Raiders of the Lost Bark

by Sparkle Abbey

  I double-checked that Hudson and the cops weren’t about to burst through the opening to the tent. With the coast clear, I quickly grabbed the backpack and unzipped it. A dirty apron, recipe cards, a water bottle, event paperwork Ranger Bad Attitude must have given her, an area map, a thumb drive. Buried under all of that, at the very bottom, was a small stack of envelopes tied together with a faded blue ribbon.

  My heart raced. My hands started to sweat. Who was I kidding, it wasn’t just my hands—my whole body was sweating like I’d spent the last twelve hours in a sauna. I sucked in a breath as I pulled out the stack of envelopes. My pent-up air came out in a rush.

  There was my mama’s name in the upper left-hand corner. I recognized the large flowery handwriting immediately. I pressed the stack of envelopes against my chest and closed my eyes.

  Missy gave a lazy growl. She never growled. Someone was coming. I whipped around and peeked out the doorway. I heard voices; they grew louder as they drew closer.

  I frantically zipped up the backpack and shoved it back behind the recliner where I’d found it. I stuffed the envelopes inside the waistband of my jeans against my sweaty hip and tugged my T-shirt, stretching the material as I made sure it covered the evidence. When I lowered my arm to my side, I brushed the letters, but they didn’t move. Perfect.

  I squatted to pat Missy on the head and promised her a treat when we got back to the RV. While I was down there, I checked her paws. Good news; they were clean. Maybe a little grass-stained, but no blood.

  I picked up her lead and waited. It wasn’t but a matter of seconds when Hudson and Finn entered. I swear my heart was beating so loudly I was certain everyone could hear it

  “Detective Finn.” I attempted to sound chipper, but my voice squeaked in a way that, had my mama heard, she’d have hustled me off to voice lessons. Dang. Why hadn’t Hudson grabbed a uniformed officer?

  Her alert eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Ms. Langston. Interesting that I find you here. Alone.” She wasn’t any more excited to see me than I was to see her.

  I cleared my throat and pointed to Missy. “Nope. Not alone. Just so you know, not my idea. Hudson asked for my help.”

  “Which you happily obliged.”

  Of course I did. My mama raised me right. Judging by her skeptical look, she didn’t want to hear about my upbringing, so I kept my lips pressed together.

  Hudson adjusted his hat. “Gosh, that’s the truth. We noticed right away there was a problem. Melinda suggested I grab you and she’d wait here to keep anyone else out.”

  Finn’s top lip curled up. “I bet she did.”

  “No one showed up. I guess that’s good news. So, is this your handiwork?” I asked.

  “No. Who do you think did this?”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea. I’d start with the person who killed her.” I backed out slowly. “Look, I don’t want to get in the way. I know how you feel about me hanging around. Besides, I need to take Missy back to the RV. She’s been in the heat for a while and is ready for some shade time.”

  “Did you touch anything?” Finn barked, stopping me in my tracks.

  Hudson and I exchanged a look. “No.”

  I imagined the Boy Scout program director had his fingers crossed behind his back. Not me; I was so used to the fibs that now they just rolled off my tongue automatically.

  The detective pulled her two-way radio from her belt and called for a couple of uniforms and the crime scene techs. Once she’d placed her order for the worker bees, the queen bee shooed us out of the tent. Unlike me, Hudson wasn’t so eager to escape.

  “But I need to gather her belongings for her agent,” he said.

  “The agent can wait.”

  “You tell Sunday Hill she has to wait,” he muttered under his breath. “How long will this take?”

  “As long as it needs to. You can have her personal belongings when I release them. Got it?”

  I didn’t wait to hear his response. I ran to the motorhome, Missy huffing and puffing the whole way.

  “Hang on girl. You can make it,” I cheered her on.

  We breezed past a group of campers returning from the trail walk. I had to admit, I was surprised it had still happened. I realized it had been quite a while since I’d seen Betty. I wondered where she’d disappeared to, and how much trouble she’d managed to fall into.

