Jane Ann came to the door, wiping her hands on a towel, a puzzled look on her face. When she saw Larry, she started to give him some static, and then spotted the unfamiliar woman behind him. “Yes?”
“Jane Ann, this is Maya Brown from Social Services. She is here to check on Joe.”
Jane Ann’s mouth dropped open. “Joe?” she almost squeaked. “He’s right here. Why?”
“There’s been an abuse report,” Larry said quietly.
Understanding dawned. “Oh, I see. That woman. Joe, wipe your hands off and come here.”
Joe’s appearance in the doorway brought muffled giggles from all and even cracked Ms. Brown’s facade a little. He was swathed in a huge checkered apron with a large spatula-wielding pig on the front and his narrow little face Grinch-smiled out from under Mickey’s chef’s hat.
Maya Brown gave him a little smile. “Joe, can I talk to you a minute?”
Joe shook his head. “We aren’t done with the potatoes, yet.”
Jane Ann nudged Joe’s back gently. “I’ll wait until you get back to finish,” she told him. “I couldn’t do it without your help.”
Joe came down the steps carefully to avoid tripping on his apron and looked up at Maya Brown from under his huge slipping hat. She couldn’t resist a bigger smile.
“Joe, I need to ask you a couple of questions about how you got hurt this afternoon. Can we go sit at the picnic table to talk?”
Joe nodded reluctantly, stole a look at his grandmother, and followed Ms. Brown to the other side of the campsite and sat down on the bench. Ms. Brown kept her voice low, and Frannie, back by the fire, couldn’t really hear, but watched Joe shake his head and nod in response to questions. At one point, he pointed to the bruise on his cheek and opened his palms to show the DHS woman the scrapes. Finally he shook his head firmly, and glanced again at Frannie. Ms. Brown got up and shook Joe’s hand. He scooted back into the Ferraro motorhome as quickly as his attire would allow.
Larry had returned with Sabet and introduced her to Maya Brown. “Sabet, Ms. Brown has some questions for you about Joe’s accident this afternoon.”
Sabet looked puzzled. “What accident?” Great, thought Frannie.
“How he got his bruises,” Ms. Brown said quickly to forestall any prompting on Frannie and Larry’s part.
“Well, I wouldn’t call it an accident,” Sabet stated firmly. Frannie’s stomach flip-flopped.
“Really?” The dial on Ms. Brown’s suspicion meter was rising again. “Why not?”
“I told him to use his walking stick, but he threw it away right before he went down by the river.” Sabet was indignant about the folly of younger brothers. “If he had his stick, he wouldn’t have lost his balance.”
Maya Brown nodded and made more notes on her clipboard. “I believe that’s all,” she said to Sabet. “Thanks for your help. You can go.” Sabet turned and made a beeline back to Terells’ trailer.
Ms. Brown smiled and turned to Larry and Frannie. “Mr. and Mrs. Shoemaker, I apologize for this incident. I believe I’m satisfied that this was an accident—“
“Thank goodness,” said Frannie, letting out a breath.
“But,” continued Ms. Brown, “because there was a complaint, I still have to file a report, and I am also required to notify your son.”
Frannie’s shoulders sagged again. “But why?”
“It’s the law,” Ms. Brown said simply. “Thank you for your time.” She turned on her heel and headed back to her car.
Frannie opened her mouth to protest, but Larry said, “Don’t. Let it go.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide. “Larry, this is crazy. What next? If someone had told me ahead that this was not a good weekend to bring the kids, I would have thought: What? Bad weather? Big parties in the campground? What? Who could have imagined this?”
He rubbed his head. “I know. It’s like a nightmare that just gets worse. I’d better call Sam right away before she does and give him a heads up.”
“Yeah...but this will just confirm all of his worries,” Frannie said. Ben and Mickey walked over to them as Jane Ann and Joe came out of the camper carrying a cast iron pot. She saw their faces and said to Joe, “Why don’t you see how Nancy and Sabet are coming? Ask them how long they need to cook the sprouts.”
