“We’ve always loved it, too. We usually go south when it’s cold and north when it’s hot, kinda like a pair of monogamous snow geese. Just like Rip and me, they mate for life. Only in Rip’s and my case, it’s because no one else would have us,” Rapella’s laugh, complete with a couple of spontaneous snorts, was infectious. I could tell humor was an important aspect of her personality, and I adored that in a person. Suddenly she realized she’d gotten off our original topic of discussion. Her expression turned serious again as she asked, “Just curious, but had you met the stiff before her death?”
After blanching a bit at her rather crudely asked question, I briefly told Rapella about my impression of the self-centered, overbearing woman, and about her unsanctioned tell-all biography of the popular singer. She asked me a few questions and I responded with what little knowledge I had about the case. “My daughter and I are planning to visit the police station today, just to pass on what little information we’ve been able to garner.”
“Good for you! It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Lexie. If you hear anything, or make some kind of breakthrough yourself, will you stop by and tell Rip and me about it? We’re in our late sixties and have nothing better to do than stick our noses in other people’s business.” Rapella laughed, as did I, since I could strongly relate to her last comment. “I’d like to meet that new hubby of yours, and introduce you to my old one.”
Rapella Ripple was immensely charming and I would have liked to talk to her longer, but I suspected I had an omelet growing cold in the motorhome. “I promise I’ll let you know if anything interesting develops. I’ve been known to occasionally stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, too. It was nice meeting you too, Rapella. I’ll try to make sure we hook up again before we head home.”
* * *
An hour later, the six of us were walking through the turnstiles at the entrance to the fairgrounds. The air show could be seen from nearly anywhere in town, but we decided to view it from the fairgrounds. It was a stop on the shuttle bus schedule, and we could walk around and look at what the various vendors had to offer.
I still wanted to pick out a souvenir to take home to my best friend, Sheila Davidson, and I knew Wendy and Veronica hoped to find souvenirs of our trip to take back home to a couple of their friends, as well. Stone, Andy, and Wyatt probably had their hearts set on another loaded chili dog.
At exactly ten o’clock, a squadron of six jets flew in formation over our heads to signal the beginning of the air show. After discovering the U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds performance had been an annual part of the Cheyenne Frontier Days festivities, I’d googled them on the Internet to do a little research before leaving on vacation.
I found out that the Thunderbirds were based out of Nellis AFB in Nevada, and the F-16Cs they piloted were called Fighting Falcons. The pilots were an elite group, and would be flying at speeds approaching seven hundred miles an hour during their display of amazing maneuvers. More astounding was the fact they’d begun performing during Cheyenne Frontier Days in 1953, a few years before I was born. I shared this information with the rest of the group.
We all stood in a state of awe with our necks craned back to look at the sky, watching the highly skilled pilots maneuver their powerful jets with incredible precision. Just the sound of their engines was thrilling to me. I could not imagine the total concentration the pilots must possess in order to execute such dangerous stunts, which allowed for no margin of error. Their very lives hung in the balance with each stunt they performed for the enjoyment of the crowd. I, for one, appreciated their bravery and the untold hours of practice they’d endured to earn the prestige of becoming a Thunderbird pilot.
Stone was as impressed as I. I heard him speak to Wyatt in a low voice during a lull in the action. “Talk about having balls of steel.”
Being the gentleman that he is, Stone then turned to me, and said, “That would take way more courage than I could ever muster up.”
“You and me, both,” I replied.
Stone must have been doing more extensive research about the Thunderbirds on his iPad than I had. He informed our group that the formation they’d just completed was called the Five Card, and any time now, they’d be performing their signature Bomb Burst maneuver, which was usually toward the end of their routine. It involved four jets going straight up from the Diamond position and breaking off into separate directions, while a solo F-16 goes straight up between them and executes aileron rolls until they’re three miles above the ground, concluding with all six aircraft rejoining in a formation called the Delta.
