Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping (26 page)

“Good,” he replied. “Why don’t you grab a shower while I make the bed and prepare us something for breakfast? I make a mean omelet, you know. How does that sound this morning?”

“Delicious,” I replied. “I think I’ll go to the shower house this morning, rather than squeeze into the tiny shower in this rig. I’ll make it quick and be banging my silverware on the table in twenty minutes.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, as I was standing at one of the lavatory sinks in the shower house, brushing my teeth and running a comb through my damp hair, an older lady using the basin next to me asked, “Say, aren’t you the one who found that author lady dead earlier this week? My husband and I hurried up to the pool area when we heard a gentleman in the trailer next to us hollering to another camper that someone had drowned.”

“Yes, my daughter and I had gone up there for an early morning swim and were horrified to discover her body on the bottom of the pool.”

“I thought dead bodies floated.” The sixty-some year-old lady exclaimed.

“They do—eventually—but not until after the body has bloated with gas, or so my daughter explained. She’s an assistant coroner back home. It hadn’t been long enough for the body to rise to the surface, Wendy told me.”

“Oh, that’s interesting. I’m Rapella, by the way.”

“I’m Lexie Starr and I’m happy to meet you, Rapella. My husband, Stone, and I are out here on vacation, celebrating our first anniversary. This is our first experience in an RV.”

“It’s an interesting lifestyle,” Rapella said. “My husband and I are full-timers. We’ve traveled all over in our thirty-foot trailer and have stayed in RV Parks in nearly every state in the union, but we’ve never seen anything like this before. We did see an old fart choke to death on a bone from one of the chicken wings he was shoving in his mouth like nobody’s business, and we’ve seen a couple elderly RVers keel over when their tickers shot craps. We’ve never seen one get their ticker stopped for them like this poor unlucky sucker did, though.”

“Yes, it was shocking, wasn’t it? Especially to my daughter and me, as you can imagine,” I said. I was wishing Wendy were with me right then so she could hear what “insensitive” and “offensive” really sounded like.

“Oh, my goodness. I’m sure it was an unbelievable sight. Congratulations to you both on your first anniversary. Rip and I have been hitched for almost fifty years. Tied the knot when we were both just eighteen and right out of high school. Reason be, I got knocked up and my pappy would’ve tarred and feathered old Rip if he hadn’t put a ring on my finger,” she explained with a cackle. “My husband has always gone by Rip because his last name was Ripple, and he hated his given name of Clyde. After we got married, everyone started referring to me as Rap, and we were collectively called Rip and Rap. The nickname stuck, but to his dying day my pappy called us Riff and Raff, grudgingly at first, but with affection later on.”

“Sounds like your pappy was a real pistol,” I said.

“That he was. I was wondering if you heard if that woman’s killer has been arrested. We’ve heard nothing about it since they hauled her carcass off in a body bag.”

I tried not to laugh at the this lady’s callous but amusing way of turning a phrase before responding in the negative. “No, as far as I’m aware, the murder’s still under investigation and the killer is still on the loose. My daughter and I have actually been kind of meddling into the case a bit ourselves, but without much success so far. Our interest, of course, stems from the fact we feel personally involved, having discovered her body.”

“I’d feel exactly the same way, Lexie. You and your hubby need to stop by and meet my old man when you get a chance. Rip and I are in the site directly across from the office, under that big oak tree.”

“Do you mean that chartreuse-colored travel trailer with the yellow sunflowers painted all over it?” I asked, amazed. We’d all shaken our heads in disbelief every time we passed the outlandishly-painted rig as we pulled into the RV park. At her enthusiastic nod, I replied, “That’s quite a cheerful-looking trailer, Rapella.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? We got bored one weekend and decided to spruce the old thing up a bit.”

“Well, I must say, you accomplished your goal. I’m originally from the ‘Sunflower State’ of Kansas. You’d fit right in there. Now we live right over the Kansas border in Rockdale, Missouri, where we own and operate a bed and breakfast in a refurbished turn-of-the-century Victorian mansion called Alexandria Inn.”

