Veronica’s head hung down, in embarrassment I’m sure. Her chin nearly touched her prominent breast bone. I knew my daughter was speaking from the heart and had no intention of hurting her friend’s feelings. She was as concerned as I was about the emaciated young lady. I didn’t want to humiliate Veronica, so I added, “Honey, we aren’t trying to beat you down in any way. We care so much about you that we’re afraid of what might happen to you if you don’t start eating better, and hopefully put a few pounds on your thin frame in the process.”
“I know, and I appreciate your concern,” she replied, as I saw Wendy reach over and put her arm around Veronica’s shoulders. “I promise I’ll try. I know Wyatt is worried about me too. I’ve been battling demons from my past for several years, and he has been helping me in my attempt to overcome them. Please don’t tell him what happened today. I don’t want him to be angry with me.”
I was thinking I didn’t want her boyfriend to be angry with me either, and he surely would be if I didn’t share today’s health scare with him. I’d been on the wrong side of Wyatt’s good nature several times before, and had no desire to be there again.8 So, instead of promising to keep my lips sealed, I replied evasively, “We don’t want him angry either, but we all are concerned. And we’re here for you—always—to do whatever it takes to get you well!”
We rode in silence for a while until I asked Wendy about her conversation with Cassie Bumberdinger. As Wendy and I discussed the Bumberdingers, Veronica listened to tunes on her iPod, with an ear bud in each ear. She dutifully munched on a pack of peanut butter crackers I’d had in my fanny pack. In contrast to Veronica, I was never without some form of snack in my possession, and it didn’t take a fainting spell to encourage me to indulge. In fact, it took great willpower not to.
I listened now as Wendy spoke. “Although she didn’t have much to say about Fanny’s death, she did make a remark that kind of threw me for a loop. She said, kind of under her breath, ‘This just wasn’t the way Avery and I planned it.’”
“I wonder what she meant by that?” I asked. “Did she expound on her comment at all?”
“Well, when I asked her, she just kind of hemmed and hawed, and said she was referring to the way they’d planned to spend their lives together after she’d gotten pregnant with Brandi.”
“Hmmm… interesting.”
“I told her I couldn’t quite see what there was about Fanny Finch that would have attracted her ex-husband, and she told me there was more to Fanny than met the eye. When I prodded her to continue, she explained that Fanny’s father, who was critically ill with terminal kidney cancer, was the owner of a huge trash hauling company, a company that included five massive dump sites, hundreds of trash trucks, and thousands of employees. Apparently, there’s a lot of money to be made in trash removal, and Fanny was the sole heir to a small fortune. In fact, Cassie told me that ownership of the Vandersnoozeski Waste Management Corporation had already been transferred over to Fanny when her father became too ill to run the company and she took over as the CEO. It was basically a figurehead position, with a board of trustees handling the day-to-day operations of the company.”
“Did she think Avery had an eye on Fanny’s money?” I asked.
“She didn’t say so, but she kind of inferred that might be the case, because, like all of us, she couldn’t imagine what attracted her husband to an overbearing woman like Fanny. In any event, it was obvious there was no love lost between her and Avery’s new wife. Do I think she might have been involved with Fanny’s death? I don’t really know. But I think she definitely had an ax to grind with her and is not overcome with grief about her replacement’s untimely death.”
“It doesn’t appear as if anyone is exactly overcome with grief. Brandi doesn’t consider her stepmother’s death to be much of a loss, either,” I said.
“Cassie told me Brandi is extremely intelligent, and that the girl’s so mature for her age that Cassie often forgets she talking to a child when she’s discussing a grown-up matter with her. She said Brandi’s what is known as—”
“Let me guess,” I said, interrupting Wendy in mid-sentence. “Gifted, right? Brandi refers to herself as gifted as most kids would refer to themselves as being bored, completely matter-of-factly, as if she’s been reminded of it a zillion times.”
“Exactly,” Wendy replied. “What was she like when you were with her today? By the way, did I not caution you about drinking all that coffee at lunch?”
