She woke in the night, tried to turn over and was punished for her efforts with a stab in her side. After trying several positions, she gave up and got out of bed to take another aspirin. She finished the glass of water, opened the camper door, and peered outside. The entire campground was dark and quiet. A few coals still glowed in the fire pit and the night was so filled with stars that there seemed no room for any more.

  She went out and sat on the steps, wrapping her arms around herself, and took breaths as deep as she could manage of the cool night air. What a beautiful night. The breeze was light and made occasional rustling sounds in the trees and shrubs. A few scratching and scrambling sounds attested to the presence of wild creatures. No doubt the raccoons were checking out opportunities at every campsite. There were no lights, but she could make out the light-colored shape of Ferraros’ motor home, the darker shapes of trees towering above it, and in the distance, a faint whitish smudge against the sky marking the top of the limestone bluffs across the river.

  She again puzzled over the strange relationship between the twins and Richard, and caught the reflection of a small light against the Nowaks’ trailer across the road. It must be coming from the vicinity of the twins’ trailer, out of Frannie’s line of sight. Someone was over there; not likely the authorities at this hour, and there was no sign of a vehicle. A cold lump of fear gathered in the pit of her stomach and she held her breath. She thought she could hear sounds from that direction, but not that different from what she had earlier interpreted as raccoons.

  She carefully stood on the steps and as quietly as she could, turned around and opened the camper door. She mounted the steps and eased in the door. It didn’t take much to cause the trailer to rock and roll.

  She should be able to see the twins’ trailer from the window over the couch, so she edged over to the couch, and kneeling on it, parted two of the slats on the blinds and peered out.

  The light came from inside the trailer, bouncing from window to window. Where had she laid her phone the night before? Sometimes she put it on the table or the end counter; sometimes in a jacket pocket.

  She was pretty sure that last night she had put it on the table. Checking to make sure the light was still inside the trailer across the road, she crept the few steps from the couch to the table, making sure not to fall over the dog. A little glow from a night light made the black rectangle stand out on the light colored table top. When she turned it on, she noticed it was after 3:00. She dialed 911 and quietly explained the situation to the dispatcher, mentioning Mary Sorenson, and that the trailer belonged to the dead women. As she shut off the phone, she started at a rustling noise and looked around to see the shape of her husband in the bedroom doorway.

  “What’s going on?” The bear just emerging from hibernation.

  “Someone is in the twins’ trailer,” Frannie said.

  “Maybe the sheriff,” Larry said, bending over to squint through the blinds.

  “At this hour?”

  “Not the sheriff,” he amended. “He’s leaving and it’s definitely not Mary Sorenson.”

  Frannie kneeled beside him on the couch to get another look. A figure taller than Mary ducked under the crime scene tape and headed to the wooded slope at the back of the campground.

  “Maybe we should…”

  “No,” Larry said firmly. “We shouldn’t. He may be armed, he has a head start and certainly is younger than we are. Also, he may not be alone.”

  Frannie hadn’t thought of that. She continued to watch the trailer for an accomplice and saw no sign of anyone else. But she supposed there could be someone waiting in the woods. She sighed and stood up, avoiding sudden twists.

  “I wonder what they would be looking for? Could you tell if he was carrying anything?”

  “Too dark.” Larry stuck his perpetual travel mug of coffee in the microwave to reheat.

  Frannie unsnapped the lid of a plastic container on the counter. “Cookie?” she asked, taking one and holding out the container to Larry. He took two.

  “We might as well get comfortable.” He dropped in his recliner, snapping it back. Frannie cringed at the sound but realized the intruder was nowhe
re close by now. She poured herself a glass of milk by the light from the refrigerator, and sat down to wait. It was like waiting out a power outage or a tornado warning in their basement at home. Nothing to do but think.

  Larry looked at her. “How did you know there was something going on?”

  “I woke up and couldn’t get comfortable. So I took some aspirin and went out to sit on the steps a minute. It was so peaceful and beautiful.”

  Larry sat up. “Frannie, did you go over there?”

  “No, I did not. I saw the light and came in immediately and looked out the window. Since the sheriff’s car wasn’t there and it was so late, I called 911.”

  She half expected a pat on the back for her good sense—not always so evident—but the closest Larry could manage was a grudging, “Good.”

  They sat in silence a little longer until they saw headlights coming up the camp road. Larry went to the kitchen window.

  “It’s the sheriff. You stay here.”

  She didn’t argue, but adjusted the nearest blinds so that she could see out without moving.

  Larry and the sheriff were silhouetted against the car headlights. Sorenson nodded at Larry’s explanation and then walked to the trailer door, hand on her gun. Frannie couldn’t see the actual door and waited, drumming her fingers on the dinette table. Finally, the sheriff came back around the corner, and as she and Larry stood talking, while he pointed in the direction they had seen the intruder go, two more cars pulled up. Several officers joined them, one with a large dog on a leash.

  Flashlights bounced along the ground as the officers headed toward the slope and Larry returned to their camper.

  “Obviously, no one was in there,” Frannie said to him. “Did she find anything else?”

  “Oh, yes, someone was definitely looking for something. She said drawers were pulled out—quite a mess.”