“Where did the little girl go then, do you know?”
“She had to go to the restroom so I took her. On our way back, she wanted to take a short cut through the woods to her campsite. Why? Did something happen?”
“We don’t know. She has disappeared. She may just be lost.”
The woman’s mouth dropped open and she brought up one hand to cover it. “Oh, no! I guess I shouldn’t have let her go by herself, but we could see their trailer through the trees—it wasn’t that far. She was going to have her parents go get her bike.” She paused and rubbed her forehead, then looked at them in shock. “I don’t know who the man was that was bothering her—back there somewhere.” She pointed toward the loop Frannie and Larry were on.
“All right, I know the path you mean. We’ll start our search there. What is your name, and where are you from?”
“Maddie Sloan. I live in Omaha. I’m on my way to visit my son in Indianapolis. I can’t believe this—I feel terrible.”
“Are you camping alone, Ms. Sloan?”
“Yes.”
The ranger walked over to the post and checked the site registration and dates.
“You plan to camp here until tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Did you come right back here after you left the little girl?”
“Oh, yes. I laid down in my tent for a while but I’ve been here the whole time.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About an hour and fifteen minutes, I think.”
Precise, thought Frannie.
“Okay,” said the ranger. “Please stay here in the park in case we have more questions.”
The woman nodded. “I sure hope you find her.” She stood with her hands clasped, watching them leave.
Frannie and the ranger got back in the truck. As they pulled away, Frannie said, “Where’s her car?”
“What?” Sommers glanced over at her.
Frannie rubbed the sore spot on her shoulder. “If she’s here alone, where’s her car? How did she get here?”
The ranger thought a minute as she pulled slowly into Frannie’s loop. “There’s an overflow parking area near the entrance. She doesn’t have a very big site. Maybe she unloaded and parked over there.”
“Probably.” Frannie wasn’t convinced even though it was a logical explanation. “We’ve used that path from the restroom—that shortcut—and you can see someone from our campsite the whole time they are on it. It’s not very long—I can’t imagine getting lost on it.”
Sommers was quiet for a moment as she pulled up to Frannie’s campsite. “Has your husband used that path today?”
Frannie froze. What had she said? Why couldn’t she learn to keep her mouth shut? Her core honesty wouldn’t allow her to lie.
“Mrs. Shoemaker?” the ranger prodded.
Frannie looked down at her hands. “Ye-s-s.”
“When?”
“Right after he saw the little girl go talk to Ms. Sloan. He went to the restroom.”
“Was anyone else with him?”
“No, but you have to understand.” Frannie turned to face the ranger. “You don’t know my husband. He’s the most ethical person I’ve ever known. He’s a retired cop, he was a Boy Scout leader, he’s been an exemplary father and grandfather. Anyone in our home town will tell you that.”
“Hmmm. He almost sounds like a priest.” Ranger Sommers did not mean those words to be comforting. “You are pretty upset, Mrs. Shoemaker. Pretty defensive, too. Are you sure you don’t have your own doubts?”
“No!” Frannie clenched her fists and almost shouted. “I’m upset because my husband is being falsely accused. Our grandchildren are with us—I don’t want them to hear this—this tripe! Larry has been annoyed by noisy training wheels for years. Ask anyone we camp with. It’s a standing joke. How can it turn from that into a charge of abduction?” She felt her face getting red and tears welling in her eyes, which made her even madder.
“Calm down,” Sommers said. “I’m just pointing out how it looks to others. The county sheriff is conducting a search of the park now and will probably be by to talk to you later.”
Frannie opened the truck door. She was not mollified. “I think you’d better use your time to look for that little girl. Whether she was taken or is lost, she’s got to be scared. You are wasting your time here. After four hundred years, apparently witch hunts haven’t gone out of style!” She got out and slammed the door. As she barreled around the truck, she willed herself to a level of calm. She didn’t want to upset the kids.
Larry looked up, concerned when he saw her face, and walked over to her. “What is it?”
