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

by Karen Musser Nortman

  “Do you know if the sheriff found out any more about that guy Don on the road crew?” Frannie kept her voice low.

  Sanchez led them all back toward his car.

  “He does have a record,” Sanchez said.

  “Really?” Frannie said. It always kind of surprised her when any of her hunches were correct. “Well, then...”

  “For shoplifting,” Sanchez finished. “He even was accused yesterday at the flea market of trying to take some antique bottle openers, but he denied it, said he was just examining them and they couldn’t prove anything.”

  “Shoplifting?” Frannie thought a minute; it did fit with the conversation she had overheard, much as she hated to admit it. Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be involved in any other criminal activity. “What about the other abduction in Sharm Crossing? Was he working near there?”

  “Unfortunately, the construction company doesn’t keep very good records and they have a pattern of shifting crews around to sites where they need them. So if you’re saying he still could be a kidnapper, you may be right. We can’t clear him, but we can’t prove he was in the vicinity either.”

  “Damn,” said Frannie.

  He agreed. “We also haven’t found any evidence that he left the campground since the disappearance of Taylor Trats.”

  They continued their walk along the campground road with Sanchez joining them. Frannie updated him on the skirmishes she and her friends had witnessed.

  “That’s actually a plus for Don. His companions said he was around all of yesterday afternoon, and from what you say it doesn’t sound like they would lie for him,” Sanchez mused. "As a matter of fact, I got the distinct impression that the other two would just as soon get rid of him and the fight you saw seems to confirm that. Maybe that's why the big guy didn't intervene."

  “What about the Sloan woman?” Nancy asked. “Any news of her?”

  Sanchez shook his head. “No idea. What is left in her site is very impersonal. Most of it appears cheap but new.”

  “Almost like it’s staged?” Frannie asked.

  Sanchez gave a noncommittal grunt. “Could be, I suppose.”

  “What about her book?”

  “Her book?”

  “She was reading a rather thick book when the kids and I went by.”

  Sanchez shook his head. “Nothing like that.”

  Frannie considered that. “Seems like she must have left of her own accord. If she’s an avid reader, she wouldn’t leave a book behind.”

  “Maybe, but that’s pretty flimsy evidence,” Sanchez said. “Right now, I’m banking on the father. Most abductions are family members, you know.”

  The women all nodded. They had reached the point on the main loop where the road branched to their section.

  “Guess I better get back to my car and check in with the sheriff. I’ll see you later.” He waved and continued on the main road. As was typical near the end of a walk, Cuba had slowed to a shuffle, and Frannie almost had to drag her the last few hundred feet.

  “C’mon, Cuba. How about a treat?” The magic word had the desired effect and they were able to pick up the pace a bit.

  No one was out at the road crew’s site and Frannie was relieved, not wanting a third confrontation in one morning.

  “What if Maddie Sloan is also a victim of the kidnapper?” she said. “I mean, if she was with the girl right before she was taken, maybe Sloan saw something that made her a target.”

  “I’m sure they’ve considered that,” Nancy said. “But, like you said, the fact that there are no personal items left behind makes it suspicious.”

  “Well, I still think that no self-respecting kidnapper would let you take your book along, no matter how good it is.”

  “If she was out walking and had it in a purse or bag...” Jane Ann said.

  Frannie sighed. “Yeah—so many slippery pieces. Like those puzzles where all of the pieces are the same shape. You try and fit them in a pattern and they fall out.” They had arrived back at the campsite.

  “Hey, girls! Are you up for lunch out?” Mickey said.

  “Sounds good, but I need a shower,” Frannie said.

  “Well, we won’t go for an hour and a half,” Mickey said. “Can you get rid of the stink in that time?”

  Frannie slugged him in the shoulder. “I’m not even going to answer that.”

  “I think I’ll do the same,” Jane Ann said, and then pointing a finger in her husband’s face, “Don’t even open your mouth.”

