Peete and Repeat (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  Also by Karen Musser Nortman

  Bats and Bones

  The Blue Coyote

  Free Download

  You can get a free copy of the second

  Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mystery,

  THE BLUE COYOTE,

  if you sign up for my Favorite Readers email list to receive occasional notices about my new books and special offers.

  Go to this link:

  www.karenmussernortman.com

  peete and repeat

  A Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mystery

  by Karen Musser Nortman

  Cover Artwork by Gretchen Musser

  Cover Design by Libby Shannon

  Copyright © 2013 by Karen Musser Nortman. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Dedicated to my children and grandchildren

  Andy and Stacy

  Pat and Jill

  Kate and Ron

  Brooke, Ty, Tuan, Jessi, Steven, Jack, Sophie and Elliot

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Happy Camper Tips

  Thank You…

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Four Years Earlier

  Virginia was about to close the laptop, but decided to check her sister’s account, automatically entering the password. The screen showed ten or twelve unopened emails—half a dozen ads for online clothing and photo outlets, three forwards of feel-good slogans and pictures from an annoying cousin, two notices from volunteer groups about upcoming events, and one from an unfamiliar personal email address that had just arrived. She clicked on it and glanced over it, then reread it carefully, leaning toward the screen.

  “Dear Val,” it said. “I can’t tell you how much I have missed you since arriving home. What an amazing time we had. My sister has tried to talk me into a cruise for years and I always thought it sounded stupid. How wrong I was! I just got back from the business trip to Spain that I told you about and I have to see you again. I have a short layover in Minneapolis on Friday—can I come by right after lunch? I love you—Richard.”

  She closed the email, marked it as unread, and sat back in her chair. Her face flushed and her stomach clenched. Reconsidering, she opened the email again and hit ‘reply.’

  “Dear Richard, I would like to see you again. Can I just meet you at the airport? Love, Val.” She hit send. She examined the email address: [email protected]. So was his name Richard Ellis-Reynolds?

  While she waited, her anger built. No wonder Valerie was so upbeat when she returned home from the cruise. Oh, she feigned great sympathy with Virginia for being sick and missing out on the trip they had planned together, but it never seemed sincere. Now she knew why.

  “C’mon,” she said through her teeth. “Answer.”

  The notifier pinged.

  “Dear Val, That would be great. I will be coming in at gate C15 at 12:10. See you then! Love, Richard.”

  She hit reply again. “Dear Richard, I will be there. I have something important to tell you. If there is any change in plans, text me at 407-555-2187. Our email is very sporadic. Love, Val.” She stopped, deleted ‘our,’ typed ‘my’ and hit send. Then she deleted the two emails from him, went into the ‘sent’ file and deleted hers.

  Next she did a search on Richard Ellis-Reynolds. She found one who was a broker for a large well-known securities firm in Chicago. Possible. The cruise that she and Valerie had signed up for was handled by a midwestern travel agency. Ellis-Reynolds could be a company name, but not likely with a hotmail address.

  Virginia sighed. Valerie was so naive when it came to men. She supposed she would have to rescue her sister again and then pick up the pieces.

  She was back at the laptop that afternoon, working on some digitized photos for a local magazine when she heard the connecting door to the garage open.

  “Ginny? Are you here?”

  She gritted her teeth. Valerie called her that just to annoy her, but Virginia wasn’t going to let her sister get a rise out of her today, so she saved her work and closed the laptop.

  “I was in the office,” she called out as she headed to the kitchen. Valerie unloaded her purse and a sack of groceries on the counter. She turned to face Virginia, her face flushed from the warm day and framed with downy blonde curls. A mirror image. Virginia always reveled in the knowledge that Valerie’s clear blue eyes behind stylish glasses, somewhat round face, and full mouth were what people also saw when they looked at her. Of course, the drawback to being an identical twin was being reminded of one’s own aging as the lines around the mouth and eyes on her sister increased with middle age.

  “Any calls?” Valerie asked as she started to stash items in the refrigerator. After her discoveries earlier, Virginia could now identify a hopeful note in Valerie’s voice.

  “No, why? Were you expecting some?”

  “No, no,” Valerie turned, folding the reusable shopping bag and storing it in a rack beside the refrigerator. “Not particularly. Everyone’s been asking about you at work. I told them I thought you are planning to come back Monday. Is that still true?”

  “Oh, definitely. I’m actually taking this week as vacation. I’ve been working on that Solomon’s Seal order the last couple of days.”

  They continued chatting about work projects as they collaborated on a pasta dish and salad for supper. Virginia watched her sister, noting a distracted manner that she hadn’t been aware of before. It was time to nip this in the bud before Valerie became any more involved. She would be sad for a while but she would get over it. She always had before.

  On Friday, after Valerie had left for work, Virginia showered, dressed and took extra care with her hair and makeup. She would have to put on a good act, but she had been doing that for years. People gravitated to Valerie because Virginia could be impatient, a little controlling, and, well, maybe a touch arrogant. So she often put on a more Valerie-like demeanor to keep things even. If people liked Valerie too much, they would take advantage of her. It was for Valerie’s own good.

  By 11:45, she was at Gate C15, seated where she had a good view of arrivals but wouldn’t be immediately spotted. In her online search, she had found a picture of Richard Ellis-Reynolds so that she knew who to watch for. The flight was a little early and passengers started coming through the door about noon. Richard Ellis-Reynolds was the sixth person to emerge. She rose, and walked slowly toward the passengers, giving herself time to size him up before he saw her.

&nbs
p; He was medium height, had dark short hair with a pronounced widow’s peak, impressive eyebrows and a small cleft in his chin. He was neither brutally handsome nor bad to look at. He wore a tan suit, light blue shirt, and striped tie. As he twisted to sling the strap of a laptop case over his shoulder, he glanced her way, saw her and broke into a broad smile.

  “Val!” He hurried over and engulfed her in an awkward hug. She let loose a peal of nervous laughter, one of things she liked least about herself. He held her back and stared at her.

  “I have missed that laugh—and everything about you!”

  “It’s only been a week and a half, Richard.”

  “I know, I know, way too long!” He took her elbow and steered her toward the bar. “Shall we get a drink? Have you had lunch? Do you have time?”

  She laughed again, less cautious now that she knew he liked it. “Richard, one question at a time. A drink would be fine, I’ve had lunch, but yes, I have time.”

  They found a secluded booth and he motioned the waiter over, ordering himself a Manhattan and her a glass of Valerie’s favorite white wine.

  He grinned at her, beside himself at seeing her again. “Something has to change. I can’t stand this. I thought seeing you every couple of weeks would be sufficient, but—,” he shook his head, serious now. “Val, darling, I want to ask you—.”

  She put up her hand to shush him. “Richard,” she said, and on cue a tear started down her cheek. “I told you I had something to tell you, and it won’t be pleasant for either of us.”

  The waiter brought the drinks, and Richard handed him a folded bill, waving him away without taking his eyes off her. “What are you saying…?”

  She took a sip of her wine and held her other hand up again. “I can’t do this, Richard. I can’t tell you why right now, but please know that I do love you. I just can’t—I cannot continue our relationship.”

  He leaned forward, anger and shock on his face. “What are you talking about?” His voice was raised, and as soon as he said it, he looked around the bar to see if he was attracting too much attention. A few faces turned their way. This was why she wanted to meet him at the airport. Any scene would be easier to control.

  She let the tears flow freely now, daintily wiping them with a tissue from her purse. “Please, don’t make this harder…”

  “Harder?” he whispered hoarsely. “How can it be any harder? I thought we really had something. Less than two weeks ago, you said you would love me forever. What has changed? Family problems?—but you said you had no family…”

  Virginia seethed at that last statement but she controlled her anger. “Richard,” she said faintly, “please try to understand…,” she stopped and waved away his objections, “okay, if not understand, accept what I am saying. I have no choice, and it is unfair to you to drag this out. Forget about me and don’t try to contact me any more. If you hear from me, it is only a momentary weakness, don’t respond.” She let her voice become stronger, firmer, but no louder. “I mean it when I say that I cannot continue seeing you—and that’s all I can say. I wish you the best and know you will find someone else who is worthy of you.” She slid to the edge of the booth, quickly getting up, and turning away from him. As she walked out of the bar, she glanced in the mirror above the bar to gauge his reaction. He appeared devastated. Not until she had walked out of the building did she allow herself a small smile. Val, darling, indeed.

  Chapter One

  Friday Afternoon

  They had started out from southeastern Iowa early in the morning in a caravan of four camping units. The clouds formed a hammock that hung from the sky and dripped intermittently. About ten miles out of town, after a frantic cell phone call, the entire group pulled off on the shoulder. Jane Ann and Mickey Ferraro turned their red and white motorhome, the “Red Rocket,” around and went back home to turn off the oven and get the cake Mickey had baked that morning.

  Waiting, Frannie and Larry Shoemaker relaxed in their pickup cab. Their thirty-foot Fleetwood Terry travel trailer blocked the rear view of the rest of the group. But in the extended side mirrors, Frannie could see Ben Terell’s yellow pickup and his and Nancy’s hybrid trailer—a small trailer with drop-down ends containing the beds. Behind them in another pickup, Rob and Donna Nowak pulled a tan Winnebago trailer festooned with swirling brown graphics. Frannie thought all they needed was a truck pulling a cage with a lion in it. Or maybe even a small elephant.

  The group often camped together and once a year took a long weekend in southeastern Minnesota, camping along the Burden River and enjoying the bike trail. The Shoemakers and the Ferraros were retired; the others hoped to follow suit in the next few years. The Ferraros returned, heading on down the road, and the others pulled out behind them.

  After a brief early lunch stop, the Shoemakers were again in the lead. Larry tuned the radio to an oldies station and Frannie let her mind wander. She found camping with their friends a wonderful escape. Not that she faced any great traumas at home these days; just that there was always some little job that needed doing, and Larry did not know how to procrastinate. “Maybe we should clean the basement today?” or “Since it’s a nice day, we oughta get those porch windows washed.” Always something. Frannie wasn’t lazy. She had been a teacher for thirty-five years, raised kids, done her share of volunteering. But now, she was more than willing to forego the basement to finish the book she was reading. Or do almost anything else.

  When they camped, their routines were so well established; the few chores were shared by everyone and required little effort. The only work was fixing meals, and they had turned that into entertainment. The Ferraros were their most frequent companions; Jane Ann was Larry’s sister, younger by two years, and had been one of Frannie’s best friends since she and Larry were married. Mickey and Larry were close too, although no one would know it to listen to them. Ben resembled a cartoon leprechaun and was a successful physical therapist. Nancy, a community organizer, also used her skills to try and keep the group on track.

  Rob and Donna had a small accounting firm. Rob could always be counted on for entertainment: funny stories, outrageous lights on his camper, and practical jokes. And Donna—well, Donna was Donna. But Frannie anticipated the conversations around the fire, the food, and the biking.

  A muffled ‘pop’ interrupted her reverie and the steering wheel jerked to the right in Larry’s hands. He edged the pickup off the road and turned on his blinkers.

  Frannie sat up and looked at him. “A tire?”

  “I hope not,” Larry answered as they both got out. The others had passed them and pulled over as well. The problem was obvious. One of the tandem tires on the passenger side of the trailer shredded into dozens of inch wide strips sprouting from the rim like one of those giant homecoming mums. But not as pretty or festive.

  Larry rubbed his short grey crewcut as the mist clouded his glasses and said, “Crap.”

  The others had also disembarked and walked toward them, huddled in slickers and windbreakers. When Rob, now at the front of the line, saw the tire, he said, “There’s a town just a mile or so ahead.”

  “I don’t know if I dare drive on it. I’d have to go so slow, I’d probably get rear ended.”

  But, in an unexpected stroke of luck, a patrol car drew up behind the trailer. After the deputy saw the evidence of their plight, he told Larry to continue into town on the shoulder and he would run interference. The others were given directions to a tire repair shop and told to go on ahead, which they did, relieved to get out of the rain, the tire-changing, and the decision-making responsibilities.

  After what seemed like a long and harrowing trip into the small town, but in reality was fairly short and safe, they pulled in at a small old garage. Several scruffy looking men sat just inside the open garage door, watching the rain drip and the world go by. Decades of dirt and grease gave the whole scene a monochromatic shade of gray. The smell of oil and stale ashtrays reached even the driveway outside.

  The deputy
waved and continued down the road, and Larry explained the situation to the owner. Between them, they located the spare, and the owner and one of his cronies efficiently went about replacing the shredded tire. The charge was quite minor, but came with adamant advice about replacing the trailer tires every five years, since, even though they would have low miles, they would tend to dry out and rot from sun and sitting. The men in the garage called out other advice and exchanged jibes, laughing at the travelers’ predicament. Before they left, the owner also gave Larry the names of a couple of tire dealers and suppliers on their way who could replace all of the tires with new. For more than a minor charge, of course.

  Meanwhile, the Nowaks and the Terells had gone on ahead, while Mickey and Jane Ann elected to wait for Larry and Frannie in case of further mishap. But, until they reached the nearest tire dealer, Frannie kept an eye glued to the side mirror, should the spare decide to explode or fly off into the cornfields. She was much relieved when the first dealer they stopped at could replace all four tires with new ones even though it delayed them another hour and a half, and would take a chunk out of their retirement budget.

  The terrain of Northeast Iowa always fascinated her. The rolling fields they had passed farther south morphed into steeper and steeper hills. The highway cut through many of the taller bluffs, exposing walls of sandstone and dolostone. Gone were the straight highways of southern and central parts of the state, replaced by twisting asphalt ribbons. The rain lifted before they reached Minnesota and, as they dropped down into the Burden River Valley, most of the clouds had even dissipated.

  The sites at the River Bend campground nestled around several loops of the road in a low flat area, surrounded by the hills and bluffs of southeastern Minnesota. The main attraction of the area, a beautiful sixty-mile bike trail connecting several small towns, ran along the other side of the Burden River. The blue of the sky and green of the grass and trees were so intense, it almost hurt the eyes.