Minnie Crockwell - Will Travel for Trouble 01 - Trouble at Happy Trails

by Minnie Crockwell

  That’s not to say that I didn’t tie on a few during my misspent youth, always in search of romance in the wrong place. Bars and nightclubs were not the best place to find true romance. It was no wonder I had never managed to marry again.

  Ah! But had you remarried, it is likely that you would not have met me. Ben’s voice purred.

  He was a bit of a flirt, but I enjoyed it.

  “Well, if you don’t mind, I brought my own stuff.” She reached into her bag and brought out a small rounded bottle clearly marked “Brandy.”

  “Oh!” I said again, nonplussed. “I’ll get you a glass.”

  “Get two if you’d like to join me.”

  I shook my head. “Not for me, thanks.”

  I think that is a wise decision, my dear, although I would so dearly fancy a taste of brandy myself.

  I still can’t believe you can taste what I can.

  It is very odd, I must admit.

  I reached for a glass and handed it to Sally. I took a seat beside her on the couch. Her short hair was wet from the shower. She wore a loose dark blue flowered shirt, black capri pants and black sandals.

  She poured herself a glass and set the bottle on the end table beside the couch.

  My first inclination was to ask her questions, but I suspected that would not be welcome, so it surprised me when she started talking.

  “I never thought Carl would do it. He had threatened over the years to kill himself, but I never thought he would go through with it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sally.” I wished I had some profound words of consolation, but I had nothing.

  “Thank you. I left a message for my brother. He didn’t answer his cell phone. I’m sure he and his wife can come up tomorrow. I’ll have to call the owner, Nick, and let them know that I can’t stay on here…and that Carl is…gone.” Her chin quivered on the last words, and she gulped her drink and poured another.

  I nodded, again wracking my brain for something helpful to say.

  Any words of wisdom, Ben? You’re the one with the flowery words.

  I apologize, Minerva, but I too have nothing else to offer other than my condolences, and you have expressed those adequately.

  Well, I’m going to have a very drunk grieving woman on my hands in a minute.

  Yes, I can see that might be a possibility. Perhaps you could offer her something to eat?

  “Are you hungry, Sally? Have you eaten at all?”

  “Carl and I ate dinner,” she said. Tears slid down her face. “And then we got into an argument—a loud shouting match. I’m surprised everybody in the park didn’t hear it. I left and went back to the office to work on some paperwork, just to get away. When I came back, he was…” She stopped short and closed her eyes.

  I reached for her hand, so recently covered in blood. It was clean now, and very cold. A slight tremor ran through it.

  “I wish there was something I could say or do, Sally.”

  “Oh, you’re doing so much already. Not many people would offer shelter to a woman who the police thought was a murderer only a few hours ago.”

  A light tinkling sound caught my ear, and Sally withdrew her hand to reach inside her bag.

  “My phone. It’s probably my brother.”

  I watched as she raised the phone to her ear with a shaking hand.

  “Hello?”

  The range of emotions on her face was interesting to watch as she listened to the caller. I saw grief, surprise and then a smile of relief.

  “You’re here in town? Already?”

  She listened.

  “When did you get here?” She listened again. “Oh, so you got here this afternoon? Why didn’t you call me?”

  A sob erupted from her, and I reached for her free hand. She mouthed the words “my brother” to me.

  “Well, I’m at space 18 right now, staying with a new friend. Did Kathy come with you?”

  Silence.

  “You came by yourself?” Her brother must have explained something.

  “Okay, sure. I’m sure she won’t mind. Come get me. Okay, bye!”

  Sally settled the phone back into her bag.

  “My brother was already in town. I’m not really sure why, but he says he got here this afternoon, even before… He’s staying at a motel nearby. I guess he was coming to visit? I’m not sure why he didn’t call earlier. He could have come to dinner, and maybe…” She didn’t finish that sentence but continued on.

  “Well, we’ll never know. He hated Carl anyway, would have been no help.”

  “Hated him?”

