“Mrs. Trats? I just wanted to tell you how sorry we are...I mean, how much we sympathize with your situation and if there’s anything we can do...”
The woman’s eyes narrowed in anger, but then her face crumbled.
“Apparently, there’s nothing anyone can do—the police, that state guy—,” she said bitterly, tears streaking her face.
“Agent Sanchez is very good, and thorough. These things take time...”
“Time? Taylor may not have much time! She may be out of time...,” and she started to sob.
Frannie had reached her and put her arm around the woman’s shoulders, guiding her to a chair. Mrs. Trats did not resist.
“Can I get you something? Are you here alone?”
She could hardly talk and shook her head. Finally she said, “My boyfriend went to get clean clothes for us.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not leaving here until they find her. She may be nearby and come back and if she couldn’t find us...”
“Do you think she might be with your...ex-husband?”
She shrugged. “Not really. He’s been an ass through this whole divorce, but I don’t think even he would do this.”
“Do you know the woman, Maddie Sloan, that Taylor asked for help?”
Mrs. Trats looked very defeated. “No. I always told her if she was afraid, to ask an adult for help. I never thought to tell her to ask someone she knows.” She stared off into the woods again.
“Do you live far from here?” Frannie asked.
“About fifty miles. Brian should be back before long—he left about...,” she pulled out her cell phone and glanced at it, “...an hour ago.” She looked up at Frannie. “I’m sorry about reporting you. I was so angry...” she trailed off, shaking her head.
“I know. Having my grandchildren here this weekend made me fearful of what could happen to them, too. I can only imagine what you are going through.”
Mrs. Trats did not respond. She tugged down her too-small shirt and looked away, wiping the tears off her face with her hand.
Turning back to Frannie, she said, “The state agent told me your husband was a cop and that you helped solve a crime one other time. Can’t you find her? Who do you think did it?”
********************
Happy Camper Tip #12
Storage in a camper is always an issue. There are some great suggestions on the internet, but anything that 1) keeps items secure, 2) makes things easier to find, or 3) uses vertical or overhead space without adding much weight is a bonus. One of the most practical is a plastic frame or wire basket that can be installed inside the cabinet door under the kitchen sink. Hang a plastic grocery sack in it and you have a wastebasket that meets all three criteria. It can’t tip over while traveling, it appears when you open the cabinet door, and it uses underutilized space. There are lightweight plastic stemware holders that work well in campers and use the upper space in a cabinet. Wall-mounted wine bottle racks can hold rolled bath towels or under counter racks can be mounted on the ceiling in the bathroom, also to hold towels. Rubberized shelf liner helps keep items in cabinets from moving around too much.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday Afternoon
Frannie was taken aback at Mrs. Trats' request. “Well,” she stammered, “there’s some possibilities, but most of the people around here are accounted for at that time. And if it was someone from outside the campground, we wouldn’t know...”
“Please help,” Mrs. Trats begged, gripping Frannie’s sleeve.
Frannie nodded hesitantly. “We’ll do what we can. Meanwhile, if you need company, stop by. We’ll be here until Tuesday.”
Mrs. Trats let go of her sleeve, shoulders sagging. “Thank you.”
Frannie turned and headed back down the road. When she reached the campsite, Larry looked at her quizzically. “Where’d you go?”
“I saw Mrs. Trats outside by herself and went to see if there was anything we could do for her.”
“Frannie, I’m sure she’s the one who reported us about Joe.”
“She did, and she apologized for that.”
“Lotta good that apology will do if we’re on a state list.”
“Right.” Frannie sighed. “But she’s very distraught. I can’t imagine what she’s going through.” She looked up at Larry. “She wants our help.”
“Frannie, you should not...”
“I know, I know. But I can certainly do a little more research on the Web.” Frannie looked around their site. “Did Mickey and Jane Ann go inside?”