“Okay!” He took off the apron, discarding it on a lawn chair, but still wearing the hat, headed around his grandparents’ trailer to the Terrells’.
“Larry, what in the world is going on? That Mrs. Trats filed a complaint?” Jane Ann was indignant.
“I’m sure it was her,” he said, taking out his phone. “Frannie can tell you what we know—I need to call Sam.” And he stepped away from the group.
Jane Ann set the pot on the grill and swung it over the fire while Frannie explained, and then said, “I guess I’m really not surprised. She made that accusation right when you got back. She must be dealing with her daughter’s disappearance by lashing out at everyone else.”
“Not everyone, Jane Ann,” Frannie sighed. “Just us.”
“As far as we know,” Jane Ann said.
“You’re right.”
“You want me to go clean her clock?” Mickey offered.
Frannie smiled with effort and Ben said, “Frannie, I’m with Larry that it will all get cleared up. They need to find that girl. I just hope you and Larry don’t end up on the Child Abuse Registry for years because of this.”
Frannie’s stomach turned over again and she looked at Ben in shock. “Can they do that?”
“I’m afraid so—whether the report is founded or not.”
Larry returned to the group, folding his phone and returning it to his pocket. “Sam says, ‘Tell Mom I trust her.’”
“Really? He wasn’t upset?”
“Well,—I had to talk him out of coming to get the kids tonight,” Larry said and then noticed the look on Frannie’s face. “I mean, because of the abduction, or whatever it is. I convinced him that we would not take our eyes off them until he gets here tomorrow morning as planned.”
“Good,” Frannie said, with a little relief. “However, we can’t see either one of them right now.”
Ben said, “I’ll go over and bring them back. There’s probably stuff I should help Nancy carry anyway.”
“Thanks, Ben,” Larry said, as Ben headed back to his own camper.
Frannie looked around at the campground. The approaching dusk cast a pinkish glow on the sky and trees. A beautiful scene. Why did she keep hearing the “Jaws” theme playing in her head? Jane Ann put her arm around Frannie’s waist.
“Ever try to remember what we do on camping trips when no one gets murdered or kidnapped?” she asked.
Frannie smiled weakly. “I know, Jane Ann. Things like this cause tunnel vision. Everything else disappears—including the larger issue of the Trats girl. How horrible for those parents.”
“Even if they are small-minded witch-hunters?” Jane Ann said.
“Even if. Well, not to make light of any of that, but I also don’t want to turn the kids into a couple of paranoid wienies. Let’s try and have a pleasant supper.”
Jane Ann agreed. They both realized Larry and Mickey were into one of their fire-building ‘discussions’. Larry favored ‘teepee’ style while Mickey was a ‘log cabin’ man. Insults flew much faster than wood was added to the fire, interjected with laughter.
“If you want pleasant, we will have to separate them,” Jane Ann said.
“No doubt.”
The Terells and the kids returned, Joe leading the parade in his outsized toque and carrying plates. Sabet had a foil packet containing the sprouts, and Ben and Nancy had other table items and a basket of homemade bread. Frannie and Jane Ann cleared off the picnic table. Joe plopped in a chair.
“Cooking really makes me tired.”
“Oh, you haven’t done—,” Sabet started but Larry caught her eye and gently shook his head.
“I partially cooked the sprouts, so I think if we put
the packet in the coals for ten or fifteen minutes while you cook the steaks, they should have a nice little glaze,” Nancy said.
“Actually,” Sabet told her grandmother, “they taste kind of good.”
Frannie smiled. “I can’t wait to try them.”
The next hour was a fairly relaxed reprieve, cooking and smelling the steaks, checking the potatoes, setting the table, and joking with one another. As the day faded, lanterns were lit for the table and extra jackets pulled out. Mickey pronounced the steaks “Perfect!” and they settled like a flock of birds around the table.
“Nancy, these sprouts are magnificent! If Frannie throws me over again, I’ll marry you. What else is in them—a little thyme and what—apples?” Mickey said.