I decided to ignore her last question, and answer the first one instead. “Brandi’s an enigma, let me tell you. Conversing with her is like chatting with R2-D2, the Stars Wars robot. She was almost stoic while she expelled facts and figures as if she was reading from a text book. Saying she’s extremely intelligent is an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.”
“Does Brandi have a pleasant personality, even though she’s smart?” Wendy asked.
“Not just smart, but one of the youngest certified members of Mensa kind of smart,” I said. “And, no, I wouldn’t call her personality pleasant. More like severely and offensively grating. But I feel sorry for the child. She can’t possibly have very many friends. When most girls her age are spending their time together playing with dolls or watching cartoons, Brandi would be more apt to invite a friend over to memorize the “H” section of her Funk and Wagnall’s. On a really fun day they might even contact the publisher to question the accuracy of some of the material in the reference book.”
“Oh my goodness,” Wendy said. “That bad, huh?”
“That bad. And she’s definitely lacking in the social graces department too. But when I asked her about losing her stepmother, she showed no emotion at all. She made it clear her mother holds Fanny Finch totally responsible for the breakup of her family. She said Cassie cries a lot, and just hasn’t been the same since her father left them. I’d say her mother probably wanted revenge against Fanny, but I don’t know how far she’d go to get it. Cassie seems nice enough, and was quite pleasant when we spoke after the trail ride.”
“I’m thinking she deserves further consideration though, don’t you?” Wendy asked.
“Most definitely.”
“I just don’t want us to get so involved in the case that we find ourselves in a fix. You know, kind of like the fixes you’ve been in every single time you’ve gotten involved in a murder case.”
“Don’t be silly, sweetheart,” I replied. “That will never happen. We really have nothing riding on the outcome of this murder investigation. It’s more of just satisfying our curiosity about who killed Fanny Finch.”
Chapter 14
I was straightening up inside the motorhome when I heard my husband laughing as Stanley dropped him off at our campsite. When I spoke to Stanley through the rolled-down window, he was animated and in great spirits. I could tell his day had gone smoother than mine had. I heard him open up an outside compartment and slide his rod and tackle box into a storage area underneath the belly of the unit.
Not surprisingly, I’d already brewed a fresh pot of coffee and poured a cup for Stone when he came inside. Always the gentleman, he greeted me with a kiss and an inquiry about how my day had gone.
“Interesting,” I replied. “How was yours?”
“We had a blast! Since the list of reservations due to arrive today was manageable for Emily and Kylie to handle without him, Stanley decided to join us. All four of us caught our creel limit of brown trout, and Andy and I each caught a nice brook trout as well, which we released. I had one hooked that was a real monster, but I lost him as I tried to net him. He really gave me a tussle too. I fought him for a good ten minutes before I got him to the net, only to have him spit the fly out at the last second. I swear he stuck his tongue out at me as he swam away. Stanley told me it was a Palomino Rainbow, a very rare albino trout that’s not even native to Wyoming. Dang it, I wish I hadn’t lost that one.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I said with a smile. Stone’s grin was so contagious, it was impo
ssible not to flash one of my own. “But just think of ‘the one that got away’ fish story you can tell now.”
“That’s true, darling. And you can bet that Palomino Rainbow is going to increase in size with every telling of the story.”
“If you are any kind of fisherman at all, that trout will weigh fifty pounds and have battled with you for three days by the time we return to Rockdale. By the way, why do your arms look so red and puffy?”
“Horseflies! Unrelenting horseflies the size of hummingbirds. We didn’t see any rattlesnakes, but Stanley sure didn’t exaggerate about the flies. I was afraid I’d need to go to the hospital for a blood transfusion before I caught my limit of trout. And I was lucky—you should see Wyatt. He was like a fly magnet out there. He was occasionally so covered with them it looked like he had on a long-sleeved black turtleneck sweater.”
“Didn’t you guys spray yourselves with some kind of repellent?” I asked.