She shook her head and looked up at him. “They still think it’s you.”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “They can’t totally ignore the parents’ charges. And they don’t know me from Adam. It will be okay.” His equanimity almost made her angrier. The others were watching them.
“What’s happened?” Jane Ann asked quietly. “Did you find the woman Taylor Trats talked to?”
Frannie nodded. “Oh, yeah, no problem. But they are still so focused on Larry that they can’t see how odd it all is. The woman, Maddie Sloan, claims she reported Larry to the hostess—not the ranger—and then walked to the restroom with Taylor and then let her take the shortcut back through the woods to her camper by herself. Who does that?”
“Well, I went through there twice about that time and I didn’t see...” he trailed off as he realized the implications and saw Frannie’s face. “The ranger asked about that, didn’t she?”
Frannie nodded miserably. “I told her about the shortcut and that we could see it plainly from here and then she asked about you using it. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Don’t worry about it. She would have asked anyway as soon as she saw how close that trail is to us.”
“I still think those road workers have been acting kind of spooky,” Frannie said. “I’ll be back. I’m going to put tonight’s dessert together.”
In the camper, she broke up raisin bagels into the slow cooker, added raisins, dried cranberries, cinnamon, milk, and eggs. While she worked, she considered the situation. Why would someone choose a campground in broad daylight to make an abduction? It didn’t seem like it could be planned, so a crime of opportunity? And if that was the case, maybe it had happened before.
******************
Happy Camper Tip #5
Bread pudding in the slow cooker is the perfect fall dessert. Spray a 3-quart slow-cooker with cooking spray. Tear four cinnamon-raisin bagels into pieces and place in cooker. Add a chopped tart apple and 1/2 cup each of dried cranberries and golden raisins. Whisk together 2 cups of skim milk, 1 cup of egg substitute, 1/2 cup sugar, 2 tablespoons of melted butter, and 1 teaspoon each of cinnamon and vanilla. Pour over bagels and mix gently. Cook on low for 3-4 hours until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Excellent with a little ice cream on top. Or non-dairy topping. Or whole cream. Or...
Chapter Six
Late Saturday Afternoon
Frannie got out her laptop, set it on the dinette and booted it up. A search for child abductions in Iowa brought up numerous articles but all referring to one of two incidents in the last three years, both unsolved. One article pointed out that stranger abductions are actually quite rare; most kidnappings involved a non-custodial parent. One of the two unsolved cases had occurred the previous March in the town of Sharm Crossing in western Iowa. An eleven-year-old girl, Courtney Jamison, was riding her bike to her grandparents’ house six blocks away from her home and disappeared. Her bike was found in a ditch at the beginning of a detour around a road construction site. Bingo! She then checked for old articles and maps documenting the planned road construction sites for the past summer. Sure enough, a section was marked near Sharm Crossing.
Frannie sat back in the dinette booth. This had to be too great a coincidence, didn’t it? Surely the sheriff could crosscheck records of who had worked on that site
with the names of the men in the campground. She felt a little better because she was doing something to help direct the investigation toward productive action. Maybe they would quit spinning their wheels looking at Larry. She wrote down the URLs for the articles since she didn’t have a printer in the camper, and lugged the full slow cooker outside to the utility table and plugged it in.
She told Larry and the others what she had found. Larry usually scoffed at her amateur investigating, but now he looked impressed. Probably because she had done it in cyberspace rather than real space.
“We’ll give this information to the sheriff—you don’t need to do anything more with it,” he said.
“I don’t intend to,” she said, hoping that was true. “I was going to suggest giving it to the police.”
Sabet came up to her. “Gran, Joe and I are going to go over to the playground that’s by the shower house.”
“Not alone!” Frannie said sharply, and seeing her granddaughter’s face, added, “I’ll go with you, okay?”
Sabet nodded. She didn’t know what had changed but it wasn’t often that her grandmother used that tone with her. “Should we take the short cut, Gran?” she asked.