One of the first things that had attracted me to my husband was his ability to retain a lot of facts and figures about a vast number of subjects. As always, I was impressed with the information about the Thunderbirds he was sharing with us that morning, even though he’d lost me at Five Card. I’d been proud of myself just to remember what state they were based in, and that I hadn’t mistakenly referred to them as the Blue Angels, the Navy’s aerobatic flying team.
When the show ended, we clapped and cheered along with the rest of the observers. We all decided to walk around for a while, visiting various booths and vendor stands before grabbing a bite to eat for lunch. My legs were still stiff from the trail ride, and all the walking helped loosen them up.
Following lunch, we’d catch the shuttle home. Stone had acquired six tickets to the concert that evening through Emily Harrington when he made our reservations. We decided to kick back and rest during the afternoon before heading back out to the fairgrounds and arena where the nightly concerts were held. I was thankful to discover we’d be sitting in seats up in the stands, with the “normal” people, and not relegated to the crazed throng of screaming fans in the standing-room-only section.
Even though finding a restroom from that vantage point would surely be easier, I vowed to myself not to have a sip of any beverage after lunch. I didn’t want an encore performance during the concert that evening. For one thing, the performer was one of my all-time favorites, and I didn’t want to miss a single song.
After the men branched off to look at some handcrafted knives at a display they’d heard about on the opposite side of the vendor area, we gals walked over to the Indian Village area reserved for Native American artwork and crafts. I found a leather belt with silver studs and stitching that I knew Sheila would love. Wendy bought some jewelry for herself and her friends. Veronica spent an inordinate amount of her own money on a warm Indian blanket for her beloved “grammy” and a leather jacket for Wyatt, with which he was enthralled when she gave it to him a few minutes later after we’d met back up with our men. He and Veronica returned to the Indian Village for a short spell while the rest of us sat on a bench and did some people-watching, which was entertaining in itself.
When the love struck couple returned from the Indian Village, Veronica showed off an elaborate, and shockingly expensive, Navajo squash blossom turquoise and coral necklace that she had admired earlier. Wyatt had been delighted to return to the Indian Village and purchase it for her.
It occurred to me then that there’d likely be two upcoming weddings I’d want to look my best for in the near future. I would use that as incentive to step up the after-supper walks that Stone and I tried to fit in our schedule. We normally walked a two-mile route, but increasing it to a three-mile route wasn’t beyond our capabilities.
I had muscles that needed firming and toning before they turned into the consistency of Jell-O, and not necessarily that of Jell-O that had set up yet. I could squat down for the length of time it took me to dust the lower shelves of the four bookcases in the little library at Alexandria Inn, and then would have to pop an Ibuprofen or two the next morning just to climb down the stairs to the ground floor without groaning in pain from the soreness in my thigh muscles.
I could count on one hand the number of dated, but tasteful, dresses in my closet. All were currently a size too small, like the jeans I’d worn on the trail ride the previous day. I was sure I’d fe
el compelled to buy a more stylish outfit for each wedding, but it would still be comforting to know I could choose to wear one of the dresses I already owned if I wanted to. Dresses which, quite frankly, neither Stone nor Wendy would be likely to allow me to wear to Pete’s Pantry to pick up a loaf of bread, much less to a wedding ceremony as the mother of the bride.
I always hated the pressure of having to find the perfect outfit. I could walk into my favorite women’s clothing store with a three-hundred-dollar gift card and be unable to find one article of clothing I liked. But if I walked into that same store with less than five bucks in my pocket, I’d find dozens of items I couldn’t live without. I’m sure it was a psychological thing, but I found it to be a remarkable phenomenon.
After we’d finished our shopping and polished off our various carnival-food lunches, we decided to walk around the perimeter of the park on our return to the shuttle bus waiting area. Wendy and I had decided to see if we could take Emily’s car to the police station while the rest of the group chilled out in the campground that afternoon to re-energize and refresh for the concert that night. I was going over in my mind what I wanted to say to the detectives or chief of police if we were allowed to speak to him, when Veronica said, “Hey, isn’t that Kylie Rue over there walking into that fancy big bus?”
