The Blue Coyote (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 2)

by Karen Musser Nortman

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I was from Cedar Rapids but I didn’t tell him my name or anything. I know you’re not supposed to do that,” she said. The word “Duh” was implied.

  “Did he say why they are here?”

  “They’re repairing a highway somewhere around here.” Sabet shrugged.

  Frannie made a mental note to make sure Sabet was always with someone else this weekend. She felt like Sam was looking over her shoulder, wagging his finger.

  When they came out of the restrooms, Larry and Joe were just coming around the curve on their bikes. Frannie, Sabet, and Tessa joined them and they continued around the campground, commenting on the special fall decorations and making a mental note for the future of particularly good campsites. Back at their own site, the Terells and Ferraros had donned sweatshirts and jackets in preparation for the walk to the nature center.

  Larry started hunting through Joe’s back pack for a sweatshirt.

  “Well, if we come across a native tribe that trades diamonds and furs for Matchbox cars, we’ll have it made,” he told Frannie.

  “And that happens a lot around here,” she replied, smirking.

  “We looked over that flier that Nancy picked up,” Ben said. “There’s not only a ranger talk on snakes, but also a storyteller tonight.”

  “Oh, the kids will love that,” Frannie said.

  “Love what?” asked Sabet.

  “A surprise, Miss Big Ears.”

  “Ohhh, Gran!” she whined.

  Frannie went inside and pulled on a rusty red fleece pullover. She brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her short, thick salt and pepper curls. When she got back outside, Cuba and Chloe had been secured to their tethers and the whole group set off toward the nature center just outside the campground entrance. Other campers were headed the same direction, including Tessa and her family. Tessa joined Sabet and the two whispered, heads together, giggling and pushing. Tessa started strutting, hand behind her back, mimicking the toddler they had seen earlier on the bike ride. Sabet folded over in laughter, halting the parade behind her.

  Mickey, walking just behind the girls, said loudly, “I sure hope we get to hold the snakes!”

  Sabet glanced back sideways at him. “Ewww.”

  “I knew she was going to say that,” he told Jane Ann.

  The nature center was a simple rectangular building with one wall of glass cages. Posters of insects, turtles, and wildflowers lined the walls in between windows looking out at the surrounding woods. Thirty or forty campers had already taken seats on the benches that were lined up in rows facing the front. There a woman ranger visited with another DNR official and a slender man with longish gray hair and a flamboyant mustache. The Shoemakers’ group filed into a row in the middle and Frannie took another look at the small group in the front. She nudged Larry.

  “Isn’t that the ranger who was called in to help at Bat Cave when the storm came through? Sommers, I think her name was?”

  Larry studied the woman. “I think you’re right. She was only there that one night, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sabet and Tessa sat at one end of the bench, still carrying on. Joe’s nose was a little out of joint at being left out by the girls. “Grandpa, I can’t see,” he said. “Can I sit in your lap?”

  “Sure.” He swung the boy up on his knee. “Good grief, Joe. You’ve been eating too much macaroni and cheese. Pretty soon I’m going to have to sit in your lap.” Joe looked up at him and gave his little Grinch smile.

  “You’re just kidding me.”

  The DNR person called for everyone’s attention and introduced Ranger Sommers. The ranger gave an excellent talk on the snakes found in the park, showing live examples, each one eliciting another “Ewww” from Sabet.

  Ranger Sommers then introduced the wild mustache as Bernie Reid, storyteller. Mr. Reid pulled up a tall wooden stool and half sat, half leaned on it, holding a ukelele. He started speaking slowly about holiday dinners at his Uncle Junior’s (a given name, he insisted) when he was a child. The story involved a particularly raucous Thanksgiving when Uncle Junior had made such a pet of the turkey that he couldn’t bring himself to butcher it and the bird in question ended up running the length of the table in its live state, doing unspeakable things to the pumpkin pie and cranberries.

