Raiders of the Lost Bark

by Sparkle Abbey

  A mix of RVs and large white canopy tents staked their claim around us. Planters spilling over with vibrant flowers were placed at each campsite. White Christmas lights were wrapped around tent poles, and paper lanterns were strung between the sleeping quarters, with multi-colored flags hanging from the tent ropes.

  I’m not going to say it was breathtaking, but the kaleidoscope of colors was a striking contrast to the brown wasteland. I sighed heavily, relieved I wouldn’t be glamping it up in a dirt bowl.

  “That’s amazing!” Betty shot up. Or at least she tried to; her seatbelt yanked her back against the seat with a loud thwack. “It’s a mirage.”

  A handful of people and dogs milled around the open grass area. They seemed to be enjoying themselves; the dogs were playing, and their owners smiled as they gestured toward the RV and tent sites.

  “Why would you be hallucinating? It’s the camp.”

  The heavy canvas sides of all the tents were pulled back, revealing hardwood floors, thick red Persian rugs, and king-sized beds with fresh linens. Vivid colored throw pillows and Moroccan lanterns strategically littered the floor.

  “Why didn’t you sign up for one of those?” I asked.

  “How was I supposed to know the tent would be just as swanky as the RV? Besides, you weren’t even coming, so you don’t get a vote. Pull in and let’s get out.”

  “Hang on. What’s our camping number? It’s on the paperwork Ranger Bad Attitude gave us.”

  Betty rustled through the paper. “Twenty-three.”

  That was easy enough to find; there were five empty spots left, and ours was right on the end. I backed us up and pulled onto the long slab of dirt meant to be our camping site.

  And here I’d thought Betty had overdone it with the size of the RV she’d rented, but from the look of the other campers, ours was on the small size. I put the RV in park, and set the emergency brake.

  I looked at Betty. “Now what?”

  “What do you mean, now what? We get out, snoop around those tents, and find out when we eat.”

  Hey, don’t get me wrong, I was all about food. I loved a good roasted hot dog, broiled fish, and baked potatoes. But even I knew you couldn’t just park the motorhome without some final touches.

  “Don’t we need to level this thing? What about our water, waste, electricity? You got the rundown. What do we do? How do we hook it up?”

  “I didn’t pay attention to any of that once I knew there’d be someone here to do it for me. Come on.”

  I rested my head against the steering wheel. Why? Why did I do this to myself?

  While Betty grabbed the leashes, I double-checked that I had the cookbook foreword I’d thrown together at the last minute. The envelope was right where I’d tucked it inside the duffle bag. I know I was being obsessive, but I couldn’t help myself. I was so close to ending this whole sordid affair. Pun intended.

  Betty handed me Missy’s leash. I slipped my crossover bag over my head and Betty grabbed her straw handbag.

  “Are you going to carry that around all day?” I asked. It was big and looked heavy.

  She clutched her bag against her chest. “A woman of my experience is never caught without her handbag.”

  Well, all righty then. I guess she was carrying her purse.

  We all tumbled out of the RV, the dogs especially eager to explore. I closed the door behind us and locked it, slipping the key in my bag.

  “Let’s find the program director. What’d you say his name was?”

  “Hudson Jones. Nice guy. You can’t miss him. He’s a cutie patootie for a short guy. Wears a tan fedora and khakis.”

  “I’m just curious. Do you judge all men by how good-looking they are?”

  “Not at all,” she deadpanned.

  I waited for the smart-alecky comment to follow up her denial, but she silently returned my stare.

  “Just so we’re clear. I don’t believe you,” I said.

  We followed the stone pathway to the opposite end of the camp toward the largest canvas tent, with an oak sign out front that read, “Headquarters.” Our fellow campers called out boisterous greetings at our odd-looking foursome. We had to be the talk of camp: the tall lady and short bulldog, and the senior lady with the drooling St. Bernard puppy. We definitely stood out.

  Missy was happy to walk at a normal pace. Raider, on the other hand, wanted to take the campground by storm. I had to hand it to Betty; she was doing a decent job of keeping him under control. Her time with Caro had paid off.