  “Carl was…” Sally bit her lower lip and took a deep breath. “Carl smacked me around. Bob knew about it. He saw the bruises last year when we visited him and Kathy. I lied and said I fell, but he knew. He threatened to kill Carl if he ever did it again.”

  “Oh, Sally!” I murmured. I too had been bruised by men but under different circumstances—a one-time incident, not a systemic brutalization by a spouse or loved one.

  “So, even if he had come by the park, that might not have stopped Carl from…” Sally struggled to voice the words.

  I nodded. “I can see that.” I wanted to say “good riddance” but thought it a bit much.

  And singularly inappropriate, my dear. Knowing you as I now do, silent commiseration is the wisest course. A chuckle followed.

  “Carl cheated on me too,” Sally continued. “Once, I found him in someone’s trailer. He’d gone to help a single lady in an RV with her ‘plumbing’ and when I went to see what time he wanted to eat lunch, she answered the door half naked. Carl came out of the bedroom, zipping up his pants. I hated him for that!”

  This Carl character sounded like a real jerk.

  Restrain yourself, Minerva. I hear the words on the tip of your tongue.

  Yes, Ben, I said to my annoying conscience.

  “Is that something he did often?” I asked.

  “More than once. I know of about three times at least. Sometimes, he would just tell me about it.”

  The natural inclination is to ask someone why he or she didn’t leave, but I resisted. The question would have been trite and useless. She clearly had her own reasons for staying. Maybe she still loved him.

  Yes, my dear. Love is a powerful bond, even if it is not returned. I think you are correct.

  A sharp series of knocks on the door startled me, and I jumped. I was always jumpy, had been for the past two months.

  “Who could that be?” I said. I got up, grabbed my air horn from near the door, and called out.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Bob Stewart, Sally’s brother! Is she in there?”

  “Oh! It’s my brother!”

  I unlocked the door and opened it. A short, squat man who looked like he might have wrestled in high school waited at the foot of the stairs.

  “Come in,” I said.

  “No, thanks. I’ll just wait for Sally out here.” His hands were shoved in his pocket, and he declined to meet my eyes, rather staring at the first step.

  Sally arose, her voice breaking. “Oh, Bob!” She came to the door. “Come in.” At the sight of her brother, tears streamed down her face anew. She reached for him.

  He sighed and climbed the stairs. “Well, just for a minute,” he said in a gruff voice.

  He stepped into the RV and looked around, continuing to avoid my eyes. I wasn’t sure he was any more pleasant than Carl had been. Poor Sally. She was certainly surrounded by bad-tempered men. I preferred a kind, easy-going man myself.

  With a temperate disposition? Madam, you have described me perfectly. Although you did fail to note my charming looks, wit and intelligence.

  Peregrine Ebenezer Alvord! This is hardly the time to flirt. Help me assess the situation here.

  On a side note, I had seen what Ben looked like on the web. A portrait of the officers of Lewis and Clark’s Corps of Discovery expedition showed Lieutenant Peregrine Ebenezer Alvord to be a startlingly handsome man with thick straight blue-black hair,
beautiful aquamarine eyes, a prominent chin with a cleft, thin nose and a charmingly full lower lip. The high black collar of his coat emphasized the color of his hair and contrasted with a well-starched looking white cravat. Of course, the portrait painter could have embellished.

  Minerva! I am offended. I remember sitting for the portrait you speak of. The likeness is true and accurate, Ben had said then in response to my doubts.

  Now, Sally threw herself into Bob’s arms. He held her awkwardly while she cried. He continued to avoid eye contact with me, and I gave them space, choosing to sit down on the couch and study my laced fingers.

  “I didn’t know he’d do it, Bob. I didn’t know. We had a fight tonight. I should have kept my mouth shut. I said mean things to him.”

  “Hush now, Sally. You couldn’t have said anything he didn’t deserve. Don’t cry. It’s over now.”

  Chapter Three

  I alerted on Bob’s last statement. It seemed odd. He clearly meant the marriage was over now, but it sounded so final.

  “But I loved him,” she wailed. “For all his ornery, cheating ways, I loved him.”

