I flicked on the flashlight and moved slowly in the direction of where I thought the scream had originated. I heard voices nearby as if other people were also coming to investigate. Other lights illuminated the dark woods at the inner core of the campground loop.
My foot hit something hard but pliant, and I fell over whatever it was, dropping my flashlight in the process.
“Ben, what was that?” I gasped as I grabbed my flashlight and jumped up, shining it on the ground.
Oh, my dear Minerva, this cannot be possible! Not again!
My light revealed I had tripped over a body, a human. I knew I would never forget the horrible sight of the mutilation of the man’s neck.
TROUBLE AT GLACIER
Minnie Crockwell
Trouble at Glacier
Copyright 2014 Minnie Crockwell
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the publisher and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover Art by Creative Book Covers
Contact information: [email protected]
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
This story is dedicated to my fellow travelers, and to the men and women of the National Park System with a special shout out to Glacier National Park where I was thrilled to work for two summers—a highlight of my life. I still have my ranger hat and my uniforms.
And yes, I did see bears there…and moose and bighorn sheep and all sorts of wonderful wildlife.
May we all meet at Glacier National Park!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Foreword
Recreational Vehicles and the Terms We Love to Use
ChapterOne
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Other Stories by Minnie Crockwell
About the Author
Foreword
Hello, readers. It’s so nice to meet you!
I’m Minnie Crockwell—single woman, traveler and amateur sleuth by accident. Please join me on my adventures as I travel across the United States in my recreational vehicle (RV). If my first few adventures were anything to go by, I suspect I’ll be meeting all sorts of folks along the way ranging from the interesting to the weird, to fellow travelers and happy campers, and to liars and murderers.
And say hello to my constant companion, Peregrine Ebenezer Alvord. I call him Ben. Ben travels with me though we haven’t quite figured out why. That he was born in the eighteenth century only adds to his charm.
Trouble at Glacier is Book 3 of the Will Travel for Trouble series. Look for Trouble at Happy Trails, Book 1, and Trouble at Sunny Lake, Book 2, at all major online book retailers.
I’ll pen my cozy mysteries as I experience them along my travels, and I’ll keep them short and sweet for those of you who don’t have the time to read long stories. While I will do my best to make the stories stand alone, in order to prevent too much redundancy in back story, you might find it easier to read them in order. You’ll learn more about Ben and me as we travel.
I hope you enjoy the ride, fellow travelers and friends. I never know where I’ll be on the road, but you can always reach me at mailto:[email protected].
Recreational Vehicles and the Terms We Love to Use
Camper: Older term for any type of recreational vehicle. Most often refers to a trailer towed by a truck or a camper that is set in the bed of a truck. Can also simply refer to people who enjoy camping whether by tent or recreational vehicle
Class A: A specific style of recreational vehicle that consists of a single unit where the driving “cockpit” is at the front of the vehicle and living quarters to the rear.
Coach: Another term for a Class A vehicle.
Cockpit: The front portion of a recreational vehicle housing the instrumentation where the driver sits while driving the vehicle.
Fifth-wheel: A style of RV towed by a truck in which the RV kingpin is coupled to a “fifth wheel” seated in the bed of the truck. Additional RV living space is afforded over the bed of the truck.
Land yacht: Another term for an RV or car suggesting large size and luxury. Used tongue in cheek by author.
Motorhome: Can include any recreational vehicle that includes a motor and is driven versus being towed.
Rig: In the RVing world, term used for recreational vehicle and/or trucks and vehicles used to haul them. Normally used by truck drivers to refer to their trucks.
Recreational Vehicle: RV. Also can include the terms motorhome, coach, camper, rig, trailer. Also called a caravan by my friends across the ponds.
Toad: See “Towed.”
Towed: Also known affectionately as a toad for the play on words. A vehicle that is towed behind a motorhome and is used for local, less expensive transportation.
Trailer: Most often refers to a recreational vehicle that is pulled behind a truck.
*Note: This list is not inclusive of all recreational vehicle terms and definitions but includes all those used in this book. Additional stories will include other terms.
Chapter One
I am beside myself, Minerva! Quite, quite beside myself! Ben said.
To some of us, those words might have sounded like Ben was in the throws of despair, but I recognized the excitement in his voice as the majestic peaks of Glacier National Park appeared in the distance over the tops of tall evergreen trees. Although August had been a particularly hot month in the Northwest, bright white snow and ice still glowed on the blue-gray tops of the Rocky Mountains in western Montana. I pushed on the accelerator of my Class A recreational vehicle to get to our campground just a little bit faster.