  Mickey held his hands up in feigned innocence. The women all gathered their shower supplies and clean clothes and took the short cut through the woods to the shower house. When they returned, Ben had completed packing up most of the Terells’ equipment. They planned to take off after they returned from the lunch excursion.

  Even though it had only been twenty-four hours, as the two pickups pulled out of the park, Frannie felt a little weight lift and settled back to enjoy the journey.

  *************************

  Happy Camper Tip #11

  Campground etiquette: Some expected behaviors are just common courtesy—observing quiet hours, cleaning up campsites when you leave, and cleaning up after pets. Other unofficial ‘rules’ may not be as familiar. An occupied campsite is usually considered the temporary ‘property’ of the resident and it is looked on as rude to cut through to save a few steps. Fire pits are not for trash; it is very annoying to have to clear out cans, plastic bottles, and other debris before you can start a fire. Other trash like bottle caps, broken glass, and small items can pose dangers to pets and children especially. Some parks have recycling bins and the proceeds are used for park maintenance or improvements.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sunday Noon

  Spots of blue were poking through a few tears in the cloud cover and the strengthening sun seemed to be defeating the persistent grayness that had predominated the morning.

  “Mickey, do you know the name of the place we’re going or where it is?”

  “Don’t know where exactly but how big can Orien be? It’s a woman’s name...um, Elsie’s, Edith’s, Ellie’s...something like that.”

  “What’s their specialty?” Frannie asked, at the same time scanning farmsteads as they passed, looking for a white van. Fruitless, of course—the authorities had already searched all of these areas.

  “The main attraction is a rib-eye sandwich, but they also feature an artery clogging breakfast called the Earthquake.”

  “We all need that,” Jane Ann said.

  Larry laughed. “C’mon, Nurse Jane. Once in a while doesn’t hurt!” He turned the truck onto the main highway into Orien, followed by the Terell’s yellow pickup. Two miles later, they reached the town limits. Mickey sat forward in the back seat.

  “With any luck, the downtown district is right on this highway.”

  They passed several blocks of modest houses with a couple of old Victorian and Craftsman gems begging for attention. The highway turned right and they found themselves in the ‘Downtown District’—one block of mostly old store fronts with two or three newer no-nonsense steel buildings. Some of the stores were obviously empty, while a variety of service businesses occupied most of the others: an insurance and real estate agency, an exercise place, two beauty shops, and even one identified as “City Hall.” It was neither a cute ‘restored’ thriving main street, nor was it deserted and depressed. There were people visiting on the sidewalks and about half of the parking spaces were filled.

  “There,” Mickey said, pointing over the front seat to the right side of the street. One of steel-fronted buildings boasted a small sign in the front window that read “Ellie’s Eats.” Larry pulled into an empty spot, and Ben parked his truck in the next space. As they gathered in front of the diner, the sun broke through and brightened the street scene better than a coat of paint. Immediately, a couple of maples and some burning bushes in a pocket park across the street seemed to glow with their own light.

  �
�Well, Mick, I hope this is a good omen for your choice,” Larry said.

  “It will be,” Mickey said with confidence, opening the door and leading the group in. There were no signs directing them to either seat themselves or to wait to be seated so they took their chances and selected two square red laminate-topped tables with chrome edges and pushed them together.

  When they were seated, Frannie looked around. There were several families and two other retirement-aged couples at the other tables and three elderly men at the lunch counter. Two high-school aged waitresses bustled back and forth to the kitchen. There were no decorations on the walls except a large bank calendar, but every surface, including the floor, gleamed.

  One of the waitresses soon brought a tray with six glasses of water. She had a round, open face, dark straight hair pulled back, and a warm smile. As she set the glasses around the table, she chirped brightly, looking each of them in the eye, “Good morning! Can I get anyone coffee or something else to drink while you look at the menus?” and deftly passed folded plastic covered menus to each of them.

  “I think coffee for everyone,” Larry said.

  “Great! Be right back,” she said.

  Frannie opened the tri-fold menu and perused the choices. “Wow! Quite a selection.”

