Bats and Bones (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries) (3 page)

Frannie
shuddered. “I certainly don’t need to go in the caves for a fulfilling nature
experience. C’mon, Cuba—time for bed.” The old Lab slowly got to her
feet, stretched and trotted toward the trailer. Larry soon followed.

As Larry
and Frannie prepared for bed, Larry looked at her seriously.

“How are
you getting along with Donna? I heard her ask about your mom.”

“It’s okay.
She probably means well—it just doesn’t come off that way. But tonight
was so crazy, Donna couldn’t really compete with everything else going on.”

“That’s for
sure! Let’s hope the rest of the weekend is a little quieter.” He kissed her
and headed to brush his teeth. Frannie decided she was too tired to read,
switched off her light, and dozed off to the hum of the AC.

********************

Happy
Camper Tip #2

With gas
prices on the rise, no one wants to have pull added water weight in their RV.
Filling the tanks is best done after arrival at the campground. However, it’s
also best to make sure all of the faucets inside are turned off. Once, we
filled our fresh water tank, drove around the campground deciding on a site,
pulled in, set up, and went inside, only to find that the bathtub tap had been
left open and most of the fresh water had drained into the grey water tank. We
haven’t done that again.

Early Saturday Morning

The next
morning, Frannie picked her way down the steps of the trailer balancing the
percolator to avoid bouncing and waking her husband. The campground appeared
quiet, although the campsites were so secluded in the pines, ash and maples, it
was hard to tell. The air was heavy and sticky following the record heat and
humidity of the previous day. She plugged the coffee pot into the outside outlet
and placed it on the metal utility table.

Grabbing
the leash out of a sealed tub, she took Cuba around the campground to take care
of necessary chores. Finally, settled in a camp chair with her book, she
listened to the sounds of the morning. The sun was just beginning to filter
gold through some of the understory trees and shrubs. Occasionally a
mischievous breeze tickled a few leaves, ignoring others. The percolator
gurgled and wheezed in spasms until it crescendoed into that final effort to
present her first caffeine of the day.

This was
her favorite time of the day, anywhere really, but especially in a campground.
Usually a few people were stirring but for the most part little disturbed the
morning quiet.

A truck
door slammed and she looked up to see a red pickup back out of the space across
the road and several sites down. The truck then peeled out at a speed not quite
up to the standards of a newly licensed teenager but certainly more than
dramatic enough for a campground.

The night
before, they had noticed the pickup next to a new Airstream, fresh and shiny
and comfortable in its retro good looks.

“That is so
cool--we should go over and ask if we can see inside,” Larry had said as he
sipped a beer and stood frankly staring. A group of six or seven people of
varying ages had been laughing, eating and enjoying a campfire near the
Airstream.

“Can you do
that?” Rob had asked.

“Sure,”
Jane Ann said. “Most people consider it a compliment. Those people next to us
two weeks ago wanted to see ours.”

“Ha!”
Mickey said. “With our luck the guy would be a serial killer or something.”

Now Frannie
smiled at the thought. Most of the campgrounds she and Larry frequented were
not exactly hotbeds of wild characters, let alone felons. Although there had
been a few odd ducks…She read for a while, occasionally looking up at the sound
of a bird in a nearby tree or rustling in the woods.

Eventually
the screen door of Nowaks’ trailer opened and Donna emerged carrying Bugger.
Speaking of odd ducks…

“Good
morning!” Donna called, placing Bugger on the ground and deftly grabbing his
leash before he could escape. He strained at the leash and Cuba slowly raised
her head and lowered it again with a sigh, not interested in the antics of
youngsters.

“Be right
back!” Donna said.

“Coffee’s
on,” Frannie said, grimacing inwardly at having her quiet time disturbed.