“Me too, Ben,” I said happily. “This was a good idea. Thanks!”
It is I who should thank you, Minerva, Ben said. The expedition did not travel this far north on the westward journey, but engaged in a grueling portage around the great falls of the Missouri River.
I knew Ben referred to the Lewis and Clark expedition, of which he had been a U.S. Army cartographer before his untimely death.
As if Ben could read my mind—which he could, actually—he sighed heavily.
Yes, I was not able to join Captain Clark as he returned on the northern route near this wilderness. It is one of my greatest disappointments.
I echoed
his sigh. Peregrine Ebenezer Alvord had died way too young at thirty-five of some unknown fever during the expedition’s stay at Cape Disappointment on the western coast of what is now Washington State. Had Ben not died young though, would I have ever “met” him? Wouldn’t he have returned to the east with Captains Lewis or Clark, perhaps to finish out his Army career?
I do not suppose we shall ever know, my dear. My ‘disappointment’ is tempered by the supposition that I should never have met you had I lived.
“Ben! Is there any chance at all that you can stop reading my mind for a second?”
I am not certain that I can, he said with a deep-throated chuckle. But I could avoid comment on your thoughts, thus ensuring your blissful ignorance.
I grinned. In truth, Ben’s ability to read my mind came in very handy on occasion, especially over the past few months when he and I had run into several hairy situations. Murders, actually. We could communicate without words, a particularly helpful system when other people were around.
And does the handsome and charming Deputy Wilson fare well? Ben asked.
I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue in the general direction of the passenger’s seat where I thought Ben might be.
“You’re not doing very well at ensuring my ‘blissful ignorance’ that you aren’t reading my mind,” I said sarcastically. “Josh is fine, wrapping up loose ends on Jason’s murder.” I referred to the recent murder of a young man at our last RV park on the shores of Sunny Lake in eastern Washington.
Perhaps you will have occasion to see him again someday, Ben said almost kindly. Almost. Ben and I had a complicated relationship, and I’d given up trying to label it. Companions? Friends? Fellow travelers? The word ‘lovers’ seemed a bit much, and I squashed the thought immediately hoping that Ben had missed it. That he was the ghost of a nineteenth-century man further confused things.
I saw the sign for the west entrance of Glacier National Park and slowed the RV. I’d already read that my 35-foot vehicle was too long to take across the park’s famous Going-to-the-Sun Road to the eastern side, and I hoped to snag a spot at Apgar, the largest of the park campgrounds on the west side and the easiest in which to maneuver a large RV. The campground was first-come, first-served, and I was anxious to see if I could still get a spot.
It was late afternoon, 5 p.m., and a line of traffic slowed entrance at the west gate. A park ranger facilitated congestion and directed traffic toward several lanes.
What an interesting cap the fellow wears, Ben exclaimed.
He referred to the circular, broad-brimmed straw ranger hat, which I more commonly thought of as a “Smoky the Bear” hat, though I thought that was associated with the Forest Service.
The ranger approached me, and I pushed open the driver’s side window and peered down at him from my 8-foot high perch.
“Welcome to Glacier National Park,” he said. Handsome and tanned with dark hair and dark brown eyes, he wore his taupe and green uniform well. One of my fantasies during my long and fairly dreary working life for the federal government had been to transfer to the National Park Service, sport such a hat, and commune with bears and moose on a daily basis.
His nametag revealed him to be Ranger Jackson.
“Thank you,” I said.
He stood back and surveyed the outside of my rig much as a man might have looked a woman up and down.
Even white teeth flashed as he smiled.
“You can take that lane over there,” he pointed to the far right. “You know you can’t take your RV over Going-to-the-Sun Road, right? There’s a 21-foot limit.”
I nodded and took a deep breath to still the pitter-patter of my heart at his handsome self.
Ben cleared his throat, but I ignored him.
“Yes, I know,” I said. “I’m just going to Apgar campground. Is it full yet?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I doubt it though. It’s Tuesday and early enough. They can look it up for you on the computer at the entrance.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Ranger Jackson stepped back, already with an eye toward the vehicle behind me, and I turned the wheel slightly to maneuver the RV into the appropriate lane.
You wear your heart on your sleeve, Minerva, Ben said quietly.
“Not my heart, Ben. Ogling a nice-looking man in uniform hardly involves my heart.” I chuckled uncomfortably. As I said, Ben and I had a complicated relationship.
I pulled up to the kiosk at the entrance and leaned down to hand the young female ranger my entrance fee. She checked her computer and stated that the Apgar campground wasn’t full yet, and she handed me a park brochure.