  “I have to do the rib-eye sandwich,” Mickey said, folding his menu back up and setting it aside. The waitress returned to take their orders. Frannie chose a Greek salad with grilled chicken, the memory of pancakes and sausage too fresh to allow her a more calorie-laden choice. Besides, the diner had an extensive dessert menu.

  Mickey entertained them with his recollections of the show featuring Ellie’s Eats and the food came quickly. The two waitresses bore heavy trays with plates of steaming sandwiches, sweet potato fries and bowls of coleslaw. Frannie felt a brief regret for her healthy selection until she tasted the unique blend of flavors in her salad.

  They practically buried themselves in the food, pausing only long enough to heap praise on the unseen Ellie, if she existed. Their first waitress returned with the coffee pot and ice water.

  After refills, she said, “You folks just passing through?”

  “We’re camped out at the state park,” Jane Ann answered.

  “Really? That's awful about the missing girl. Did you know her? Have they found her?”

  “No,” Larry answered both questions.

  She set the coffee pot and water pitcher down on the end of the table and stuck one hand in her apron pocket, prepared to chat.

  “I hear now they think it is her dad,” the girl said in a lower voice, as if it hadn’t been all over the news. “But I told my mom that sounds, like, too convenient, y’know? There was that other little girl who disappeared in Iowa last spring. Sounds fishy to me. Do you camp at Bluffs often?”

  Frannie shook her head. “Usually once a year. We go a lot of different places.”

  The waitress tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, me and my friends go out there a lot in the summer. Sometimes you see some strange people in that campground, y'know?” She stopped and blushed as she realized what she said. “I mean...I didn’t mean...not you guys...ohmigosh...”

  “That’s okay,” Jane Ann said. “Sometimes there are some odd ducks, but most people are pretty normal.” The others smiled and nodded.

  “Yeah,” she charged ahead once she realized that they hadn’t taken offense. “There was a guy in here a couple nights ago that was...pretty strange, maybe you saw him. Really skinny with stringy hair...had this sort of Satanic tattoo on his arm. And his wife was older than him! I don’t know if they were camping but they must have spent some time in the park, the way they talked.”

  The storyteller, Frannie thought. “Wife?” she asked.

  “Well, maybe it was his mom, cuz she had on kind of old people clothes like my grandma wears.” She picked up the beverage carafes. “I’d better get back to work...my mom will kill me. Oh! Do any of you want dessert?”

  Frannie timidly raised a hand. The others looked at her. “Hey, I had salad. So I’ll have the peach pie.”

  “Okay, I don’t want Frannie to have to eat alone,” Mickey said. “I’ll have the apple pie...,” he stole a glance at his wife, “A la mode.”

  “Awesome!” the girl said. “I’ll be right back.” And off she went.

  “What do you suppose are ‘old people clothes’?” Nancy asked.

  “Probably what we’re wearing,” Ben said. They looked down at their motley camping clothes.

  “I think she’s talking about the storyteller being here the other night. Sabet noticed his tattoo the first night. Called it ‘goth’ and said it was ‘cool,’” Frannie said, raising her eyebrows.

  “I haven’t noticed him with a wife or a mother,” Ben said, “but I don’t think he’s staying in the park.”

  “Could be a friend or somebody he met at one of his performances, too,” Nancy said.

  “Old people clothes,” Frannie muttered, as the young waitress bore down on their table carrying the pie.

  As she set the plates in front of Frannie and Mickey, Jane Ann asked her, “Is your mom ‘Ellie’?”

  The girl beamed. “Yes, she is.”

  “Well, tell her that everything is excellent.”

  “Thank you—glad you enjoyed it. Will there be anything else, or should I bring your checks?”

  “Checks, please,” Larry said, and identified who went with who.

  “There is something else. Would you mind taking a picture of us?” Frannie said, holding up her camera.

  “No problem,” the waitress said and Frannie showed her where to press the button. They hammed it up, said ‘limburger’ (Mickey’s idea), and after two shots, the girl pronounced the deed done.

