Peete and Repeat (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 3) (11 page)

“I wonder what they would be looking for? Could you tell if he was carrying anything?”

“Too dark.” Larry stuck his perpetual travel mug of coffee in the microwave to reheat.

Frannie unsnapped the lid of a plastic container on the counter. “Cookie?” she asked, taking one and holding out the container to Larry. He took two.

“We might as well get comfortable.” He dropped in his recliner, snapping it back. Frannie cringed at the sound but realized the intruder was nowhere close by now. She poured herself a glass of milk by the light from the refrigerator, and sat down to wait. It was like waiting out a power outage or a tornado warning in their basement at home. Nothing to do but think.

Larry looked at her. “How did you know there was something going on?”

“I woke up and couldn’t get comfortable. So I took some aspirin and went out to sit on the steps a minute. It was so peaceful and beautiful.”

Larry sat up. “Frannie, did you go over there?”

“No, I did not. I saw the light and came in immediately and looked out the window. Since the sheriff’s car wasn’t there and it was so late, I called 911.”

She half expected a pat on the back for her good sense—not always so evident—but the closest Larry could manage was a grudging, “Good.”

They sat in silence a little longer until they saw headlights coming up the camp road. Larry went to the kitchen window.

“It’s the sheriff. You stay here.”

She didn’t argue, but adjusted the nearest blinds so that she could see out without moving.

Larry and the sheriff were silhouetted against the car headlights. Sorenson nodded at Larry’s explanation and then walked to the trailer door, hand on her gun. Frannie couldn’t see the actual door and waited, drumming her fingers on the dinette table. Finally, the sheriff came back around the corner, and as she and Larry stood talking, while he pointed in the direction they had seen the intruder go, two more cars pulled up. Several officers joined them, one with a large dog on a leash.

Flashlights bounced along the ground as the officers headed toward the slope and Larry returned to their camper.

“Obviously, no one was in there,” Frannie said to him. “Did she find anything else?”

“Oh, yes, someone was definitely looking for something. She said drawers were pulled out—quite a mess.”

“Seems to me that indicates that the twins’ deaths were not just random. There are more layers to this than it appears.”

“Frannie,” Larry hesitated, leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “No offense, honey, but the police—or in this case, the sheriff and deputies—aren’t idiots. They’ve done this before, and they will do it again. They were sure this wasn’t random by yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh.” Frannie sat looking at her hands feeling foolish. Larry was right, she was trying to interfere and didn’t know what she was doing. She was suddenly exhausted, and even though she was dying to know if the deputies caught anyone, she recognized her limits.

“I think I’ll go back to bed,” she said, standing with some effort.

“Good idea. I’m not trying to belittle the help you’ve given them…”

She waved him off. “I know. You’re right. But maybe I can sleep now—I am so tired.”

And she did. Laying flat on her back, she felt relief from the tension and pain and immediately dropped off.

Sunday Morning

The next morning, Frannie awoke to the patter of rain on the camper roof. Odd, there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky a few hours before. She smiled to herself. Not that odd, really; she’d lived in the Midwest her whole life and shouldn’t be surprised by sudden turns in the weather. So much for Mickey’s forecast.

She eased out of bed so as not to disturb Larry, and slipped on a hooded sweatshirt and slippers. After plugging in the coffee pot they had readied the night before, she raised the blinds and looked out. Not a heavy rain, and the sky appeared lighter off in the West. But the firewood would be wet; maybe it was a good day for an easy breakfast. She got a container of veggie pancakes out of the freezer.

Sitting in Larry’s recliner, waiting for the coffee, her thoughts were drifting when her phone chirped for a text message. It was from Jane Ann: MYBE BRFST INSIDE THIS MORN? Obviously, great minds do run along the same track. Frannie replied, GOING TO WRM UP VGGI PANCAKES. Ten seconds later, an answer: B RITE THERE.

Frannie smiled. NOT YET. LARRY’S STILL IN BED. The response: FIGURES. K.

By the time Larry got up, and the group shared a throw-together breakfast of the pancakes, fruit, and leftover rolls from Donna’s purchase on Friday, the sky had cleared and the grass glistened with the rain drops. Everyone trooped outside and wiped down tables and chairs while making plans for the day’s ride from Wheat Valley.

Jane Ann straightened from wiping the picnic table bench. “Frannie, what about you?”

“Well, the doctor didn’t say I couldn’t, but this morning I’m thinking I will pass.”

“I’ll stay here, too,” Larry said.

“Don’t be silly. I’ve got plenty to read and I’m sure Mary Louise will be by to check on me.”

“I know you,” Larry insisted. “You have something planned. You need to stay out of this investigation.”

