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Happy Camper Tip #13
Campfire Baked Apples: Core apples and place in a cast iron dutch oven. Put a small pat of butter and a little cinnamon-sugar in the center of each apple. Add about a half-inch of water around the apples. Cook over the fire for about twenty minutes until apples test done with a fork. Remove with a slotted spoon into serving bowls and top with warm vanilla sauce.
Vanilla Sauce: Melt two tablespoons of butter in a saucepan. Stir in two tablespoons of flour. Add 1/4 cup sugar, 1/2 cup of milk and 1/2 cup of water; cook over low heat and stir continually until thickened. Remove from heat and add one teaspoon of vanilla. Makes enough sauce for two or three apples. Or one if you really like vanilla sauce.
Chapter Fourteen
Early Sunday Evening
“Maddie Sloan!” Frannie said, sitting up straight in her chair and sloshing a little bit of her wine.
“What about her?” Larry said.
“I think she’s the woman in the photo and when I went with the ranger on Saturday, she was wearing a pink sweatsuit.”
Larry looked puzzled. “And?”
“Old lady clothes. When Jane Ann and I were in town, we stopped at the restaurant to ask the waitress what she meant by that,” Frannie confessed. “She’s talking about pastel sweatsuits with cute logos. That’s what Maddie Sloan was wearing when I saw her. That means there’s a connection between Bernie Reid and Maddie Sloan.”
“But why is that suspicious? Did Sommers ask her if she knew Reid?” Larry persisted.
“No.” Frannie paused. She didn’t really know where she was going with this.
Jane Ann held out a platter and Mickey forked the meat onto it. “Time to eat,” he said. “We can discuss this over food.”
He grabbed the skillet of vegetables with a heavy glove and they trooped into the Shoemakers’ trailer. Frannie’s mind whirled with possible implications, but she held off discussion while she put plates and silverware on the little dinette table. Larry got out the salad and dressings and refreshed her wine glass.
The next few minutes were occupied with squeezing into the little benches, and dishing up. The camper offered a welcome coziness as the wind seemed to be picking up outside again.
“Now,” Mickey said, chewing and waving his fork. “Explain why it matters if the storyteller knows Maddie Sloan.”
“Because,” Frannie began slowly, still thinking, “Bernie Reid has an alibi for the time of both disappearances. He was performing at a nursing home when Taylor was abducted and in South Dakota when Courtney Jamison was. But if he and Sloan are in cahoots—and she’s the one who last saw Taylor...”
Larry nodded. “You might have something there. But if that’s true, Maddie Sloan could be anywhere by now with Taylor. If she’s still alive.”
“I’m not so sure,” Frannie said. “By the way, Mick, these veggies are excellent. Anyway, the waitress told us this afternoon that Reid had just been there getting three carry-out meals.” She paused allowing this information to sink in. “Two full meals and one that was just a hamburger.”
“But where could they be keeping her?” Jane Ann asked. “The sheriff has searched all of the surrounding homesteads.”
“It could be a little farther afield—Bernie Reid’s movements haven’t really been restricted,” Larry said. “We’d better get this information to Sanchez. I don’t think they’ve been able to connect Sloan with any of the suspects.”
“I don’t think they have,” Frannie said. “Remember, he said last night that they aren’t even sure that’s her real name. He told us today when we were on our walk that the items left behind in her campsite appeared to be new and cheap—almost like they were staged. They don’t know anything about her.”
Larry got up from the table and took his plate to the sink. “I’ll go see if I can find Sanchez or the sheriff.” He grabbed the truck keys from the hook and his jacket and was out the door.
Jane Ann and Mickey helped clear the dishes while Frannie ran dishwater. Jane Ann got towels out of a drawer and handed one to Mickey. He grumbled out of habit but immediately pitched in.
Frannie stopped washing a minute and looked at the other two. “I keep thinking of what Sabet asked last night after the puppet show. How do you hide something in plain sight? I suppose Reid and Sloan could have scouted out a hiding place when they first got here, but how would they know they would need it? This had to be a crime of opportunity. Where can you hide a white van—if, in fact, that is theirs? The waitress said he was driving an old black truck.”
Mickey stacked the clean plates in the overhead cabinet and turned back. ”Put it in a used car lot?”
Frannie continued washing and putting clean silverware in the basket, considering what he said. Then she spun around and looked at him, dripping water on the floor.
“Mickey, that’s brilliant!”
“Well, I don’t know...most lots around here would be small. Owners would know what should be there and what shouldn’t. I mean, you’re right about me being brilliant...”
“I know what you mean—but the other day when we were lost, we turned around in a lot on a dirt road full of all kinds of vehicles—more of a junk yard. I doubt anyone pays much attention to it. Sabet calls them ‘camper daycares.’” She dried her hands on her shirt. “Soon as Larry comes back, we’ll need to find Sanchez again...”
“Call him, “ Mickey said.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed Larry. A phone rang. Frannie and Mickey looked at the cell phone lying on the counter by the TV and then looked at each other.
Leaving the rest of the dishes, Frannie grabbed her parka to rush outside and wait for Larry’s return. Mickey washed up the few remaining dishes and he and Jane Ann followed her out.