“Yes, but I think the stuff Stanley sprayed on us was actually drawing them in from miles around. It was as if it contained some kind of catnip for horseflies that they couldn’t resist. I’m not sure Stanley wasn’t holding out on us, though. The flies didn’t seem to bother him at all. I doubt he got bit twice all day. But other than the flies, the fishing trip couldn’t have been any more fun.”
“Oh, good,” I said sincerely. “I’m so happy you guys had such a fun day. Ours was nice too.”
“How was your horse? I know you’re a little uncomfortable around them.”
“Buttercup was a sweetheart. She couldn’t have been any gentler, and I felt very comfortable with her, or at least until she ran off and left me.”
“Huh? What happened?”
“And then there was Veronica’s fainting episode that had us scared half to death for a few minutes.”
“Huh? What happened?” Stone repeated, with even more concern in his voice.
“Long story. Let’s get some salve on your arms and then we’ll talk over a cup of coffee. Wendy, Veronica and I decided to take the shuttle bus downtown to eat at a little Mexican restaurant that Emily recommended. Kylie Rue worked all day in the office, and since she has the evening off, we invited her to join us.”
“It sounds like a plan to me,” Stone said. “Now where’s that salve you were talking about?”
* * *
“I’ll try the enchiladas,” I told our waiter, Todd. “And make them both cheese and onion, please.”
“Anything to drink?” Todd asked.
“Decaf coffee, black, and a glass of water with lemon.” With nothing on the agenda after supper, I could consume as much coffee as I wanted, as long as it was of the unleaded variety. After my lack of sleep the night before, I didn’t need a caffeine overload keeping me awake all night tonight, as well. And after a full day in the saddle, I was almost too tired and weary to lift a fork to my mouth. Almost, but not quite.
Just relaxing over coffee and conversation with friends bolstered my energy, and snacking on the chips and salsa the waiter had brought to our table didn’t hurt either. Whatever energy I’d acquired from our cowboy lunch had been spent before Buttercup had abandoned me and left me to fend off mountain lions and whiz kids on my own. I think I’d have fared better with a cougar than I had with Miss Smarty-pants. At least the big cat wouldn’t insult me while it was tearing into me.
As the rest of my party was placing their orders, I glanced around the restaurant admiring the decor when I noticed a couple of ladies waving at me from across the room. The room was dimly lit, and my eyesight couldn’t be trusted to tell the difference between a wild boar and a five-gallon bucket. I waved as if I knew for certain who I was waving at, and whispered to Wendy. “Are those the wanna-bes waving over there?”
Wendy looked up, and with a friendly wave, whispered back. “Mom, you shouldn’t call them that, not even in jest. It tends to make you sound as insensitive as Fanny. But yes, it’s Sarah and Norma in the flesh. Funny how they each believe the other could be a murderer, yet it doesn’t stop them from sticking together like glue. I think if I seriously thought my dinner partner had recently electrocuted another colleague, I’d have begged off with other plans for the evening. Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. In fact, I’d already be in my RV, putting as many miles between us as I could. I probably should go speak to them, out of politeness, you know. And I promise I won’t offend them in any way.”
“Yeah, sure,” Wendy replied. I could tell a wise-crack remark was on the tip of her tongue, begging to be verbalized. Instead, after a few moments of consideration, she said, “And I suppose it would seem rude of me not to join you in greeting them, too, after all the helpful advice Norma gave me about clipping coupons.”
It occurred to me that Wendy was beginning to turn into her mother. It was an observation that, although amusing would have scared the living crap out of her if I’d mentioned it. Probably the only comment someone could make that would alarm her more was that she was beginning to look like me, too. Egad, I thought with a snicker.
We excused ourselves and walked over to greet the two authors, who seemed delighted to see us. I patted Sarah on the shoulder and asked, “What brings you two ladies out this evening?”
“Just treating ourselves to a night out,” Norma replied. She and her dinner companion slid over on their bench seats to allow Wendy and me to sit down next to them. They’d just placed their orders as we had, and were sipping on glasses of iced tea.
“Same thing we’re doing,” Wendy said. “The three of us spent the day riding horses on a trail ride excursion on a ranch northwest of town, while our men spent the day fishing. We all needed to kick back and have a nice meal cooked and served to us tonight.”