Donna waved
acknowledgement as Bugger pulled her out on the campground road. The morning
parade began soon after, as people from campsites further down headed for the
shower house. Although most RV units have bathrooms, the limited size of tanks
and water heaters encourages the use of campground facilities. The pilgrims
were arrayed in attire as outlandish as any seen anywhere. A woman in Sponge
Bob pajama bottoms, a ‘wear pink’ t-shirt, and turban from an olive green towel
tottered along on spike heels, no less. Maybe she came here directly from work
and forgot to put other shoes in, thought Frannie. A small boy clomped along in
cowboy boots and a t-shirt down to his knees. A man at his side, presumably the
boy’s father, sported khaki shorts and a flopping Iowa Hawkeye robe, a towel
that looked like some variation of Disney princesses around his neck. Two young
girls, possibly sisters, shuffled along in the ubiquitous flip-flops, the
bigger one madly texting a message of great import on her phone, her face
hidden by long stringy hair, the smaller one poking her sister in the back with
her toothbrush. All carried their grooming necessities in plastic grocery
sacks, florescent-colored buckets, drawstring bags, or just gripped in one
hand.

The screen
door of the Shoemaker trailer opened and Larry bounced down the steps, coffee
mug in hand.

“Did I hear
the magic words?” he asked, eying the percolator.

“Just
finished,” Frannie said. Larry ambled over to the table and poured a cup,
adding a couple of packets of sweetener. He then dragged another camp chair
over next to Frannie.

“Certainly
don’t need a fire this morning to ward off the chill,” he said. Instead of his
usual early morning outfit of sweatpants and hooded sweatshirt, he wore baggy
shorts and a T-shirt that looked like the raccoons had been at it. “How about
breakfast? Are we cooking?”

Frannie
shook her head. “I think it’s a cereal and muffin morning. Too hot to cook
already,” she said. “Besides, we want to hike the Cave Trail before it gets
even hotter.”

“Good
idea,” he agreed.

Sometimes
they planned elaborate breakfasts—eggs, sausage, pancakes, all cooked
over the fire, or a favorite: “smashed potatoes,” with sausage gravy, accompanied
by juice or fresh fruit. But in warm or rainy weather, or when they had plans
before noon, simpler fare sufficed. As the others emerged from their campers,
Frannie went in hers to gather the breakfast makings for Larry and herself.

They had
purchased their travel trailer five years earlier from a used camper lot.
Frannie had amused herself and their friends with a complete but low cost
makeover with a cozy rustic theme. She personally did not care for the current
trend toward a faux Roman spa decor in RVs. Camping in the beauties of nature
in a unit that looked more like a Las Vegas casino inside just wasn’t right in
her mind. So she had recovered the fold down couch and dining benches with
denim, hung homespun curtains, and added a couple of small wrought iron lamps.
She even removed the cheap looking wallpaper border and replaced it with a hand
painted and stenciled design with moose and bears. A hand-quilted lap robe in
navy, red, and green prints and a couple of pillows made from old jeans complete
with pockets finished the look. She loved the warm feeling, and even more the
efficiency and simple upkeep, of the result.

She loaded
a wooden tray with old plastic plates and bowls, flatware, cereal, bananas,
butter and a basket of rhubarb almond muffins that she had snagged from her
home freezer. As she struggled with the screen door, Larry jumped up from his
spot at the picnic table to help her. Jane Ann had already brought out fresh
strawberries, yogurt, and granola, while Rob contributed more cereal and toast,
along with homemade apple butter.

Donna had
returned from walking Bugger and they all found seats around the table.

“I don’t
see much action from Stub’s group this morning.” Donna said.

“I got up
about 1:30 and I could still see several out there around their fire,” Mickey
said.

“I thought
they were taking off this morning,” Frannie said.

“They still
have four hours left of the morning,” Jane Ann said.

“Speaking
of that, who’s up for hiking the trail before it gets too hot?” Rob asked.

 
There were no abstainers and they cleared
their breakfast materials, piling the few dishes in their respective sinks.
Shortly after, equipped with water bottles, sunglasses, cameras, and cell
phones, they headed down the hill toward the trailhead, Bugger in the lead and
Cuba in tow.

“Have you
guys ever been to that Rock Cliff Winery that’s near here?” Donna asked as they
walked down the middle of the road.

Jane Ann
looked at Mickey. “I don’t think so. Do you remember?”

“We’ve
never been to one around here.”

“We were
thinking about going this afternoon,” Donna said.