  A set of four oversized blue paisley planters filled with snapdragons and chrysanthemums stood guard at the tent entrance. The heavy canvas doors of the headquarters tent were pulled back in an invitation to enter. Betty and Raider charged inside; Missy and I followed close behind. The dogs found a line of stainless steel bowls of water and immediately began to sample each one.

  Standing before us was an average-looking guy, of average height and average build, wearing khakis and a tan button-down shirt. His name was not Average Joe. He was Hudson Jones. And he was not short.

  “Welcome, ladies.” He pushed back his felt fedora and blinked dark black eyes. “How was your trip?”

  “Longer than necessary.” Betty shot me an exasperated look.

  “It was fine. Is there someone who can help us with our rental RV? Neither of us know how to hook up the water or electricity.”

  “Sure, sure. Asher’s out there somewhere. He’d be happy to help you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s too bad no one showed you that before you left the RV lot.”

  Betty had the decency to look sheepish. “I may not have been paying as close attention as I should have been.”

  He chuckled. “Short attention span?”

  “You could say that,” I said dryly.

  “Let’s talk about today. What are the plans? I heard there’s going to be a s’mores feast tonight.” Betty rubbed her hands together. Raider made his way to her side and laid down. Missy continued to sniff around the water bowls. She was looking for food.

  “That’s right. We’ve got a couple of fun events for the dogs as well. At one o’clock, we’ll start the games. We also have a spa. If you’d like to pamper yourself and your pet, you can sign up for massages and facials. There’s also a group outing at three o’clock. We’ll be taking a mile walk with our furry friends. Chase, our camp butler, will be around to anticipate your needs and providing you with beverages and snacks.” His grand delivery reminded me of a game-show host.

  “Sounds like fun. I was wondering if Addison Rae has arrived yet?” I asked.

  “The chef? She’s in the kitchen prepping. Do you know her?” His quizzical expression made me think I’d caught him off guard.

  “Cookie got Addison the job,” Betty chimed in.

  “I didn’t get her the job. I recommended her. And it’s Mel, not Cookie.”

  “Gosh, you’re the owner of the Bow Wow Boutique.”

  I offered a lame smile. “That’s me.” I don’t think I’d ever heard a grown man say “gosh” before. I didn’t know if it was sweet or creepy.

  “Thanks for providing the prizes.” He pointed to a large cardboard box behind him. “That was a heck of a great gesture.”

  He thrust his hand toward me. I shook it, feeling guilty that he was excited about a donation I knew nothing about. Judging by the size of the box, Betty had been very generous.

  I looked at Betty. “I hadn’t realized we provided the prizes.”

  “Did I forget to mention that? You know my memory isn’t what it used to be. Short attention span. Speaking of forgetting, I have something for you.” She patted the oversized pocket on her chest. “Remind me to give it to you later.”

  It was probably a dried apple ring. I’d seen her stuffing her pockets with them before w
e’d left the RV.

  About Betty’s memory—it was fine. Until she didn’t want it to be. I turned my attention back to Hudson. “I’m glad we could help. I’m looking forward to seeing what we donated.” I ended on a light laugh, hoping he’d realize I wasn’t upset with him. “This is Betty Foxx. She’s the one who put the donation in motion. And these are our dogs, Missy and Raider.”

  “I’m Hudson, or Hud if you like, the program director. If you have any questions about what we’re doing, find me. Don’t be surprised if you see the media around. We got word late last night that Channel 5 is sending a reporter to the event.”

  I tried not to show my dismay. “Callum MacAvoy?”

  Why couldn’t he keep his perfectly shaped nose out of my business? I know, I know. I’m the one who told him about Addison in the first place. But really, why couldn’t he have conducted that interview last week? Damn procrastinator.

  He nodded with a smile. “That’s him. If you see him, I hope you’ll grant him a short interview.”

  Not on his life. “I’d be happy to. We won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure we’ll see you around.”

