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

by Karen Musser Nortman

  “But why me?” Frannie said. “All I did was ask Dale what he was training for and told Deborah I thought I saw someone in the trees. I don’t know anything.”

  Sorenson leaned forward. “It doesn’t matter what you know. It matters what they think you know or think you might know.” Her brown curls bounced as she shook her head. “They—or at least Kyle and Dale—aren’t exactly grounded in reality.”

  “What do you know about Deborah McCabe?” Nancy asked. “Is she from around here?”

  “Not originally,” said the sheriff. “She came here in high school—junior or senior year, I think—to live with an aunt and uncle. Her parents were killed in a car accident. She went to community college around here and came back to work at the Center, but she’s never been the most cheerful sort. I don’t know that she has any friends—but it’s pretty tough for any kid to change schools at that stage.”

  “Getting back to Richard the Sleaze,” Frannie said, “Mary Louise told me this morning that last night he apparently made promises to Jonie about helping her career. Did you find out anything from him about his background?”

  “That’s interesting that he seems to have moved on so quickly. Didn’t learn much—just that he’s in finance and that he and his ‘girlfriend,’ Claire Devon, have been coming here for several years. I checked this Claire’s background and she’s a Chicago heiress, but they have no marriage plans, he says.”

  “What about the people with the meth lab?” Jane Ann said.

  “Right. We have their names…those prints were in the system. Two men and a woman who have been arrested for drugs before. We have an APB out for them. They haven’t been picked up yet so we don’t know much. But it’s certainly possible that trailer caught the twins’ eye and that they could have taken pictures of it—maybe with someone coming out or looking out a window or something. A definite motive for murder. Well, time to move on.” Sorenson turned to Frannie. “If you think of anything else regarding those boys, please let me know right away.”

  “Will do.”

  As the sheriff drove away, Larry said, “What’s on the schedule for today?”

  “We wanted to ride toward Newton,” Nancy said. “Ben said there is a little farm along the river. All of the buildings are painted purple and the women who own it sell hand-knitted socks and hats.”

  “The Purple Goat Farm,” Donna said, sitting forward. “I forgot about that place. I wanna go too.” Only shopping could entice Donna on a long bike ride.

  “We didn’t see any purple goats,” Rob said.

  “The goats aren’t purple, silly,” Donna said. “They raise angora goats. I don’t remember what the name of the place really is but that’s what we called it. Because the buildings are purple. Remember, Jane Ann? We went there several years ago.”

  “Yup, and I took Frannie there the next time we were up here.” Jane Ann looked at Frannie. “Are you up for it?”

  Frannie hesitated a minute. “Much as I would love to, I think not. Fear of falling. Think I’ll read this morning and do a little walking.”

  After she convinced them again that she was fine by herself, and making them promise not to have pie without her, the rest of the group mounted their bikes and wove and tottered out of the campground.

  Frannie read awhile, but found her concentration constantly interrupted by thoughts of the twins’ murders. This intrusion of violence seemed like a collision of universes. The intersection of criminal events with her mundane, very average life was just surreal. Until the murder they had encountered at Bat Cave State Park several months before, she had never in her whole life seen anyone brandish a gun in any kind of threatening way. She thought back over her brief visit with Valerie and later both twins. Val’s biggest concern appeared to be her romance with Richard. She acknowledged to herself that the conversation around the fire was very superficial, yet she felt sure neither twin exhibited any nervousness or sign that they were under threat of danger.

  She needed a stretch so she grabbed a walking stick from the trailer and, after deciding that Cuba looked too comfortable curled up in the shade, started along the campground road. Along the way, she detoured to check out the wildlife at the river’s edge and admire a bald eagle circling above the cliffs.

  Her wanderings took her to the west end of the campground, not entirely accidentally. She was curious about the path leading up to the Nature Center and whether the power plant was still taped off by the sheriff’s department.

  She saw no signs of activity around the Dubraks’ old trailer so decided to try the path. It was an uphill climb but quite gradual.

  As she trudged up the path, she noticed a few spring wildflowers nestled among the understory trees. The sun picked out clusters of leaves to highlight gold in the dark woods. A few birds chirped and the air had a musty spring scent—a combination of new growth and freshly turned dirt. She rounded a turn in the path and stopped short at the site of a figure silhouetted and coming toward her.

  It was Deborah McCabe. McCabe’s eyes widened in surprise. She stepped off the path to let Frannie pass, looking down at the ground, and then hurried on toward the campground. Frannie turned and watched her, wondering if she was looking for Dale Dubrak. Frannie had never seen her near the trailer, but there weren’t a lot of other people left camping now that it was midweek. Obviously, McCabe wasn’t coming to visit Frannie and her friends.

  Still puzzling over Deborah’s visit to the campground, she almost missed the trail to the power plant. Picking her way slowly through the protruding roots and overgrowth, she reached the landing in front of the gaping door. There was no crime scene tape, but she had no desire to go in, the memory of the women’s bodies feeling like a hole in her stomach.

