Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping (8 page)

Chapter 5

Wendy agreed to join me for an early Sunday morning swim, but when we arrived at the swimming pool, the gate was locked. The “Open” sign was lit up on the office door so we walked over to ask when the pool would be available to use.

Kylie greeted us warmly when we walked into the office, friendly and gregarious, as was her nature. “Good morning, ladies! What are you two up to this early on a Sunday morning?”

“Good morning, Kylie!” Wendy and I said in stereo. I told the young woman we were hoping to get a few laps in before breakfast and were wondering when the pool would be open.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she replied. “I had customers lined up outside the door when I opened the office about a half hour ago and haven’t had a chance to go unlock the gate. There’s a lull in the action right now, but it’s not apt to last long. Come along and I’ll unlock it for you before the next wave of customers arrive. We usually open the office and pool at eight, but during these annual festivities we open at six because the RV Park is already busy at the crack of dawn during Frontier Days.”

Kylie related a funny anecdote about a customer she’d checked in the day before as we walked over to the pool area. “I asked her how many people were in their party because the rate is for two adults only. We charge an extra two dollars for each additional adult, as is a common practice for campgrounds, according to Emily. But we never charge for kids under twelve, because the Harringtons don’t want it to be too expensive for young families with lots of children. The customer told me there were two adults and a child in her party. So I asked her how old the child was to see if I needed to charge for him or not. I couldn’t help laughing when she kind of hung her head in embarrassment, and replied, ‘He’s thirty-nine.’”

“What? Thirty-nine?” I asked Kylie in astonishment. “That’s a little old to be considered a child, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I said to the customer,” Kylie said. “And she responded, ‘Well, he’s
my
child!’ So I let the thirty-nine year old
kid
stay free because I didn’t want to get involved in a confrontation with the customer. But, jeez, I mean, thirty-nine? Really? Some people will do anything to save a buck, won’t they?”

We were still laughing at her story as Kylie turned the key in the lock on the pool area gate. As she swung open the gate and turned to hurry back to wait on a gentleman walking up the sidewalk to the office door, she said, “Have a nice swim, ladies, and enjoy your day.”

We thanked her and I followed Wendy onto the concrete patio that surrounded the pool. I almost swallowed my tongue when Wendy looked into the pool and cried out in alarm, “Oh, my God!”

I rushed to the side of the pool and looked down into the water. Just as it was registering in my mind what had startled my daughter, Kylie appeared at my side to see what had caused Wendy’s outburst. It had been loud enough to potentially wake half the people in the campground. When it dawned on her what she was seeing, she echoed Wendy’s exclamation, and her face paled. She put her right hand over her mouth. I saw her stagger a bit and I grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her, in fear she might pass out on the pavement.

“Is that what I think it is?” Kylie stammered. “Is that a body on the bottom of the pool?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” I replied. “And not just any body. I recognize the suit she’s wearing. That’s Fanny Finch!”

“Oh, dear Lord,” Kylie said, her face drained of color. I could tell from her reaction that she’d never seen a dead body before. Unfortunately, I’d seen a few too many in the past couple of years. But, even so, it was a jolt to my senses every time it occurred.

“I’ll call 9-1-1 while you run and get the Harringtons, Kylie. And Wendy, perhaps you should go inform her husband that there’s a problem, and let Stone know what’s going on, too. I wouldn’t go into detail with Mr. Finch if I were you,” I instructed.

I was getting accustomed to situations like this, having been involved in the investigation of a number of deaths in the last couple of years. Because of those past experiences, I was able to maintain control of my emotions and react with a sense of calmness in the face of a crisis like this one, after the initial shock had worn off. But Wendy, who makes a living as an assistant to the county coroner, deals with deaths and cadavers on a daily basis. She immediately pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and said to me, “I’m probably better equipped to speak to the 9-1-1 operator and emergency technicians, so why don’t you go get Stone and Mr. Finch while I take care of this matter.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an order. I knew she was right, but I couldn’t help resenting the fact my daughter didn’t seem to think I was competent to speak with the emergency personnel. But I also knew she’d get some degree of perverse pleasure in detailing the specifics of the dead body to whatever poor sucker answered the call. I still couldn’t stomach her morbid fascination with cadavers, which had resulted from her occupation in the coroner’s lab. Besides, now was not the time to quibble over minor injustices, so I merely nodded and followed Kylie out through the gate.

Mr. Finch was sitting in a lawn chair on the small—and not adequate in Fanny’s opinion—concrete patio. He was drinking a cup of coffee and chuckling at two squirrels chasing each other around a large cottonwood tree. I hated to have to disturb his peaceful morning by bringing him bad news.

“Mr. Finch?” My voice quivered but the gentleman seemed unaware of my trepidation.

“Good morning, sweetheart. It’s actually Mr. Bumberdinger, but please call me Avery. Finch is Fanny’s—or actually Claudia’s—pen name. She gets almost physically ill if someone refers to her as Claudia Bumberdinger… not that I think being referred to as Fanny is much better. You may not believe this, but she can be a real hard bugger at times.” Avery smiled as he spoke, and, naturally, I smiled back at him. But I was thinking I’d also prefer to be called Fanny Finch rather than Claudia Bumberdinger if my name was going to be plastered across the cover of a book I’d written.

Avery Bumberdinger seemed like a very soft-spoken, laid-back guy. It was hard to visualize him as the same man I’d heard viciously squabbling with his wife two short nights ago. He wasn’t half-bad looking, either, when he was fully dressed and not doing belly flops off the diving board in a too-tight Speedo.

