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

Larry, in the lead, stopped when they reached the center of town. After conferring with Rob, he led the group down the cross street to an area three blocks long of old rehabbed store fronts, theaters, bed and breakfasts, and restaurants. The sidewalks were raised and fronted with angled parking spaces alternating with bike racks. Larry and Rob chose a rack in front of a restaurant as a landing spot for the group.

They spent the next couple of hours roaming the shops and exploring a small museum. The smell of baking bread sucked them into a small bakery where Donna bought cinnamon rolls for the next day’s breakfast and Mickey purchased two pounds of his favorite coffee.

“We’d better head back if we’re going to have time to stop for pie,” Rob said.

“You may have to take me to the emergency room,” Donna said to him, suddenly remembering her injury.

“We’ll see—it’s hardly noticeable.” Rob was used to appeasing his wife and knew that she was most concerned with how she looked. They returned to their bikes, stashed their purchases and were soon heading back east on the bike trail.

On the return, Frannie watched for the old power plant. Its solid, almost windowless face fascinated her but also gave her a sense of foreboding. When she spotted it, she asked Nancy, “Can you get down to that power plant from the nature center?”

“I think there’s an old path, but they don’t encourage it. We didn’t try it when we were there.”

As they neared Reston, they caught up to the twin hikers. Frannie wondered what life would be like, looking in a mirror constantly. But the appearance up ahead of the Pie Shoppe distracted her, as anything offering dessert was wont to do.

Late Friday Afternoon

The Reston Pie Shoppe was a white frame building standing alone on a side street off the tiny business district. Four large bike racks along the front and one side attested to the nature of the clientele. The group parked their bikes and tromped in through a side door. Jane Ann and Donna headed for the restroom. Everyone else stood at the counter staring up at the ten-foot long blackboard on the wall proclaiming the day’s offerings.

Frannie scrunched up her face and agonized. She loved pie. Deciding what kind to have at anytime was one of life’s most difficult inconsequential decisions; at places like this she verged on collapse.

“What are you having?” she said to Larry, next to her. Like it mattered. They didn’t have the same favorites and in no way would his choice influence hers. It was a stalling tactic. She had to decide first what type she wanted this time: fruit, cream or chiffon. And then one crust or two? Once she narrowed her choices, she would consider which of those kinds she would be least likely to make herself, and it had to be one no one else was ordering.

He said, “Apple, I guess.”

“Bor-ring,” she said, although she did love a good apple pie. On the other side of Rob, Mickey ordered butterscotch, another of her favorites.

“I’ll have the fresh blackberry,” she blurted out to the forty-something woman behind the counter, and was immediately besieged by doubts. Maybe she should have ordered lemon meringue; she couldn’t make meringue to save her soul and they were masters here. She was about to change her order when she noticed Larry watching her and laughing.

“What?!”

“You. You’re thinking about changing your order, aren’t you? We’ll be here five days; you can come back every day.”

“I can come back
two
or
three
times a day if I want. I don’t need your permission,” she retorted. The woman set a heavy white china plate in front of her, with a fragrant heap of purple berries and golden brown lattice crust.

“I’m sorry—it’s just out of the oven and didn’t come out of the pan very well. And I should mention that they
are
fresh blackberries but not local—a little early for that yet. I can get you something different if you’d like.”

Frannie picked up the plate. “Absolutely not. This looks wonderful.” She shot her husband a defiant look, grabbed a fork out of the container on the counter, and carried her pie to a table where Mickey and Ben were already seated. Donna and Jane Ann had returned from the restroom, Donna looking much relieved that the scratch was negligible, but still limping. The others soon joined them and dug in, trading bites and offering deep, introspective critiques such as “Wow!” and “Mmmm.”

Frannie glanced up at the sound of the front door opening. The two women they had passed on the path entered and walked to the counter. Under their cowboy hats, their chin-length blonde hair fell in soft waves framing their round faces, reminding Frannie of the women in the old “Beautiful Hair-Breck” ads both in color and texture—pale and very fine. They moved as one, and both placed their right elbows on the counter, ordering “Cherry pie, please,” in unison. The counter woman didn’t know for sure how to react, and with obvious effort kept her expression very neutral, but pleasant.

The women carried their pie to an open table, slung their cameras on the right corner of their chair backs and seated themselves with identical movements. Uncanny.

Mickey poked Frannie in the thigh. “Close your mouth,” he said with a grin, “your pie will fall out.”

She did, and wiped the edges of her mouth with her napkin.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of odd? How do they even do that?” she whispered back at him.

“Habit, I guess. They must spend a lot of time together,” he said quietly.

“Anyone up for going farther or are you all wimping out?” Ben asked the group.

“Wimping.” “Wimping.” “Ditto.”

“I’d go a little farther, “ Rob said. “What are we doing for supper?”

“Brats,” Nancy said. “Simple, and we all brought sides ready to eat, so you guys have time to ride further if you want.”

“What about you?” Rob said to his wife. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Donna said. She touched her cheek, grimaced, and put on her bravest look.

The front door opened again and a tall man decked in serious biking attire came in. Frannie was watching the twins’ synchronized actions, when the man in biking gear, having purchased only a bottle of water, (who does that in a pie shop?) turned just as one of the women looked up from their conversation. Her mouth dropped open and an anguished expression crossed her face. Her sister followed her gaze, but frowned and set her mouth as if gritting her teeth. It was the first difference between the two that Frannie had observed. The man, in turn, eyed them both, confused. He seemed about to speak but thought better of it, turned, and hurried outside.