  Reid’s voice grew louder and his cadence faster as the drama unfolded, and he used the ukelele to punctuate his sentences. He had the rapt attention of his audience and the children were particularly enthralled. At the end of the story, the family headed for Colonel Sanders’ with all of the children and the turkey in the back of a blue pickup. Reid said that he didn’t know what the turkey ordered for supper. The audience clapped wildly at the end and persuaded Reid to do a couple of short encores, but finally he held up his hands, still holding the ukelele, and bowed his way to the back of the room.

  The audience milled around afterward laughing and doing their own instant replays. Frannie looked around for the kids. Joe was hovering by Larry but Sabet and Tessa had wiggled their way into the cluster of admirers around Bernie Reid. Frannie was not surprised; Sabet was a bookworm and always had been. She loved to make up stories herself, and better yet, act them out. Frannie moved over to the group just in time to hear Sabet ask the storyteller if he ever made up stories.

  He gave her a wink. “Oh, little one, they’re all true—somewhere, sometime!” And he threw back his head and broke into an infectious laugh that wrapped around the crowd and brought them along. Sabet looked puzzled a minute; then a slow grin spread across her face. She caught Frannie snapping her picture and wiggled back out of the crowd to join her grandmother.

  “I think he means that every possible story has already happened,” she confided.

  Once again, Sabet’s understanding took Frannie aback. She nodded, but was not ready to let go of the small child in her granddaughter and accept the adult beginning to emerge.

  “I wonder how you get to be a storyteller,” Sabet went on. “That would be a cool job.”

  Frannie nodded again. “Maybe you can ask him later.”

  “He had sort of a goth tattoo on his arm, too. Awesome.”

  Frannie smiled, thinking that probably a job as a storyteller and a goth tattoo were not in Sam and Beth’s career plans for their daughter. They joined the crowd that gradually spilled out the door into the star-filled night. Decorative lights of various colors twinkled here and there throughout the campground. There was a chill in the air that, along with the smell of woodsmoke and scuffle of leaves underfoot, made Frannie think of high school football games in her long-ago youth.

  As they caught up with the rest of their group, the cell phone in Frannie’s pocket erupted like a frog. She jumped and at first couldn’t identify what it was. Sabet and Joe started to giggle.

  “It’s your phone, Grannie Fran!” Joe shouted, pointing to her pocket.

  She fumbled in her pocket. “My phone doesn’t sound like that.” But when she pulled it out, sure enough, the lit screen indicated she had a text message from Sam.

  Before she opened it, she looked at the kids. “My sister changed your ring,” Joe told her proudly, while Sabet gave her a sideways look trying to determine how much trouble she was in. Frannie tried to look stern but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. It didn’t help that the rest of the group could hardly contain themselves. She opened the message.

  “It’s from your dad.” She tried to make it sound like he already knew what the kids had been up to. Obviously, from their faces, she wasn’t fooling anyone.

  “What does he say?” Sabet asked innocently.

  “Just wonders how you’re getting along.”

  “Can we call him?” Joe said.

  “We will when we get back to the campsite.”

  As they passed the site where the man had been talking to Sabet earlier, Frannie quietly told Larry about it.

  “Quite a few of those crews camp while they’re on
the job. Remember when we were at that county park in Minnesota and there were several guys there who were working on I-90? They said they would move about every two weeks to a different campground,” he said.

  They continued back to their campsite, dropping Tessa at hers. Frannie called Sam’s number and briefly summed up what they had been doing so far. She did not mention Sabet’s manipulation of her phone. Each of the kids talked to their dad in turn, giving enthusiastic reports on the campground and the storyteller. Then, of course, they each had to talk to their mother.

  Ben and Larry stoked the fire while the rest moved chairs in closer and Mickey went in his camper to get his guitar. The mood changed from the hilarity of the storyteller the hour before to almost melancholy as they sang the old songs softly—dusty camp songs like “Honey” and classics like “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”

  Finally Sabet said, “Don’t you guys know any fun songs?” So they sang the Chicago fire song and “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain.”

  Larry stood up, rubbing his back. “I need to take Cuba on a little walk and then maybe we could have some s’mores.” He looked pointedly at the kids, who cheered.