  We reached the RV quickly. I unlocked the door, and we jumped inside. We were immediately hit with ice-cold air. It felt heavenly. Missy trundled to the water bowl and lapped up the refreshing liquid. She plopped her paw in the bowl, knocking it over.

  “Missy.” She looked up, water dripping from her jowls. “If you’re that hot, I’ll give you a bath.”

  I pulled off my cap and sunglasses, tossing them on the kitchen counter. I refilled her bowl before wiping up the mess she’d created. Once she’d had her fill, she waddled over to her dog bed and sighed happily.

  I snagged a bottle of water from the fully stocked fridge and drank deeply. The refreshing liquid hit the spot.

  I pulled out the stack of letters and gripped them tightly. I sighed, contemplating what to do next. Should I call my mama? Should I read them? Maybe I’d just burn them. Lord knew the decade-old letters had already caused enough trouble.

  I untied the blue ribbon, letting it fall to the table. I picked up the top envelope tentatively and held it. I don’t know why I was pretending I wasn’t going to read the letters, because I was. I was going to read each and every one, because I was glutton for punishment.

  I opened the envelope and gasped. What the hell was going on?

  I frantically opened all seven envelopes. Each and every one was empty.

  Even in death, Addison had managed to get the best of me. As my Grandma Tillie would say, “she’s more slippery than a pocketful of pudding.”

  Who had my mama’s letters? More importantly, why would they want them?

  Chapter Eight

  BETTY BURST INTO the RV in a cloud of dust, Raider hot on her heels. Like Missy earlier, he raced for the water bowl. I was glad I’d refilled it.

  Betty didn’t make it any further than the living area. “Cookie, what are you doing in here? I thought you’d be out solving that pet chef’s murder.”

  She was covered in dirt from head to toe. Thin twigs and sticks poked out from her fluffy white hair, and black smudges covered her cheeks. It occurred to me she could have finally gotten her hands on Callum MacAvoy and had her way with him. She’d been begging for a date since she’d met him.

  “You look like you’ve been wrestling a pig. Where’ve you been? I was getting worried.” I grabbed the same kitchen towel I’d used earlier and mopped up the water Raider splattered on the floor before it ran into the dirt surrounding Betty’s shoes and created a mud trail.

  “I told you what I was doing. I’m looking for your granny’s brooch.” She patted her bottom; puffs of dust filled the air.

  “Stop that. Sheesh. Take it off and shake it outside. Did you find the pin?” Please, let something have gone right today.

  She shook her head, loosening a clump of dirt. It landed on the marble floor with a thunk. “But I’m not done. In fact, I have a theory. I think someone stole it.”

  That was crazy thinking. “What were you doing with it in the first place?”

  “Well, I had an appointment with that sassy cousin of yours and she was late. Actually, she was being held by a crazy murderer, but I didn’t know that at the time. Anyway, her friendly neighbor let me into Carol’s house to wait—”

  “Caro.”

  “What?”

  I smiled. “Her name is Caro, short for Carolina.”

  Betty huffed. “I know that. Do you want to hear the story or not?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then stop interrup
ting me. Where was I?”

  “Caro’s neighbor let you inside,” I prompted.

  Betty pulled a few sticks from her hair and dropped them. “That’s right. She let me inside. While I was waiting, I got bored, so I snooped around the house and found the pin. She’s not as smart as she thinks she is, let me tell you.”

  I was about to explain that she shouldn’t be breaking into Caro’s house and stealing jewelry, even if it was mine, but the look on her face stopped me. She was so proud of herself for outsmarting Caro. I knew from experience it was an exhilarating feeling besting my cousin.

  The dust was making my eyes itch. I rubbed them as I tried to make sense of everything. “That was months ago.”

  “I was waiting for the right time.”

  “And you decided this trip was the right time? Why not bring it to the shop like a normal person? That seems like a right time to me.”

