Peete and Repeat (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 3) (12 page)

“Huh. He seemed pretty chummy with the dark-haired chick on the float yesterday.” Mary Louise crumpled up the plastic wrap and stacked Frannie’s plate on her own.

“Is she camped here?”

“No, never seen her before. Well, I’ll have Jim stop down this afternoon.” She got up from the table and returned everything to the tote.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to impose…”

“No problem. Sunday afternoons are usually slow. Most of the people who are leaving today are already gone. And he
loves
to talk about it. See you later.” Frannie almost expected to see puffs of smoke or streaks behind her as she left. Her constant energy made Frannie very tired.

So for the next hour she napped a lot and read a little. During one nap, she dreamt of a huge scary character and managed to wake herself up only to be staring up at a giant with bushy hair and a beard, reminding her of Hagrid in the Harry Potter books.

Sunday Afternoon

Frannie almost choked and tried to sit up too fast, resulting in a side spasm.

“Yes?” She didn’t think she stammered too badly. At the same time her phone rang. The giant backed off and motioned for her to take it. She wasn’t about to argue. She grabbed for the phone on the table, fumbling for the right button.

“Hello?” Her voice squeaked.

“Frannie? Are you okay? Where are you?” It was Larry.

“I’m right where you left me—in my chair.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the man in front of her. He wore baggy jeans and a flannel shirt that didn’t quite meet at the bottom. His hair, beard and eyebrows would be overkill in Hollywood.

“You sound funny.”

“I’m…fine. Where are you?” She tried to keep her voice even, but could hear it wasn’t working.

“We’re just loading the bikes to head back—should be there in half an hour or so. You’re sure everything is okay?”

“Yes,…I have a visitor. See you soon.” She hung up. “Have we met?”

“I’m Jim Larson, the owner.”

Relief flooded through her. “Oh! Mary Louise’s husband?”

He laughed, his whole body shaking, and she wondered why she had found him threatening. “We’ve only been married six months, and even though I’ve been the owner for years, I am now just ‘Mary Louise’s husband.’ She said you had some questions about the old power plant.”

“I do. Please sit down.” She motioned at a lawn chair. “I’ve been fascinated by that place every time we come up here. Your wife said there’s a tunnel, too?”

“You bet! A thousand feet long and all dug by candlelight.”

“That’s amazing. Is it still there?”

He nodded. “Now they only check it to monitor the bat population. They closed up the lower part of the entrance upriver when they shut down the power plant. When it was operating, the river was completely diverted through the plant. So in order for the river to return to its natural course, they had to prevent water from going down the tunnel.”

She felt let down. “Oh.”

“There’s still some water that goes through it, but you can get into it from either end if you’re determined enough.”

“Oh,” she said, seeing more possibilities again. “Mary Louise said there’s stories about bootleggers using it at one time.”

Jim leaned back in his chair and pulled a pipe out of his jeans’ pocket and held it up. “Mind?”

She shook her head. Jim fiddled with the pipe for a few minutes, getting it lit and leaned back again.

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that. When I was a kid, me and my buddies used to sneak down there. We found parts of wooden crates and even a bottle or two. I guess that’s not absolute proof but it makes sense.”

“So the tunnel goes west, then? From the plant?”

“Almost straight west. Runs right under the nature center.”

“So where’s the entrance?”

“Did you see the road to the bird watching station when you were at the center?” She nodded. “If you follow that down to the river, the entrance is right there. Used to be a dam there but it’s been removed. Then the exit at the other end comes right into the power plant so the water could run the turbine. What are you planning, anyway?” He raised his eyebrows and puffed on his pipe.

She laughed. “Nothing, honest. When those women were killed yesterday, it happened just a few minutes before we got there. But we never met anyone when we were going down there. So how did the murderer get away?”

“Ahhh,” said Jim. “But not many people know about the tunnel. I don’t think there’s been much interest in many years. Why do you think your murderer would know? You think it’s someone from around here?”