While Mickey built the fire back up, she stood peering through the darkness toward the campground entrance. There was no sign of anyone moving until finally—actually only a few minutes by the clock—headlights appeared moving slowly into the main road. By the time Larry got to the campsite, Frannie was waiting in the middle of the road for him. He halted the truck when he spotted Frannie in the headlights and rolled down his window. Frannie hurried around to his door.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you. Did you talk to Sanchez?”
“No, the ranger didn’t know where he was and the sheriff is on an accident call.”
“I thought of a place that they could be hiding that white van!” she said, excited. “Remember the lot we turned around in on Friday? The ‘camper daycare’?”
Larry nodded. “You’re right. It would be easy to hide it there.”
Jane Ann and Mickey had come up behind Frannie.
“We need to find Sanchez,” Frannie said.
“Sommers was going to try and call him. Get in,” he said to all of them. He opened his door so that Mickey and Jane Ann could get in the back and Frannie jogged around the front of the truck to climb in the passenger side.
Larry turned the truck around and headed back to the ranger residence. Ranger Sommers was walking back to the house from a maintenance shed. She looked up and stopped as their headlights swung into the drive.
Larry lowered his window. “My wife has a wild idea about where that white van could be hidden.” He proceeded to fill the ranger in on their suppositions and describe the location of the junk lot.
“I’m not all that familiar with the surrounding area—I’ve only been at this park a couple of months. I wish the sheriff was here. Let’s go take a look at a map.” She led them into the house. To the right inside the front door was a small office, cluttered with stacks of papers and binders.
She searched through one of the stacks and produced a county plat book. The book fell open easily to the map showing the park area.
“You said this place is west of here?”
“I think it has to be,” Larry said. He looked at a state map on the wall. “We came up from the interstate on this
county road,” he pointed at the thin line. “There was a detour sign at this intersection with 36A and it was turned the wrong way so we continued north here. It doesn’t show the road on this map but it turned into a dirt road and curved toward the east.”
Sommers went back to the plat book. She turned back a couple of pages and found the main road where they had seen the detour sign. Larry leaned over and located the road they had followed. He pointed at the approximate spot where they had encountered the junk yard.
“We turned around and went back to 36A because we had no idea where the dirt road led. But look—it comes out here at Williams Avenue.”
Sommers looked at him. “Williams Avenue runs along the backside of the park.” She pointed at a large map of the park on the other wall. “If you follow the park road to the campground, but don’t turn and keep going, it comes out at Williams Avenue.”
“That’s awfully convenient. Did you contact Sanchez?”
“I did. He’s headed back here—he should be here in about an hour. As soon as he gets here, we can check it out.”
Frannie was bursting with impatience. “We could go drive by it and see if we see a van.” It sounded pretty weak.
“It’s dark out,” Sommers said. “How could you see anything?”
Frannie shrugged.
“I can’t let you do that,” Sommers said. “Go back to the campground and wait. We’ll let you know what we find.”
“Can I have your cell number, in case we think of anything else?” Larry asked. She gave it to him and he programmed it into his phone.
“I mean it. Don’t try and handle this yourselves.”
“We won’t,” Larry promised and herded his group out the door.
Once back in the truck, Frannie let out an exasperated sigh. “I feel we’re so close.”
“Frannie,” Larry cautioned, “relax. We are going to let Sommers and Sanchez handle it.”
She slumped in her seat, knowing she would never persuade him to even just drive by the junkyard. How could she relax? Who knew if Taylor Trats was still alive, or, if she was, how long she would stay that way. She thought of Mrs. Trats’ face when she was begging for help.
They rode in silence and as they neared the campground turn, Mickey leaned forward from the back seat.
“Larry, have you ever seen the other side of the park? I don’t even know what’s over there.”
“It’s dark out, Mick,” Larry said, eyes on the road. “What would there be to see?” Larry was a stickler for rules and procedures, but Frannie thought she could hear a little wavering in his voice. But she kept silent and let Mickey take it.
“How do we know if we’ve never been there?” Mickey grinned at Larry in the rearview mirror. Larry had slowed for the campground entrance and Frannie’s heart sank. She leaned her head on the window and looked out into the darkness. The campground lights and a few campfires were visible. It took her a moment to realize that Larry did not turn. She looked at him in shock. He gave her a quick glance and shrugged.
“It’s just a drive. We are not getting out. We are not stopping.”
Frannie sat back and wondered what brought about even this concession. She thought back to their argument the night before. Certainly he would be concerned about Taylor’s safety, but his feelings of responsibility in her disappearance obviously were overriding his natural caution.
The gravel park road wound down toward the Bluffs River, crossed a small arched stone bridge, and climbed back out of the little valley. A stop sign stood at the top of the hill at a tee intersection and the truck headlights reflected off a street sign that read ‘Williams Avenue.’ Larry turned left.
A half-mile down the road, an unmarked dirt road branched off to the right. A ‘Level B Maintenance’ sign was posted at the corner. Larry slowed the truck and turned into the road. Mickey leaned forward again from the back seat.
“Somebody’s been using this road recently.”