  Ben joined him with Chloe. While they were gone, Sabet and Joe helped Frannie prepare their beds—opening the couch, collapsing the dinette and getting out the sleeping bags and pillows from the storage under the main bed. Sabet claimed the couch while Joe loved the idea of sleeping on the table, even though it didn’t look like a table any more.

  “Where’s the s’mores stuff, Gran?” he asked.

  “Hershey bars are in the fridge, graham crackers and marshmallows are in the pantry cupboard—you know where. Sabet, you want to get the marshmallow sticks out of that end cabinet?” Frannie pointed.

  They carried the necessary items back out of the trailer and put them all on the picnic table. Joe proceeded to tear open the marshmallow bags and put a couple on one of the forks.

  “I’m ready!” he announced, brandishing his fork somewhat like a sword. The men had returned with the dogs and were back around the fire.

  Mickey said, “Joe, bring that over here—there’s a perfect roasting spot on this side of the fire.” He tried to encourage Joe to toast the white puffs slowly over the glowing coals, but Joe had the patience of most seven-year-olds and kept sticking the marshmallows into the flames and then had to blow them out when they caught fire. Finally, he pronounced them ready and carried them back to the picnic table where Frannie helped him sandwich the charred remains between two graham crackers with a square of chocolate. Sabet was a little more judicious with hers and took longer.

  Meanwhile, conversation continued around the fire.

  “We’re going to do the bike trail tomorrow morning,” Nancy said. “Anyone else?”

  “I think we are,” Frannie said, looking at Larry. He nodded. Jane Ann said they also planned to ride.

  “I think we should try and get going by 10:00. It’s supposed to be a beautiful day so it may get crowded,” Nancy said. “We can haul four bikes in our truck so we can take Mickey and Jane Ann’s, if you have room for your four, Larry.”

  Larry laughed. “I don’t know how we survive when you guys aren’t with us, Nancy.”

  Nancy reddened slightly. “I wasn’t trying to run things....”

  “No, I’m serious. Things go so much smoother when you’re here. You always think of everything and the rest of us kind of muddle along.”

  “Well! Speak for yourself, Shoemaker!” Mickey huffed. “Muddle, indeed.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re the biggest muddler of all, Mickey,” Larry grinned at him. Jane Ann and Frannie both rolled their eyes. The two men had a long-standing contest to out-insult each other.

  Ben could see that his wife still felt she’d gone too far. “Larry’s right, honey. Without you, the rest of us would be like the Keystone Cops.”

  Jane Ann said, “We are the Keystone Cops.” Frannie agreed wholeheartedly.

  Nancy relaxed and smiled. “You’re absolutely right. So don’t give me any more guff.”

  Frannie noticed Joe’s eyes were getting droopy and said, “Kids, time for bed.” There were the usual groans but they gathered their things and headed for the trailer. Frannie and Cuba followed them. Sabet took her pajamas and toothbrush to the tiny bathroom while Joe did toothbrushing duties standing on a little folding stool at the kitchen sink and slipped into his pajamas. Frannie tucked him into his sleeping bag along with his faithful but almost shredded bear, ‘Black Cake.’

  Sabet came back out and climbed into her bag. Cuba collapsed with a sigh next to her on the floor.

  “Cuba could sleep with me, Gran.”

  “I don’t think so, honey. She’s too old to get up even that high,” Frannie told her and she leaned over and gave her a kiss.

  “Gran, I’m sorry I messed up your phone.”

  “I know. You just shouldn’t ‘mess with’ anyone else’s phone.”

  “The frog sound is pretty funny though, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, it’s pretty funny,” Frannie said grudgingly. Secretly, she thought it was very funny.

  “Are you going to leave it on there?”

  Frannie stood up straight. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  She kissed Joe, who was practically asleep already, and turned out all of the lights but the one over the stove.

  “Grandpa and I will be in shortly,” she told them both and went back out to the fire.