“Yeah, Jane Ann was going to lie down and Mickey was going to watch TV—behind his eyelids, I bet.” Larry grinned. “Thinking that’s not a bad idea, myself. What are you researching?”
“Just thought I’d do a search on some of the people we’re curious about—Bernie Reid, for one.”
“He has an alibi, remember?” Larry said as he mounted the trailer steps.
“I know.” Frannie couldn’t explain her suspicions. She followed Larry in, and while he settled in his recliner, remote in hand, she got out her laptop, fixed a glass of ice water, and scooted into the dinette bench. She typed ‘Bernie Reid’ into the search engine and scanned the results. Apparently, there was also a Bernie Reid who was a city council member in New Mexico, one who had written a book on spiders, and one who had a plumbing business in Illinois. But she found several references to the storyteller. A couple were newspaper articles about his appearances at schools and county fairs in Iowa—nothing new in those. Then she found his web site.
She settled back a little and clicked on the headings at the top, one by one. She read his brief biography. No mention of a wife or family. His scheduled appearances for the year were there and she noted the one at RST Consolidated Schools shortly before Courtney Jamison disappeared. There were photos of his appearances in Jonesboro, Tennessee at an international festival. Short videos highlighted some of his briefer stories. One heading just said ‘Photos’ so she clicked on that. The first ones were the most recent—about a month earlier—and she rather absently scrolled through them. Some showed just Bernie with a variety of puppets or mini-disguises: hats, wigs, goofy glasses. Others depicted him working a crowd, children gathered around with amazed and transfixed faces, adults in the background. She examined several from the state fair, but learned nothing new.
As she scrolled through the pictures, she noticed that she was getting two and three years back. She was about to go back to the top of the website when something caught her eye in one of the photos. Clicking the picture to enlarge it, she took a sip of her water and leaned toward the screen.
Reid was shown from the side with toddlers sitting on the floor in front of him. Older children perched on small chairs behind the toddlers, with adults standing around the sides and the back. Reid was holding the princess puppet and the kids appeared to be shouting out suggestions to him as they had the previous night at the campground. The adults were smiling and watching their children rather than Reid. Except for one.
A woman on the side of the room was focused solely on Reid. Being in the background, the image was fuzzy, and although she seemed familiar, Frannie could not make out the features enough to identify her. She appeared to be older than most of the adults, maybe a grandmother. She had brown or dark gray hair in a style that reminded Frannie of the ‘bubble’ cuts of the sixties.
Frannie glanced over at Larry but his head lolled to the side as he emitted soft snores. She closed the laptop, deciding she would come back to the photo later and maybe she or Larry would be able to recognize the woman. Gathering her book and a fleece throw, she went back to the bedroom to curl up for a while and read a little. She nodded off on the second page.
When she woke, she stretched and opened her book again, but couldn’t concentrate. Might as well get up. Larry was no longer in his recliner, and she was surprised to see when she looked at the clock that she had actually slept for over an hour. Voices filtered in from outside. Mickey must be up also.
She bel
atedly appreciated the cozy warmth of the trailer when she hit the bite of the outside wind. Mickey and Larry were stoking the fire and Jane Ann stood chewing her lip.
“Oh, Frannie! Glad you’re up! Do you guys have any milk left? I was going to fix those baked apples in the cast iron tonight, and of course one has to have vanilla sauce with baked apples.”
“I don’t think so. The kids finished it last night. I meant to get some when we were in town for lunch. We could run in now and get some.” After forty-plus years of marriage, Frannie was well aware that in Larry and Jane Ann’s family, baked apples were only eaten with vanilla sauce, their mother’s recipe.
“Were you going to do something else right now?”
“Not a thing. Won’t take us that long. Larry, are the keys in the truck?”
He nodded. “I think we’re low on bread, too—in case we have to fix our own lunch tomorrow.”
“Right,” Frannie said, and to Jane Ann, “I’ll get my billfold.”
On the road to town, Frannie told Jane Ann about her visit with Mrs. Trats.