The truck bounced and lurched through fairly deep ruts, barely dried and hardened from the morning’s rain. The road led downhill from the ridge they had been on since they left the park. The moon was waning and made intermittent appearances but gave only strobe-like glimpses of fields on either side of the road.
They crossed a little one-lane bridge over a dark cut in the earth, probably a small stream that fed the Bluffs River in rainy seasons. On the other side, tall trees closed in over them as the road headed up a rise. Before they crested the hill, bright headlights came over the hill and filled the windshield forcing them all to blink, duck away or shield their eyes. Larry swore and swerved to the right edge of the narrow road.
“Stupid idiot!” Larry said, glancing up in the rearview mirror at the disappearing taillights.
“Frannie! I think that was a black pickup!” Jane Ann said. She twisted in her seat but by now they were on the other side of the rise and the taillights had disappeared.
“There it is,” Frannie said, pointing off to the right up ahead. “The junkyard.”
Larry slowed the truck and they peered at the mass of dark shapes. Sommers was right. It was too dark to make out individual vehicles. He slowed even more, and they each concentrated on the junkyard. The sliver of moon seemed to coast out from behind the clouds and briefly illuminated the area.
“There’s something white behind that combine—I can just see the corner...” Frannie was pointing but Larry stepped on the gas as headlights from behind them suddenly illuminated the inside of the cab.
“Watch out!” he yelled. A sickening crunch and jolt from behind skewed the truck in the road. They were all thrown against their seats, heads snapping back. The truck shot across the road to the left and tilted radically forward as it headed down into the steep ditch and lurched to a halt. Frannie pitched forward against her seat belt, meeting the expanding airbag. She sat in silence for a minute, trying to grasp what had happened, as the bag slowly deflated and a smoky substance filled the air of the cab.
“Everybody okay?” Larry’s voice was shaky and he quickly shut off the engine.
Frannie took an instant inventory of her body. Her heart was pounding and she felt a little bruised but otherwise okay.
“Yeah, I think so,” she said.
“We are too,” Jane Ann said.
“What the hell was that?” Mickey blurted.
“A deliberate hit,” Larry said, fishing in his pocket for his cell phone. He punched in 911 and gave the answering dispatcher the details of the accident. Mickey was straining to look out the back window.
“Where’d he go?”
The others scanned the area they could see, which wasn’t much because of the angle of the truck. All was quiet and there were no lights.
“Should we get out?” Frannie asked Larry. “Or are we better off here?”
“We’d better get out. I don’t know what’s up but if the person in that truck is out to get us, we’re sitting ducks here.” Larry first turned the light selector so the interior lights wouldn’t come on and then slowly opened his door.
On the ground, he had to brace himself because of the slope of the ditch and then opened and held the small crew door to let Jane Ann and Mickey out. Frannie got out her side and worked her way around the front of the truck to get to the others. Partially hidden in the ditch, they peered across the road at the junkyard.
“There!” Frannie whispered hoarsely, pointing. “I saw a light, like maybe a flashlight.”
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Happy Camper Tip #14
Checklists, checklists, and more checklists can save a lot of grief. The most experienced pilot in the world using a plane he has flown a hundred times will still use a checklist to do his pre-flight inspection. The most important checklist to have is one that lists all the necessary steps before you move your camper. This should include unplugging the electrical (try to find an RVer who has not pulled out at least once without unplugging), collapsing the TV antenna, securing the awning, locking doors and compartm
ents, etc. Vehicles have been seen on the move with antennas up, steps out, and electrical cords flying. There are even stories of a camper pulling into the dump station with a slide still out. Not good.
Chapter Fifteen
Sunday Evening
The others peered through the gloom to see where Frannie was pointing. The dirt road ran east and west, and they were in the south ditch. Frannie thought she had seen a light coming from the north and east side of the junkyard.
“I don’t see anything,” Mickey said.
“We need to get back into these woods,” Larry said, indicating the trees behind them to the south. “Seems likely that the truck that hit us is the kidnapper and he’s got to know that his hiding place isn’t viable any more. Obviously, he’s not going to let us get in his way.”
“Larry,” Frannie grabbed his sleeve, “that also means if he’s got Taylor over there, he’s going to move her. He has to. This could be our last chance.”
“Help will be here soon,” Larry assured her.
“But what if it’s not soon enough? What if he—or they—decide Taylor’s too much of a liability? And to get rid of her now?”
Larry stood, hands on hips, shaking his head and then looked at her.
“All right,” he told them all, “here’s the deal. We’re going to work our way down the ditch toward the west and away from where Frannie saw that light. We’ll cross the road down there and then try and get close by using the other vehicles as cover. Don’t take any stupid chances, any of you.”
“Smart chances are okay,” Mickey mumbled. Larry glared at him.
“Then what?” Jane Ann said. “What if he’s armed?”
“That’s what I mean about chances. Hopefully, Sanchez and the sheriff will be here by then.” He grimaced and headed west around the front of the truck, followed by the other three. The going was slow through the tall weeds and brush. They tried to stay out of the deepest part of the ditch where the soft, squishy ground still held some of the morning’s rain.
The Blue Coyote (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 2) Page 14