“I believe Emily has mentioned your name on several occasions. She told me she and Stanley stayed with you around the holidays last winter. Sounds to me like you’re a real sparkplug with a lot of spirit, which I find to be a breath of fresh air. We’ll have to stop by there some day when we’re passing through the Midwest. We’ve been to both states numerous times. Rip and I spent several summers working and staying at a park in the Ozarks. Believe it or not, we fit right in with them toothless boot-legging hillbillies ‘round there,” Rapella said, with a deadpan expression.

“We would love to have you stop and visit us at the inn. We’re located not too far north of I-70. Is this your first time to come to Cheyenne Frontier Days?”

“Oh, no. We’re here nearly every year at this time. Emily Harrington is my cousin on my mother’s side, so we’re always able to snag one of the premium sites. And my cousin gives us a sizeable discount—as in we pay zip for our site—and Rip and I clean the two shower houses every morning in exchange. In fact, Rip and I work as what’s called ‘workampers’ at RV parks all across the country. Campground owners advertise for helpers like us in a ‘Workamping’ magazine and online site. It works well for us and allows us to travel and live cheaply.”

“Emily told us about hiring workampers. It seems like a win-win situation for both the RVers and the RV Park owners. Sounds like a fun lifestyle too! As first-timers, we’re really enjoying ourselves,” I said sincerely.

“We’ve always loved it, too. We usually go south when it’s cold and north when it’s hot, kinda like a pair of monogamous snow geese. Just like Rip and me, they mate for life. Only in Rip’s and my case, it’s because no one else would have us,” Rapella’s laugh, complete with a couple of spontaneous snorts, was infectious. I could tell humor was an important aspect of her personality, and I adored that in a person. Suddenly she realized she’d gotten off our original topic of discussion. Her expression turned serious again as she asked, “Just curious, but had you met the stiff before her death?”

After blanching a bit at her rather crudely asked question, I briefly told Rapella about my impression of the self-centered, overbearing woman, and about her unsanctioned tell-all biography of the popular singer. She asked me a few questions and I responded with what little knowledge I had about the case. “My daughter and I are planning to visit the police station today, just to pass on what little information we’ve been able to garner.”

“Good for you! It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Lexie. If you hear anything, or make some kind of breakthrough yourself, will you stop by and tell Rip and me about it? We’re in our late sixties and have nothing better to do than stick our noses in other people’s business.” Rapella laughed, as did I, since I could strongly relate to her last comment. “I’d like to meet that new hubby of yours, and introduce you to my old one.”

Rapella Ripple was immensely charming and I would have liked to talk to her longer, but I suspected I had an omelet growing cold in the motorhome. “I promise I’ll let you know if anything interesting develops. I’ve been known to occasionally stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, too. It was nice meeting you too, Rapella. I’ll try to make sure we hook up again before we head home.”

* * *

An hour later, the six of us were walking through the turnstiles at the entrance to the fairgrounds. The air show could be seen from nearly anywhere in town, but we decided to view it from the fairgrounds. It was a stop on the shuttle bus schedule, and we could walk around and look at what the various vendors had to offer.

I still wanted to pick out a souvenir to take home to my best friend, Sheila Davidson, and I knew Wendy and Veronica hoped to find souvenirs of our trip to take back home to a couple of their friends, as well. Stone, Andy, and Wyatt probably had their hearts set on another loaded chili dog.

At exactly ten o’clock, a squadron of six jets flew in formation over our heads to signal the beginning of the air show. After discovering the U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds performance had been an annual part of the Cheyenne Frontier Days festivities, I’d googled them on the Internet to do a little research before leaving on vacation.

I found out that the Thunderbirds were based out of Nellis AFB in Nevada, and the F-16Cs they piloted were called Fighting Falcons. The pilots were an elite group, and would be flying at speeds approaching seven hundred miles an hour during their display of amazing maneuvers. More astounding was the fact they’d begun performing during Cheyenne Frontier Days in 1953, a few years before I was born. I shared this information with the rest of the group.

