by Lynn Bohart
“I know,” I said. “We read about it in the paper. That’s why we called.”
“Then let the authorities deal with it. We’ll notify the right people.”
“Okay. Will you let me know if you find anything out?”
He hesitated, but then said, “If I can. Just forget about this now and enjoy the rest of your trip.”
He thanked me and we hung up.
“Why didn’t you want to mention the red-head in those photos?” Blair demanded.
“What photos?” Rudy asked.
I heaved a sigh, realizing that not everyone was up to speed. “There’s a woman in some of Owens’ campaign photos who might be Eva.” When Rudy’s eyes lit up, I added, “But you can’t see her very well, so it’s really hard to tell. And I’ve never gotten a very good look at the real Eva. I don’t want to send them on some wild goose chase.”
Rudy gave me a warm smile. “Good for you, Julia. Reason is winning out.”
A knock on the door startled us. I got up to open it and sucked in a quick gasp when I found Goldie and Aria standing there with expectant expressions on their faces.
“Ooh,” Goldie cooed. “Fancy seeing you guys again. How’s yer trip goin?”
I turned to share a slightly horrified expression with Blair and Rudy. I turned back and replied. “Fine. Just fine.”
“Doesn’t look fine,” Aria said. She crossed her skinny arms across her skinnier chest. “You’re missing a rearview mirror. What’d you run into?”
“That was my fault,” I said. I glanced past them to see Doe ambling down the sidewalk in our direction. Tinker Bell tugged at the leash. “I was…uh, turning a corner and cut it too close. I hit a stop sign.”
“Don’t think the Aberdeens will like that,” Aria said, raising a bushy brow and drawing her thin lips into a straight line.
She was wearing a bright orange golf shirt, a visor and plaid Bermuda shorts that exposed her knobby knees. A perfect outfit for the town’s busy-body.
I inclined my head and gave her a dirty look. “I’ll pay for the repair.”
“They also won’t like the fact you lost your dump hose,” she said.
“Huh?” I mumbled. I was distracted by Doe who had seen our guests and stopped to loiter on the other side of a tree.
“We noticed it when we pulled up,” Aria continued. “The compartment that holds your dump hose is open, and the hose is gone. In fact, the entire door to the compartment is gone.”
I seethed a little inside as she pushed her point. “We’ll get that fixed, too.”
Goldie peered through the screen door past me to Rudy and Blair. “The rest of you are bein’ pretty darned quiet. What’s goin’ on?” She followed my gaze to where Doe’s pepper gray hair was visible on the other side of a narrow tree. “Might as well come back, Doe,” Goldie called out. “We’re not leavin’.” She planted her hands firmly on her broad hips to make her point.
I sighed, knowing she meant it. Goldie could be stubborn as a mule, and Aria stood behind her with her chicken-bone arms still crossed over her chest in a sign of protest. If we didn’t want to stand there and argue with them, we’d have to invite them in.
“Why don’t you come inside?” I offered with a begrudging smile. I opened the screen door and waved to Doe to come back.
“Lordy, what happened in here?” Goldie said as she came up the steps. She was staring at the cereal, pancake flour and ketchup ground into the once beautiful carpet. Aria spotted the wastebasket, which overflowed with broken glass. “What in the heck did happen in here?”
When Doe came back in and closed the door, Blair and I sat down at the dining table, while Rudy and Doe sat on the small leather sofa.
“Why don’t you guys take a seat?” I said, gesturing to the two swivel chairs. “We have a bit of a story to tell.”
Aria and Goldie slid into the two big chairs opposite us. I paused a moment and then said, “I’m pretty sure I saw that girl who was kidnapped at Luther Burbank Park the other day—Senator Owens’ daughter.”
There was no sugar-coating it. If we were going to tell them, I figured it was better to just get it over with.
Goldie’s eyes popped open. “You’re kiddin’ me.”
“No. We’ve already reported it to David, and he’s going to follow-up with the proper authorities.”
“What happened?” Aria said in a rather demanding tone.
I gave a deep sigh, wondering how much I ought to tell them. I decided it didn’t really make any difference and so repeated the first part of our story, including my tripping over Ponytail Guy and calling the police.
“The guy was dead?” Aria screeched.
“No. I was mistaken. We think he was just drunk. He was gone when I brought the others back.”
“Ohhh, I get it,” Goldie murmured, giving Aria a knowing look. “One of your senior moments,” she said with a giggle.
God, would I never outlive my reputation for being a klutz?
“What about this girl?” Aria asked. “When did you see her?”
