Peete and Repeat (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 3) (4 page)

Friday Evening

“What do you suppose is going on?” Donna said.

“I would say one is sad and one is mad,” Ben offered.

“Duh. That’s obvious. But why?”

“It must have something to do with the guy in the pie shop,” Frannie said. “They seemed fine before then.”

“Maybe,” said Jane Ann, “he is a relative and their great uncle died and left everything to him and one of the twins.”

The rest just looked at her.

“
Could
be,” she said and shrugged.

“So then why is one sad and not happy?” Ben asked.

“You have to figure some of this out for yourselves. I can’t do all of the mental work around here,” Jane Ann said.

“Metal work?” Mickey had been watching the little trailer.

“
Mental
! Like you, dear,” she answered.

Larry got up. “I think it’s time to clear the table.” He started stacking the Shoemaker dishes while the others gathered their own.

Frannie followed Larry inside with a tray of condiments and the bowl of potato salad. As she covered the bowl and opened the refrigerator to wedge it in somewhere, she said, “I saw a sign by the campground office that they have fresh eggs. Think I’ll walk over and pick some up for tomorrow morning. I forgot to bring any.”

“We’ll take the dogs for a walk. I think Ben wants to go over by that bird sanctuary.”

“The dogs will like that,” she answered with a grin.

“They will remain leashed, although I’m sure Cuba couldn’t even catch a turtle any more.”

Frannie grabbed her billfold and went outside. No one else was interested in accompanying her, so she debated riding her bike or walking, and decided to walk. The road led past several other campsites, all occupied, and then turned along the river. Laughter and cooking smells wafted across the road in the peaceful, early evening scene. The road turned again away from the river, along a few small campsites, to the shower house, restrooms, the large campground office and residence near the entrance.

In one of the sites, an old light blue pickup with a topper sat under a tree facing the road. Two people stood talking under a portable canopy. As Frannie neared, she realized it was one of the twins and the man from the pie shop. Their conversation wasn’t audible but they leaned toward each other and their body language conveyed intense emotion. The woman appeared to have been crying. Curiouser and curiouser.

Frannie went on to the office and opened the screen door. A large woman stood behind the counter, with a round, rosy face and curly red hair pulled back by sizable rhinestone barrettes. Her lavender sweatshirt was embellished, Laverne and Shirley style, with a glittery ‘MLL’ monogram. She looked up from a ledger and beamed. A mottled gray cat with a white muzzle lay on the counter by the ledger.

“Welcome! Can I help you?” Her husky voice resembled Carol Channing’s.

“Hi,” Frannie said. “I saw your sign for fresh eggs?”

“You bet!” The woman actually guffawed, as she squeezed around the counter, although Frannie couldn’t imagine what was so funny about eggs.

“Oof!” the woman said, having negotiated the narrow space. “Need to lose a few inches off these hips or we’ll have to move the counter.”

She opened an old refrigerator on the side wall. “How many?” she called from behind the door.

“Just a dozen,” Frannie said. She reached out to stroke the cat. “What’s your cat’s name?”

“Phun.”

“Fun?”

The woman stood up and closed the fridge. “Phun Munki.” She spelled it. “My daughter has always loved sock monkeys. When we got the cat, she thought he resembled one, hence the name. But she was into creative spelling at the time.”

As Frannie paid for the eggs, the woman said, “You’re camping here right? That group on the second loop? Sites 75 to 78?”

Frannie thought a minute, marveling at the woman’s memory when she couldn’t remember her own site number so quickly. “Ummm, yeah—we’re in 76, I think.”

The woman thrust her hand across the counter. “I’m Mary Louise Larson. My husband has owned this place for almost thirty years. We got married last December—second time around for both of us. So now I’m in the campground business and lovin’ it!”

Frannie nodded. “We’ve camped here before. It’s a beautiful place.”

“Anything else you need? We carry a few groceries and there’s firewood in the bin outside.”

“I believe my husband bought firewood earlier. Thanks!” Frannie turned to go.

“Any problems, you just holler,” Mary Louise said and finished with her hearty laugh—one of those ha-ha-ha laughs that was so loud that it ought to be fake, but in Mary Louise’s case, Frannie was sure it wasn’t.

As Frannie passed the pickup-camper again, the blonde woman stepped onto the road, headed back to her own campsite.

Frannie smiled at her. “Nice evening.”

The woman responded with a weak smile. “Yes, it is, I guess.”

Frannie barged ahead as they continued down the road together. “I saw you walking earlier. Do you hike a lot?”

The woman nodded. “Virginia, my sister, and I live in Minneapolis so we go to a lot of trails around Minnesota.” She paused a moment. “We’re nature photographers too, so it’s kind of a busman’s holiday.” She trudged along in silence, but Frannie wasn’t giving up.

“We’re from Iowa—here because we love the bike trail. Lots of other interesting places to visit, too. Is this your first time here?”

“No, we came here once before in the fall a couple of years ago.”

“I bet it’s really beautiful then. We keep saying we’re going to but haven’t done that yet,” Frannie said.

The woman didn’t reply, but let out a little sob and then caught herself. “I’m sorry,” she said in a very faint voice. “I’m not myself. I’ve had quite a shock this afternoon.”

Frannie turned. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there…anything I can do?”

The woman shook her head. “It’s done,” she finally said.

“Val!” A male voice came from behind them. “Wait!” They both turned to see the man from the pickup loping up to them. Frannie said to the woman, Val apparently, “I’ll see you later,” and continued down the road, as slowly as she could without being obvious. However, she suspected the two behind her weren’t much interested in her gait. She caught snatches of phrases—”start over—”, “it’s your life—,” and “love you.” Maybe Val’s day was taking a turn for the better.