“I have no idea. But I just can’t figure any other way they could have gotten away. The tunnel might explain that.” She looked over at the road as Larry’s and Ben’s trucks pulled in. Larry jumped out of his with a look of concern on his face, but relaxed into a grin when he saw Jim Larson.

“Jim!” He held out his hand. “Did you come to check on my invalid wife?”

“No, she just—”

“Mary Louise sent him down to entertain me with stories about the area around here,” Frannie interrupted.

“You sounded funny on the phone,” Larry said.

“I had just woke up when Jim stopped and then you called. I was pretty disoriented and I didn’t know who Jim was.”

“Well, I’d better get on with my chores.” Jim winked at Frannie, emptied his pipe into the fire pit, and stuck it back in his pocket. “See you later.”

As they watched him go, Frannie explained further to Larry. “I had never met him and when I woke up to see him standing over me, it scared me to death! You should have told me that Mary Louise’s husband looks like Gentle Ben.”

“I didn’t realize that you’d never met. Even when we were up here before?”

Frannie shook her head. “Him I would remember. How was the ride?”

“Excellent,” said Mickey. “We stopped for lunch at a little tavern in McCormick, but the best part was that it was all downhill. Literally. Lots of talk everywhere about the murders.”

“So what did you do all day?” Jane Ann asked.

“Well, let’s see. The sheriff was here, a TV reporter, the sheriff and deputies again to take the twins’ trailer, then Mary Louise, then Jim.” She ticked them all off on her fingers.

“A TV reporter?” Larry looked concerned again.

“Relax, dear—I told her I didn’t know anything and then the deputies showed up to move the trailer so she and her sidekick had to get out of here.”

“Anything new on the murder front?” Jane Ann said.

“Sorenson was mainly looking for info about last night. But she did say that the one twin—Virginia, we think—was hit on the side of the head and knocked into the machinery. The other, Valerie, was strangled.”

“Really?” Donna plopped down in the chair beside her. “That’s weird.”

Frannie agreed.

“‘
We
think?’“ Larry repeated. “I thought you were staying out of this.”

“I am. But you were there with me when Mary Sorenson first looked at the bodies and we talked about which twin was which.”

“But why would a murderer hit one of them and strangle the other?” Donna said.

Larry started to say something but closed his mouth again.

“What?” Frannie asked.

“Nothing.” He turned and went to put his bike behind the trailer.

Frannie’s antenna went up. He knew something that he wasn’t sharing. Just because he was an ex-cop, Sorenson probably told him something in confidence. Hmmm.

Donna and Jane Ann retired to their respective trailers for a rest. Larry returned and said he planned to watch golf.

“I thought we had a date,” Frannie said.

“A date? Oh, the pie shop. Didn’t you have any lunch?”

“I had a
lovely
lunch that Mary Louise brought me. We could go later, after golf.”

“Okay, we can—,” he stopped and looked at his watch. “No, let’s go now.”

Frannie’s eyebrows went up at the change of heart, especially since golf was concerned. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. You deserve a reward for staying here all day.”

“True.” She grinned and levered herself out of her chair.

At the Pie Shoppe, Frannie chose lemon meringue while Larry ordered another piece of apple.

“You’re in a rut,” she told him.

“I know what I like.”

They each got a cup of coffee as well and carried their purchases to a wooden booth. Being Sunday afternoon, the place was empty and the woman at the counter had the radio tuned to a country station while she cleaned up from the onslaught of weekend cyclists.

“So,” Frannie said, savoring the creamy tang of the lemon, “what do you know that you aren’t saying?”

He sipped his coffee and paused a minute. “That’s why I thought we should get away for a bit. Sorenson told me last night that the little backpack she found by the door to that other room, you know? There was no ID, but there was a handgun in it.”

Frannie sat up straight in surprise. “Larry, you old meddler, you!”