“Pears, plus a little olive oil and balsamic vinegar. And you’re right, thyme.”
“Fantastic.” Nodding heads and chipmunk cheeks registered agreement around the table.
Larry looked at his watch. “So, are we going back to the storyteller tonight?”
Sabet’s head jerked up from making a valiant effort with her sprouts. “He’s telling more stories tonight? Here?”
Inwardly, Frannie cringed. She had forgotten that Bernie Reid was doing another appearance and didn’t relish facing the rest of the campground after the day they had. But on the other hand, she had questions about Mr. Reid and didn’t want to miss an opportunity to observe him a little more. And she hated to deny the kids something they enjoyed so much.
“He’s performing at 7:00 again, I think,” she said.
“That’s only fifteen minutes from now,” Nancy said.
“We can save dessert and dishes for later,” Jane Ann suggested.
“I’ll take care of the dessert and you can take care of the dishes...” Mickey fizzled out at a look from Jane Ann. Joe giggled.
“Me too, Uncle Mickey.”
“See what a bad influence you are, Mick?” Larry said. “Well, if everyone’s done, we’ll take this stuff in out of the reach of the raccoons. Let’s all hop to it.”
********************
Happy Camper Tip #7
Larry and Mickey’s ongoing argument about fire style is a common one in campgrounds. The teepee fire takes some patience to construct. First, the tinder is piled up in a compact heap. The smaller kindling is arranged around it, like the poles of a tipi. Then the larger kindling is arranged above the smaller kindling, taking care not to collapse the teepee. However, as a teepee fire burns, the logs become unstable and can fall over. The teepee form is excellent for a gathering fire and puts out more warmth.
A log cabin fire also begins with a tinder pile. The kindling is then stacked around it, as in the construction of a log cabin with sticks laid parallel to each other on opposite sides of the tinder pile and the next pair is laid on top of the first, at right angles to it, etc. The log cabin is less likely to collapse, but it is also inefficient, because it makes the worst use of convection to ignite progressively larger pieces of fuel. However, these qualities make the log cabin an ideal cooking fire as it burns for a long period of time and can support cookware.
Chapter Eight
Saturday Evening
In ten minutes, the table was cleared and they began the short walk to the nature center. Frannie could sense stares as they ambled along in the deepening twilight. And although there was still chatter, people headed the same direction were more subdued than the night before.
The warmth of the nature center felt good. It looked like a good portion of the campers were there, although Frannie reflected that since the sheriff had ordered everyone to stay in the campground, this was definitely what you could call a captive audience. Frannie led the group into a row with just a middle-aged couple at the end. As she sat down, she greeted the woman, who nodded and then opened her eyes wider in recognition. Not in a negative way either.
“You were with the Ranger earlier when she talked to the woman in the tent,” she said.
“Yes, my name’s Frannie. Are you camping in the tent area?”
“Yeah, right next to that woman. I don’t even know her name. I’m Joan, by the way, and this is my husband, Ted.”
Frannie nodded at Ted, and Joan continued. “Now I guess she’s disappeared, is that right?”
“That’s what we heard. Did you ever see a vehicle at her campsite? No one seems to know how she got here.”
“No, her tent was already set up when we got here yesterday. I did see a white van there early this morning but it was only there a short time and then gone again, so it must have just been someone visiting,” Joan said.
Frannie tucked that in the back of her mind. “She said she came back to her tent after she sent the little Trats girl back to her folks. Do you know if that’s true?”
The woman shrugged. “What time was that? I don’t pay much attention to the clock when we’re camping, and we went on a hike earlier and then after you were there.”
“Good point. The afternoon was so confusing, I really don’t know,” Frannie agreed. “Did you visit with Ms. Sloan since you’ve been here?”
“Just ‘hi,’ ‘nice day,’ that sort of thing. But, you know,” she lowered her voice, “I don’t think that guy with Mrs. Trats is the little girl’s dad. I was talking to a woman in the shower house who’s camping with them and she said the parents are divorced. Nasty custody fight, I guess.”