  Edging her way along the front of the building, she peeked around the corner. Grass on the steep hillside was trampled and branches broken; she assumed this was the result of the investigation, but maybe others had been exploring there as well, possibly looking for the missing camera bag. Working back to the other front corner, she saw that the view along the other side was pretty much the same.

  She sat on a rock outcropping facing the door to rest a moment. If the killer wanted to get rid of the camera bag, the easiest thing would have been to pitch it out one of the windows on the river side of the building. She wondered if the sheriff’s people had checked the river.

  A crack from the trees to her right startled her and made her stomach flip again. Her palms were damp as she turned and peered into the tangled growth. She would have go that way to get back to the main path, so she sat very still listening. No further sounds other than the breeze rustling the trees.

  After several minutes, she got to her feet, and with the help of the walking stick, made her way back up the path. About halfway up, another noise stopped her. Nearer this time. The back of her neck prickled and she had just decided she’d better get back to the main path as quickly as she could when a large furry shape scurried across the trail ahead of her.

  A raccoon. She laughed in relief and realized how jumpy this place made her, even in mid-morning on a sunny day. Picking up the pace, she soon reached the main path and headed back down toward the campground.

  She concentrated on her footing and heard rather than saw someone step out of the trees in front of her. Deborah McCabe faced her again from just a couple of feet away. Frannie glanced back over her shoulder. No sign of anyone else around them, friend or foe.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice only cracking a little. How could a morning walk turn into such a scary event?

  “Um…sorry if I startled you,” Deborah said, glancing from Frannie to the trees and back again..

  “Well, yes, you did,” Frannie said. “Did you want something?”

  Deborah tried to keep her all-business demeanor. “Yes.” She looked to the other side into the trees. Frannie waited. What was this woman up to now? She slipped one hand in the pocket where she kept her phone and gripped her walking stick tighter with the other.


  “I just…well, I wanted to apologize…you know, for what you went through last night.”

  Frannie frowned. “Apologize?”

  “Well, you see, I sort of made allowances that I shouldn’t have. I mean, Dale and Kyle said they wanted to practice some training that they were taking…they didn’t say what but nobody gives them much of a break and it’s hard to be an outsider here…”

  To Frannie’s surprise, tears welled up in Deborah’s eyes and she began blinking rapidly.

  “So I told them I would help them.” Deborah swallowed and continued. “I had no idea what their plans were…the sheriff questioned me this morning and told me about the terrorist literature they had.” She took a deep breath and composed herself. “I had no idea.”

  “Deborah, do you think they could have been involved in, you know, what happened to those two women?”

  “What? No, definitely not! I walked down here that morning and Dale was still in bed.”

  “You did? Before we saw you at the center?”

  “Of course. I don’t start work until 9:00.”

  Frannie thought a moment. “Did you see anyone else on this path.”

  Deborah looked at her, eyes wide, as she realized the significance of the question. “Just that guy from Chicago. The one who’s been trying to make time with like half the women here.” The bitter tone told Frannie that Deborah was in the other half.

  “Well, do you know why the boys attacked me?” Frannie said. “I mean it was obviously planned.”

  “I think you asked too many questions. You do, you know.” Deborah had regained her haughty, defensive posture.

  “I suppose I do,” Frannie admitted, “but I’m just curious about people. Well, thank you for telling me.”

  Deborah gave a curt nod, and stepped back off the path so that Frannie could continue down the hill.

  After a few steps, Frannie looked back. Deborah briskly headed up the hill, her back ramrod straight.

  Had she been attracted to Kyle and Dale because of being a loner herself? It appeared she was regretting her involvement, and Frannie was sure the apology was extremely difficult for her. As she picked her way down the hill with the aid of her stick, she was taken suddenly back to being an outsider herself, as a new junior high teacher in their present home of Perfection Falls. She met Larry at the local roller skating rink; he was one of the local skating hotshots and dazzled her with his prowess on the floor. Most of his relatives and childhood friends still lived in the same town, and she remembered the feeling of rootlessness—of having no identity or past when she was around them. In some ways it seemed like yesterday; in others like it was someone else’s experience. Time and memory were very strange.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Late Tuesday Morning

  Almost back to her campsite, Frannie caught up with Jonie Rump, gamely tottering along in purple spike heels. Her lavender top was again off-the-shoulder, but in deference to the morning hour, she wore jeans. Formfitting jeans that stopped mid-calf and were studded with rhinestone designs on the back pockets, but jeans nonetheless.

  Jonie heard her coming and turned back, her face breaking into a wide smile. However, her lavender eyelids appeared puffy and a couple of telltale streaks of mascara leaked from her eyes.

  “Hey!”

  “Beautiful morning,” Frannie said, returning the smile.

  “Been fer a walk?”

  “I have.” They strolled along together like old friends, although Jonie’s stroll was more lurching, and Frannie was tempted to offer her the walking stick. “And you?”

  “I had to talk to Mel.” Jonie paused, took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. Frannie waited and finally she continued. “I’m afraid he’s kinda sweet on me—,” she lowered her eyelids coyly, “and I thought I should set ‘im straight, as gently as I could, acourse.” She glanced at Frannie for approval.

