Mad Money Murder

by Leslie Langtry

Deciphering what the girls really thought or meant about anything was a time-wasting venture. They had that amazing ability to change ideas in midstream that aggravated most leaders. I'd learned a long time ago not to take them too seriously. What was the point? If I did, I'd have some serious self-esteem issues.

  Besides, it was a lovely night, and I was with my girls. My mind was temporarily off of the Aunt June quandary, and I was with my husband and best friend. I took in several deep breaths of the fresh air and gazed out over the bluffs at the river.

  It was the chanting that got my attention first. Someone was doing some sort of Native American chanting. Was it ghosts? I looked at the girls to see if they were the source of the noise. They looked at me, wondering the same thing, I'd be willing to bet. When they were all facing me, their mouths dropped open.

  "It's behind me, isn't it?" I asked quietly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The ghosts of a long-lost Native American tribe must be right behind me. It was probably the three braves murdered by Princess Badger Tooth.

  Rex and Kelly just stared. So I turned around.

  Betty—dressed from head to toe in Native American ceremonial costume. The tinfoil hat was gone. She wore a brightly colored dress covered in elaborate beadwork and silver. And there were feathers—lots of brightly colored feathers all over her.

  She was dancing in a circle around the fish mound, chanting something. We moved closer. That's when we heard what she was saying. It appeared to be something made up on the spot that included aliens, spiders and scorpions, and some sort of thing involving Cookie the horse.

  "Betty?" I asked as we all moved closer. "What are you doing?"

  The girl stopped and put her hands on her hips. "I'm honoring my ancestors."

  "I thought you were Russian?" In fact, it was her Russian ties that had helped me out on a case not too long ago.

  She rolled her eyes. "On one side. On the other, I've got Winnebago blood."

  "You do?" I asked.

  "Well, Mom says it's not enough to be part of a casino or anything—whatever that means. But there is some connection."

  "Winnebago tribe?" Lauren asked. "Like the RVs?"

  Inez nodded. "My uncle Bruce has a Winnebago. He has to live in there when Aunt Sue catches him on something called a bender."

  "Why didn't we buy a Winnebago to come on this trip?" Ava ventured.

  "We should've used Mrs. Wrath's credit card," Kaitlin said. "Can you buy a Winnebago on Amazon?"

  Betty shook her head. "No. But you can on eBay."

  "No one is buying a Winnebago," I said. "I already have three houses. I don't need one on wheels."

  Rex shrugged. "I'd rather have a Winnebago than a house this far away."

  "Yay!" Kaitlyn cheered. "We're getting a Winnebago!"

  "Guys," Betty said. "You are seriously dishonoring my ancestors."

  The girls went quiet.

  "Do you have alien blood too?" Inez asked.

  The girls all nodded, wondering the same thing. Hell, I was wondering the same thing.

  Betty considered this. "I guess it's possible."

  "Where did you get your costume?" Kelly asked. "How did you not crush the feathers in your backpack?"

  Betty waved both hands in front of her face dramatically and whispered, "Magic!"

  There was a poof of blue smoke, and when it cleared, the costume lay on the ground but Betty was gone. This was disturbing since I imagined a naked Betty strutting through camp with a backpack full of concussion grenades.

  The girls, Rex, and Kelly burst into applause. I reluctantly joined in, but my first concern was where was the girl?

  "Ta-da!" a voice cried out behind us. We turned to see Betty about twenty feet away, back in her original clothes and tinfoil hat.

  "Bravo!" Rex cheered.

  "This is a dangerous place to be doing that," I chastised. "What if she poofed over the edge of the cliff?"

  Betty thought about that. "That's not a bad idea. I'm still working on levitation. If I could pull that off, I could reappear in midair just a few steps off the cliff."

  "No," Kelly said. "We are not working on that here."

  "Awwww." Betty kicked at a milkweed. "This is the perfect place to do this. We don't have giant, deadly drop-offs back home."

  "Nevertheless," Kelly said. "You can't practice this here. Got it?"