Frannie sat up straight and looked intensely at Joan. “Really? I wonder if they told the Sheriff that? That’s certainly the most common kind of abduction.”
Joan was about to answer but Ranger Sommers walked up in front of the group and clapped her hands for attention. Bernie Reid was behind her with his stool and was busily arranging some hand puppets on a table beside him.
“Folks, glad to have you back this evening. Bernie Reid has agreed to give us another performance especially for the children. Bernie?” She backed out of the way, leading the applause as she did so.
Bernie Reid stepped forward and bowed from the waist, his stringy hair falling forward over his face. He stood and held up his right hand, encased in a puppet that appeared to be a young girl dressed in ragged clothes.
“I want you all to help me with this story. Can you do that?” He looked around and received several nods. “Now, this here’s a princess,” he said and paused.
“Nooo,” came a chorus from several of the kids.
Bernie’s eyes got wide and he focused in on a couple of kids in the front row.
“What?!?” And he looked at the puppet on his hand. “This isn’t a princess? How do you know?”
“She doesn’t have a crown,” a young boy said in a tentative voice.
“She should have a pretty pink dress!” added a little girl more forcefully.
He looked from them to the puppet and back again, laying a left finger alongside his cheek and cocking his head.
Finally he said, “She told me she was a princess.”
The two kids shook their heads vigorously.
“Well...how are we going to get her a crown and a pretty pink dress?” he asked the whole crowd.
“She needs a fairy godmother,” said a matronly woman in the third row with a knowing smile.
The kids nodded and the little girl in front shouted “Yeah! A fairy godmother!”
Bernie searched the table beside him, and thrust his hand into another puppet—a wizened old woman with a scowl on her face, a pointed hat, and voluminous black and gray skirts.
“Ahhh,” said Bernie. “Now she has a fairy godmother.”
The kids in the crowd all looked skeptical and the vocal little girl in front said, “I don’t think so.”
But before she could say anymore, the old woman puppet bopped the girl puppet on the head with her wand, knocking her off of Bernie’s hand and into a cardboard box beside him on the table in front of the pile of puppets. As the kids strained to try and see in the box, Bernie looked at the crowd, puzzled. “That must be a powerful spell,” he said. He peered int
o the box, and then looked back at the crowd with a disbelieving look. He leaned over again and picked up the box, tipping it forward so everyone could see. The box was empty.
A wave of questions and exclamations spread through the crowd. “So what do you all think? Is she a good fairy godmother, or a bad fairy godmother?” Bernie held the old woman puppet up higher.
“Bad!” the kids all chorused.
“How do you know?” he asked, and pointed to a boy in front of Frannie.
“Because, um, she, um, she’s gone!”
“Who’s gone?”
“The princess!” he replied, and all the kids nodded agreement.
“Princess! You all told me she wasn’t a princess.” Bernie scratched his head. Some of the kids giggled hesitantly and looked at each other.
“So, is she—the princess—hurt?” he continued and looked around the group. He settled on Tammy’s son, Trevor, in the second row.
Trevor shrugged his shoulders and said, “I dunno.”
“Does anybody know?”
Most of the audience shook their heads.
“Well, how are we going to find out?” He looked around. “I think we need some more characters—more people—in this story. What do you think? Do you think we need help finding the princess?”
“Yeah!” the kids shouted. Suggestions were fired fast and furious at Reid—a prince, a good monster, a king, a dog, a policeman. Soon Reid had several of the children involved in working various puppets and adding to the story. After a half hour and a very convoluted plot, the princess was found in another box, suitably gowned and crowned and, of course, ready to live happily ever after. Sabet, who had hung back when volunteers were called for, clapped enthusiastically and Joe confided to Frannie, “I knew the princess couldn’t just disappear!”
Sabet scoffed. “It wasn’t the same princess, Joe. It was another puppet.”
“No, it was the same face,” Joe insisted.
“But—,” Sabet began, but Larry said, “Halt! No more arguing.”
The Blue Coyote (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 2) Page 8