We all looked in the direction she was pointing and saw Kylie walking up to the bus in question, which was parked in a roped-off exclusive section of a big open area behind the fairgrounds. It took me awhile to recognize her, as I really did need an updated eye examination, but I recognized the custom-painted Prevost coach immediately. As the only one out of the six of us to have seen the exterior of his Class A motorhome, I quickly pointed out that the coach belonged to Vex Vaughn. It was definitely the one in which I’d utilized the bathroom facilities Monday evening after the concert.
We all watched silently as Kylie walked up and knocked on the door of Vaughn’s bus. After speaking with the entertainer briefly, and exchanging a lengthy embrace, she was led into the Prevost with his arm around her shoulder.
“What’s that all about?” Andy asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “But Kylie did mention recently finding her biological father last night, even though she didn’t offer up his name, or anything. Could there possibly be a connection there?”
“The age difference fits,” Wendy said.
“I think there’s a facial resemblance too,” Stone agreed. “They both have the high cheek bones—”
“And blue eyes,” Veronica added.
“The hair color is a lot different,” Wyatt said. “But if Kylie’s anything like Veronica, she hasn’t worn her natural hair color since she turned eighteen.”
“I’m pretty certain Kylie’s a natural blonde,” I said. “But, now that I think about my interaction with Vex in that bus, they do have some of the same mannerisms. But if he is her biological father, why wouldn’t she have mentioned it to us? She told us she was going to his concert, but never showed any indication of her connection to him. I find that odd.”
“Me, too,” Wendy said. “I wonder why she’d want to keep something like that to herself. If it were me, I’d post it on Facebook for everyone I know to see, although I’m sure there’s any number of reasons she might want to keep their relationship private.”
Everyone nodded in agreement, and we continued on our way to catch the shuttle bus, scheduled to arrive in less than fifteen minutes. As we walked, I couldn’t help but mull over the possibilities regarding Kylie’s connection to the popular country and western singer. I knew she could be doing it to protect his privacy. After all, with the release of Fame and Shame, Vaughn was already a prime target of the paparazzi and gossip magazines. Still, there was a thought in the back of my mind that there might be a remotely sinister reason Kylie was keeping their connection to herself. I didn’t want to even entertain the idea that Kylie could be involved in anything as horrible as murdering someone in order to exact revenge on them. I tried to push the notion away, but it kept coming back like a stray cat you’d put milk out for.
Chapter 16
About an hour later, Stone was snoring loudly as he napped in the recliner of our rental motorhome. I sat at the dinette table, engrossed in a cozy mystery on my Kindle and snacking on a pack of chocolate-covered pretzels. A soft rap on the door broke my concentration just as I was about to find out who the killer was.
I let Wendy inside, put my finger up against my lips, and pointed to Stone. Wendy nodded and whispered, “Are you sure Stone doesn’t have sleep apnea? I could hear him sawing logs from the other side of the Bumberdinger’s fifth wheel.”
“He told me he’d been tested for it and was assured he didn’t need a C-Pap machine.”
“Yes, Mom, but he also told you he was allergic to pet dander when you wanted to bring home a couple of kittens. Andy told me Stone’s first wife had cats before she died, and he’d never reacted adversely to any of them. He said Stone just wasn’t a ‘cat’ person, and didn’t like litter boxes in the house.”
“And I can understand his aversion to them,” I whispered back in his defense.
“My point being,” Wendy continued, “you’re not the only one allowed a little white lie on occasion when you feel it’s necessary. A lot of people don’t fancy the idea of having to sleep with a mask on, but like them, Stone would adjust to it after a while. Sleep apnea can be fatal, you know. That’s what killed Reggie White, the NFL Hall of Fame football player.”
“Jeez, I didn’t know that. Okay, I’ll talk to Stone about it again. Are you ready to go to the police station if we can borrow Emily’s car?”