  “Well, that’s just boring.” She emptied out her pockets, piling dried apple rings on the coffee table. “But then I lost it. I didn’t mean too. It was an accident. See, I shoved it in my pocket.” She patted her hip, releasing a small dirt cloud. “But it must have fallen out. I just don’t know when that happened.”

  I stepped closer to remove the remaining twigs from her hair. “Where were you looking? In the trees?”

  “That’s ridiculous. I was looking under the bushes, in case someone accidently kicked it. I looked around the rig, at the campfire, the trail, the bathrooms. Oh, wait until you see the bathroom. Amazing. It looks like a spa. I’m really digging the whole glamping gig.”

  I pulled a clean hand towel from the drawer. After dampening a corner, I handed it to Betty so she could clean off her face. “How did you manage to be in all those places? We’ve only been here a few hours.”

  It was a little hard to tell under all the soot and dirt, but it looked like her face reddened. “I may have gotten sidetracked, looking places I wanted to see. Did you know Pepper Maddox was supposed to be the chef, but she got fired when you called Loni at the ARL and asked her to give the job to Addison?”

  I didn’t bother to correct her. It didn’t matter anymore. “I’ve heard that a couple of times now.”

  “Did you know she’s here and she wants the job now that Addison’s dead? She was talking it up real big at the Toss Across game. Then I overheard her telling everyone who’d listen at the snack shack she’d get her job back or she’d get herself on the news and tell the world Hudson Jones’s secret.”

  “There’s a snack shack?” Could she have known that Hudson and Addison were having an affair?

  “I guess that sous-chef, Redmond—everyone calls him Red—set it up. Smart thinking. But that’s not the best part. You’ll never believe who Pepper was yapping to. That sexy reporter you don’t like.”

  That explained a lot. Mr. TV seemed to be everywhere lately.

  Betty thanked me for the towel. She tossed it in the sink, then shuffled to the table and picked up an envelope. “What are these?”

  I plucked it out of her hand. “It’s not important.”

  “But that’s your mother’s name—Barbara Langston. Cookie, do you miss your mommy?” She laughed. “Has she been writing you camp letters?”

  “You know Mama. Always has to be the star of the event.” I gathered the empty envelopes from Nosey Nellie and stuffed them in my duffle bag. “We need to find that brooch. Have you asked anyone if they’ve seen it?”

  “Sure, I have. That’s what made me think someone stole it. You know, Veronica said a couple of weeks ago someone snatched her favorite bracelet right out her jewelry box. And her friend’s diamond earrings were stolen that same week. Now your brooch is gone.”

  “But you lost the brooch.”

  “Don’t rub it in.”

  “I—”

  “What I’m tellin’ you is, I think someone found it and kept it. It may be ugly, but any jewel thief would know it’s worth at least a down payment on a house.”

  True story. “What are you suggesting?”

  She rubbed her hands together. “The thief is here. We’ve solved dozens of murders. Solving a jewelry heist has to be a piece of cake.”

  We have not solved dozens of murders. If she ever said that in the presence of Detective Malone, he’d find a reason to arrest her just on principle. Luckily for her, Malone was thirty miles away.

  “How do you propose we go about it?” I needed a reality check. I’d just asked Betty how to find a jewel thief. I’ve officially lost my mind.

  “First, I’m changing my clothes. These are itchy and I’m starting to stink.” She smelled her arm. “Yuck. I need a shower.”

  She dashed past me toward the bedroom and bathroom. She closed the door then yelled, “We need to visit the snack shack. That’s where all the best gossip happens. And get a tour of everyone’s place like they promised. You distract them on the tour and make small talk. I’ll snoop around for that ugly brooch you love so much.”

  In theory, it sounded like a great plan. Until you got to the execution details. Like, how did you rifle through a possible suspect’s belongings with them standing next to you and not look like you’re a crazy person?

  I found a broom in a closet and swept up the twig garden Betty had left behind. I agreed, we needed inside everyone’s quarters. Not only to find the brooch, but to find out who had my letters. There had to be a way to linger behind everyone’s digs to do a little harmless sleuthing. I swept the pile of dirt and twigs into the dustpan and dumped it all in the garbage.

