Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping

by Jeanne Glidewell

  I muttered under my breath as Stone groaned loudly and dramatically. I’m sure he was as excited as I was to stand in a frenzied crowd of Vex Vaughn’s adoring fans for two or more hours, no doubt being doused in beer by screaming young women as our toes were being stomped on by their leather boots. At five-foot-two, I wouldn’t be able to see anything over the sea of cowboy hats anyway.

  His mood unaffected by our discontent, Wyatt was grinning from ear to ear, delighted that he could bring such happiness to his girlfriend. I didn’t want to rain on this young couple’s parade, so I would be a good sport and suffer through the concert silently, with a forced smile on my face and a feigned lilt to my voice.

  I turned my attention back to Wyatt, to whom Veronica clung as if he were a porcelain throne on prom night. The detective looked at Wendy and me, and said, “It was Emily who secured the tickets for us, from a customer who had six tickets to sell. Could you gals pick them up at the office? Andy, Stone, and I want to catch the next shuttle bus to the fairgrounds so we can walk around a while before the rodeo begins at one.”

  “Are you going to try to win Veronica a teddy bear by knocking over three bottles with a baseball?” I asked Wyatt in a teasing manner.

  “I doubt it,” Veronica said with a chuckle. “More likely he wants to chow down on hot dogs and funnel cakes.”

  Everyone laughed, knowing Veronica had no doubt hit the nail on the head. The man was a bottomless pit when it came to food. “Well, I did have my mind set on snacking on a foot-long chili dog with shredded cheese, onions, and jalapeños on top,” Wyatt said.

  “Just promise us you won’t ride the Scrambler afterward,” Stone said to his buddy. “I don’t want to be anywhere around when you start spraying everyone with that conglomeration you call a snack.”

  “I promise you I won’t go anywhere near any ride that spins in circles. I’m at that age now that I can barely tolerate a Ferris wheel without tossing my cookies.”

  * * *

  I volunteered to go pick up the tickets so I could express my appreciation to Emily for going out of her way to accommodate us. While Wendy and I were swimming, Veronica had been baking oatmeal raisin cookies for the group, and they were absolutely delicious. After gobbling down two cookies, I’d told the young lady she’d missed her calling as a bakery chef and that I’d like for her to give me some cooking lessons some day when she wasn’t tied up with work at her own inn. But for now, with nothing else pressing, the two younger gals decided to accompany me.

  The young blond woman I’d seen working the desk the day before was alone in the office ringing up a teenage boy’s potato chips, Coke, and postcards. She smiled at the young man and wished him a fun day at the rodeo before turning her attention to us. I told her our names and in return, she introduced herself as Kylie Rue and said she’d only been working at the campground for a few weeks.

  “You must be a quick learner, Kylie,” I said. “You appear to be very professional for a gal who looks like she should still be in high school.”

  “I’m not that young, I’m afraid,” she said with a smile. “I’ll be twenty-nine on my next birthday, which is the day after Christmas. That kind of sucks in a way, but I certainly clean up in gifts in late December.”

  “I’ll bet you do. We’re the same age, girlfriend. Except I’ll be thirty in mid-August, so I’m still an elder to you, since my birthday is just about three weeks away,” Wendy said to Kylie.

  “Time seems to pass quicker and quicker the older I get. I’ll be thirty before I know it,” the office helper said.

  Kylie had a youthful and bubbly disposition, and it amused me the way she talked about her age. I put my hand on top of hers, and said, “Don’t rush it, sweetie. Your birthday is still five months away. When you’re my age, you’ll be saying you just turned fifty-one until the day before your fifty-second birthday. Are you from around here? I detect a faint touch of a southern accent in your voice.”

  “Yes, you’re right, Ms. Starr,” she replied. “I just moved out here from Longwood, Florida, but I’m originally from Tennessee. I was fortunate to land this job so quickly.”

  “Really?” I asked. “What did you do in Florida?”

