The Long, Wrong Trailer

by Karen Musser Nortman

  “Thank you all for participating. Don't forget, Trick-or-Treat starts in,” she looked at her watch, “two hours, and after that the Haunted Hayride!”

  The judges headed back toward the campground entrance amid more cheers. PJ was somewhat surprised at the festive air in the face of the death earlier.

  When she and Punk reached their own campsite, the noise changed to angry swearing and tinny crashes, coming from the other side of Gigi's motorhome. They proceeded around the front of the motorhome with caution.

  Gigi picked up a folded lawn chair and slammed it back down with as much force as she could muster, muttering as she did so.

  “Hey, hey,” Punk said. “Can we help?”

  She stopped and spun around, her face contorted and her teeth clenched. But when she saw them, she sagged and dissolved in tears. She slumped onto the picnic bench.

  “The sheriff was just here—that SOB.”

  “The sheriff?” PJ said.

  “No, my piece of crap ex-husband. Because he made my life so miserable when he was alive, now I'm a suspect in his death!”

  PJ didn't want to stare at Gigi's tear-stained face so looked down while she tried to think of a response.

  “You don't have shoes on,” she observed.

  “Because the sheriff took them—as evidence,” Gigi spat out the words.

  “Evidence of what?” Punk said.

  Now she started to cry again. “He thinks the heels on my boots might match some round marks they found where Con was pushed over.”

  PJ sat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “He took my walking stick, too, for the same reason.”

  Gigi wiped her nose on the sleeve of her orange sweater, causing PJ to shudder a little.

  “No kidding?” She brightened up a little. “He told me I should get a lawyer, but I can't afford that.”

  “Maybe we can get group rates,” PJ said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gigi smiled a little. “I'd better go wash my face and find some shoes. Doris and Fred invited me over for supper.”

  “Oh! Us too,” PJ said. “You going to be okay?”

  Gigi nodded. “I'll see you over there.”

  When Punk and PJ arrived across the road a few minutes later, Gigi was telling Fred about the sheriff's visit. Fred began to clear the table and picked up the empty muffin basket.

  “Is this yours?” he asked Doris, handing her the tablet.

  She frowned. “No. Where did that come from?”

  He shrugged. “No idea.”

  “I saw it late this morning—the last time I had a muffin,” PJ offered. She threw caution to the wind. “I found part of a note this morning down by Mr. Conniver's body. It looked like it was torn from that tablet. We should turn it over to the sheriff.”

  Doris panicked and dropped the tablet on the table. “But, he'll think—,” she couldn't finish.

  “He already has so many suspects, I don't think he knows which way to turn,” PJ said. “I touched it this morning—thought it was a stack of napkins—so my fingerprints are on it too.”

  Doris slapped the table. “Well, you know what? I didn't do it. He can't pin it on me. Let's have some supper and get ready for the Trick-or-Treaters.” She started to put plastic plates around the table.

  “I'll do that,” Gigi said. She counted the plates. “Is someone else coming?”

  “Aletha will be over.”

  PJ grabbed flatware out of a basket at the end of table and followed Gigi around the table. Aletha arrived and they sat down to steaming plates of stew, homemade biscuits and applesauce. They were just finishing when the sheriff and a deputy walked up the road and over to their table.

  “Does anyone know who this belongs to?” Sheriff Turner said, holding out a small baggie holding a bright yellow bandana.

  “Oh, it's mine!” Aletha said, reaching for it. “I was just looking for it a while ago. Where did you find it?”

  The sheriff pulled the baggie back and handed it to the deputy. “It's evidence.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Where did you lose it?”

  Aletha threw up her hands. “Well, if I knew, it wouldn't be lost!” She took a deep breath. “Last I saw it was on my picnic table about noon. I wanted to tie my hair back with it.”

  The sheriff put his foot up on the end of the picnic bench. “You lost it at Black Hawk Point. It was caught in a bush just over the edge.”

  “I haven't even been to Black Hawk Point this weekend,” she protested.

  The sheriff stood back up and raised his eyebrows, scanning the group. “It's sure convenient to have all of my suspects in one place. Don't go anywhere.” He and the deputy turned and continued on down the road.

