Ripped To Shreds

by Jeanne Glidewell

  Ripped to Shreds

  A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery

  Book Three

  by

  Jeanne Glidewell

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-902-3

  By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are 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 entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Copyright © 2016 by Jeanne Glidewell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Acknowledgements

  I'd like to thank my friend, fellow author, and proofreader, Shirley Worley, for giving my manuscript a once-over, and my editor, Judy Beatty of Madison, Alabama, whose skills are so very beneficial to me. My gratitude is also extended to my longtime editor and friend, Alice Duncan, of Roswell, New Mexico, a very talented and professional editor whose contact information I'd be happy to pass on to any writer who requests it by sending me a message via my website, www.jeanneglidewell.com. Alice is also the author of the award-winning Daisy Gumm Majesty and the Mercy Allcutt series; must-reads for any cozy mystery fan. Both ladies are wonderful individuals and I'm very appreciative of their efforts to teach me proper English and correct grammar, along with encouraging me to resist the urge to make up words at will. Unfortunately, most of their valiant attempts are in vain. By now, I'm sure they've both figured out it's like explaining calculus to a cockatoo.

  I'd like to thank the best sister I could have ever asked for, Sarah Goodman. As my first line of defense, Sarah's the only person I can totally rely on to be painfully honest and tell me my story sucks, when indeed it does. As an avid cozy reader, I can trust her to give me great advice, like when my story morphs from a cozy mystery into a science fiction or horror novel. Sarah, my only sibling, is also the person I can count on for support and encouragement when it comes to my writing career. I know, without a moment's doubt, she will always have my back. Love you, Sis! Thanks so much for all you mean to me, and all you do for me!

  And I would be amiss if I didn't also thank my incredible publishers, Nina Paules, of eBook Prep, and Brian Paules, of its sister company, ePublishing Works. One of the best days in my writing career was the day they accepted me as a client, and I've thanked my lucky stars to be part of their team every day since.

  Dedication

  There is no one I could rightfully dedicate this third Ripple Effect mystery to other than Janet Wright. Not only is Janet a neighbor and one of my closest friends, she's also my co-conspirator in crime. One day, while helping me set up my new "critter cam" by a pond near a section of timber, she suggested I write a story involving a game camera like my own. Together we planned a murder that afternoon and I hope you enjoy the tale that was inspired by our discussion. It barely resembles the plot we'd scripted that day, but then, none of my mysteries have ever ended up the way I thought they would. It seems as if there's always a twist at the end I hadn't anticipated.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Character List

  From The Desk of Jeanne Glidewell

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Meet the Author

  Character List

  Rapella Ripple - Just because this feisty senior citizen is well beyond her spring-chicken days, doesn't mean she's not an audacious ball of fire. Given her intrepid spirit and meddlesome tendencies, it's no wonder she lands herself in one awkward situation after another. Despite the occasional humiliation, and frequent wrong turns, nothing short of a massive coronary will stop her. But will that deeply ingrained tenaciousness pay off?

  Clyde "Rip" Ripple - The other, more pragmatic half of this full-time RVing couple. As a career lawman, he wants to catch the killer as much as his wife, but goes about it in a more sensible, level-headed way. Will he get the opportunity to watch his fellow sheriff eat crow after she blows off his offer to assist in the investigation?

  Cora Beaufont - The Ripples' niece who resides in Buffalo, Wyoming. She's holding down the fort while her husband is away on business. Cora's the person responsible for talking her aunt into buying a motion-sensor camera and later pays for Rapella's entry in a wildlife photography contest. Cora could not have imagined how that challenge would turn out. But will her thirty-dollar investment pay off?

  William "Slick Willie" Beaufont - Cora's fourteen-year old son whose talents include playing baseball, auto mechanics, and conjuring up clever schemes. There's a good reason his Uncle Rip refers to him as Slick Willie. Will his idea to help track down a poacher pan out?

  Beata "Bea" Whetstone - Co-owner of the Rest 'n Peace RV Park, a campground surrounded by the Bighorn National Forest. Bea's not the most pleasant person to be around, so when she goes missing it's anyone's guess who, or what, is behind her disappearance. Did someone despise her enough to want her dead?

  Boonie Whetstone - Beata's husband and business partner. There's reason to believe he might have had a hand in his wife's disappearance. But could it be because he has another woman waiting in the wings to replace her?

  Richard "Ranger Rick" Myer - A park ranger who befriends the Ripples. Rip and Rapella have to put their fondness for the man aside to determine if he had a strong enough motive to kill Beata Whetstone. Was he friend or foe of the victim?