I smiled at the kind man now as he took another sip from his coffee cup and I introduced myself. I wasn’t sure how to best break the horrid news to him. Out of an ingrained sense of politeness, I let him know I was happy to make his acquaintance. “My name is Lexie Starr and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Avery.”

“And you, as well, Ms. Starr. What can I do for you this fine morning, pretty lady?”

“Um, well, um, you see…” I stuttered, trying to get my nerve up. I finally took a deep breath, and said, “I’m afraid there’s been an accident at the pool involving your wife and your presence is needed there immediately.”

I spoke with as much discretion as I could, considering the gravity of the situation. I assumed he could tell by my frayed nerves and haunted expression that the situation was dire, but I didn’t want to be the one to tell him his spouse had expired.

Avery shook his head like a man at the tattered end of his rope. He let out an expressive sigh and set his almost full coffee cup down on the patio. I looked at it with longing. I wanted to ask him if I could finish it off for him if he was just going to let it go to waste. I was very much in need of a strong dose of caffeine.

Good thing I hadn’t just taken a big gulp of coffee, because I almost choked on my own saliva when Avery asked, “What has Fanny done now? Held someone under water for daring to disagree with her? I’d like to hold
her
under water for a minute or two myself, and probably would if I thought I could get away with it. I’m just kidding with you, of course. Seriously though, Ms. Starr, what is the problem with my wife now? Is she being a bugger again?”

“I’d rather let the Harringtons explain it to you,” I said. I didn’t have it in me to tell someone about the death of his loved one, even if Avery Bumberdinger had just jokingly stated he wouldn’t be above killing his spouse if given half a chance.

“Oh, all right. I don’t know what’s gotten into that woman, but she’s become nearly impossible to get along with recently. She’s been gnawing on my last nerve all week. We’d been getting along fabulously until her silly book soared to the top of the
New York Time’s
best best-sellers list. Her success has gone to her head and now she’s almost impossible to get along with.”

I knew that would no longer be a problem that would plague Avery, but I limited my reply to telling him he really should hurry to the pool area. He shook his head again and stood up. He pulled a black comb out of his back pocket to smooth down his hair, which was wavy, the exact color of his comb, and very sparsely accented by gray streaks. Finally, after assuring every hair was in place and the door to his fifth wheel was locked, he began to walk nonchalantly up the gravel road toward the pool.

My next order of business was to get Stone. When I walked into the motorhome, he said, “I thought you and Wendy were going for a swim. You’ve only been away for ten or fifteen minutes.”

After briefly studying my face, he asked, “Honey, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Sit down, and let me pour you a cup—”

“No, not now—”

“Okay, now I’m worried. What’s going on? I’ve never known you to not welcome a cup of coffee. Did I hear Avery say something about drowning his wife?”

“Not exactly, dear. It was more of a new item on his bucket list, I think. But you’re half-right, because Fanny did drown, Stone! Wendy and I found her at the bottom of the pool. She wasn’t breathing! She’s dead! I can’t believe it, Stone! I just can’t believe she’s dead!” My voice rose another octave with every word I spoke. I knew I was beginning to hyperventilate and sound as if I was on the verge of hysteria, which I was. The seriousness of the situation was just beginning to hit me. There might be a killer staying in our friend’s RV Park, I realized, and his RV might just be parked right next to our site.

“Settle down, honey,” Stone said, as he wrapped his arms around me. “You’re in shock and I don’t want to have to slap you.”

He smiled to let me know he was only kidding, but his comment helped to calm me down. I explained to him as quickly as I could what had transpired. Then, together, we rushed back to the scene, where numerous emergency vehicles were beginning to arrive. We’d heard the sirens approaching as we had been briskly walking up the road.

Wendy was introducing herself to an EMT who was stepping out of an ambulance, while Emily and Stanley were speaking to Avery. I thought Stone really might need to slap Fanny’s husband, because his expression never wavered as he listened to the campground owners explain the situation to him. His face looked like it had been carved into the side of a mountain, so I knew he was in such a state of disbelief that the finality of his wife’s death had not yet sunk in.

As squad cars and a fire engine pulled into the campground, people began emerging from their RVs and tents, following the source of the activity. Despite the fact that it was just past seven o’clock in the morning, a crowd formed quickly. Two divers in neoprene wetsuits were entering the men’s shower. They had obviously retrieved the body from the bottom of the pool and were changing back into their regular outfits.

As the news spread about what the commotion was regarding, I could hear the blending sound of many conversations occurring simultaneously. The grapevine was operating at full force. I saw Fanny’s fellow authors, Norma Grace and Sarah Krumm, standing off to the side. Neither of the ladies, still wearing their pajamas and bathrobes, looked particularly astounded by the horrific turn of events, nor upset about the death of Fanny Finch. In fact, they wore identical contented, almost-evil, expressions.

They appeared to be happy about the shocking tragedy and relieved to be seeing the last of someone they despised. If I had to adequately describe their demeanor, I’d say they looked like two women watching a fireman rescuing their pet kitten from a high, flimsy branch up in a tree; pleasure, mixed with relief. I mentally vowed that I would never treat others so badly that they might some day be looking down at my dead body with that same expression on their face.

I saw Kylie, who’d been rendered speechless, wipe a tear off her cheek before returning to the office—most likely in the event a customer needed attention. I think it was safe to say there were no customers in the office, due to the mob that surrounded the pool area. At that moment, discovering what had a huge crowd abuzz was more intriguing than the idea of purchasing a bag of ice or Wyoming keychain.