  “I went to cosmetology school and got a job at The Hair Affair Salon, but after several years of dealing with disgruntled old women… um, no offense, Ms. Starr, I’d had enough and decided to move out here. I wanted a change and to experience new places, starting with Wyoming. I hadn’t anticipated being so homesick, though. I’m adopted, but I couldn’t love my mom and dad any more than I would if they were my biological parents. I miss them even more than I thought I would, but I’m hoping I’ll get over that eventually. And, Ms. Starr, I apologize again for the disgruntled old women comment. That was a little insensitive of me.”

  “Please call me Lexie, dear. And I wasn’t offended about your comment until you told me not to be.” Including me in the category of disgruntled old women really was kind of discouraging. I didn’t feel terribly old, and I certainly didn’t see myself as disgruntled. “Trust me, Kylie, I may seem ancient to youngsters like yourself, but I’m at least a decade younger than dirt, and as gruntled as they come.”

  I could see her mulling over the question of whether “gruntled” was a real word, or not, when I continued. “Why were the old ladies so disgruntled?”

  “They blamed me when I couldn’t make them look like Halle Berry or Jennifer Lopez. They’d show me a photo and say, ‘I’d like to get the Rachel hairstyle,’ and then totally blow a gasket when they didn’t look exactly like Jennifer Aniston when I was finished. Jeez Louise, I might barely make a hundred bucks on a good day. I’m not sure I could even make Jennifer Aniston look like Jennifer Aniston.”

  “I’m sure you’re more talented than you give yourself credit for,” Wendy said. “But your job must have been challenging at times. That’s why I like working with cadavers. They never complain, and I haven’t ever witnessed one blowing a gasket. And I’m smart enough to leave the hair styling to the funeral home to take care of, because if you don’t make a dead person look like they did when alive, or even better in some cases, there can be some very unhappy family members.”

  After chuckling over Wendy’s remark, Kylie pointed at my daughter’s feet and said, “I absolutely love your boots. If I ever win the lottery, the first thing I’m going to buy is a pair just like them. Well, maybe the second thing, after I buy the biggest, plushest mansion in the country, complete with a huge, elaborate swimming pool, and a fleet of customized Rolls Royces in the eight-car garage.”

  “It better be a big lottery payout or you might not have enough left over for a pair of boots like mine,” Wendy said, chuckling at Kylie’s remarks.

  Just as Wendy finished her sentence, the queen of gasket-blowing walked in the door. Ignoring Wendy, Veronica, and me as if we were grease stains on the linoleum floor, she marched straight up to Kylie and demanded to see the owner. Kylie’s jubilant mood vanished like dollar bills in a strip joint.

  “I’m afraid she doesn’t start working in the office until noon. She’s up late every evening doing paperwork after she locks up the office, which stays open until ten, and often later than that during this annual event,” Kylie answered with as much politeness as she could summon. “Can I help you?”

  “No, you can’t. I have an issue to discuss with her that is way above your pay grade.”

  Remaining calm and collected—almost stoic—Kylie told Fanny Finch to come back later if she needed to talk directly to Emily Harrington. I think I would have been compelled to slap the scowl right off the author’s face. The woman must have been born disgruntled. She was like the tiger that couldn’t change its stripes—a fitting description of Fanny. I was impressed with Kylie’s poise, something I’d have been hard-pressed to emulate.

  Even though Fanny had said she’d speak only to Emily, she launched right into a laundry list of complaints. Between griping about the unevenness of her site and the park’s lack of a
payphone, she managed to work in the fact that she was the author of the best selling novel Fame and Shame, a biography detailing the disgraceful truths about Vex Vaughn’s past behaviors and actions.

  I didn’t have a clue who Vex Vaughn was earlier when Wyatt announced he had acquired tickets for us to attend the performer’s concert that evening. This wasn’t surprising, since my tastes leaned toward old-timers like Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash. I’d still be listening to my old Elvis tapes if my car had an eight-track player in it, something the three gals I was with would look at as if they were viewing something from the Jurassic period.

  When I glanced at Veronica, whom I now knew was a fan of Vaughn’s, she had an angry, hateful expression on her face, and fists tightly clinched. When she took a step forward, I thrust myself between her and Fanny as I heard Kylie respond, “I’m sure you are profiting handsomely on the book, despite how it might affect other people’s lives.”