She glanced over her shoulder once to see the two locked in an embrace, and the man gently wiping Val’s tears with a handkerchief. She smiled to herself. All’s well that ends well.

When she returned to the campsite, she put the eggs and her billfold in the trailer and came back to where Jane Ann, Nancy, and Donna were sitting by the fire.

“Well, they aren’t relatives,” Frannie said, taking a chair.

“Who?” Jane Ann said, looking up from her magazine.

Frannie nodded toward the little trailer across the road. “The twins and the guy in the pie shop.”

“How do you know?” Donna asked.

“Because one of the twins and the guy are in a clinch in the road back there whispering sweet nothings.” She proceeded to fill them in on what she had learned. The others were making a few comments and speculations when Frannie shushed them because she noticed Val coming back up the road.

Val saw them sitting there and walked over. She nodded to the others and said to Frannie, “Could I talk to you a minute? In private?”

Frannie rose from her chair. “Sure. Why don’t you come in our trailer?”

Val said to the other women, “I’m sorry for interrupting. Excuse us for a minute?” They all nodded, but Frannie could tell that Donna restrained herself with difficulty.

Inside, Frannie offered Val an iced tea and a seat, both of which she declined.

Instead, she leaned against the counter and took a deep breath. “I wanted to explain a little. I met Richard a few years ago on a cruise and we hit it off right away. But after I got home, something happened. Virginia, my sister, is very protective of me, and I guess she intervened. She does that, because people can’t tell us apart so she met Richard pretending to be me and broke it off.” She stopped and looked out the window toward her own trailer. “I hadn’t seen or heard from him until today. I thought he lost interest. We are going to try and work it out, but we have to go slow with Virginia, get her used to the idea, so
please
don’t say anything to her about what you saw or heard. She doesn’t even know he’s staying in this campground. On the cruise, Richard bought me a silver necklace with a Murano glass pendant and he just asked that I wear it while we’re here so he knows it’s me. I have to approach this very carefully.” She finished with a pleading note in her voice.

“Certainly. Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?”

“No, Virginia is already wondering where I am. I need to get back.” She went to the door and turned. “Thank you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Frannie Shoemaker,” Frannie smiled.

“I’m Valerie Peete.” She surveyed the trailer and her eyes landed on a collage of old photos Frannie had hanging on the wall. She moved closer to examine them. Three children dressed in Indian gear looked seriously at the camera near a World War I era tent. “Great photos. Are they someone you know?”

Frannie smiled. “I’m not sure,” she confessed. “My cousin found them in our grandmother’s scrapbook. I think one of the boys is my dad but she doesn’t think so. I just love the pictures.”

“They are amazing,” Valerie said. “Well, I’ll see you around. Thanks again.” She went out and continued to her own trailer, her step a little lighter.

Frannie poured herself a glass of pinot grigio and joined the women at the fire again. They watched her expectantly.

“Well?” Donna said.

Frannie shrugged and looked across the road at Val and Virginia’s trailer. No sign of anyone.

“Where was I?” she asked the group.

“The clinch,” Nancy said.

“Apparently, Val, the sister who was just here, was romantically involved a few years ago with Richard, the guy in the pie shop, and her sister, Virginia broke it up.”

“Wow,” said Donna. “The makings of a soap opera.”

“How did she break it up?” Nancy asked.

“She pretended to be Val. That’s all I know,” Frannie said. “Here come the guys.”

The men returned with the dogs and pulled their own chairs near the fire. They had their own stories.

“The campground is pretty full, even the tent area,” Rob started.

“And we took that little path down to the river. There was a beaver working back and forth, getting reeds from the bank. He completely ignored us, even the dogs,” Mickey added. “Ben took some great pictures on his phone.”

“Really?” Nancy said. She considered the darkening sky. “It’s probably getting too late to see him now.”

Ben nodded. “But that’s not all. Stuck back in the trees is a little old trailer, all closed up. Larry thinks it might be a meth lab or something.”

“What?!?” Jane Ann sat forward.

Larry held up his hands. “Calm down. I only said it was a possibility. I’m sure the campground owners are very careful about that. It was suspicious because the windows were all covered from the inside with dark fabric or cardboard or something—not regular curtains or blinds. It’s on the other side of a broken down fence, so maybe it’s not even on this property. We didn’t see anything else or anyone hanging around there.”

“Well, good,” Nancy said, “because if it
is
something like that, they probably would have shot you all.”

“And then, who would have driven all of these campers home?” Frannie said.

“Aww, your concern is touching,” Mickey said.

Frannie noticed a golf cart coming along the road, stopping at each campsite. She recognized the driver as Mary Louise Larson by her wild curls, and the woman visited a few minutes with each group of campers who were outside. When she stopped even with Frannie’s group, she called out, “How is everything this fine evening?”

“Great,” Mickey yelled back.

“Who is that?” Donna whispered.

“One of the owners,” Frannie said and got up from her chair. Nancy and Larry followed her out to the road.

“You folks need anything?” Mary Louise boomed and laughed.

“No, everything’s fine,” Frannie answered. She introduced Nancy, and then noticed the gray cat curled in the seat beside Mary Louise.

“Check out the cat, Nancy,” she said and explained about the cat’s name. Nancy was a diehard cat lover and walked around the cart so that she could pet him.

“He loves these rides every evening,” Mary Louise said. “Hates the car and the truck but loves the golf cart. Go figure.” She laughed again.

“He’s beautiful,” Nancy said, and as she stroked the cat, he purred and stretched.

“He likes you!” Mary Louise said.

“All cats like Nancy,” Frannie told her.