“Good
idea,” Frannie said. “We printed out a listing of the area events this weekend
before we came. I think one of the small towns nearby is having a melon
festival this weekend. And there’s a band concert in town tomorrow night at the
city park with fireworks after.”

“There’s
also a log cabin here in the park—the first white settlers in the county,
“ Jane Ann added. “We haven’t been to that for a couple of years but it was
always well maintained. It’s a hike through the woods so it’s not touristy.”

“Sounds
like plenty to do,” Donna said. “And even better if it cools off tomorrow. I’ve
had it with this heat.”

About a
quarter mile from the campground, the road widened to a parking area with a
small information kiosk. Wooden steps and walkways led off both sides of the
lot down to a ravine lined with limestone walls. A small but lively stream
wandered through the bottom of the ravine, disappearing in places into small
caves and cascading over rocks in others. Trees and shrubs of all sizes,
improbably growing out of the rocks, combined with the steep walls to create a
welcoming shady retreat from the overheated promise of the day.

As the
group proceeded single file down the steps to begin the trail on the north
branch, they noticed a definite drop in the temperature.

“Wow, it’s
lovely here! Hard to believe we’re in Iowa,” Donna said.

“Isn’t it
amazing?” Jane Ann said. “The biggest cave is over there on the left—the
Colossus. The entrance is down those steps.”

“I know we
can’t go in but we can go down to it, can’t we?” Donna asked.

“Why not?
The ranger didn’t mention any restrictions on the trails,” Rob said. They
followed the steps down to the entrance of Colossus, stopping to snap photos of
the contorted rocks and varied plants along the way.

Frannie
examined each of plants around the entrance to the cave looking for wildflowers
that she could identify. She stepped gingerly over the rocks off the path to
avoid any debilitating accidents. She had learned the hard way that the older
she got, the less reliable her balance. Jane Ann photographed Rob and Donna
sitting on a boulder by the yawning entrance.

“I’m
surprised they don’t have any ropes or tape across the entrance,” Rob said.
“The ranger said they don’t think the bats here have this white-nose syndrome
yet but they are afraid people will carry it here.”

“I guess
they are counting on an honor system and don’t want to junk up the place,”
Larry said.

Dragging
Bugger and Cuba from tantalizing olfactory possibilities in nooks and crannies,
they continued along the path, peeking in small, shallow caves with names like
The Closet, Cubbyhole, and Suitcase, and bigger caves named the Maze, the
Saloon and Budge. The warmth of the sun at the bottom of this ravine was welcome,
not oppressive like in the upper world. The little stream tumbled merrily along
magnifying the varied stones at its bottom. The bobbing and twirling leaves of
the shrubs and trees provided the capping idyllic element.

While the
rest explored the area around one of the small caves, Frannie sat down on a
rock by the stream, stripped off her shoes and socks and dangled her feet in
the water. The stream was spring-fed and the icy cold took a few minutes of
cringing adjustment. Then she leaned back and watched the bugs and dust motes
dancing in the sunlight. The peace of the moment made the ruckus of the night
before seem like a corny B movie. She dried her feet on an old bandana in her
pocket and put her shoes and socks back on. As she got up and dusted off the
back of her shorts, the rest started to move on and she stepped in behind the
parade.

One of the
last caves was farther up the side of the ravine and approached by a
combination of graduated stones and short wooden walkways. It appeared to be
one of the medium sized caves with a couple of large boulders covering about a
third of the entrance.

“What’s the
name of this one?” Donna asked.

“The sign
was back there before we started the climb. Bogg’s Retreat,” Mickey said.

As they
peered inside trying to spot interesting formations in the gloom, Bugger
strained at the leash. Rob pulled him back, but he began barking at the mouth
of the cave. The noise piqued Cuba’s interest and she too pulled toward the
cave. Bugger managed to reach the boulders and rutted at a small pile of rocks,
causing several to tumble and roll down the sloping entrance.

Donna
gasped, echoed by several others. Protruding from the pile of rocks appeared to
be a human toe.

********************

Happy
Camper Tip #3

This
suggestion came in one of those forwarded e-mails of household hints but is
especially true when camping. Always have WD40 and duct tape. If something is
supposed to move and doesn’t, use WD40. If it’s not supposed to move and does,
use duct tape.