  Without streetlights, millions of stars were visible above, and quiet laughter drifted from the circle around the campfire. The glow from the fire highlighted her friends’ faces, almost disembodied against the dark background. Firelight really is flattering, she thought, as she noticed it had stripped the years from their faces. And she wondered briefly if there was a direct connection between the growth of cosmetic surgery and the development of better lighting.

  **************

  Happy Camper Tip #3

  Folding step stools are one of the best cheap camping inventions. They take very little space and are indispensable for putting up awning lights and for children who need to reach the sink—or cookies in the overhead cabinets. They are also the right size to double as a footstool with your lawn chair.

  Chapter Four

  Saturday Morning

  The sun was just peeking through the trees when Frannie picked her way down the trailer steps carrying the old percolator and her favorite mug. The coffee pot made such a racket producing her morning brew that, weather permitting, she always set it on the folding metal utility table outside and plugged it into the exterior outlet. Cuba, who had eagerly trotted out behind her, stretched, scratched, and looked at Frannie expectantly, tail wagging furiously. She found the leash hanging over the awning strut, and grabbing a plastic bag, took the lab out for a walk. At the end of their loop, she opted to head away from the center of the campground through the tent loop. Only a few people were up, stirring the coals of their fires. All waved or at least nodded and a couple of campers commented on the beautiful weather.

  As she finished the loop, she glanced at the road workers’ campsite and saw no sign of life. Probably their day to sleep in. She told herself she wasn’t being paranoid, just careful. By the time she got back, tethered the dog, and got her coffee, Mickey came out. His attire consisted of turquoise flannel pajama bottoms festooned with pineapples and palm trees topped by a faded maroon Minnesota Gophers sweatshirt. He had an unmatched collection of college sweatshirts from Goodwill. He had actually graduated from Grinnell, but Frannie didn’t remember ever seeing him in any Grinnell garb.

  “Good morning!” he said exuberantly. Mickey was both a morning and a night person. He never seemed to be grouchy or groggy.

  “Morning,” she answered. “Got coffee over here.”

  “Excellent! That’s why, Frannie, if I could just dump Jane Ann, I’d marry you.”

  “I’m flattered, but of course, if you dumped Jane Ann, you’d be dead,” she smiled.
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  “There is that,” he agreed.

  They settled in camp chairs by the fire ring, and Mickey proceeded to stir the coals and add firewood. After much fussing and blowing on coals and sticking in kindling, the wood caught and began to burn cheerily.

  Mickey settled back in his chair. “Well, first things first—what’s for breakfast?”

  Frannie, Jane Ann, and Nancy usually planned their menus together to avoid duplication.

  “I’m doing a hash brown omelet in the electric skillet.”

  “Ooooh. Sure you don’t want to marry me?”

  “If I thought you were serious, I would in a minute,” she said with a straight face. Mickey, for once, was speechless and she burst out laughing.

  “Mickey, you are such a con man and yet so easily conned!”

  He looked sheepish. “Just habit, I guess.”

  Jane Ann emerged from their camper, looking as always fresh and crisp. Like Larry, she was tall and slender, and usually kept her shoulder length blonde-to-gray hair tied or clipped back.

  “Hey, campers! What’s going on?”

  “Mickey proposed to me again—twice,” Frannie said. “Of course, the first time was connected to coffee and the second time to the breakfast menu.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Jane Ann said, pouring her own coffee, “If I didn’t like you so much, Frannie, I’d just give him to you.”

  Mickey feigned indignation as his wife pulled her chair up next to him. “Good thing I’m thick-skinned,” he told her.

  “And thick-headed,” she grinned and kissed him on the cheek. “Good morning, dear.” She turned to Frannie. “The kids still asleep?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They are such a kick. I can’t wait for grandchildren. Monica and Justine better hurry up. That Joe comes up with the funniest lines.”

  Frannie agreed. “It must be because you have time to enjoy grandchildren more than you did your own. Or maybe you just appreciate more how short childhood is. Whatever, they sure are fun.”

  A raspy rumble began.

  “Oh, no!” said Mickey. “It’s not even seven o’clock, yet.”