“I haven’t changed my mind. I don’t want you actively involved in this or any other investigation. But you seem to have an instinct for this and just wondered what your take is on it. Just don’t mention it to anyone else for the time being.”

She decided not to gloat over this small victory. She didn’t want to be
actively
involved, but the puzzle of it intrigued her.

“Sorenson is sure the backpack belonged to one of the twins?”

“Fairly sure. The keys to their trailer were in it. She’s checking to see if the gun is registered.”

“So one of them came to the power plant with a gun—maybe carries it all the time, but maybe just expected to need it on this occasion. And yet didn’t use it. She must not have felt threatened by whoever the murderer is.”

“Apparently not.”

“It appeared to me that Virginia, if she was the one hit on the head, died first, because of the way they were laying. What do you think?”

He nodded. “That’s the way it looked.”

“So maybe the gun belonged to her. If it belonged to Val, wouldn’t she have tried to get it when her sister was attacked?”

“You would think so, but maybe she didn’t have time or was too frightened to think about it. When you saw one of them leave that morning, did you see a backpack?”

“Definitely not. Just the camera bag.”

“So we think one must have hiked and she had the backpack.”

Frannie agreed. “Seems like it had to be that way. Whoever the gun is registered to must have been the one that hiked.”

“Not necessarily. It could have been registered to one, but they both used it or at least knew about it.”

She sighed. “You’re right. Here’s another weird thing. Yesterday when I walked to the restrooms in the afternoon, that guy Richard was sitting outside, so I stopped to give him my condolences. He claimed he hardly knew them; even acted like he barely remembered which one he met on the cruise. Yet, the night before, when he and Val were in a clinch on the road, he didn’t seem to be having memory problems.” She paused and grinned. “But, on the other hand, he also didn’t seem to recognize me even though I was walking with Val before he called out to her.”

“Really?” He contemplated that over a bite of pie. “Just because he had a fling that he doesn’t want to admit to, doesn’t make a motive for a double murder.”

“I know. I can’t figure that either. I’m more inclined to think the camera bag is the key. They said they took pictures of the old trailer and also at the nature center, but I can’t imagine a motive there unless they have that crabby receptionist accepting a bribe or something.”

He looked at her and smirked. “A bribe? For what?”

“Just thinking out of the box.”

“Looks like a storm moving in,” the counter woman called over her shoulder as she stood looking out one of the west windows. Frannie and Larry both looked over and realized it had certainly gotten darker.

He stacked his coffee cup on his plate. “You done?”

“Unless I lick my plate but I know that would be tacky.”

“Mickey would do it.”

They took their dishes to the bin, said goodbye to the counter woman, and headed back to the truck. Frannie managed to get in with a minimum of grunts and contortions. They were just crossing the bridge when a crash of thunder heralded a downpour.

Larry leaned forward slightly and peered through the thrashing wipers. “If this keeps up, it will put a damper, so to speak, on cooking supper.” They had planned to grill barbecued chicken thighs.

“We could cook the chicken inside in the electric skillet.”

“Could,” he said. “Or we could just get wild and eat out.”

“Mickey’s probably already got a place spotted,” she said.

“How are you feeling? You seem to be moving a little better.”

“It
is
better. Kind of like a stitch in the side from running. Well, I think so. Been a long time since I ran anywhere.”

“The junkyard at Bluffs last fall,” he reminded her.

“Oh. Yeah.”

When they pulled into their campsite, the fire circle was of course deserted and lights glowed in each of the campers. They sprinted for their own unit, or at least Larry did, Frannie following more slowly, holding an old brochure over her head. They had just gotten inside when Larry’s phone rang. From the insults Larry flung at that innocent bit of technology, it was either a telemarketer or Mickey. Since the call ended with a discussion of a suppertime, it must be Mickey. Larry frequently carried on long conversations with telemarketers but almost never had supper with them.

He hung up. “That was Mickey.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s proposing a road trip for supper.” Mickey followed diner and restaurant shows on TV; his choices were usually spot-on.