“Yes, like his uncle, Andy is asleep in the recliner, so it’s a good time to sneak off. I left him a note on the table that just said you and I went into town for an hour or so to look around.”
I left a note similar to Wendy’s on the table for Stone, and we began walking up to the office to speak to Emily. Before we could walk twenty feet, we were stopped by Avery Bumberdinger.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said.
“Good afternoon,” Wendy and I replied in unison.
“How are you doing, Avery?” I asked.
“As you can imagine, I’m still in a state of shock. I feel totally lost without Claudia.”
“Claudia?” I heard Wendy ask.
“That was Mrs. Bumberdinger’s real name,” I explained. “Fanny Finch was her nom de plume. As a writer, she thought her pen name sounded more suitable than Claudia Bumberdinger. I guess I forgot to tell you she used a pseudonym for her writing.”
“Yes, she’s right, dear,” Avery said to Wendy. “Her maiden name was Vandersnoozeski and—”
“Enough said,” Wendy responded with a grin. “If I had to pick between Claudia Vandersnoozeski and Claudia Bumberdinger, I think I’d choose Fanny Finch, too. I doubt it’s a good idea for any author to have the word ‘snooze’ on the cover of their novels.”
We all laughed at her remark, even Avery, who’d looked quite despondent when we’d first seen him sitting in his lawn chair on the concrete patio outside his fifth wheel.
“How long will you be staying in Cheyenne, sir?” Wendy asked. The respect she showed her elders, aside from me of course, was something I’d instilled in her at an early age. I was happy to see she still maintained that courtesy.
“While the investigation into Fanny’s death is going on, her body is being held at the morgue here. I don’t know how long it will be, but I’m staying here for as long as it takes. We had our ups and downs, and occasionally a real dustup, but I cared for Claudia, and I’m not leaving without her. I’ll go home when I can take her with me.” His expression had returned to one of deep sorrow. We’d witnessed one of the couple’s “dustups” the night of our arrival, but even if he and his wife didn’t always see eye-to-eye, I couldn’t picture this soft-spoken man harming her in any way. Like my husband of one year, Avery seemed to have a very gentle nature.
“And where’s ho
me?” Wendy asked him.
“Spring City, Tennessee. I want to bury her next to her mother in the cemetery there.”
“And do your kids live there too?”
“No, but reasonably close. Only about five miles away, actually.”
“What an odd coincidence that they’re here in the same campground as you this week. Don’t you think?” Wendy would make a good investigator, I realized, as she asked him questions that hadn’t even occurred to me. It was a reminder of how nice it was to have her on board during this current meddling episode.
Avery shook his head, and said, “No coincidence. When Chace found out his stepmother had a book signing here this week, he talked my ex-wife into coming here to go on a trail ride they’d wanted to go on one day soon, anyway. Cassie arranged to stay in this RV Park so I’d get a chance to spend some quality time with my kids—Chace in particular, who has taken my absence hard. I don’t get to see them very often, you see.”
Wendy had a puzzled expression on her face, as she asked, “Didn’t you just say they lived only about five miles from you? Seems to me you’d see them pretty regularly.”
“Claudia’s schedule has kept us pretty busy. We’d been crisscrossing the country on her book-signing tour since right after we got married, which was about eight months ago. But I was able to spend yesterday with my kids, taking carnival rides down at the fairgrounds, and I’d gotten tickets for us all to go to the daily rodeo, as well. Both my children have aspirations about participating in rodeo competitions in the future, so I knew they’d enjoy our day together.”
Wendy’s puzzled expression returned, as she said, “Yesterday was the trail ride at Rolling Creek Ranch. Cassie, Brandi and Chace all spent the day with us northwest of town.”
“Oh, dear,” Avery said, with a shake of his head. “You’re absolutely right, pretty lady! It was Monday that we spent the day together. Yesterday I spent a great deal of the day at the Cheyenne Police Station, answering questions and all. I guess my memory’s not what it used to be.”
Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping Page 19