  By the time the pie was gone—Frannie and Mickey shared tastes with everyone—they pushed back from the table, groaning and looking slightly uncomfortable. The women headed out into the sun while their husbands paid the tabs; as Jane Ann said, “The main reason we bring them along.”

  “We should walk back to the campground,” Nancy said. Only wispy clouds sailed across the sky now and the air was fresh.

  “Tempting,” said Frannie, “but...no.”

  The men came out and they climbed back in the trucks. Frannie all but dozed on the ride back to the campground, warm and full. Larry spotted a vegetable stand in a farmyard and pulled in, Ben following. There was no one around except a friendly black and white border collie who sidled up to them, tail moving near the speed of sound. Prices were posted on hand-lettered signs and there was a slotted money box bolted to an old wooden table. They filled sacks with fresh late tomatoes, butternut squash, and onions. Jane Ann found tart apples and announced that she would do baked apples over the fire for supper. They put their money in the box.

  Frannie pointed out a white van sitting back by a once red, leaning barn, but Larry shook his head and said, “I’m pretty sure the one I saw at the campground had wheels on it. Doesn’t look like this one’s moved any time recently.” Only then did Frannie take note of the blocks underneath, barely visible through the weeds that surrounded it.

  “Oh...well, if you’re sure. Duh.” She grinned at him and he patted her on the back.

  “Nice try, dear.”

  Mickey was scratching the dog’s ears. “Poor guy,” he looked up at the others, “has to stay here on a Sunday and work. I bet they only pay him scraps, too.” Frannie snapped a picture of Mickey with the dog.

  “Maybe,” said Jane Ann, “but remember he probably doesn’t make change very well.”

  They returned to their vehicles, basking in the effects of improved weather, good food, congenial friends, and pleasant surroundings. But the missing child and the fears for her family kept an ominous gray cloud on the horizon.

  Back at the campground, they unloaded their purchases and stashed them in their campers. Ben and Nancy returned to their camper to finish packing up. Nancy came back to the campfire carrying a bag of lettuce and a
quart of ice cream.

  “You guys keep this—you’ll use it in the next couple of days. Mickey, you want me to write up a schedule for the rest of your time here?” She grinned at him.

  “Would you please? Then I’ll have an excuse when Jane Ann tries to order me around.”

  “Do you need any help, Nancy?” Frannie asked.

  “No, we’re ready to hook up. I already had the inside taken care of and Ben packed the truck while we were showering.”

  “Why are we not surprised?” Larry said.

  Nancy returned to direct Ben while he backed their truck toward the hitch. Frannie walked over to watch and help if she could. Standing on the far side of the Terells’ camper, she noticed that the circle at the end of their road had completely emptied except the Trats’ trailer.

  Ben got the hitch lined up and started to crank the lift down. “I gotta get me one of those power lifts like you,” he said, panting, to Larry who had also joined them.

  Larry nodded. “One of my best purchases ever. I figured I cranked that thing 166 times each trip.” He attached the right side sway bars while Ben did the left side and the women removed the wheel brakes, stowing them in one of the compartments. Ben sent Nancy to the rear of the trailer so they could do a taillight check. After making sure all the compartments and doors were locked, Ben got in the driver’s seat and Nancy gave Frannie a hug.

  “Well, it certainly hasn’t been dull,” Nancy said. “I sure hope they find that little girl. Keep us posted, okay? And I think you better use that lettuce tonight—the expiration date is tomorrow.” She swung up into the passenger side and closed her door.

  Frannie and Larry waved as Ben edged the trailer out onto the road and Larry headed back to join Mickey and Jane Ann, and probably argue with Mickey about the fire. Frannie looked over her shoulder at the Trats’ campsite again. She saw Taylor’s mother standing and looking into the woods.

  On impulse, she turned and walked up the loop toward the solitary woman. The wind was picking up again and she pulled her jacket tighter around her. Her feet scuffed the leaves brought down by the rain. Mrs. Trats heard her approach and turned. She scowled and remained where she was.