We all stood in a state of awe with our necks craned back to look at the sky, watching the highly skilled pilots maneuver their powerful jets with incredible precision. Just the sound of their engines was thrilling to me. I could not imagine the total concentration the pilots must possess in order to execute such dangerous stunts, which allowed for no margin of error. Their very lives hung in the balance with each stunt they performed for the enjoyment of the crowd. I, for one, appreciated their bravery and the untold hours of practice they’d endured to earn the prestige of becoming a Thunderbird pilot.

Stone was as impressed as I. I heard him speak to Wyatt in a low voice during a lull in the action. “Talk about having balls of steel.”

Being the gentleman that he is, Stone then turned to me, and said, “That would take way more courage than I could ever muster up.”

“You and me, both,” I replied.

Stone must have been doing more extensive research about the Thunderbirds on his iPad than I had. He informed our group that the formation they’d just completed was called the
Five Card
, and any time now, they’d be performing their signature
Bomb Burst
maneuver, which was usually toward the end of their routine. It involved four jets going straight up from the
Diamond
position and breaking off into separate directions, while a solo F-16 goes straight up between them and executes aileron rolls until they’re three miles above the ground, concluding with all six aircraft rejoining in a formation called the
Delta
.

One of the first things that had attracted me to my husband was his ability to retain a lot of facts and figures about a vast number of subjects. As always, I was impressed with the information about the Thunderbirds he was sharing with us that morning, even though he’d lost me at
Five Card.
I’d been proud of myself just to remember what state they were based in, and that I hadn’t mistakenly referred to them as the Blue Angels, the Navy’s aerobatic flying team.

When the show ended, we clapped and cheered along with the rest of the observers. We all decided to walk around for a while, visiting various booths and vendor stands before grabbing a bite to eat for lunch. My legs were still stiff from the trail ride, and all the walking helped loosen them up.

Following lunch, we’d catch the shuttle home. Stone had acquired six tickets to the concert that evening through Emily Harrington when he made our reservations. We decided to kick back and rest during the afternoon before heading back out to the fairgrounds and arena where the nightly concerts were held. I was thankful to discover we’d be sitting in seats up in the stands, with the “normal” people, and not relegated to the crazed throng of screaming fans in the standing-room-only section.

Even though finding a restroom from that vantage point would surely be easier, I vowed to myself not to have a sip of any beverage after lunch. I didn’t want an encore performance during the concert that evening. For one thing, the performer was one of my all-time favorites, and I didn’t want to miss a single song.

After the men branched off to look at some handcrafted knives at a display they’d heard about on the opposite side of the vendor area, we gals walked over to the Indian Village area reserved for Native American artwork and crafts. I found a leather belt with silver studs and stitching that I knew Sheila would love. Wendy bought some jewelry for herself and her friends. Veronica spent an inordinate amount of her own money on a warm Indian blanket for her beloved “grammy” and a leather jacket for Wyatt, with which he was enthralled when she gave it to him a few minutes later after we’d met back up with our men. He and Veronica returned to the Indian Village for a short spell while the rest of us sat on a bench and did some people-watching, which was entertaining in itself.

When the love struck couple returned from the Indian Village, Veronica showed off an elaborate, and shockingly expensive, Navajo squash blossom turquoise and coral necklace that she had admired earlier. Wyatt had been delighted to return to the Indian Village and purchase it for her.

It occurred to me then that there’d likely be two upcoming weddings I’d want to look my best for in the near future. I would use that as incentive to step up the after-supper walks that Stone and I tried to fit in our schedule. We normally walked a two-mile route, but increasing it to a three-mile route wasn’t beyond our capabilities.

I had muscles that needed firming and toning before they turned into the consistency of Jell-O, and not necessarily that of Jell-O that had set up yet. I could squat down for the length of time it took me to dust the lower shelves of the four bookcases in the little library at Alexandria Inn, and then would have to pop an Ibuprofen or two the next morning just to climb down the stairs to the ground floor without groaning in pain from the soreness in my thigh muscles.