Deserts, Driving, and Derelicts

by Tonya Kappes

  Deserts, Driving, and Derelicts

  A CAMPER AND CRIMINALS COZY MYSTERY

  BOOK TWO

  BY

  TONYA KAPPES

  Deserts, Driving, and Derelicts

  “Did I interrupt you?” I gazed over at the table.

  “No. It’s just me,” She headed to the door, continuing to blot the napkin on her arm. “Fifi just had her hair clipped and her nails are so sharp. She scratched me - by accident, of course - when I picked her up.”

  “Do you want me to look at it?” I asked.

  “No. No. I’ll be fine. Follow me to Harrison’s office. That’s where I keep the checks.” She walked through the open deck doors. Some stray feathers from her housecoat floated behind her.

  “Harrison?” I didn’t know who that was.

  “My deceased husband.” She stopped in her tracks on the way down the hallway. “I guess that’s something me and you have in common.”

  She put her hand on the doorknob of the closed door.

  “I guess you checked up on me.” I pinched a fake smile, thinking only of a tip.

  “Hank told me who you were after you pushed the little cleaning cart around the house this morning.” She turned the knob. “I think it’s admirable how you’re working your way to pay off your husband’s mistakes or misdeeds.”

  “Ex,” I said through an exhausted sigh.

  She opened the door and took a couple of steps in before she flipped on the light and let out a bloodcurdling scream before fainting.

  Camille Braun was sitting behind Harrison’s desk in his big leather chair with a knife stuck in her chest and her eyes open.

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  RECIPES

  CHAPTER ONE OF BEACHES, BUNGALOWS & BURGLARIES

  About the Author

  Also by Tonya Kappes

  Copyright

  ONE

  “Thank you for coming in.” Alison Gilbert, the young reporter from National Parks of America Magazine greeted me all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She wore a mid-calf length red dress with small black polka dots and black sandals. Her brown hair was cut to her chin. “We are so glad you agreed to the interview. Follow me.”

  She hurried down the hall at the Daniel Boone National Park office and talked over her shoulder, guiding me to the room where she was going to perform the interview. She sat her bag on the long conference table.

  “Now, we can relax.” She turned slightly to look at me as she continued to walk down the hall. “I have coffee here, along with some donuts. Please, help yourself.”

  I walked over to the coffee bar, catching my shadow in the glass window that overlooked a beautiful area of the National Park, and noticed my hair had grown about two more sizes on the ride over to the office. That was the problem with curly hair and humidity. The two didn’t play nice with each other.

  “Thank you,” I said and pulled a handful of hair to one side over my shoulder. “Would you like a cup too?” I asked and poured a cup of coffee.

  “That’d be great.” Her head was buried in her bag. She dug around for a few more minutes, finally pulling out a camera.

  “You do remember the terms to which I agreed?” I wanted to confirm before we got started.

  “Yep.” Her head slowly nodded up and down. She fiddled with her phone and sat it down on the table. “No particulars about your husband or the ponzi scheme, but you’re okay with talking about how you acquired Happy Trails Campground, bringing it and more tourists to Normal during a slow economic time.”

  “Ex-husband,” I muttered and walked over to the table, setting down a cup of coffee in front of her and then walking over to look at the donuts.

  “Right.” She pulled in a deep breath. “I’m going to tape it on my phone, if that’s okay,” she said. “I like to go back and listen to the interview while I’m writing the piece. I want to make sure I don’t leave anything out.”

  “Sure.” I grabbed one of the glazed donuts and took a modest bite. If I were alone in my camper, I’d just stuffed my face with all of it and licked my fingers after.

  “Interview with Mae West, owner of Happy Trails Campground located deep in Daniel Boone National Park in Normal, Kentucky.” She smiled. “Normal,” she laughed, the tone of her voice had changed into a very professional-sounding one. “There’s really nothing that’s been Normal in Happy Trails for many years.”

  I didn’t know what she wanted me to say, so I just took a sip of coffee.

  “How did you acquire Happy Trails?” she asked.

  “It’s no secret that I was married to Paul West.” If whoever reads this article in the National Parks Magazine hadn’t heard of my ex-husband, then they’d been literally living off the land in one of these parks with their head stuck under a rock. “Years ago, during his college years, he got possession of the campground.” I left out the part that he’d actually made a bet with the original owner, Ron Randal, who now owned the Normal Diner. Ron had made a bet with the young go-getter Paul. Paul was never one to turn down a bet, even when he thought he might lose. In this case, he won. And here I was today. “Years later, he gave me the campground.”

  “Gave it to you?” She asked.

  “After Paul went to jail, all of my possessions were seized, except for Happy Trails Campground and the camper where I live because they were in my name only.” There wasn’t any sense in reliving the entire story of how my lawyer had broken the bad news to me in his Manhattan office, trading my luxury car keys for a flamingo key chain with a camper key dangling off it.

  I had no idea Paul had owned a campground. It was a shock to me how years before, he’d deeded the property over to me. Just one of many things I didn’t know. In fact, I didn’t even know my husband like I thought I did.