Frannie had just noticed people, with a couple of leashed dogs, moving through the woods starting the search. “I think we’ll just stay on the road. There are people out there searching for the missing little girl and we shouldn’t get in their way.”
When they arrived at the playground, the kids raced for the equipment and Frannie took a seat on a park bench anchored at the side of the sandy area. Her brain was lurching from question to accusation; from anger to agitation to anxiety. How to handle the ranger’s suspicions? How to keep the kids safe? How to help find the Trats girl? The answer to the last question would solve the others as well, she realized.
She turned from watching Sabet and Joe as she realized someone else had taken a seat on the bench. It was the young mother Frannie and Sabet had passed on the road the night before—the one with the toddler girl who stopped to examine every speck in the road. This time she had an older boy with her.
“I’m going on the slide, Mom,” the boy said and headed to the equipment.
Frannie smiled at her. “You don’t have your inspector along today.”
“My inspector? Oh, Alice. She is pretty curious, isn’t she? She’s napping so I left her with my husband. Are those your grandchildren?”
Frannie nodded. “They’re diehard campers and love to come with us. They can certainly wear us out, though. My name’s Frannie, by the way.” Camping was much like kindergarten in that first names were sufficient for most discourses.
“Tammy. Lots to do here, though,” the woman said. “Did they get to hear the storyteller last night?”
“Yeah, he was great. We went on a bike ride this morning to Limestone City and he was performing at a flea market there, too.”
“We had heard him before. He gave a program at Trevor’s school last spring.” Tammy nodded toward the boy going head first down the slide on his stomach. Fortunately, the tackiness of the slide prevented him from going very fast and landing face first in the sand at the bottom.
“Where are you from?” Frannie asked.
“Tennyson. It’s a part of RST Consolidated.”
“Sure—you’ve had some pretty good girls’ softball teams, right?” Jane Ann and Mickey’s daughters had played a lot of softball in high school.
“State champions two years ago,” Tammy said proudly. Frannie was not surprised at Tammy’s proprietary attitude even though her children were not of the age to play sports yet; small towns rose and fell on the fortunes of their athletic teams. “Anyway, I think that Mr. Reid is going to be doing another program tonight.”
“Really? That’s good to know,” Frannie replied. The conversation turned to the good and bad points of various campgrounds they had both visited.
Then Tammy said, “Isn’t it awful about that little girl gone missing? She must be lost—I can’t imagine a kidnapper here—but I’m sure her parents must be frantic!”
“Well, I hope she just turns out to be lost and they find her soon, but meanwhile we can’t be too careful,” Frannie said, thinking at the same time that the accusations against Larry must not have spread through the campground yet.
Just then, Joe came running up, his sister right behind him. “Gran! Can we have some of them ice cream bars?”
“Those ice cream bars,” Sabet corrected him.
“That’s what I said!”
Frannie cut off Sabet’s retort. “What ice cream bars?”
“The ones in the freezer, Gran! You know which ones. We saw ‘em.”
Frannie smiled and stood. “You guys are too crafty for me. That does sound good. It was nice to meet you, Tammy. Have a good weekend.”
“You, too,” Tammy replied and Frannie certainly hoped so. As they walked down the main road toward their loop, a sheriff’s car turned into the same road. They followed the car, and by the time they reached the campsite, the sheriff was out of the car and talking to Larry.
“Frannie, this is Sheriff Bonnaman. Sheriff, this is my wife, Frannie.”
The sheriff, an averaged-sized man with glasses and thinning red hair, nodded and did not offer his hand. He did not look belligerent but was certainly all business.
“Have they found her?” Frannie blurted.
“No,” the sheriff said, “but it’s a big park.”
“Did you tell him about the road workers?” Frannie said to her husband.
Larry shook his head. “Not yet.”
“What’s this about?” the sheriff asked, looking from one to the other.