  Janelle Tyson-Simms - The gold-digging woman Boonie was seeing behind his wife's back before Bea's grisly death. Did she want to snag Boonie badly enough to eliminate her competition?

  John and Barb Harris - Animal activists who are staying at the Whetstones' campground. They're upset when Beata kills a bear on the park's property. But were they ticked off enough to kill her?

  Desireé Myer - Ranger Rick's ex-wife, who's also the victim's sister. The shop she owns in Buffalo is the last sort of store Rapella would want to patronize. But Rapella is so determined to track down Bea's killer that she'd walk through fire in search of the truth. Desireé and Bea's mother has been diagnosed with terminal esophageal cancer, and the sisters are both in line to inherit
a fair amount of dough. Was there a compelling enough reason, whether personal or monetary, for Desireé to want her sister out of the picture, as well as out of their mother's will?

  Leo and Charly Brown - The owners of the Sweet Sixteen RV Park, located two miles west of the Rest 'n Peace RV Park. Before Bea's disappearance, the two determined rivals had engaged in an all-out tug of war for customers. Were the Browns determined to get in the last punch?

  Jaclyn Wright - The sheriff of Johnson County, Wyoming, who shows an offensive lack of respect for Rip Ripple. Rip refers to the stern, no-nonsense woman as "battleaxe", and her sense of superiority only strengthens his resolve to solve the case. Which sheriff will come out on top in this rivalry?

  From The Desk of Jeanne Glidewell

  Dear Reader,

  I have a habit of apologizing in advance when presenting someone with a gift, having convinced myself they are going to hate it. In this same vein, I'd like to apologize up front if you find yourself horrified by my use of bordering-on-absurd grammar that goes against the grain of what your fifth-grade English teacher taught you, or when I invoke my creative license to employ a word that somehow got overlooked by every dictionary ever compiled, abridged or not. I am blessed with two incredible editors, but one cannot expect these ladies to turn water into wine. Only God can perform miracles, and clearly he has more important issues to take care of.

  You may also think the idea of a sixty-eight-year-old amateur sleuth doing risky or impetuous things in her efforts to track down a killer is a far-fetched notion. But if you do, isn't that the very premise of the entire "cozy mystery" genre?

  So, if these things disturb you, my mysteries are not for you. My objective is to entertain you on those occasions when you need something to while away your time; as you sit squeezed into an airplane seat for the duration of a long-distance flight; while you're sprawled out on a beach chair, soaking up the sun with your e-reader in one hand and a margarita in the other; or when you just want to relax, all snuggled up in your recliner in front of a roaring fire with your favorite furry friend curled up in your lap. If you find yourself in one of these situations and are not offended by the work of an author who chose archery and racquet ball classes in college in lieu of English and grammar whenever possible, then sit back, kick off your shoes, and let me tell you a story.

  Happy Reading,

  Jeannie

  Chapter 1

  "Screech! Screech! Screech!"

  "What the–?" I started to ask Boonie Whetstone, the owner of the Rest 'n Peace RV Park, which was nestled amid tall pines in the Bighorn National Forest. He was in the laundry room with me, emptying quarters out of the washing machines into a three-pound coffee can. He'd later wrap and resell them to customers who needed them to do their laundry, he'd said. Now that was a recycling plan I could really appreciate.

  "Screech!"

  "What in the world was that?" I asked. I'd dropped my basket of clean clothes, startled by the eerie noise. "It sounds like a woman screaming out there in the, um, out there in the—"

  "Boonies?" Boonie chuckled at his pun after finishing my sentence for me. As I bent over to collect my clothes, many of which would have to be refolded, he replied to my inquiry. "Could be a number of things. A screech owl, perhaps. Maybe even a female mountain lion."

  "Screech! Screech!" The high-pitched wail emanated from within the not-so-distant forest again.

  "Yeah, my guess is a lion," Boonie said with a knowing nod, as if telling me there was a wild baby bunny running amok in the woods. If there was a bunny running out there, it was probably because a mountain lion was chasing it, intent on devouring the poor little thing for lunch.

  "There are mountain lions that close to us? Couldn't they come right into the campground?" I asked nervously.

  "Yes, of course. The elevation's eighty-nine hundred feet here, and this campground is surrounded by woods, which are naturally inhabited by a lot of dangerous forest-dwelling animals. In fact, my wife had a close call with a cougar herself not long ago. We don't have a fence around this RV Park because acquiring one high enough to prevent a large cat from breaching it would cost us a pretty penny. Better to lose a customer now and then than to shell out a boatload of money to keep the predators at bay." He laughed and winked, not at all concerned about the possibility of having feral, customer-eating felines in the vicinity.