  “After I found out that I owned Happy Trails, I made a visit and haven’t left. I fell in complete love with camping life and the campground itself.” I left out all the in between stuff like the shock of my new life and living arrangements. Something I was embarrassed about now, but it truly had been a scary time for me.

  “You’re being modest.” Allison scooted up in the chair and rested her forearms on the edge of the conference table. “I want to get to the nitty gritty. I’ve talked to a few Happy Trails residents who have made the campground their year-round home. They tell me that Happy Trails was almost inhabitable. After I did a little digging into your married life, I have to assume it was hard for you to go from a mansion in the Hamptons to a tiny camper.”

  “I admit I was taken aback when I pulled into Happy Trails the first time. The Kentucky Bluegrass had been burnt up, the lake had a mucky film over it, and the buildings were in bad shape.” There was no way denying that Happy Trails had come a long way since I moved to Normal a few months ago. “I’m happy to say that it’s fully back up on its feet and we are booked for the next three seasons.”

  “That’s fascinating. I mean, you waltz into Normal this hoity-toity New York City housewife with all the luxuries the world could offer. You walked into a crazy situation where almost all the residents of Happy Trails had been victims of your husband.”

  “Ex. I didn’t waltz.” My eyes narrowed as I wondered where this interview was going.

  She grazed over my comment and continued to look down at her notes.

 
; “I mean, he didn’t pay the manager for years, though he did let her live there for free. It was rundown and nothing worked, including the laundry machines. Your husband swindled a lot of Normal residents out of their retirement accounts. How did it feel to be the most hated woman in the town?” She smiled like her words were daggers.

  “Well, you’ve done quite a lot of research.” I could’ve reminded her that I didn’t really want to talk about what Paul had done to the people of Normal, but I decided to deal with it head on. Seriously, how many people were reading National Parks of America Magazine? “I’m fully aware of what Paul did to the people and the town of Normal. Especially when a big chunk of their economy comes from the campground. So when I saw what a disarray Happy Trails was in, I decided it was time to make things right with the entire community.”

  “That’s when you came up with the brilliant social media campaign?” She was finally getting to the true reason for the interview.

  “I have to give credit to my friend Abby Fawn. She’s the librarian at the Normal County Library. As you pointed out, the laundry machines at Happy Trails weren’t working and, having driven from New York, I needed to do laundry.” The memory of my meeting the ladies of the Laundry Club was very fond. I loved telling the story. “I took my laundry to The Laundry Club.”

  “The Laundry Club is a full-service laundromat located in downtown Normal. Correct?” she asked.

  “Yes. Though it’s so much more than that. There’s fresh coffee, jigsaw puzzles, a book club. It’s like a community.” I couldn’t stop my smile from growing. “That’s where I met a group of women I consider my friends. It’s like meeting your friends at a coffee shop, only it’s a laundromat.”

  “Tell me about the women.” She seemed to be really interested.

  “First, there’s Dottie Swaggert, Queenie French, Abby Fawn, and Betts Hager.” Even though I was telling the story to her phone, she was still taking notes. “They welcomed me with open arms and really took me under their wing. Abby is the one who took my idea about having some sort of fundraiser to help bring the campground back to what it used to be in its glory days and ran with it. She did all the social media hash tagging and it just took off.”

  “That’s what brings us here today. There was so much buzz about the grand reopening of Happy Trails that you ended up booking all the lots for the entire next year. No one even seemed to care that your husband’s body floated to the top of the lake. Wasn’t he murdered?”

  She had to add in the last part, didn’t she? I lowered my eyes and stared at her for a second. She fidgeted a smidgen as if she realized she was teetering on a fine line.

  “Ex,” I sighed and grabbed another donut. This time, I stuffed it in my mouth just as I heard the camera click. “You aren’t going to print that one, are you?”

  “You’re originally from Kentucky.” She’d obviously been digging around more than just my married life. My palms started to sweat and itch. “Why don’t you tell me about that?”

  “There’s really nothing to tell. It was a lifetime ago.” I pinched a smile. “I’m happy to say that I’m back in Kentucky and enjoying living at Happy Trails Campground. We are ready for more families to join us for a terrific vacation.” I spouted off the office phone number and the website URL, which was also Abby’s doings. “We have a monthly party where we get together for food and friendship. It’s free to the public. This month’s is about this late Indian summer we are having so it has a desert theme. Dottie Swaggert is the social coordinator for Happy Trials. If you look on social media, you’ll find all the information you need using hashtag Summer Sizzler. Come one, come all.”

  “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me today. I know I probably pushed a little too much, but I think everyone is going to love how you completely turned the campground around and brought a feel-good story to Normal, Kentucky.” Alison stood up and gathered her belongings. “I ran by the campground earlier and took some photos. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” I took another donut. “Please let us know when we are in it so we can frame the article and hang it on the wall in the office.”

  Little did I realize just how many people did subscribe to National Parks of America Magazine, but I was soon going to find out.

  TWO

  “Well, well, well.”

  A shadow cast over my lawn chair from someone standing in the sun’s rays. Dottie Swaggert, the manager and social coordinator of Happy Trails, and I had taken a few minutes to enjoy the pleasant early morning warmth by the lake in the campground before the heat wave of the Indian summer took over in the afternoon.