“Wow,” Jane Ann said. “That’s kind of an about face.”
“I think she’s desperate, and once she accepted that Larry hadn’t taken her daughter, decided to look for help wherever she could get it. But I really don’t know what we can do.”
“I agree. You’ve told Sanchez all you know about the suspects. The sheriff knows a lot more than we do about possible hiding places.”
“I keep hoping it’s the father, but Mrs. Trats was pretty sure it wasn’t him.” They rode in silence for a few minutes.
“I did some research on Bernie Reid...didn’t find much and Larry keeps reminding me that he has an alibi. All of the stories I found on the Internet were about his performances...nothing shady.”
“Sanchez hasn’t mentioned that he has a record, has he?”
“No, and I’m sure they’ve checked. Actually, wouldn’t you think he’d have to be squeaky clean to do all of these performances for kids?” Frannie turned into a convenience store on the edge of Orien. As they walked into the store, she said, “It seems funny that if he’s with a woman, we haven’t seen her at any of his events.”
“How would we know?” Jane Ann said. “We’ve only seen him when there’s a crowd around.”
“True.” Frannie looked a little sheepish. “I guess I was thinking I hadn’t seen anyone in ‘old lady clothes’ but I have no idea what that girl really meant by that.”
Jane Ann looked at her watch while she waited for the cashier to ring up her purchases. “That doesn’t speak well for your fashion sense, but if the restaurant is still open, we could go ask her.”
“We could. I think the sign on the door said they were open until 7:00 on Sunday night. Obviously no one dines fashionably late in Orien.”
The two hurried back to the truck and Frannie turned toward the center of town.
The main street was almost empty and Frannie pulled into a spot right in front of Ellie’s Eats. Inside, their waitress from lunch was standing at the lunch counter refilling salt and pepper shakers. She looked up and smiled as she recognized them.
“You’re back. Still hungry?”
“No,” Jane Ann laughed. “We probably won’t be able to eat again for a week. We just have a question about something you said.”
The girl cocked her head. “Yes?”
“You told us about the man and woman that ate supper here the other night. He had an unusual tattoo?” Frannie said.
“Oh, sure. He was just back here for three carry-outs.”
“Really?” Frannie was torn between her question and this new information. Well, first things first.
“You said the woman was wearing ‘old people clothes.’ What did you mean by that? What kind of clothes did you mean?”
The girl giggled self-consciously and flushed slightly. “I didn’t mean anything bad. Just, you know, my grandma wears these funny sweats—like yellow, blue, light green, you know—with cutesy animals or sayings on the shirt and little white collars. The lady was dressed like that. I mean, she looked fine—so does my grandma. Just not very much in style, you know what I mean?”
Frannie smiled at her, glad that she was wearing jeans and a denim shirt rather than one of her own sweatsuits. “We know what you mean. So this guy was just back in here? And got three dinners?”
“Yeah—well, two full dinners and one hamburger—no fries or anything.”
Frannie thought of something else. “Did you see what he was driving? Was it a white van?”
“No, it was an old black pickup.”
A middle-aged, stocky woman stuck her head out from the kitchen. “Megan? Is there a problem?”
Megan looked even more flustered, so Jane Ann pulled her sun glasses out of her pocket. “I left these here this noon. She was just returning them.”
“Okay. Glad you found them.” The woman pulled her head back and closed the swinging door.
Megan let out a breath. “Thanks. I probably shouldn’t be talking about the customers.”
Frannie patted her on the shoulder. “Thank you. You’ve been a big help.”
“But, why...” Megan started.
“We’ve gotta run,” Jane Ann said. “Our husbands will send out a search party.” They made their exit, leaving Megan standing with a salt shaker in her hand and a puzzled look on her face.
Frannie backed the truck out of the parking spot and executed a deft U-turn in the middle of Main Street. “Big city move,” she said as she got up to speed and headed back out of town.
“Well,” said Frannie after a moment, “interesting.”