She shook her head and held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. I will be in that recliner except for trips to the bathroom. I don’t feel that bad—I just don’t want to take any chances.” And she meant it.

Larry put up more objections and Frannie parried them all. Finally, she said, “When you get back, you can make it up to me with a trip to the pie shop.” He gave up.

In another hour the bikes were loaded and they were ready for departure. Larry offered again to stay with her, as did Jane Ann. As further proof of her intentions, she brought three paperbacks and her ereader out of the camper, plus a bag with a gaudy purple scarf she was knitting for her granddaughter, Sabet. Larry brought the old percolater out to the utility table and plugged it in the exterior outlet and also handed her cell phone to her.

Mickey said, “I think we have an old port-a-potty in the back of a storage compartment, if you need it.”

“Ewwww,” said Frannie. “I believe I’m well enough to go in and use the private facilities.”

After Donna made two trips back into her camper, first for sunglasses and then a water bottle, they launched. Frannie sat for a while, totally relaxed, drinking in the pleasant morning. Since it was Sunday, several people were starting to pack up and get ready to head home. School was still in session and, oh yeah, some people had to work.

She picked up a John Sanford mystery that she was almost finished with and began reading. Cuba curled up on the ground beside her with a deep sigh. Boring mistress. Frannie was at an exciting spot in the book but the laziness of the morning and the lack of sleep the night before conspired against her and soon she dozed off. She had been asleep a half hour or more when the sound of a car woke her.

Sheriff Mary Sorenson walked toward her chair, looking as crisp and efficient as usual.

“Good morning!”

“A beautiful one,” Frannie agreed.

Sorenson looked around at the campsites. “Did they all abandon you?”

Frannie nodded. “We had been planning to do the segment of trail from Wheat Valley today. I didn’t want to take a chance on another fall, and I fought off all attempts made for anybody to stay here and
hover
.”

“Well, it looks like you have plenty to keep you occupied,” Mary nodded at the stack of books. “I wanted to ask you about last night.”

“I take it you didn’t catch anyone?”

“No, but we could see where he—or she—headed into the woods. How did you happen to notice someone was in there?”

Frannie repeated her account of waking up and going outside.

“And you only saw one person leave the trailer?”

“Yes.”

“How long do you think they were in there?”

Frannie shrugged. “It must have been at least fifteen minutes from when I noticed the light until we saw them leave. But I don’t know how long the person had already been in there when I noticed the light. I don’t think I looked over that way when I first came out. Could you tell what they were looking for?”

“No, I keep thinking cameras and incriminating pictures, since that was their occupation.”

“And since at least one camera bag is missing, that seems likely,” Frannie agreed. “We know they took some pictures of that derelict trailer—they told us that Friday night. How did they die, do you know yet?”

“Preliminary results show that the one you think is Virginia died from hitting her head on the machinery, but she appears to have a blow on the other side of her head. Someone hit her with something and knocked her into the machinery.”

“And Valerie?” Frannie asked.

“She was strangled,” Sorenson replied.

“Isn’t that odd? Two deaths so close together by different means?”

“It certainly isn’t common but not unheard of. “

“I mean, Virginia—that sounds like someone striking out in anger—maybe even an accident; but strangling? That’s very deliberate—and personal.”

“Usually. This whole case is very odd. And we can’t find any relatives. They worked free-lance so even the people they worked for didn’t know them very well. At least you won’t have to worry about intruders tonight. We’ll be pulling that trailer out of here today. We didn’t get to it yesterday because with the primary crime scene so exposed to the elements, we wanted to focus on that first.”

“Has the media picked up on this yet? We don’t watch much TV when we’re camping.”

“Last night they broke the story. I’m sure they’ll be snooping around here today—that’s another reason to get this trailer moved. If they do come by, it would be better if you didn’t answer questions. Especially don’t tell anyone about the incident last night. The intruder may think that no one even knows he was there.” Sorenson stood. “Don’t hesitate to call if you think of something else from last night.”

Frannie agreed and watched her drive away. She appreciated that Mary Sorenson seemed to value her opinion and observations without getting too chummy. Larry thought Frannie interfered too much—tried to play detective, and she had gotten in some dangerous scrapes before, but she had no intention of doing that this time.

She picked up her book and quickly finished the last twenty pages. During the next hour, she took a little walk to the main road, knitted on the scarf for a while, and started another book. She was in the trailer slicing up an apple when a TV van arrived.

She returned to her chair and watched with interest while a short, trim brunette directed another young woman with a camera around the site of the small trailer. The brunette picked the spot festooned with the most crime scene tape and brandished her mike, her wrinkle-free face trying to convey the weight of the world’s problems as she worked to convince the camera of her authority.