  “I’ll find Asher and ask him to give you a hand.” Hudson Jones tapped his fedora. “Don’t forget, one o’clock for the food toss. Three o’clock for the trail walk.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” I was normally a horrible liar, but since Addison’s appearance in my life, I was becoming alarmingly good at it.

  I should have taken that as a sign of things to come.

  WE DIDN’T NEED Asher after all. Once we left headquarters, the other RV campers were waiting for us and offered to help us connect to the utilities, and show us which buttons to push to extend our four (yes, you read that right) slide-outs. Apparently, correct camping etiquette is to introduce yourself to your neighbors, offer assistance to those with less experience, and give tours of your RV. Personally, I think they were just nosey, but hey, so was I. I’m the last person to judge.

  There’s even a “Golden Rule.” Yeah, it’s the same rule my parents taught me—“Do unto others.” But in this community, it seemed to be adhered to religiously. We heard story after story about saving someone’s awning in a windstorm, tucking lawn chairs inside when it rained, or rolling up car windows. All to be a part of a greater solution rather than a perpetual problem. Why isn’t that the ideal in any community?

  Like all good neighbors, no one outstayed their welcome. Betty and I promised to stop by each person’s site later and take a tour of their motor home or glamping tent.

  I needed to find a way to ditch Betty for a short time so I could deliver the cookbook foreword to Addison, and get my letters in return. Luckily, Betty and I had met a charming couple—Veronica Scutaro and her pooch Harry, a Japanese Chin.

  Veronica seemed like a friendly fellow camper, and a possible new customer for Bow Wow Boutique. Although she lived in Dana Point, she hadn’t really shopped at the local merchants in downtown Laguna. Betty was about to change that. She’d never met a pet lover she couldn’t convert to a Bow Wow fanatic. God bless her love for retail.

  Harry was a black-and-white puff-ball clown. He loved attention. He was adorable, hopping on all fours like a bunny, begging for a treat. It was obvious he had his human wrapped around his tiny paw. Betty shanghaied Veronica after everyone else left, happily chatting her up about toenail pawlish and chew toys.

  Missy wasn’t much for long walks. As a bulldog, she easily overheated, so letting her nap in the air-conditioned RV made her happy and kept her safe. I promised her we would play the food toss game that afternoon. She promised me she’d stay awake for most of it. What can I say, the girl enjoyed naps as much as she liked food.

  I grabbed the envelope from my bag, folded it in half longways, and shoved it in the back pocket of my True Religion jeans. I tugged my T-shirt down, ensuring I’d covered the evidence. After tossing my purse into a bedroom nightstand, I tucked my cell phone in my front pocket.

  I slipped past Veronica and Betty who were chilling on lawn chairs under the awing. Veronica was telling Betty about a missing butterfly bracelet that she believed to have been stolen a few weeks ago. There was no doubt in my mind Betty was concocting a scheme to somehow recover it.

  I nodded hello to a number of my new neighbors as I trudged across the cushy grass in my Merrell hiking shoes. I preferred my motorcycle boots, but the hiking shoes were a comfortable substitute.

  The kitchen was located in the middle of the campground. It was actually a large yurt with a round wooden platform, canvas walls, and a raised rooftop that included a domed skylight. Perfect for stargazing at night. That was, if one found themselves huddled in the kitchen area.

  I was about to walk inside when my cell phone rang.

  “Hello?” I answered without looking at the caller ID.

  “Hi, darlin’.” It was my mama, sounding all sweetness and light.

  “This is a bad time.”

  She sighed heavily in my ear. “It’s always a bad time. Especially lately. Stop being so contrary, it will give you wrinkles. Speaking of Grey, are you two back together yet?”

  Since we weren’t talking about my ex, I ignored her attempt to pry into my love life. Or the lack thereof. I tried to find something humorous about the whole “Mama” situation. Instead, I got nothing but a bad mood, and it was all Mama’s fault. That’s not exactly fair, but it was the truth.