“What are you thinking?” Jane Ann said. “I can see the wheels turning.”
“I don’t know, really,” Frannie admitted. “I’ve seen someone this weekend dressed in ‘old lady clothes,’ as Megan so tactfully calls them. But, for the life of me, I can’t think who or where. And why would Bernie Reid be picking up three meals? In the biography on his website, it doesn’t mention any marriage or children.”
“Maybe he wants to keep his personal information personal. Or maybe he even has friends?” Jane Ann gave her a little smirk.
“Okay, okay, you’re probably right,” Frannie sighed. “And he does have an alibi.”
“According to Sanchez, so does your favorite suspect, Don.”
“I know. So we’re probably back to a total stranger or the father. But what bothers me about that is who would know when Taylor Trats was accessible, unless they were in the campground all of the time? Her mother only let her ride up and down our section of the road and obviously drilled her on dealing with strangers to the point of paranoia.”
They rode silently for several minutes.
“And if it was someone in the campground, it comes back to the question of where they could be keeping her,” Frannie said finally.
“Assuming she’s still alive.”
“Yeah, assuming that. I don’t even want to consider anything else.”
They pulled back in the park entrance. When they reached the campground, Frannie noticed there were still five or six campers parked in the main loop. She really didn’t know much about any of the other campers who had been there through the weekend. But unless the kidnapper had reserved a place for longer than the weekend, wouldn’t they have already left and taken Taylor with them? Why hang around and be a possible target for the investigation? On the other hand, if they had a longer reservation, they may not want to raise suspicion by leaving early.
Larry and Mickey had a sizable blaze going and had added stocking caps and gloves to their attire. Mickey’s greeting was to be expected.
“What’s for supper, dear?”
Jane Ann laughed. “I wish you would surprise me sometime and ask me if we had fun or if we were arrested or if I met a good-looking guy.”
Mickey said, “Did you? Were you? Did you? What’s for supper?”
“I don’t think you’re going to reform him at this point, Jane Ann,
” Frannie said.
“I know I’m not. We have pork steaks to grill.”
“Great minds, et cetera, et cetera. We have pork chops marinating in an olive oil and steak rub,” Frannie said.
“Excellent,” Larry said.
“How about if I cook up some of the squash, tomatoes and onions we got this afternoon in the skillet?” Mickey suggested. “That should do us, along with the baked apples, of course.”
“Don’t forget Nancy’s lettuce. We’ll have to fix a salad and use it up. She will check,” Frannie said. “I’ll do that.”
They went into their own units to start preparations.
“Oh, Larry,” Frannie said, remembering the picture on the laptop. “Take a look at this and see if you know this woman.”
She opened the laptop and brought the screen to life. Larry peered over her shoulder at where she was pointing.
“Doesn’t look familiar at all,” he said.
“So it must be someone I saw that you didn’t,” she said, reaching into one of the overhead cabinets for plates. She scanned her memory for someone in the campground, at the nature center, or that she had seen at the flea market. Nothing.
“It’s really pretty cold to eat outside tonight,” Larry said, changing the subject.
“You’re right. I’ll go tell Jane Ann we’ll eat in here.” When she returned, she put the lettuce in a large bowl and added some fresh tomatoes, feta cheese, and pine nuts. Then she opened a bottle of wine, poured a glass, slipped into her old parka and went out to join the cooks. Mickey was stirring the vegetables in a cast iron skillet. Wonderful aromas drifted over from the fire. Dusk was approaching and the air felt even colder, although the wind had died down a little.
Larry and Mickey were carrying on their usual banter as they moved the skillet to a side rack to keep warm and put the pork steaks and chops on the grill. Frannie sat in her chair sipping the wine, trying to replay the events of the weekend and remember who she saw in ‘old lady clothes’ and who resembled the woman in the photo. She felt sure they were one and the same. Just as Jane Ann came out of their RV with the dutch oven of apples, she remembered.
The Blue Coyote (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 2) Page 13