  Betty studied her leader. "Did you and Mrs. Wrath switch places or something? You're a buttkill."

  "I think you mean buzzkill," Kelly corrected automatically.

  "No, I mean buttkill."

  "Betty," Kelly warned.

  I raised my hand. "I want to know what a buttkill is."

  "Why haven't we seen any ghosts or aliens?" Ava interrupted.

  "This place is supposed to be haunted," Inez added.

  "Maybe," Rex said, "those stories are just supposed to scare you."

  "But what about the story of Princess Badger Tooth?" Lauren asked.

  Rex made the mistake of asking what that was. We spent ten minutes listening as the girls told my husband the story of the very murdery Native American princess.

  "I think the stories might also have to do with the girl who fell off the cliff and died five years ago," Kelly said.

  "That must be it!" Kaitlyn snapped her fingers. "What do we know about her?"

  "How do you know it's a girl? Toad just said somebody died," I said.

  "Well," Betty said as she folded her Winnebago ceremonial clothes. "This is a Girl Scout camp. During camp season, there'd be way more girls than adults here. So the odds are that it would be a camper, right?"

  "That does make sense," Rex said. "Maybe we should organize a junior law enforcement corps back home. You think like a detective."

  Lauren walked over to the edge of the cliff. "Why would Flea fall off the cliff?"

  "Flea?"

  Lauren solemnly explained, "That's her camp name. Her real name is Carlotta."

  Rex looked questioningly at me.

  "Lauren is fond of naming things," I explained.

  Lauren continued, "The ground looks steady. It doesn't look like it would give way."

  "Maybe she was being attacked by aliens?" Ava suggested. "And she backed away and fell off."

  "Or a bear was chasing her and chased her off the cliff," Inez said.

  "I think it's safe to say," Betty suggested, "that Flea wasn't a very good magician."

  Kelly-the-Buttkill interrupted, "Okay, it's time to head back. Line up, please."

  On the way back, the girls came up with a rather impressive ghost story. The camp was haunted by Flea, a first-time camper from Des Moines. Flea got separated from her tentmates and was lost. A fog arose, and she made a serious misstep.

  You'd think the story ends there, right? Nope.

  Flea stepped off the cliff and was rescued by aliens in a flying saucer. She landed on the outside of the ship just as a bear charged out of the woods to the edge of the cliff. But the aliens had just had their spaceship washed and waxed, so it was really slippery.

  As Flea floundered, slipping off the ship, the bear reached out and took a swipe. Flea grabbed his paw and was able to get a foothold on the side of the cliff. But a tsunami came along down the Mississippi and washed her off the side of the cliff.

  Think it's over now? Think again.

  Flea landed on the back of Fred, the river monster, who was half out of the water, wondering, "What the hell is up with this tsunami? It isn't tsunami season!"

  By the way, in Iowa, or on any freshwater river, it's never tsunami season.

  Flea was a master equestrian, having won awards riding Cookie the Wonder horse with the Catalonians and Basque Separatists (two of Betty's favorite causes), so she steered the river monster toward the shore. But Fred, the river monster, wasn't having any of it. So he reared up, and Flea flew through the air, landing back on the cliff's edge that she'd fallen off of.

  She was so happy, but just as she was about to do a Winnebago t
hanksgiving dance to honor her ancestors, Aunt June killed her by pushing her off the cliff. And she died. Now she haunts the woods. The end.

  "I like that story," I said. "You guys are very creative. But why would Aunt June murder Flea?"

  Betty sighed. "Because when Fred came out of the water, he smushed up her backyard."

  "Everyone knows that," Lauren explained.

  "I think we should write it down and leave it for Toad," Ava decided. "Just in case they don't have a cooler story."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  A few hours later, the girls, Kelly, and Rex had gone to bed, and I found myself once again staring up at the ropes course. Maybe I'd imagined the figure up there the other night. Rex didn't think anyone could get down from that platform without being seen. Maybe it had been a ghost. Or an alien.