“Apgar campground is just 2 miles down the road. Follow the signs,” she said. She swished her blonde ponytail jauntily under her ranger hat. “Enjoy your stay!”
“Thanks,” I said, wishing that had been me years ago when I was motivated to swish my dark brown ponytail. I worked my way down the well-paved road, keeping my eyes open for any sign of wildlife in the evergreen trees. I’d read that moose and black bears could occasionally be seen near the road if one was lucky.
“You’re watching for animals, right, Ben?”
Of course, Ben said. We always kept an alert eye out for wildlife on the expedition. Food was not as readily available then as it is in your time.
“Ben! Not for food!” I almost screeched. “To look at! To admire!”
No, of course not, he chuckled. You are able to stop at the grocer’s and procure fruits, vegetables and strange little packages you call organic bars.
“That’s me, Ben,” I said with a shrug and a smile. “Okay, keep your eyes peeled.”
On the short journey to the campground, I scanned the trees on either side of the road eagerly but saw nothing moving. I pulled into the campground and stopped at the unmanned fee station. A bright red-painted sign featuring a drawing of a grizzly warned me that bears entered the campground and that I must secure all food within the vehicle. Campers were advised that all wildlife was dangerous and not to approach or feed them.
The instructions were to locate a campsite and return to pay the fee. I meandered slowly along the various loops searching for an empty space that was large enough to accommodate my RV plus my small blue compact tow car. Luckily, many of the spaces were pull-through sites so I could park the RV before I unhooked the car.
“What do you think about this spot, Ben?” I paused in front of one heavily treed vacant site that paralleled the road as most of them did. I saw other RVs searching out empty spaces and knew the campground was filling up fast.
Lovely, Ben said. Your door will open toward the woods, thus ensuring you a measure of privacy.
I pulled in, checking my mirrors carefully on either side to avoid scraping trees.
“I think I’ll be able to put my slides out,” I said, “but I doubt my satellite will pick up anything under this canopy of trees.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter though. I’d have to run the generator for power, and I can’t imagine watching TV with the generator running, not here in this lovely quiet park.”
I agree, Ben said. The noise would ruin the serenity of the forest.
I parked, leveled the rig and descended from the RV to see if I had clearance to extend my slides. If not, I would have to climb over the bed to reach the shower. Or alternatively, I could take a shower in the campground restrooms themselves. As it happened, I had plenty of room on either side of the RV. A small wooden picnic bench nearby completed the space.
“Smell that!” I crowed, inhaling deeply. The scent of pine filled the air. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Yes, Ben agreed with a chuckle. It does have a pleasant scent, especially after the noxious fumes along the highway.
“Well, I suppose you’re used to the smell of the great outdoors, aren’t you?” I said with a grin. “No emissions from cars and trucks, no hot asphalted highways, no industrial discharges.
Ah! But we do not have your wonderful indoor plumbing or your electric
heating. Our cities do not smell particularly pleasant.
I nodded.
“I hope I get to see a bear, even a little black bear.” I scanned the campground as if one was going to saunter up to me.
Be careful what you wish for, my dear. Black bears are every bit as dangerous as grizzly bears. Bear encounters were not a particularly unusual event on the expedition. You will not appreciate the outcome of those encounters, so I shall not describe them.
“If you ate them, then no, I don’t want to hear about it.”
Eat or be eaten, Ben murmured. I thought I heard a chuckle in his voice, but I had no intention of laughing. My plan was to admire the park wildlife…on all four legs, from afar.
“Hello there,” a voice called out from the opposite side of the RV nearest the road. A tall, silver-haired man rounded the back of the RV and approached. Though he was dressed somewhat like a ranger in a taupe shirt and forest green slacks, instead of the ranger hat he wore a green baseball cap.
“I’m the campground host here, Rick Cannon,” he said, extending his hand.
“Oh! I was just going down to pay my fee,” I said guiltily. I had only been at the site for five minutes. Surely, the host hadn’t expected me to beat feet back to the entrance that quickly, had he?
“No worries,” he said with a crinkly blue-eyed grin. “I was just driving by in my cart and thought I’d pop in and say welcome.”
“Oh, okay,” I said with relief. “Thank you. It’s beautiful here. Do you take care of this campground every year?”
“Well, actually no. My sister and brother-in-law usually take care of it, but she had some surgery last month so they left early. I said I’d come on out and take care of it until the summer season ends. I’ve worked as a campground host for the Park Service before, so they were happy enough with the arrangement.”
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