“I can imagine. It sounds like you all had a busy, fun-packed day,” Norma said. “We’ve had a very quiet, relaxing day at the campground. Was your trail ride the same one Cassie Bumberdinger went on today?”
“Why, yes it was, as a matter of fact,” I replied. Although her question took me off-guard, I knew they’d probably discussed various aspects of Fanny’s personal life since they’d known her so well. And those discussions might have included any involvement she’d had with her husband’s ex-wife, who claimed Fanny was the primary cause of the breakup of her and Avery’s marriage. But to be privy to Cassie’s daily agenda indicated they’d had a recent conversation with her, or with someone else who knew Cassie’s plans. “Do you two know Cassie well?”
“No, not well,” Sarah said. “She did call me a couple of months ago to inquire about the date of our book signing event here, for some reason. But we also know a lot about her from things Fanny mentioned regarding her husband’s ex. We’ve always been amazed Avery dumped her for someone like Fanny Finch, but we ran into her in the office this evening and exchanged some small talk with her. She was having a discussion with that young blonde who works at the campground about the possibility of getting a refund if she left a couple of days early.”
“She was speaking with Kylie Rue?” I asked Sarah, more to keep her talking than anything else, since Kylie was the only young blonde currently working at Cozy Camping.
“Yes, I believe that’s her name. Oh, in fact, that’s her over there at your table,” she said as she pointed.
“Yes, she had the evening off and we invited her to join us,” I replied.
“Anyway, since we were there to ask the same question, we were interested in listening to Kylie’s response. She said, that according to the park’s policy, during Frontier Days every customer is responsible for the days they reserved, so no refund was in order. So, as the three of us left the office, we were discussing amongst ourselves the unfairness of that policy. One thing led to another and Cassie mentioned that following the trail ride they’d participated in today, they’d accomplished all they’d planned to do in Cheyenne. She said they were ready to head home.”
“It makes sense that she’d be ready to leave early,” I said. In loyalty to my friends, Stanley and
Emily, I added, “But I can see the reason behind that policy. Everyone would book the entire week and then take advantage of the Harrington’s leniency and decide to cut their stay short at the last minute. It would be a scheduling nightmare for the owners, not to mention a costly and not very smart business practice. Those sites would stay open, when they could have been reserved by others who’d been turned away due to the park being fully booked.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Sarah replied, in obvious disagreement. “In my opinion—”
“So, ladies,” Wendy interrupted Sarah in mid-sentence. She had been nodding throughout my comments in defense of the Harringtons’ cancellation policy. Sensing an argument brewing, she quickly changed the subject back to the two authors. “Why were you two wanting to cut your stay short and leave before your original day of departure? Aren’t you enjoying all the festivities going on in Cheyenne this week?”
The expression of indignation faded from Sarah’s face, and both ladies perked up at the opportunity to talk about themselves. Norma, who’d been relatively quiet, spoke up first.
“Yes, our time here’s been very pleasant, and we’re looking forward to the Thunderbirds’ air show tomorrow morning, but our funds are running short. Eating out tonight was the one extravagance we’ve allowed ourselves all week.”
“What about the money you made selling your books at the bookstore on Saturday?” Wendy asked.
Both authors laughed at the question. It was Sarah who replied. “You’ve got to be kidding. For us, book signings are a deductible business expense, not a profitable undertaking. Including the books your mother bought, we each sold a grand total of two copies each. That’s hardly a windfall, by any stretch of the imagination. Our profits on the sale of two books didn’t even cover the sandwiches we had for lunch that day, much less any travel expenses we’ve incurred. A lot of people assume that any author who gets a book published is rewarded with a lot of money in royalties. But the truth is that very, very few books ever turn a profit, and even fewer authors make a significant amount of money from one they’ve written. Fanny was a rare exception, and then only because of the curiosity aspect of her book and the popularity of her subject. It’s the exact same kind of crap that sells those gossip magazines you find on racks at nearly every check-out stand these days.”
Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping Page 17