  The person dropped a knapsack on the ground next to their feet. “If it ain’t May-bell-line Grant, then my eyes are deceiving me,” he said with a heavy southern twang.

  Lordy, I shielded my eyes from the sun and hoped that it was the hot summer sun playing tricks on my mind. Was it really who I thought it was? I scooted up on my elbows, blinking a few times to try to get the sunspots to go away so I could see clearly.

  “Your eyes are deceiving you.” Dottie Swaggert moved the tinfoil-covered piece of cardboard from underneath her chin. She used her fingers to fluff up the curls in her short red hair that’d been flattened from laying down. “Now pick up that backpack, get out of my sun, and get on the trail to Daniel Boone National Park right through them trees.” Dottie pointed to the tree line behind the lake where many different levels of trails started for the campers of Happy Trails. Every once in a while, we got a stray hiker or two.

  Satisfied with herself, Dottie laid her head back and put the cardboard back up underneath her chin. “Honey, we see all kinds during these Indian summers.” She glanced over at me. “You know if I said Indian summer anywhere else than right here, I’d be considered of ill-reproach.”

  My eyes adjusted and sure enough, it was exactly who I thought it was. Just a little older.

  “Go one!” Dottie said with some frustration and flung her hand out.

  “Bobby Ray Bond?” I questioned and pushed myself up off the chair.

  There I stood face-to-face with the very person who gave me the money to leave on that Greyhound Bus to New York City twelve years ago.

  “Heeeeeere’s Bobby!” He held his arms out and put on a funny grin like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

  We’d spent many nights watching The Shining over and over. Bobby did the best impersonation of Jack Nicholson, down to the crazy eyes.

  “Bobby!” I squealed and threw my arms around him. It didn’t take long for my nose to catch up to his bad body odor. I took a step back. With my hands on my hips and a smile on my face, I asked, “What on earth are you doing here?”

  Bobby Ray had on a pair of dirty jeans and filthy white t-shirt with the neck stretched out. He had brown eyes that used to match his head full of brown hair, but time seemed to have taken that away from him, leaving him a thin combover.

  “I came to see my one true May-bell-ine.” He winked. “Look at you. All grown up and stuff. Running a campground. Back in Kentucky. Then I went and Googled you down at the community center. Literally almost fainted when I seen all the hashtags with your name. I told everyone that my May-bell-ine had hit it big time, owning her own campground and all.”

  “Dottie, this is Bobby Ray Bond.” I introduced them. “Bobby and I were in the same foster family. He was the only one with a good job and he gave me enough money to not only get a Greyhound bus ticket out of Kentucky, but also the initial payment for flight attendant school.”

  Then it hit me like the stink his body was emitting. It was time to repay the piper. He just so happened to be the one tooting the horn.

  “How did you find me?” I asked a bit leery.

  “You could’ve knocked my teeth out when I saw your interview in National Parks of America Magazine. I said to myself, Bobby Ray, is that our May-bell-ine Grant? I responded to myself, Nah. Our May-bell-ine would’ve called if she was in Kentucky because that’s what our May-bell-i
ne said in the middle of the night before she left.”

  My mouth dried and I gulped. Not that I didn’t want to call him, but it was part of my life that I wanted to forget.

  “The more I read it, the more I couldn’t believe my eyes. As sure as shinola, it was my May-bell-ine Grant that’s not only grown up, but has a campground of her very own.” He grinned. “Looky at you.”

  “And look at you.” There was some apparent sarcasm in Dottie’s response. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she said with a little fire behind her words. She stood up. Her temper was flaring up as bright as her hair. “You comin’ here and tryin’ to mooch off Mae West now that she’s made a name for herself.”

  Bobby Ray jumped.

  “Woman! What’s wrong with you?” He protested. “Bobby Ray Bond doesn’t mooch off no one. Especially not May-bell-ine.” His face scrunched up in disapproval of Dottie’s accusations.

  “Don’t you be callin’ me ‘woman’!” She jabbed some upper-cuts with her hands fisted. I’m sure she’d learned in the Strike Jazzercise class she’d been taking from Queenie French, one of our friends. “Now, you get on out of here like I told you to earlier.”

  “Hold on.” I positioned myself between them, arms outstretched. “Dottie,” I put my arms down, straightened my shoulders, and choked out the next words. “If it weren’t for Bobby Ray, I’d not be right here where I’m standing.”

  “Mmmhhhh,” Bobby agreed. “She’s right. Right as rain.”

  I gulped back what felt like tears coming up, stinging my nose. What Bobby had done for me so many years ago was a blessing and it made me cry then, much like it was doing now.

  “I just can’t believe it’s you.” I wiped a tear from my cheek. He smiled. “I guess I need to stop blubbering and get to work. But I’ll get you settled first,” I said to Bobby and glanced over at Dottie. She was still glaring at Bobby Ray. “Dottie, I’ll meet you in the office in a few minutes. We can get the final details worked out for the Summer Sizzler.”