  They watched him go in silence. Then Punk said, “We didn't give him the tablet.”

  “Would it do any good?” PJ asked. “It would just implicate Doris. And me. I don't think he's interested in finding any real suspects.”

  “That's just it,” Gigi said. “He thinks we are real suspects. And we do all have motives.”

  “We need to band together,” Aletha said, “and find the real killer. It's the only way.”

  Fred scoffed. “You gals are nuts. What do we know about it? And how do you know it isn't one of us?”

  Doris spoke up. “We don't. But if it is, maybe we'll find that out, too.”

  PJ picked up the tablet and angled it toward the waning light. “You know how on CSI shows they look for impressions on the next page? I think I can see something here. Anyone got a pencil?”

  Doris handed her one that she had been using for a crossword puzzle earlier. As PJ began to rub the edge of the point across the next page to lightly shade it, Fred rolled his eyes.

  “You are nuts. You're tampering with evidence.”

  “What do I have to lose?” PJ said. She held up the tablet, scrutinized it, and read, “'Meet me at Black Hawk Point or you'll be sorry. 7 am tomorrow.'“

  “But who wrote it?” Doris asked.

  Chapter Eighteen

  PJ sat gripping the tablet and her shoulders sagged. “There's no signature that I can see.”

  “Duh,” said Fred. “This is crazy. I'm havin nuthin to do with it.” He went in his camper and slammed the door. Doris watched him go and turned back to the group.

  “I know what he thinks—that if I get involved in the investigation, they will focus even more on me as a suspect. But what are they going to do to a bunch of retirees who only want to clear their names?”

  Aletha said, “This needs to wait til later. Looks like the trick-or-treaters are getting ready to start.” She began to collect plates and silverware. “Doris, I'll help you take these inside and we'll do them up after the Trick-or-Treating.”

  Soon they were all seated by the road in their respective campsites with baskets of candy. Children in costume raced from site to site, dragging plastic bags or pumpkins to hold their loot. Some adults too were decked out and gleaning a few treats as they strolled along. Darth Vader drove a golf cart up the road with one hand and wielded a light saber in the other. Princess Leia rode at his side, almost completely disguised with mask, wig, and white gown. Out of character however was the casted leg propped up on the front of the cart.

  “Must be that Bonnie Bruns and her husband,” PJ commented to Punk. A large Raggedy Ann and Andy ambled along the road. As they got close, PJ realized it was Stan and Shirley. The parade of characters provided a welcome distraction to the worries of the day.

  PJ had donned a witch's hat and robe but Punk's only concession to the festivities was an arrow-through-the head device. It did catch a few stares and giggles from the kids.

  At the end of the scheduled time, PJ took the remaining candy inside and Punk folded up the little table. When she returned outside, the wind had picked up, making the orange lights along the awning dance and bounce off items in the campsite creating a surreal disco-hell.

  PJ heard a thunk over
her head. On the roof of the camper, a figure all in black crouched. The lights glistened off a silver hook at the end of one arm.

  “Punk!” she yelled and pointed. It appeared to be the same figure from the campfire the night before.

  “Get down from there!” Punk yelled. The figure grabbed above his head at a tree branch to swing down the back side. As PJ and Punk ran around the back end of the trailer, they heard the branch break with a sharp crack. The dark form hit the ground with an “Ooof!”

  Punk reached over and pulled the dark ski mask up.

  “Hey! Aren't you the kid from next door?”

  “It is,” PJ said. “The one with the dog bite on his ankle.”

  “I didn't—,” blubbered the kid, but they were distracted by more crashing in the tree line. Another boy burst out of the trees over by the silver trailer and raced inside.

  “I think your buddy just left you to hang by yourself,” Punk said.

  “Hang? You can't—my mom and dad won't let—,” and he started to cry.

  “Get up,” Punk said. “Come around the other side here.” And he marched Blake Sneth to their fire pit area, with the young man glancing over his shoulder hoping to see help on the way.

  “Now.” Punk turned him around to face him. “What were you doing on my roof?”

  “J-just trying to scare someone. It's Halloween,” he whined.