Through the front windows, Frannie could see him mount his bike and head off in the direction of Burdensville. She glanced back to the twins, oblivious to the conversation around her. The angry twin had recovered her equanimity and reached across the table to take her sister’s hand, apparently asking what had upset the other. The second shook her head and pulled her hand back, turned her head and covered her mouth. She seemed to regain her composure and returned to her pie, as did her sister. They didn’t speak until they finished, but occasionally each stole glances at the other.

Very strange, thought Frannie. Something about the man shattered their years of habit and ripped them apart, like Siamese twins being separated, in the blink of an eye. Frannie loved a good mystery but didn’t see any way she would solve this one without being downright nosey. And while she wasn’t averse to subtly poking around for information, she could hardly ask complete strangers outright to explain such an odd relationship.

“Hey, zombie,” Larry broke into her trance, “Ready to go?”

She looked at her plate. Her pie was gone. How annoying—she had finished it without even enjoying it. She slid out of her chair and carried her plate to a bin of dirty dishes. They all trooped outside and readied their bikes.

While Frannie strapped on her helmet, the twins emerged from the cafe, both looking very strained. They headed down the bike path toward Newton, not talking. Rob and Ben took off in the same direction, while the rest turned toward the bridge.

Frannie pedaled along beside Jane Ann as they reached the gravel path on the other side of the river.

“Did you watch those twins?”

“You mean when that guy came in? Really odd, wasn’t it? Looked like they knew each other but never spoke,” Jane Ann said.

“Well, yeah—up until then they were like synchronized swimmers—every movement matched. Very weird.”

They continued in silence, the uneven nature of the path requiring their full attention. Back at their campsite, they arranged their lounge chairs in the shade, and retrieved books and beverages from their campers.

Donna sat down and gingerly removed her tennis shoes and socks. Her toes and heels sported several angry red blisters and she studied them with dismay.

“I need my sandals,” she said, looking at her camper on the other side of the gravel road. “Nancy, would you mind? They’re right inside the door.”

Nancy had just stretched out in a lounge chair with her book, but started to get up. Frannie, still moving her chair, said, “Stay there. I’ll get them.”

“Would you untie Bugger, too, and bring him over?” Donna called after her. They all knew that Donna was the ‘high maintenance’ member of the group and that wasn’t likely to change, so Frannie just nodded.

As she unhooked Bugger’s tether, she got a good look at the little trailer they had talked about earlier. It was boxier than American-made trailers and quite plain with a European-minimalist air about it. A small red pickup was parked near it but no sign of habitation. She led Bugger back and, after she handed Donna the sandals, tethered him to a nearby tree.

“Could you get him some water, too?” Donna said, and as an afterthought, “Please?”

The next hour passed with some dozing, some reading, and very occasional subdued conversation.

Wheels crunched on gravel, and Rob and Ben rode back into the campsite. They stowed their bikes and helmets and joined the rest of the group.

“You ride all the way to Newton?” Mickey asked.

“Actually, we did,” Ben said. “We can go pretty fast when you guys aren’t holding us back.”

“A little excitement on the trail, though,” Rob said. “Remember those twins we saw?”

Frannie sat up, more alert, and Donna said, “What about ‘em?”

“When we passed them coming back, they were in the midst of a shouting match,” Rob said.

“Really?” Donna said. “What about? Did it have to do with that guy in the pie shop? What were they saying?”

“We didn’t stop and ask if we could listen in on their conversation,” Rob said.

“Oh, right,” Donna sat back, disappointed.

“Rob wanted to,” Ben smiled.

“So did you,” Rob retorted.

“Well, we’ll never know,” Frannie said. “I think it’s time to start some supper.”

Larry got up and assembled his swing-away grill—an ingenious arrangement with a grill suspended from a crosspiece on a single pole pounded into the ground next to the fire ring. Mickey added wood to the fire while the rest of the group brought the prepared dishes, brats, buns and tableware out of their campers. Rob and Ben took over cooking the brats.

Several other units had pulled in and the campground gradually filled up. Children and dogs seemed to be everywhere, while their parents were occupied with getting food on the table, some simple, some elaborate.

The group passed the bright-colored bowls and plates of food, while hungrily eying each offering. Frannie savored the juicy brats, a high-fat indulgence that she rarely allowed herself, as well as the marinated fresh asparagus, a wonderful strawberry spinach salad, and German potato salad. Mickey complimented her potato salad and then took a big bite of his brat, nestled in a bun and covered with mustard.

“Ack!” he said, spitting it out into a napkin. “Terell! You did that!”

Rob looked up, straight faced and innocent. “What?” Everyone else, looked at Mickey, puzzled.

“What was that about?” Jane Ann said.

Mickey opened the bun and held it out. “Plastic brat,” he said. “I knew Rob was a bad cook, but didn’t realize how bad.”

The group erupted in laughter, and Larry leaned over and pounded Rob on the back. “Nice one, Rob!” Rob stood up and took a little bow.

They returned to their meal and were just finishing up when Donna, on the side of the picnic table facing the entrance road, dramatically whispered “Look!”

Frannie turned in her seat just long enough to glimpse the twins approaching their area. But they continued on past Nowak’s trailer and disappeared into the little German unit.

“Verrry interesting!” Rob said in his best Dracula accent.

One of the twins came back out, minus the cowboy hat, and headed up the road toward the campground restrooms. Her head was down and her gait labored, whether because of their long hike, the encounter in the pie shop, or the argument was anybody’s guess. Shortly after, her sister came out and stood, hands on hips, frowning at the surrounding area. When she noticed the Shoemaker group watching her, she turned and marched back into her little camper.