  The handsome, dark-haired man had a muscular but lean frame from all the hours of strenuous labor that went in to maintaining a campground. He looked as if he could take down a cougar bare-handed, but a sixty-eight-year-old woman like me would be no match for the dangerous creature.

  "Lose a customer now and then? Not very encouraging, I'm afraid. I appreciate your sense of humor, Mr. Whetstone, but maybe you really should invest in a fence."

  As if he hadn't heard me, Boonie went on to explain. "Female mountain lions or cougars will scream like that when they're calling out for a mate. Their mating season usually runs from December through March. It's mid-April, but they'll mate at other times of the year on occasion."

  "Well, there goes the 'Rest 'n Peace' aspect of your park, Mr. Whetstone," I said with a shudder. When we'd first arrived, I'd thought the RV Park's name was a clever idea for such a quiet, serene campground, but now I found it more ironic than cute.

  "Don't worry. They're not apt to bother you. Wouldn't hurt to carry a can of pepper spray when you're out and about on the grounds, though. We sell some in the store for just that reason. Probably not all that effective, but it gives our customers a little peace of mind, anyway."

  "I'd settle for a little peace of mind at the moment. I'll go buy a can right now while my last load is drying."

  "Sorry, ma'am. The store's closed on Sundays. Only the check-in desk is open."

  Swell. "Not apt to bother you" and "not all that effective" were not comforting phrases to me, but it beat having nothing at all to protect myself. I didn't have pepper spray to carry on my way back to the Chartreuse Caboose, our thirty-foot travel trailer. What I had was a spray bottle of Shout; a stain remover, not a cougar remover.

  "Screech!" I heard again twenty minutes later as I took a step outside. Its source appeared to be frightfully close. I quickly stepped back inside and closed the door, giving myself a few extra minutes to bolster some courage. Leave it to Rip to request a site at the farthest end of the campground. "Closer to nature," he'd said. Closer to wild, treacherous animals, too, I thought. And, at the moment, too blasted far from the laundry room for my liking.

  I knew I couldn't stay in the laundry room forever. When I'd left the trailer, my husband had been watching our team, the Texas Rangers, who were in the process of getting routed by the Kansas City Royals. He was no doubt snoozing on the couch by now. I'd have to move as briskly as possible returning to the trailer. If I came face to face with a cougar, my only option would be to try and "Shout it out", and that wasn't a very reassuring concept.

  I managed to make it back to the trailer in record time. And that's taking into account I had to stop once to pick my clean clothes up off the gravel and shove them all back into the basket in one big wad. When a toddler I'd just passed shrieked for her mother, I'd come completely unglued. I'd flung the basket, armed myself with the bottle of Shout, and assumed a defensive posture, all in the space of a second-and-a-half. The young child, now terrified of me, was a cute little girl, and I prayed she wouldn't become an hors d'oeuvre before momma took her back inside their motorhome.

  When I entered the trailer we'd painted chartreuse, with yellow, green, and brown sunflowers to give it even more style, my husband of nearly fifty years, Clyde Ripple, better known as Rip, was just waking up from his nap. There were four or five cheese puffs scattered across his chest as if he'd fallen asleep mid-snack. He was intrigued, but not all that apprehensive, about having big cats in the area. "I had assumed there were imposing animals in the forest, but figured most of them were more afraid of humans than we were of them. Most only attack people they s
ee as threatening. But we can pick up a couple cans of that pepper spray tomorrow if it makes you feel better. Are you still planning to go garage-sale shopping with Cora today?"

  "Of course. She's picking me up in about an hour. Willie will hang out here with you while we're gone. In the meantime, I need to fold these clothes for the third time and put something in the slow cooker for supper. Rump roast sound okay?"

  "You bet! My rump's about to waste away to nothing, you know." We both laughed. Rip had put on twenty pounds since retiring from law enforcement six years ago, and he wasn't exactly emaciated back then. A year after his retirement, we'd sold our home, rid ourselves of most of our belongings, bought the Chartreuse Caboose, and hit the road as full-time RVers.

  At the present, we were in northern Wyoming. My late brother's daughter, Cora Beaufont, and her husband, Dirk, live in Buffalo, just east of the Bighorn National Forest, a formidable mountain range.

  Cora's father, Dusty, the youngest of my four brothers, passed away ten years ago when Cora was twenty-nine. She and I had always been close. Dirk, an engineer for a large oil company, was spending three months in Ingleside, Texas, overseeing the construction of a large oil rig. We decided it'd be a good time to visit Cora and our great-nephew, fourteen-year-old William, or "Slick Willie", as Rip called him. We'd keep the two company while Dirk was away on business. I was looking forward to an enjoyable stay in Wyoming with my favorite niece nearby.