  The folks around here all jokingly mentioned aliens, but their words seemed to be tinged with warning. Something was bothering me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. And that something was propelling me to the post, where I climbed to the top and stood on the platform once again. The wind ruffled my hair, and I realized how peaceful it was up here staring down at the lodge. In fact, I could see all the way to the river.

  I sat down, back against the pole, and closed my eyes. Why hadn't I brought a harness? If I fell asleep up here, I could fall. When was I ever going to take safety seriously…at least when it came to myself? Maybe Kelly was right and I was a bad example of adulting.

  A creak below caused my eyes to fly open. Leaning over the edge of the platform, I spotted a figure in black working its way up the ladder toward me.

  Crap. I really should've brought a harness. Why hadn't I brought one?

  "You!" I shouted as quietly as possible to avoid waking Kelly or the girls. "Don't come any closer!"

  The figure didn't respond and kept coming. The moon was hiding behind clouds, so I couldn't see any defining details.

  He was coming for me. And I had nowhere to go.

  Looking around, I tried to find something to throw at him, but there was nothing. I could wait until he crested the platform and kick him to the ground, but I wasn't exactly sure that would work. He could grab my leg and toss me over the side. I didn't like taking chances that had a risk of me dying.

  You know those rare moments when you're not afraid of something…say, heights? But then you find yourself at a dangerous height in the dark with no defenses? Yeah, that was now.

  The figure was halfway up the pole. I needed to make a decision. Stand and fight and hope that he, not I, would plummet to the death. Or move on. I looked at the two routes available to me.

  There was the single zip line. Without any equipment, I could only do that hanging upside down underneath it, creeping forward bit by bit. The other avenue of escape was the bridge of swings.

  When I say bridge, I use the term loosely because it was really just individual swings, consisting of a flat board with a rope on either side, connected overhead to a couple of parallel steel cables that were out of my reach. But since that route had at least three points of contact, as opposed to dangling upside down from a zip line, it was the only viable option.

  I grabbed the first swing by the ropes and stepped onto the board. It swung more than I thought it would. I had to keep the momentum going and transfer to the next swing. There wasn't any time to think (a problem I usually had), so I swung forward to the next swing and grabbed it with my feet.

  Somehow, I managed to grab one of the ropes then the other. I was two steps ahead as my pursuer's head came up over the platform. I swung across to the third swing and caught it, pulling myself onto it.

  The figure watched me for a few minutes as I crossed two more. My heart was racing, and I was panting. I wasn't cut out for something like this without the usual security of a harness or a gun. If I'd been hooked up, I could miss a step and not fall.

  I made it to the sixth swing and looked back as I dangled dangerously high in the air. Nancy Drew wouldn't have forgotten a harness. I guess I wasn't as smart as her after all.

  Swinging back and forth, it was hard to get a read on my assailant. Did he have a harness? That would just figure. But, although it would make him safer, would it make him faster? Or maybe he just needed to scare me into making a mistake and plunging to a gruesome and messy end down below. At least I didn't think he had a gun, because he could've shot me by now.

  I made it to the seventh swing as I spotted the figure stepping onto the first one. He had the grace of a mountain goat and seemed unnervingly steady on his feet as he hopped over to the second swing. Well, that sucked.

  Turning my attention to the task at hand, I forced all panic from my chest and made for the eighth swing. There were ten in all. Once I grabbed hold of the ropes for the ninth swing, I risked a look back.

  He'd made good time. He was only two swings behind me. It really bothered me that I didn't have time to see his face. But that wasn't the priority. The priority was to stay alive by making it to the other side.

  I had only myself to rely on as I took the tenth swing.

  "Who are you?" I growled. Maybe I could goad him into giving himself away by talking.

  The figure didn't respond. He just lightly skipped to the eighth swing. Something glinted on his belt.

  Dammit. He had a knife. I didn't have a knife. Not even the pocketknife I usually took camping.