  When I was twenty, rumor had it my mama had sex with a judge in order for me to final in the Miss America pageant. Mama referred to it as The Incident. At the time, I didn’t want to believe it. Even after all these years, I’d held out hope that she’d just let me believe the worst about her because she liked the drama. I loved my mama, but she was a martyr at heart. To her, any attention was good attention.

  Today, the truth would come out. And my mama was tucked away in our family home, unaware of the drama unfolding almost fifteen hundred miles away. It was better that way.

  “Melinda Sue, are you still there?”

  I stepped away from the circular tent. “I have to go. Love ya, Mama.” I returned the phone to my pocket and took a deep breath to regroup my scattered emotions.

  Shoulders squared, head held high, I entered the lion’s den.

  In the far back, Addison stood behind a long butcher-block table, prepping for the day’s meals next to a tall, dark-haired man with tattoo sleeves. Both were dressed in plaid short-sleeved shirts, jeans, and matching black aprons.

  The yurt was filled with tension. I guess Addison brought out that trait in most people she had close contact with. On the surface, Addison was a pretty girl. Unfortunately, her personality was as toxic as a Housewives reunion episode.

  She pulled out a black notebook from the large pocket of her apron and flipped the pages, then rattled off a list of ingredients.

  “I thought tonight was the lamb kabobs?” The man’s voice sounded strained.

  “As head chef, I changed my mind. We’re having lamb stew. You can make kabobs tomorrow. Stew is a better choice for the first night. We can cook on the open fire in front of the group. It will add to the experience.”

  I grudgingly agreed with her assessment. I made a mental note she’d said “head chef” and not “pet chef.” Seemed she’d managed to wrangle herself a promotion. Addison was probably a fine cook. I’d even give her the title of “chef.” She just sucked at being a human being.

  Tattoo Man slammed a cookie sheet on the butcher-block counter. “Stew is not a gourmet meal. Besides, we don’t have the proper ingredients. They weren’t on your list for the shopping trip.”

  “As the sous-chef, it’s your responsibility to anticipate what I need. Figure it out or I’ll replace you. I’d suggest you make a list and find a way to get to the store.” An ugly sneer formed on her face. “I heard Pepper Maddox is camping with us. She’d snatch u
p your job in a heartbeat.”

  Addison was about to unleash more venom, but when she looked up and saw me standing in the doorway, she pressed her lips together.

  The sneer quickly transformed into a smirk. “Melinda. You decided to come after all.”

  There’s nothing scarier than someone with a screw loose.

  “You knew I would.”

  “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  “Just long enough to hear we’re having stew for dinner.”

  Without breaking eye contact with me, she dismissed the sous-chef. “Redmond, start peeling the onions and potatoes out back. Be careful with the onions, they’re dangerous for dogs.”

  “I’m fully aware of what the dogs can eat.” Disgust clouded his eyes.

  I couldn’t blame him. I hated her too. Addison waited until he disappeared before she said, “Did you bring it?”

  “It’s the only reason I’m here.” I pulled the envelope from my back pocket and held it against my chest. “Did you bring the letters?”

  “Of course. But I don’t have them with me right this second. I thought you wanted to keep the letters quiet? Was I wrong?”

  I maintained a neutral expression and an even tone. “I want to get this over with. The sooner the better.”

  “I can’t just leave, Melinda. I have a job to do. You, of all people, can understand that.”

  “I don’t care. You’ve strung this out long enough. Let’s go to your RV or wherever you’re staying and get my letters.”

  Her eyebrows disappeared under her blue bangs. “Don’t you mean your mother’s letters?”

  I sucked in a breath and forced myself to stay calm. “Right,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “To my father.” Addison brushed her hands on her apron, in no big hurry to get moving. “I’ve read them, you know. Each one. More than once. You can’t blame me. At first, I thought they were letters between my parents.”

  My stomach churned, imagining what my mother may have written to her lover. Not only had she had an affair, she’d penned a written proclamation of her love for someone other than her husband. What the hell was she thinking? I didn’t want to read the letters, and I didn’t want anyone else to read them either. Especially my daddy.