  “I don’t know why,” Bob said flatly. He patted his sister’s back. “Okay, now. Stop crying.”

  Sally gulped and pulled back. She moved to the table to grab her drink and down it.

  “You’re drinking?” Bob asked incredulously. He looked at me with an accusing expression, and I shrugged my shoulders with an innocent look.

  “Yes,” Sally said defiantly. “I’m drinking the brandy he was saving for someone else, I guess.”

  “Well, grab your bottle and let’s get going.”

  She turned to me. “Thank you for everything, Minnie. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not in my hair,” I said inanely.

  “Thank you anyway. I hope I see you again.” She picked up her bottle of brandy, stuffed it into her recycled shopping bag and followed her brother out the door. I stood on the stairs and waved goodbye.

  “Well, that was weird,” I said aloud.

  An abrupt farewell certainly, but probably excusable under the extraordinary circumstances.

  I turned and reentered the RV, making sure to lock the door behind me.

  “So, you didn’t see him shoot himself?”

  Alas, or fortunately, no. I assumed when I saw her bent over him that she had committed the deed.

  “Something seems slightly off here, but I’m not sure what it is.”

  A tragedy has occurred, although some clearly see it as providential. Certainly, Mr. Stewart does.

  “Yes, he did, didn’t he? He must have really hated his brother-in-law.

  Yes, it would seem so.

  I sat down on the couch. “Well, I guess that’s that. What am I supposed to do now? Go to bed like nothing has happened?”

  It would seem your fellow travelers have done so.

  “Oh, yeah, and where was my neighbor anyway? One minute, he’s all up in my business asking me about traveling or visiting family, and the next minute, not a peep from him as someone is firing a gun and someone else is screaming?”

  Perhaps he is a heavy sleeper.

  “Him and ‘the wife.’ I hate that term.”

  It does seem disrespectful.

  “Something like that,” I muttered. “A bit like ‘the dog’ or ‘the cat.’”

  I heard an answering chuckle. Ben was rapidly growing used to my tirades and quirks. I hated exposing myself to anyone so completely like this—with all my quirks and flaws—but I had little choice. He didn’t seem to be going anywhere soon.

  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll try to get some sleep.” I picked up the bedding I’d set out for Sally and put it away.

  Rest well, Minerva.

  “You too, Ben.”

  I closed the bedroom door as always, feeling more secure when I did, and I readied myself for bed again. I crawled into my queen-sized bed and pulled the blanket over me. However, once I turned out the lights, all I could see was an image of Carl with his head in bits and pieces. Not that I had seen the body or anything. Thank goodness!

  I tossed and turned, plumping pillows, pulling the pillowcase away from my mouth and tucking my blanket behind my shoulder blades. I turned the pillow over, stuck my feet out of the end of the blanket and turned over onto my left side. I imagined sheep jumping over a fence. I visualized a beach on the Gulf Coast, the pictures of which enticed me to visit one day. I flopped over onto my right side. Sally’s swollen face danced before my eyes.

  “Ben?”

  Yes, dear?

  “I can’t sleep. This is going to be a long night.”

  I am sorry, Minerva. How can I help?

  “I have no idea. Tell me more about your life.”

  Ah! A subject designed to put even the most ardent insomniac to sleep. I understand.

  “Funny,” I mumbled.

  As I told you before, I was born in Bishop’s Stortford, Hertfordshire, England, on the 10th of August, 1770. My parents immigrated to Stonington, New London, Connecticut, in 1778, bringing my brother, sister and me with them. My father, an Army officer, was tired of war and wanted to settle in the Colonies.

  I grew up a happy child, wanting for nothing. My parents were kind and loving. We had plenty. My mother was a gracious woman and worked tirelessly to better the conditions of the workers on my father’s estate in Stonington. My father indulged her every whim. He loved her dearly. They both died during an influenza epidemic.

  I joined the Army in 1792 at the age of 21. In 1803, I was recruited to serve as an assistant navigator and cartographer on the Corps of Discovery expedition by Captain William Clark. We reached the Oregon Coast for the first time in 1805. We traveled up to Cape Disappointment on the 15th of November with Captain Meriwether Lewis. We camped. I went to sleep in my tent that night, and knew no more until I saw you at the remnants of the encampment.