I snuck a glance at my friends. “I was the only one who saw her. And since no one believed me about the dead body, no one believed me when I said I’d seen the girl either. So we just went on our merry way.”
“And?” Aria prompted me. Her razor thin lips were pressed together and those beady eyes were filled with skepticism.
“We saw the motorhome again a little while ago when we were at the dump site,” Blair said. “Julia decided we had to follow it.”
“And that’s when you lost the dump hose,” Aria said, as if that was the whole point to the story.
“Yes,” I hissed with irritation. “The dump hose is gone.”
“But then they ran from us,” Blair said. “In fact, they almost got themselves killed in the process.”
“So you reported it to David,” Aria said. “What real proof do you have that they’ve done anything wrong?”
I reached over and grabbed the newspaper. “There’s an article in here about a man who was killed in North Bend. The only thing stolen was a motorhome that sounds exactly like the one these people are driving.”
Aria took the newspaper from me, glancing down at the article. “Did you get the license plate number? I would’ve gotten their license plate number,” she said with a twitch to her lip. “Then you could match it up.”
We all exchanged looks of frustration.
“I got the first two letters and gave them to David,” I said.
“The license plate was bent,” Blair said in our defense. “And frankly, we were kind of busy trying to catch them without getting killed.”
“Sounds a little like us,” Goldie said with a quick shake of her head.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Aria took her eyes off the newspaper and reached out with her foot and kicked Goldie’s ankle.
“Oh…uh, we had our own situation yesterday,” she said, rubbing her ankle.
“What do you mean?” I wanted to know.
“Just that Aria almost killed a guy on a motorbike.”
All heads swiveled towards Aria. She shifted uncomfortably and lifted her chin, pointing that blade of a nose toward the ceiling.
“I didn’t almost kill him. There were two motorcycles behind me, but I only saw the one in my left rearview mirror. I was keeping an eye on him as I changed lanes…and I forced the second motorcycle off the road.”
“Oh, dear,” Doe said. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No, but they were mad,” she said.
“Real mad,” Goldie added with an emphatic nod.
“I pulled over to apologize,” Aria said with an annoying sense of righteousness. “But they got off their bikes and started pounding on the side of the camper and yelling insults.”
“So we ran,” Goldie said. “And they chased us.”
“They pulled up on either side of us, yelling obscenities and threatening us as we drove,” Aria said. “We wouldn’t have gotten away, except
we came into a town where a parade was about to begin. That cut them off.”
“Yeah, so we hid in a little restaurant for a couple of hours hopin’ we wouldn’t see ‘em again,” Goldie said.
“And did you?” Rudy asked.
“Not so far,” Aria said. “But I have a couple of dents in the side of my camper shell from where they hit it with their fists.”
“So we both have battle scars,” Doe said. She glanced around the interior of our RV. “Only ours are a little worse than yours.”
“And yours has to do with a major case again,” Goldie said with renewed enthusiasm. “So what are we goin’ to do about this abducted girl?”
“We?” the four of us echoed together.
“Sure. We could help you look for ‘em,” Goldie offered. “Aria’s good at this stuff.”
“She almost killed someone on the road,” Rudy argued.
“Almost,” Aria stressed with a raised index finger.
“David has already told us to stay out of it,” I said. “Besides, we don’t even know where they are.”
“What does this motorhome look like again?” Aria asked. “At least we could be on the lookout for it. Especially if they’re headed to Chicago.”
“Just like the article says. It was an old white Jayco motorhome, maybe twenty-five feet long with a red and blue stripe. First two letters of the plate are XT.”
“Look,” Aria said. “Let’s exchange cell phone numbers so we can report in if one of us sees them.”
That seemed reasonable, so we all got our phones out and programmed in each other’s phone numbers.
“Where are you guys staying tonight?” Goldie asked.
“On the other side of Onalaska,” Rudy said. “At the Black River Campground.”
Aria nodded. “Okay. We’ll see you there.”
When they’d left, Doe said in a hopeful tone, “Maybe the campground will be full.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We drove for a few hours without stopping, allowing the scenery to pass by without comment. It was pretty quiet inside the Hulk, with each of us harboring our own thoughts. We skipped a formal lunch and instead snacked on fruits and veggies.
Aria followed us. After a while, she dropped further and further back until we couldn’t see her anymore.
By late afternoon, we passed the town of Blue Earth, Minnesota, with a population of just over 3,000, one of which apparently was a giant statue of the Jolly Green Giant.
“The Hulk would feel right at home here,” