Read Bats and Bones (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries) Online
Authors: Karen Musser Nortman
Bats and Bones (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries)
A Frannie and Larry Campground
Mystery
by Karen Musser Nortman
Cover Artwork by Gretchen Musser
Cover Design by Libby Shannon
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. Except for Cuba, who has now gone to the Land of
Three-Legged Rabbits.
Dedication
To Butch,
my favorite camping buddy
Contents
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
Thank You…
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
Friday
Afternoon
A large new
motorhome pulled forward into a campsite. Two forty-something men climbed out
of the front, one laughing and the other definitely not. At the same time the
side door opened and four more men spilled out, all
appearing
to be in the same age range. Several beer cans rolled out
the door as the last man emerged, laughed raucously, slapped the man ahead of
him on the back, and stooped to pick up the cans and heave them back in the
coach. Whereupon they rolled right back out and the man laughed even harder.
Frannie
Shoemaker, her husband Larry, and their fellow campers relaxed in lawn chairs
at their campsite across the road, trying to stay cool in the July heat and
humidity. Shoemakers’ old yellow Lab, Cuba, sprawled at their side. They halted
their conversation as the spectacle became more riveting.
“Oh,
brother,” said Mickey, “it could be a long night for them—and for
us—unless they pass out. At least the driver looks sober.” One of the men
pulled out the electrical cord, but the post was at the opposite corner and the
cord didn’t reach. Two of them conferred and searched the storage compartments
while the others hauled out lawn chairs and coolers.
The driver,
a large ruddy man with thinning blond hair, straightened up and pointed at the
Shoemakers and their friends. He ambled across the road and stuck out a hand to
Larry. “Stub Berger,” he said. He looked as if he may have been athletic in his
youth but had gone to fat in middle age.
“Larry.
What’s your problem?” Larry replied.
“Well, Lar,
I wonder if any of you might have an extension cord we could borrow. We’ll only
be here overnight.”
“I’m sure
we do. But why did you pull in that direction?” Larry asked.
Stub looked
puzzled so Mickey added, “Most people back in unless they want their door to
face another unit. If you back in, your cord will be plenty long. Did you just
get that coach?”
“Rented it.
Over south of Chicago. Me and my buddies are on a two week stag
trip—headed out west.”
Mickey
asked, ”Have any of you ever camped before?”
Stub
laughed. “Naw, we’re all newbies. Well, I went to scout camp as a kid.”
One of
Stub’s companions holding a loop of hose hailed him just then. “Hey, Stub! Ask
them where the water hook-up is.”
Stub looked
back at Shoemakers’ group. Larry said, “These sites are electrical only. This
is an old campground. You have to fill up with water back there.” He pointed up
the hill at the spigot.
“Oh, man,”
Stub slapped himself on the forehead. “Well, I guess if I go back to get water,
I can back it in and won’t need a cord. Thanks for the info.” He hurried back
to the big RV.
The
Shoemakers’ group all looked at each other, did a little eyebrow raising and
resisted laughing out loud. They continued watching the scene unfold across the
road. After his buddies moved all of the chairs and coolers out of the way,
Stub backed the motorhome out and drove back up the road to find a spot to turn
around.
Soon the
motorhome faced them at the top of the hill and a couple of the other men
hauled the hose up to fill the tank. Laughter and curses drifted down on the
occasional teasing puff of wind, and after much ado, Stub proceeded back down
the hill. It took four attempts to back the coach in before the group either
gave up or was satisfied and pronounced the deed done.
For the
long Fourth of July weekend, Frannie and Larry had anticipated relaxing and
exploring the trails among the bluffs of Bat Cave State Park. The natural
beauty and peace of Bat Cave more than compensated for the small campground and
the old shower house. Stands of white pine and hardwood backed each site and
smaller understory trees and shrubs bordered the sides, giving the sites more
privacy than most campgrounds. This part of eastern Iowa had escaped the
glaciers of the last ice age and the resulting limestone bluffs and caves
presented vistas totally unlike the cornfields viewed from I-80.
Frannie
stretched and felt her anxieties lift. The weekend extended ahead with
basically no responsibilities. Cleaning? She didn’t keep a vacuum in the
camper—too bad. Cooking? Very little and that was part of the
entertainment. Beautiful surroundings, good conversation with friends, a little
walking or hiking, a good book, and an occasional glass of wine made the best
antidote she knew to the grief that still nagged her over the recent loss of
her mother.
“When are
Nowaks supposed to get here?” Mickey asked.
Larry
looked at his watch. “About a half-hour, I think.” Larry surveyed their site
hands on hips in what Frannie called his ‘police pose.’ He had retired five
years earlier from a small town police force. Both he and Jane Ann were tall
and slender—the blessings of genetics plus an active lifestyle—and Larry
maintained ramrod posture and gray hair in a military buzz cut that still
managed to convey an air of benign authority.
Jane Ann, a
retired surgical nurse, and Frannie, a former teacher, had been close friends
since the Shoemakers’ marriage. If not for the friendship, Frannie would have
been envious of Jane Ann’s classic Grace Kelly-type good looks and erect
bearing, the result of years of dance training. Frannie was the yin to Jane
Ann’s yang: small, sturdy and compact, with a slightly round face and short
dark hair naturally wavy and frosted. Ironically, Frannie and Mickey looked
even more like siblings than Larry and Jane Ann, but there was no blood
relationship.
They
settled back in their lawn chairs while the unpacking and head scratching
continued with Stub’s group. Before long, Rob and Donna Nowak arrived pulling a
new trailer. They soon had it backed into the site next to Stub, and Larry and
Mickey wandered over to help with the setup.
“Hey,
campers! Are you ready for the
weekend
?”
Rob, a small wiry man sporting a goatee, greeted the men as they approached.
“Wow! This is a beautiful place! The campsites are so secluded. So glad you
guys invited us.”
“We like
it,” said Larry. “Wait until you see the cave area.”
Frannie and
Jane Ann had remained in their chairs and Frannie mumbled, “Invited? Donna
overheard us discussing plans a few weeks ago and asked if she and Rob could
come.”
“She’s not
shy,” Jane Ann said. “Although I have to admit, I don’t know her all that
well.”
“Well, me
neither, but I guess as well as I ever wanted to,” Frannie said. “But…I’d
better make the effort.” She got up, followed by Jane Ann, to greet the
newcomers.
Donna Nowak
stood, arms akimbo and, with her round shape and spiky blonde hair, brought to
mind a hand grenade. She gave sharp directions to Rob, which he cheerfully
ignored. Finally, she followed Frannie and Jane Ann back across the road at
their invitation, trailing her feisty schnauzer, Bugger, behind her on his
leash.
The
Shoemaker fire ring and picnic table had been chosen as the gathering spot. The
group had planned a cold potluck supper for later with dishes they had prepared
at home. At this point, the oppressive heat dulled any appetites. Cuba and even
Bugger stretched in the shade, tongues hanging in the dirt.
Donna
leaned over to Frannie. “I was really sorry to hear about your mom. She had
been sick awhile, hadn’t she?”
Frannie
swallowed a lump. “Yes, she had been living with us several months until we had
to move her to the nursing home. She only lived a week….”
Donna
interrupted. “So you had been taking care of her quite awhile? Probably all for
the best, then.”
Frannie
hated that phrase. Define best. But she hastened to change the subject. “Do you
and Rob camp fairly often?”
“Oh, yes.
We’ve been to a lot of the state parks in Iowa but we like to go to private
campgrounds. They generally have nicer facilities and full hookups.”
“They’re
usually more expensive…,” Frannie said but had no chance to finish.
“Yeah, but
not that bad. We’ve thought about getting a seasonal site and just staying the
same place all summer—you know, get to know people and not have to haul
the camper out and back home every weekend. But we like to visit the local
wineries and other sites in different places.”
The men
returned after completing the setup and conversation ebbed and flowed as they
all watched new arrivals and bemoaned the heat. Finally, Jane Ann announced
that she thought it was time to eat.
The group
busied themselves setting the table and carrying bowls and plates out of their
little refrigerators and coolers. Soon they sat down to a spread of fresh
rolls, assorted salads, marinated cold roast beef, fresh fruit and everyone’s
own choice of wine served in the finest plastic stemware. The table sported
bright paper plates on a red checked tablecloth. Jane Ann had brought a small
bouquet of daisies, black-eyed Susans, and Russian sage from home and stuck
them in a Ball jar.
“Jane Ann,
could you get me a serving spoon for this salad?” Donna asked. “I forgot to
bring one over from our camper.”
Jane Ann
nodded, caught Frannie’s eye, and went back in to find the requested implement.
The breeze
had picked up a little and the angled rays of the sun filtered through the tall
pines, transforming the understory into a shimmering gold.
Mickey
raised his glass. “A toast!” he said, “to those poor souls forced to eat inside
tonight at some overpriced restaurant. They don’t know what they’re missing.”
“Hear,
hear!” the others chorused and clicked their glasses.
Donna said,
“Actually, we usually go somewhere to eat when we’re camping. It’s a lot
easier.”
“But we’re
better cooks than most restaurants,” Mickey said, grinning.
“Oh, I
don’t know,” Donna said. “We’ve been to some pretty good places, haven’t we,
honey?” looking at Rob.
Rob
fidgeted. “Yeah…some good ones, but this is excellent. And Mickey’s
right—the ambience can’t be beat.”
Donna said,
“Restaurants
do
have
air-conditioning.” Frannie wondered again why Donna had wanted to be here.
Larry
looked offended. “
We
have
air-conditioning,” he said. “And no doubt we will all fire it up when we go to
bed.”
“Is it time
to go to bed yet?” Donna asked, mopping her brow with her napkin. She really
did look a little overheated.
“Not while
we still have that corn salad and those rolls,” Frannie scooped another helping
of the corn and snagged a roll as the basket passed. “Donna, you will be
required to bring those rolls on every trip.” She paused as she realized what
she said, then hurried on. “And I happen to know that Mickey has one of his
famous apple cobblers stashed in his camper.”
“We have
ice cream, too—stopped at that great little place on the way up that’s
been there for years and makes their own. . .” Jane Ann’s voice trailed off at
the sound of raised voices coming from across the road. A black pickup pulling
a fifth-wheel trailer sat in the road. The driver stood at the post that held
the reservation card and the site number for Stub’s campsite. A short,
gray-haired woman talked loudly and pointed at Stub and a couple of his fellow
travelers. The driver looked rather embarrassed, but Stub raised his hands in
surrender. The driver climbed up in his truck and the woman marched away toward
the center of the campground.
“What’s
that about?” Larry wondered.
Mickey
smirked. “Well,
Lar
, I think your old
buddy Stub may be in the wrong site.”
“You’re
right,” Frannie said. “That woman is the campground host. I saw her earlier
when I walked the dog.”
Sure
enough, the pickup with the fifth wheel pulled forward to reveal Stub and his
friends hastily gathering up lawn chairs and other paraphernalia. The grumpy
man slammed chairs closed and threw cans back in coolers.
Stub got
back in the driver’s seat of the motorhome and started to pull out. Larry
jumped up from the picnic table and waved his arms. “Wait!” he yelled.
He loped
across the road toward the coach. “What the hell…?” Mickey said.
Jane Ann
pointed at the electrical post. “He didn’t unplug it!”
********************
Happy
Camper Tip #1
Poor Stub
is not the first camper to get in the wrong spot. Often the numbers for two
campsites will be on one post and you can't tell which is which unless you know
what direction the numbering goes. It's worth a few minutes to check this
out—easier than cranking the stabilizers up, bringing the slide in,
removing the brakes, backing the truck up, hooking the trailer back up…you get
the picture.