  Fanny replied with venom. “The scumbag should have thought about that when he was taking illegal drugs, getting young women pregnant before dumping them, and racking up one DUI after another. Not only that, but he was arrested for assault and battery several times, and charged with resisting arrest twice. Oh, but I don’t want to give away everything in the book. You’ll have to purchase a copy at my book-signing this afternoon if you want to know all the juicy details.”

  “No, thanks!” Kylie replied. I could tell that she, like Veronica, was a fan of the subject of Fanny’s unsanctioned biography. I wasn’t sure why they seemed so fond of him if Fanny’s description of him was accurate. I listened as Kylie practically spat out her next comments. “I have no desire to read a disrespectful book like that! And one more thing, Ms. Finch. When was the last time you’ve seen a payphone? They’re practically obsolete now that nearly everyone from nine to ninety owns a cell phone.”

  Yes, I thought, this young gal would definitely consider an eight-track player comparable to a Tyrannosaurus Rex. I hadn’t really even taken notice of the disappearance of pay phones until I thought about Kylie’s remark. The fact I’d recently crossed over to the downhill side of fifty was becoming more and more apparent. Odd as it might seem, I couldn’t remember ever being happier or more content in my life.

  As Fanny turned and stomped out of the office, she let out a loud huff, and said, “I’ll come back later when somebody with a little authority is in the office.”

  It’s probably fortunate she left when she did. I was afraid Kylie, with her younger, fit, and athletic body, was on the verge of punching the author’s lights out. And, even though Veronica was an ultra-delicate size-zero woman, she was livid. In her furious state I would have placed money on her if she’d goaded the older, but much stronger, Fanny Finch, into a hair-pulling, bitch-slapping catfight—particularly if Kylie jumped in to assist her in the impromptu smack-down. The two women working as a tag team would make mincemeat of the mouthy broad.

  “I’m sorry if I sounded rude to Ms. Finch, but there’s just something about her that rubs me the wrong way. I guess I lost my patience, which is rare for me. I usually don’t let much of anything get under my skin,” Kylie said, apologetically. “Now I feel really badly that I spoke to her the way I did.”

  “Well, don’t feel bad for one second, my dear. She was the rude one, not you,” I assured the affable young gal. “I’m fairly certain Fanny rubs everybody the wrong way. I lost my patience with her two seconds after I laid eyes on her. What took you so long?”

  Everybody laughed, and Kylie appeared visibly relieved. I could tell she felt bad about losing her cool, and it was obvious it went against her nature to do so. It was also obvious that Veronica still wanted a piece of Fanny Finch. I found myself praying she never got the opportunity to carry out her wishes, because I was certain it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

  Chapter 4

  Sitting around a table at the small campground café, I asked Wendy and Veronica if there was anything special they wanted to do while the men spent the afternoon at the rodeo. The response I got from Veronica took me completely by surprise.

  “I would like to go to Fanny Finch’s book signing at Barnes and Noble.”

  “Are you serious?” Wendy and I asked in unison.

  “Yes, I am. As much as I dislike the author of Fame and Shame, I’m dying of curiosity about the dirt she’s spilling in her tell-all book about Vex Vaughn. I suppose it’s people like me who are to blame for her book being a New York Times best-seller.”

  “I guess I have to agree with Kylie,” Wendy said. “Aren’t you concerned about how a book like hers could adversely affect the singer’s life, and his family’s, too?”

  “How much could it affect him? He’s rich and famous and probably could care less about what Fanny’s written in her book. Celebrities like Vex Vaughn are usually happy to get any kind of exposure they can, good or bad. I would be surprised if this book didn’t actually help boost his record sales, maybe even substantially. The bad boy reputation goes over big with his female fans. I know I find it pretty sexy, myself. Not as sexy as Wyatt, mind you.”