Frannie told him about the one man’s interest in Sabet and Tessa, seeing them at the flea market near all the children and the storyteller, and overhearing their conversation about “Don” getting them in trouble. And all the time she was talking, realized how thin it sounded.
But the sheriff didn’t scoff. “We’ll check it out. Meanwhile my deputy and I will be searching every unit in this campground, starting here. Volunteers will continue searching the park. I want you and your group to stay put in this campsite. I would like to see inside your camper, sir. I can get a warrant if I need to.”
Larry shook his head. “Not necessary. You are welcome to look around.” He led the way to the trailer and opened the door for the sheriff.
Inside, the sheriff looked around the living area, opened the bathroom door, and checked the bedroom. He opened the doors on the short closets above the nightstands and the pantry doors. He looked back at Larry.
“Is there storage under the bed?”
Larry nodded and lifted up the foot of the mattress platform. Gas struts held it aloft. The sheriff glanced over the contents: sleeping bags, an old parka, toolbox, portable water tank.
He again fixed his very direct gaze on Larry. “Do you have other storage areas?”
“Yes—but they’re more accessible from outside.” He led the sheriff back outside and opened each of the storage compartments in turn. Most were so crammed with tools and equipment that it was evident to the sheriff there were no abducted children being hidden in there. He thanked Larry curtly and went to check the Ferraros’ RV. Mickey went in with him while the rest stood around awkwardly. What do you chat about with friends while your home, permanent or otherwise, is being searched? Finally the sheriff followed Mickey out and directed him to unlock and open his storage compartments.
Finished, the sheriff touched the brim of his hat and, leaving his car by their sites, moved to search the next unit.
Everyone relaxed a little and Frannie went to the truck to get the atlas from under the seat. She brought it to the picnic table and opened it to Iowa.
“What are you looking for?” Nancy asked.
“The town that the other girl disappeared from.” She knew the general area from the road construction maps but couldn’t pinpoint it so she referenced the index, found Sharm Crossing, repeated the coordin
ates out loud and turned back to the Iowa map.
“Why? What good will that do?” Nancy was puzzled.
“I don’t know, really. Just want to get a better idea of the area.” She found the tiny town and checked for bigger towns around and nearby highways and parks. If this road crew usually camped...then she spotted something else. The nearest town was Tennyson. Her eyes continued to circle the area. Another nearby town was Rogers—RST Consolidated—Rogers, Sharm Crossing, Tennyson. Now, why had Tammy mentioned that school district?
“The storyteller!” she said out loud.
“What about him?” Larry asked. He had wandered over to see what she was up to.
“A woman at the playground told me the storyteller was at her son’s school last spring. He goes to RST Consolidated and I bet Sharm Crossing is part of that district—I’ll check for sure. If it happened to be when this little girl disappeared, it would certainly be a big coincidence.”
“But that’s a pretty big if, too, Frannie. ’Spring’ covers a long time.”
“I know, but at least it’s something.”
He put his arm gently across her shoulders. “You are grasping at straws like you think I will be spending the rest of my life in the Big House. This will get straightened out.”
“I hope so, but I don’t want to count on it. Then it won’t. Besides, maybe it will help find Taylor.”
“Well, they won’t let us help. Let’s try and keep things normal for the kids. How about a game of Chicken Foot?”
Frannie sighed. “Good idea. Kids!” They were back to shooting Mickey with their new weapons, who was reacting very dramatically. “Want to play Chicken Foot?”
A chorus of “yeahs” and “woohoos” ensued. “I’ll get the dominos,” Joe yelled and charged into the camper. He returned with the heavy metal box and dumped the dominos on the picnic table. “C’mon, Grandpa! Uncle Mickey, are you going to play?”
“Sure.” Although Mickey was comfortably nestled in his reclining lawn chair, he was a sucker for any kid’s request. Frannie grabbed a soda from the cooler and a cushion for the hard picnic bench. Ben and Jane Ann took seats next to Sabet.
The Blue Coyote (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 2) Page 6