  “And that was you last night, too, wasn't it?” PJ pointed at him. “And then Bonnie Bruns' dog chased you and bit you? That's what really happened to your ankle!”

  “Yes but, I didn't mean—,” Blake sputtered but stopped as he saw his mother come around the end of the trailer in time to hear his confession.

  “Blake Joshua Sneth! What is the matter with you?” Adela marched over and actually grabbed his ear.

  “Ow!” He ducked his head out of her grasp. “I didn't mean to hurt her. I went to see her last night after the bonfire to see how she was.”

  “Did you apologize?”

  “Well...I didn't exactly tell her it was me.” He looked everywhere but at his mother. “But I did run an errand for her.” As if that made up for all of the trouble.

  “You are going to confess and apologize to her and to everyone else as well. You can do it on the hayride.”

  “Willie and I aren't planning to go on the hayride.”

  “Your plans just changed,” his mother said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Haunted Hayride began at the check-in shack and picked up riders along the campground road. A utility tractor pulled the old wooden hay wagon stacked with bales of hay. Punk used the tongue to climb up on the wagon and then turned to pull PJ up. They found an empty bale near Stan and Shirley, still in costume, and nestled in with a fleece blanket that PJ had brought. Doris and Fred, Gigi and Aletha got on at the same time, as well as Tom and Adela Sneth, Blake and his friend Willie. Blake and Willie did not look excited about the ride.

  PJ had noticed Darth Vader and Princess Leia behind them, Leia grasping a pair of crutches to keep them from sliding off the bale. By the time the Sneths found seats near the front, the hayrack was full.

  The driver put the tractor in gear, yelling as he did so to the rest of the would be riders, “Sorry, folks! Another wagon will be along soon.”

  The wagon lurched forward. After traversing around the loop at the end of the campground, the ride returned to the campground entrance and headed down a twisty park road. The air was just crisp enough to warrant the blanket and filled with the chatter and laughter of the riders. PJ leaned back on Punk's shoulder and gazed up at the quarter moon, singed by racing wisps of clouds. She nearly forgot the tragedy of the weekend. But she wondered if Adela would make her son apologize to Bonnie Bruns.

  They crested a hill and had just started down the other side when the tractor, chugging along until then, emitted a loud thunk and stopped chugging. Wagon and tractor lurched to a halt. Everyone talked at once while the driver got down and tinkered with the tractor.

  While they waited, lights appeared behind them and the second tractor and wagon drew along side. The drivers conferred and as the second wagon continued on its way, the first driver came back and addressed the group.

  “I'm afraid this is not something I can fix out here but Bernie will be back to pull this wagon in after delivering his load. Shouldn't be more than twenty minutes or so.” He did not wait for questions or comments, but returned to his tinkering.

  At the front of the wagon, Adela poked her son and PJ heard her say, “Now is as good a time as any.”

  “Aw, Ma...”

  “Enough with the 'Aw Ma,'“ said Tom Sneth and jumped down off the wagon, motioning Blake to follow.

  They walked along side the wagon and Tom cleared his throat and said, “My son here has something to say to all of you.”

  Blake hung his head, which was just as well, because seeing Darth Vader, Princess Leia, Raggedy Ann and Andy, a witch, a scantily clad genie (Gigi) and a large minion (Aletha) all turn their focus on him at once would have unnerved him completely.

  Blake mumbled something and his dad said, “They can't hear you.”

  He spoke up. “I'm the once who scared Ms. Bruns last night. I'm really sorry—it was just a prank.”

  “A prank!” came a high-pitched screech from Princess Leia, and she tore off her mask. While PJ sympathized with Bonnie's experience and pain, she thought the expression on her non-Princess face was more than was warranted by a teenager's thoughtlessness.

  Now Darth Vader removed his helmet with a similar look of shock and PJ realized Bonnie's husband was the man they had met near Black Hawk Point. Something about him bothered her, but Bonnie continued to scream at the hapless prankster.

  “You little punk! Why would you do such a thing? Do you know what you've done?”