  “Well, I don’t doubt you’re probably right, but are you sure you want to support Fanny Finch’s writing career by buying a book from her? Isn’t that windbag egotistical enough already?” I asked Veronica. “I can already imagine the arrogant expression she’ll be sporting when you hand over money for her book after the scene in the office this morning. Are you sure you’re not just interested in getting within slapping range of her?”

  “Of course not!” She replied with an ornery grin that said otherwise.

  Despite Wendy’s and my efforts to dissuade her, Veronica was dead set in her desire to make the trip to Barnes and Noble. She agreed to buy just one book directly from the store instead of standing in line to have the book signed by the author. She thought it most likely Fanny Finch would never even notice we were there. I was not at all thrilled to be going to the bookstore with Veronica, but Wendy and I agreed it wouldn’t be very hospitable of us to make her go alone.

  While I was digging money out of my fanny pack to pay for our lunch, Emily walked in to speak to the lady standing behind the cash register. We spoke briefly with Emily after she ended her conversation with the clerk. When Veronica told her we were going to the book-signing event, she looked at me as if I had deserted her camp and joined the enemy’s. After Wendy and Veronica walked outside and left me to settle the bill, I felt obliged to explain my decision to go to Barnes and Noble with Veronica. “Trust me, Emily, this was not my idea. I’d never do it if I didn’t feel responsible for Veronica, because Stone invited her to accompany us on our vacation. I can’t stand the sight of Fanny Finch, and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she doesn’t see me at the book-signing.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. My issues with her are yesterday’s news. Now I’m dealing with a customer who won’t pick up after his German shepherd and three Rottweilers. Stanley threatened to throw the man and his wife out of the park if he catches him letting his dogs poop on someone else’s site again without picking it up afterward. It’s always been an issue, but has eased up quite a bit now that Stanley has added a fenced and gated dog run.”

  “Wow, that is the most rude and disrespectful thing a person could do in a beautiful place like this—or anywhere else, for that matter,” I told her. “People like that shouldn’t be allowed to own pets. Why would anyone even want to travel in the confined space of an RV with four large dogs?”

  “You’ve got me! But it seems like the vast majority of our customers travel with pets, mostly dogs. However, many of them have smaller breeds like terriers and poodles. We did have one older couple staying here who traveled with seven greyhounds in their twenty-four foot motorhome. They told us they had adopted them when the dogs got too old to compete in racing at their local dog track. I guess I can understand the Warners not wanting to see the dogs put down when their former owners could no longer profit off them. Dogs like that deserve a family t
o love them after being used in that way.”

  “I agree whole-heartedly, but I’d have to think twice before dragging them around the country in a small motorhome,” I replied.

  “You and me both! By the way, Lexie, how are you gals going to get to the bookstore? It’s on the north end of town and too far to walk from the fairgrounds if you took the shuttle bus there,” Emily said.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “We haven’t even considered the transportation aspect of our plans. Do you know the number of a local taxi service?”

  “Yeah, right. This ain’t New York City, my friend, but I’d be happy to loan you my car whenever you need it.” Emily dug her keys out of her pocket, and said, “Take it. I certainly won’t need it today. I couldn’t get away from this campground right now if I wanted to. Just park it in the carport when you get back. You’ll feel right at home in it. It’s small and yellow, just like your little VW bug you let us take to go to the casino in St. Joseph while we were staying at your inn.”

  I thanked Emily and decided to look for a book of Sudoku puzzles to give her as a token of my appreciation. I’d seen her working on one a couple of times while she and Stanley were our guests the previous fall. Suddenly, I felt a spark of anticipation, anxious to see what the afternoon would bring.

  * * *

  Using the GPS feature in Emily’s car, we had no trouble driving straight to the Barnes and Noble on Dell Range Boulevard, not far up the road from Frontier Mall where we thought we might do a little shopping later on. When we walked into the bookstore, we saw a crowd of people gathered around a table in the most prominent location in the building. In the midst of the mob, I heard the squeaky laugh of Fanny Finch a time or two. I didn’t want to get anywhere near her table, but I could visualize the author busily signing books for her adoring fans with the air of the Queen of England addressing the commoners.