Frannie couldn’t hear what the brunette was saying, but amused herself by supplying the commentary.
Authorities aren’t saying
…no, there would be clever references to the unique victims…
Twins from the Twin Cities
…except Minnesotans just said ‘the Cities’…
Double jeopardy found these sisters in an old power plant
…ooh, bad…
These sisters were victims of ‘photo’copy murders
…

“Ma’am?” The brunette approached her chair and Frannie quickly wiped the little smirk off her face.

“Yes?”

“Ma’am, did you know the two women staying in that trailer?”

“Not really,” Frannie said. Larry would be so proud.

“I’m sure you know they were found murdered yesterday?” There was a slight hopeful note in her voice that Frannie had not heard the news and would display video-worthy shock. Like they could have a yellow tape-wrapped camper across from them and not notice.

“Yes, we heard that. Absolutely awful.”

“Do you think…?” She pulled the mike back up into position when she was distracted by a procession of vehicles down the narrow road. A deputy’s car led, with a pickup behind and a local police car bringing up the rear. The camera person ran around to the driver’s side of the van and jumped in to move it.

“Oh! I’d better…,” said the brunette and rushed off to join her companion. Frannie hoped she completed more of her sentences while on the air.

They moved the TV van farther down the road and the other vehicles pulled in around the little German trailer, with the pickup backing into position to hitch it up. Frannie watched the process with interest and the reporter’s attempts to get comments from the deputy with amusement. The pickup driver knew what he was doing and made all the necessary connections and disconnections to make the trailer road-ready. Soon the TV van left, and not long after, the pickup pulled the trailer out, followed by the patrol cars.

Frannie got up and moved her chair to follow the shade. She was just getting resettled when she heard the puttering of a golf cart. And Larry was worried about her being alone.

Mary Louise, today in a lime green shimmering top, hefted a plastic container out of the back.

“Hallo!” she called as she walked up. “I brought us some lunch to share. I promised your husband I would check on you.”

“Figures,” Frannie said. “He’s convinced that on my own, I will only get into trouble.”

Mary Louise looked at her sideways, while she removed two large, plastic wrapped plates from the container. “I made us some coleslaw and crab salad pitas. Does he have reason to think you would get into trouble?”

“Wellll,” Frannie said, and, while Mary Louise unwrapped the plates and set out flatware and napkins, she recounted two previous camping trips when they had become involved in a murder and a kidnapping case.

“Wow,” said Mary Louise as she sat down heavily at the table. “I guess I should have done background checks before I rented you guys sites.” She grinned.

Frannie joined her at the table.

“But it was pretty scary both times,” Frannie confessed. “And there’s nothing I can do here—nobody knows anything about them and I’m pretty crippled up.”

Mary Louise nodded, her mouth full. After she swallowed, she said, “Well, just between us, what do you
think
happened?”

Frannie thought about it a moment, chewing on her own delicious sandwich. “It’s hard to guess. I can’t imagine what they could have done to make someone lash out at them like that.” She debated with herself what information she could share without violating the sheriff’s instructions.

“Well,” Mary Louise said, “the sheriff said it appears that they didn’t go to the power plant together. She asked us if we had seen the pickup leave. My husband, Jim, was working outside at the time and said there was only one of them in the truck.”

Frannie nodded. “That’s what I saw too. We thought maybe one of them wanted to hike and the other didn’t so they agreed to meet there.”

“Maybe. But why were they even there? They asked me the day before about the wildlife sanctuary—said they planned to go there to take some pictures.”

“These sandwiches are excellent, Mary Louise. Thanks for bringing them. I suppose they may have wanted to get some photos around the power house or from the windows…it is a puzzle.”

“That power plant is so spooky. You know there is a tunnel that connects it to a bend upriver?”

“You’re kidding. What for?”

“I guess it diverted the water and created more fall to help generate the power. There’s lots of local legends about how it was dug by hand by immigrant miners, and later, after the plant was shut down, supposedly bootleg liquor from Canada was hidden there.”

“Huh. We have a lot of similar stories in Eastern Iowa about the rum runners—usually involving gangsters out of Chicago.”

“I don’t know how much is true. Jim grew up around here and always heard a lot of stories. He could tell you more about it.”

“I’d
love
to hear more about it,” Frannie said. “I used to be a history teacher in real life. Tell me, do you remember the last name of that guy Richard in the blue pickup across from your office?”

Mary Louise raised her eyebrows. “Oh, yes, it’s Ellis-Reynolds. La-de-da. Pretty fancy for a guy with a pickup and a topper, dontcha think? What’s the deal with him, anyway? The sheriff asked, too, and went to talk to him.”

Frannie filled her in on Valerie Peete’s supposed romance with Richard.