  Tom Sneth looked as surprised as his son. Everyone on the wagon was so transfixed by Bonnie Bruns' reaction, the car coming up behind them didn't register until the sheriff walked around the end of the hayrack just in time to hear Blake say quietly to Bonnie, “I delivered your note.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Before the sheriff could speak, realization dawned on PJ and she swung around and pointed a long witchy fake fingernail at Darth Vader. “The yellow bandana!” she shouted. “You planted it to throw suspicion on Aletha.”

  Aletha, the minion, stood up and looked back at the Brunses. Because of her costume, her response was squeaky and unintelligible.

  The sheriff looked up at PJ. “Ms. Norton? Would you care to explain yourself?”

  Punk said, “I think I can tell you what's on my wife's mind. I believe that Mr. Conniver was murdered by Princess Leia.”

  Whether because of his statement or the arrow through his head, the sheriff looked at Punk with disbelief. “What are you talking about? The woman has a leg in a cast.”

  “They have a golf cart, Sheriff. Check the trail to Black Hawk Point for tire tracks,” Punk said.

  “Those dents that you thought might be from my walking stick or Gigi's boots? Try matching them to the ends of her crutches,” PJ said.

  The sheriff shook his head. “We will check it, but it's all circumstantial.”

  “Ask him who he delivered the note to,” PJ said, indicating Blake Sneth.

  The sheriff turned to Blake. “Well?”

  Blake admitted he had delivered a note to Con Conniver's camper for Bonnie. Bonnie began to cry.

  “It was an accident! I only wanted to threaten him with a lawsuit. But he was so smug—claimed he didn't do it—”

  “Which was apparently true,” said PJ, looking at Blake.

  “—that I swung at him with my crutch,” continued Bonnie between sobs, “and he lost his footing. I didn't know what to do. I told Joe.” She nodded at her husband.

  “And he decided to throw suspicion on a couple of others with the notepad and the bandana,” Punk added.

  “It wasn't her fault—,” Joe began but the sheriff had heard enough.r />
  “Mr. And Mrs. Bruns, I need you to come with me.”

  Later, after the wagon had been towed back to the campground, Punk and PJ and their new friends gathered around the fire pit at Fred and Doris' campsite. They were rehashing events when the sheriff pulled up. He apologized for suspecting them but said it was “normal collateral with an investigation.”

  “One question, Sheriff,” Punk said. “How did you happen to be out on that road tonight?”

  “I was pretty sure there was a murderer on that hayrack and when I heard you were broken down, I thought I'd better check on everyone.”

  “I don't think Bonnie was really a threat to anyone else,” PJ said.

  “As it turns out, no, but I couldn't be sure. By the way, what's this about a tablet?”

  Fortunately, it was too dark for him to see PJ's blush. “What tablet?” she asked, and the rest all shrugged.

  “I see,” said Sheriff Turner and winked, “Well, you folks enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

  As he pulled away, PJ looked around at the group, and she thought once again of the TV ad that had drawn her to camping. The moon, the RVs in the background, the firelight reflecting off the smiling faces—it was just like the ad. Well, except for Shirley's Raggedy Ann wig and the arrow through Punk's head.

  ###

  Thank You…

  For taking your time to share Punk and PJ's adventures. Just as the sound of a tree falling in the forest depends on hearers, a book only matters if it has readers. Please consider sharing your thoughts with other readers in a review or emailing me at karen.musser.nortman@gmail.com. My website at www.karenmussernortman.com provides updates on my books, my blog, and photos of our for-real camping trips.

  If you enjoyed The Long, Wrong Trailer, you may want to try the award-winning Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries:

  Bats and Bones: a B.R.A.G Medallion Honoree. Frannie and Larry Shoemaker are retirees who enjoy weekend camping with their friends in state parks in this new cozy mystery series. They anticipate the usual hiking, campfires, good food, and interesting side trips among the bluffs of beautiful Bat Cave State Park for the long Fourth of July weekend—until a dead body turns up. Confined in the campground and surrounded by strangers, Frannie is drawn into the investigation. Frannie’s persistence and curiosity helps authorities sort through the possible suspects and motives, but almost ends her new sleuth career—and her life—for good. As a bonus, each chapter ends with a camping tip or recipe—some useful, some not so much.