  “Of course,” Frannie agreed. “I take it the feeling wasn’t mutual?”

  “Wha—? Oh, yeah, I see what ya mean. Well, he’s been a friend a long time, but not like that. I don’t think he understood, though, and now that I’ll probly be leavin’…” Frannie noticed again that Jonie seemed to slip in and out of her version of a Southern drawl much easier than it would be to slip out of those jeans.

  “Leaving? Are you moving, or going on a trip?” They had come to Frannie’s campsite road so she stopped and faced Jonie.

  “It’s kind of a secret—do y’all have time for a little visit?”

  “Sure,” Frannie said. “My friends are all off biking and I would love a little company. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Oh, I’d love some. That is so sweet.”

  As they continued to the campsite, Jonie asked her about where else they camped and other safe subjects until Frannie had poured her a mug of coffee and refreshed her own. Once seated by the campfire ring, Jonie returned to her secret.

  “Y’see,” she leaned forward in her lawn chair, even though no one else was around to hear, “I’m finally getting my big break.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Frannie said. “What’s happened?”

  “There’s a man camping here who has connections with some big people in the music business. He’s gonna come hear me sing tonight and get me introduced. By this time next week, I could be performin’ in Nashville!” She sat back with a big smile, her breakup with Mel forgotten.

  “Sounds great—who is the man?” Frannie asked, pretty sure she already knew the answer.

  “His name’s Richard Ellis-Reynolds. It’s a hyphenated name.”

  Frannie didn’t reply right away. How much to say? Especially when she didn’t know anything for sure. But Jonie was a sweet lady and seemed pretty gullible.

  “Um, have you checked him out? I mean, how do you know he has these connections?”

  “Check him out? How would I do that? He seems on the up and up.” Jonie became so disconcerted that she lost her drawl completely.

  Frannie sighed. “I’m sure he does, but…I don’t know anything for certain but I think he makes promises to women and doesn’t intend to carry them out.”

  “Oh, I think you’re very wrong—no disrespect intended.” Jonie shook her head. Jonie continued on about the names and studios Richard had said he knew and how one of them would surely come through for her.

  “He’s gonna loan me what I need to make this work. Could well be my last chance and I’m going to take it.” She paused for a breath. “I have an uncle who’s pretty well off and he’s told me I’m his only heir. But he’s pretty healthy, and ‘course I don’t wish him ill, so Richard said he’d help me out.”

  Frannie couldn’t think of a single fact she could present to refute all that.

  “Well, I gotta be goin’. Thanks for the coffee,” Jonie got out of her lawn chair and tiptoed toward the road on her spikes.

  “Good luck, Jonie!” Frannie called after her. “I hope it all works out for you.” And she hoped it did. But she mistrusted Richard’s intentions, even though she couldn’t imagine what his motive would be in helping Jonie other than good will. She also knew she just plain didn’t want to grant Richard the benefit of the doubt.

  She had just gotten back into her book when she felt a familiar nuzzle under her right arm. She looked down into Cuba’s liquid brown eyes, pleading for a walk. Getting the leash, she thought maybe Richard would be hanging around outside and some discreet pumping would be possible. Right.

  Cuba strained at the leash as they ambled along the road, itching to explore empty campsites for food and dog smells. A couple of sites still held RVs, one with a man her age reading a thick paperback while his wife sat at the picnic table perusing the morning paper. They both looked up and nodded and the woman said, “Nice dog.”

  Frannie nodded her thanks. “She loves to camp.”

  When she reached the office area, she was disappointed that Richard’s site looked deserted and his bike was nowhere to be seen.

  She sto
pped in the office to return a paperback that she had borrowed earlier from Mary Louise. Phun Munki lay curled up fat and sassy on the counter, stretched out on the guest ledger. She raised her head and gave Cuba a hiss, which the dog ignored. Cats were beneath Cuba’s dignity.

  Mary Louise bustled out from the back office.

  “Long time, no see!” she fairly shouted. And then let loose with her unique hoot of laughter.

  “Right,” Frannie grinned back at her.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Just returning a book I borrowed the other day.” She laid it on the counter. “I seem to have a lot of time to read this trip.”

  Mary Louise turned serious. “That’s a shame, honey. I’m so sorry about that fall.”

  Frannie waved her off. “Not your fault. I’ve been canoeing for forty years, Mary Louise, and I know better than jumping into a canoe without making sure it’s floating! Don’t think another thing—”

  The phone on the counter shrilled an interruption. Mary Louise held up one finger, bracelets jangling, and reached for the phone with the other hand.

  “Good morning! River Bend Campground!” For the second time, her wide smile disappeared and a little frown formed between carefully plucked brows. She listened for a minute more and then, “Okay, Sheriff. Anything we can do.” She hung up the phone and looked back up at Frannie.

  “Sheriff has a warrant to search Mel Dubrak’s trailer. They’re looking for that camera case and think it might be there.”

  “Huh!” Frannie said. “On what basis, did she say?”

  “Something Kyle let slip in the questioning.” She sighed and looked sad. “I know they’ve been trouble, but I didn’t figure those boys for murderers.”