  “Cookie, I found your body soap in the cosmetic bag you had hidden in the back of the drawer. It smells like sugar lemon drops. Hope you don’t mind me using some,” Betty shouted through the door. Before I could answer, the shower turned on, drowning out what she was saying.

  I smiled. Then again, maybe I was making this too difficult, and Betty was the perfect person to carry out the plan. Who was going to think twice about a nosey Grandma rummaging through your bathroom?

  Maybe the day was looking up after all.

  Chapter Nine

  BETTY EMERGED FROM the bedroom in khaki capris, a lumberjack plaid shirt, and sculpted raspberry cream eyebrows. I complimented her on the new outfit, only to be schooled on how it wouldn’t hurt if I took a little time to update my own wardrobe. I reminded her I’d exchanged my motorcycle boots for hiking boots this weekend. Unimpressed, she suggested I change my graphic T-shirt for a top more “glamping-appropriate.” It was as if she’d channeled my mama. It was only a matter of time before Betty would tell me to run a brush through my hair and freshen up my lipstick. Sheesh.

  We agreed to leave the dogs behind. I was a little concerned about leaving Raider unattended. He was still a pup and had a hankering for chair legs, shoes, and used tissues. Betty assured me he’d be fine if he stayed confined to the bedroom. Since that’s where she was sleeping, I went along with it.

  Missy parked herself under the table, snoring and drooling. I doubted she’d notice we’d left until we came back. After double-checking we had everything we needed, we headed out to start our snooping tour.

  For once, Betty wasn’t exaggerating. The snack shack was the proverbial water cooler for campers. There were guests gathered under a large round canvas tent with the sidewalls rolled up. As we approached, people rushed to greet Betty with a hug and a smile, asking if she had any updates about Addison’s killer. I guess finding a body was big news. It also made Betty an instant celebrity.

  “You know all these people?”

  “Sure.” She patted my arm reassuringly. “I’ve tried to talk to everyone and assured them we’re on the case and that you had nothing to do with Addison’s murder.”

  “Why would they think I had anything to do with the murder? They don’t know me.”

  “Well, I heard from Veronica, who heard from
Asher, who heard from Red that you threatened Addison when you left the kitchen this morning.”

  Red was causing me grief at every turn. I needed to talk to him and find out why he kept throwing me under the bus. Judging by the way he was working the crowd, he was embracing his new role as head chef. That was a motive for murder in my book.

  “For the record, I did not threaten her. And stop telling people we’re going to solve this murder. Are you trying to get us thrown in jail?”

  Betty couldn’t help herself. Her intentions were good, but she didn’t know how to subtly coax information out of anyone.

  “Detective Hottie would bail us out.”

  Where did she get that crazy notion? “Don’t bother wasting your one phone call on Malone. He’d let you sit in jail. Call a lawyer.”

  “What about the sexy reporter?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Do you have a story in exchange for your freedom? Because that’s the price if you want his help.”

  We maneuvered through the crowd of hungry campers and exhausted pooches. Betty was in her element, roaming through the herd—part cheerleader, part politician—shaking hands and making empty promises.

  A young man in his early twenties roamed through the crowd with a tray of half-filled champagne glasses. He had to be the butler, Chase. I grabbed a flute as he passed by.

  Betty elbowed me in the side. “He’s a little wet behind the ears to be serving alcohol, don’t you think?”

  I looked at her surprised. “Not at all. I thought you liked cabaña boys.”

  “Naw. I like cabaña men. That kid looks like he should be at home tuning up his bicycle so he can deliver the Sunday paper. I’ll be back. I’m going to get us an invite to the Swansons’ RV.”

  Betty disappeared. I had no idea who the Swansons were. I searched the group for Betty, but she was so tiny, it was nearly impossible to find her. I watched for her white hair. I finally found her inside the tent talking to the older couple with the Pom who’d snubbed me earlier. If they were the Swansons, I didn’t think we’d be granted a tour of their RV anytime soon.