  “And you still can’t figure out what happened to you? Indian attack? Disease? A heart attack?”

  Nothing. I am certain there was no Indian attack. The Chinook Indians were very friendly and accommodating, sharing with our party some roots. I felt myself to be in fine shape, no illness that I recall. I am far too young to have morbus cordis.

  “Morbus cordis? What on earth is that?”

  What you call a heart attack, disease of the heart.

  “By my calculations, Ben, you’re actually fairly old—about 244 years or so.”

  Very amusing, Minerva. I was only thirty-five when I…perished/vanished/died/disappeared, whichever term is most apt.

  “Whichever is most apt,” I murmured. Poor guy. I knew he hadn’t had a chance to marry or have children. I’d asked him that before. His voice had grown somber, and I thought I heard pain in his words. It was hard not seeing his expression. I had to go by tone in his voice exclusively.

  Do you grow sleepy yet?

  “Not really. Now, I’m wondering about you.”

  You must allow your mind to rest, Minerva. It cannot be conducive to longevity to contemplate so many matters in the dark of night.

  “I know,” I said quietly. I didn’t want to say anything, but it was also hard to sleep knowing Ben was always about, always available for a conversation.

  I will leave you now so you can rest.

  “Stop reading my mind,” I said.

  I will try.

  I heard him chuckle and then I knew he wasn’t there anymore. I turned over and closed my eyes, willing sleep to come.

  ****

  I woke up and checked the cell phone by my bed.

  8 a.m.

  I had slept soundly from about midnight to 8. I got out of bed, washed my face and hands, and moved into the main cabin of the RV to make coffee.

  In the light of day, I could hardly believe the events of last night. I opened the door and peeked outside. Everything seemed fairly quiet. RVers hadn’t stampeded from the park in the early hours, leaving it desolate and abandoned.

  I shut
the door and eyed my computer resting on a computer desk in front of the passenger’s seat. I wondered what my ex-husband, John, would have to say about the goings-on. He was a police chief in a small Colorado city. We emailed only occasionally, but when we did, we volleyed several emails back and forth.

  I opened up my computer and started an email.

  Hey, John,

  So, guess what happened last night…

  I went on to tell him about Carl’s demise, the suspicion of murder that quickly changed to an assumption of suicide and the arrival of the brother.

  I never mentioned Ben in the emails…ever. More than anything, I wanted John’s approval, even 18 years after our divorce. I wanted him to think I was self-confident, on the ball, wise, learned, finally mature, a whole lot more petite than I was in actuality, and just generally a desirable woman whom he once loved and should again. I definitely didn’t want him to think I’d gone wacky and created my own giant eighteenth century rabbit.

  He responded almost immediately. John was great that way. Though we had parted ways at age 22 because I couldn’t find the wherewithal to grow up fast enough to imagine marriage to the same person for the rest of my life, he was unfailingly polite when I did contact him. He never initiated the contact.

  Gosh, kiddo,

  That sounds bad! Believe me, I’ve seen a few of those. Police hate to respond to domestic violence situations. They’re always so volatile and unpredictable. And they hate suicides. Messy business.

  Still, I’m glad to hear you’re finally getting out and traveling a bit. From the picture you sent me, that is one big RV. Brave girl to lug one of those oversized rigs around. I’m jealous. I can’t wait until I can retire and travel! That’s a long way off though.

  So, you think the circumstances of the suicide are suspicious? Did you tell the police? Be careful that they don’t set their sights on you though. He inserted a smiley face here. My best advice is to stay away from the whole thing. Let the police do their job. You may not know whether they consider the death a suicide or if they’re investigating a possible murder.

  I know you can stay clear of it. Right?

  You asked how I was doing. I’m fine. Busy at work. Not doing much else besides going to the gym. My ex (the second one) is moving back to town. I’m not looking forward to that. My sons will be happy to see her though…for short periods of time.