  I dove for the tenth swing, narrowly missing the rope. The swing whirled violently as my hand groped for the rope. At the last second, I grabbed it and pulled myself across. This was ridiculous. I was going to do the job for him by being stupid and panicking.

  Something raked against my back, and I turned to see my attacker on the swing behind me. He'd reached out again to grab me, but I swung away at the right moment. There was no time to turn around. I made an attempt for the last swing.

  I'd like to say that I gracefully skipped over it to the next platform. But I didn't. My foot held the tenth swing in front of me, but as I reached for the right-side rope with my right hand, my left hand slipped from the left rope on the ninth swing, and I started to fall.

  Landing on my butt on the tenth swing seemed promising, but I couldn't grab the ropes. Soon I was dangling by my knees as they gripped the board, hanging upside down way too high over the ground.

  There was that cold laugh again.

  "I don't suppose you want to talk about this?" I asked.

  He shook his head. He was wearing a ski mask, black hoodie, and loose, black turtleneck and pants. There was no way to determine his exact shape. I could swear he was smiling, but since I was upside down, I wasn't sure. I tried to swing for the platform and managed to get a little momentum. Hopefully, I could grab it and somehow pull myself up.

  A plan formed in my mind. If I could grab the platform, it was possible I could knock him off his swing. I was just raking my fingertips across the platform when I was jerked back toward the ninth swing.

  The figure had hold of the rope on my right. In his other hand was the knife. For a split second, I was sure he was going to stab me in the thigh. But then he started to saw on the rope that held up the right side of the plank that I was currently dangling from.

  And I really needed that rope to stay intact.

  My assailant (because now that he was directly threatening me, I could call him that) was standing on the swing behind me, holding on to the right rope attached to the tenth swing and sawing through that rope just above his other hand.

  It was dangerous for him, but maybe he hadn't realized that. He just focused on his work. I started moving my body back and forth, trying to get the rope out of his reach, but he held tight. He even growled a little.

  To be honest, I couldn't tell 100% if it was a man or a woman. Hanging upside down in the dark can do that.

  My thighs were burning as they struggled to grip the plank. Either the rope or my legs would give first, and neither one was an option I particularly liked. I was facing him as I dangled. With all of my strength
, I brought my torso up and grabbed the plank of the swing he was standing on.

  It was something and gave me a little hope. Now that I was connected to his swing and mine, if he cut down mine, I'd still have his. My fingers curled around the plank as an idea popped into my head.

  The bad guy paid no attention to the fact that I was holding on to his swing. He probably figured that by cutting the rope, my weight would drop and I'd lose my hold and fall to my death. And if I didn't, he could just step on my hands until I let go.

  But he was taking a risk too. His body was leaning over the open ground as he held on to my rope while keeping his feet on the board. Maybe I could use his weight against him, like he was trying to use mine against me.

  I yanked on his board with all of my might, bringing it toward the board my legs hung on to.

  He grunted and seemed to lose his footing for a moment. But then he went back to sawing, much faster this time, on my rope. It was hard to see, but I strained my eyes. Was he really sawing the rope above his hand? He couldn't be that stupid, could he?

  When it broke, he would fall with it. Now I had a dilemma. Wait and let him figure it out, hoping I could hold on that long? My fingers slipped a little as I thought this. My grip wasn't solid.

  Or should I let go with my legs the minute the rope started to break so that the momentum of my hips wouldn't pull me off the board I held on to so precariously?

  Decisions…decisions…

  My legs felt the rope starting to give way, and I made the call, putting all my weight on my arms as I brought my knees toward myself and off the plank.

  Two things happened. The man started to fall and fell off the plank I was holding on to, and I reached my right hand up until I curled my fingers around the rope.

  He didn't fall completely. He managed to grab hold of the plank that now dangled from only one rope beneath me. I didn't fall either. With all of my power, I managed to slowly pull myself up onto the ninth swing. It felt like it took years.

  My attacker was silent as he started to climb the rope. With shaking legs and arms that would much rather be relaxing in bed, I made my way back the way I'd come. I didn't look back, just focused on the task at hand.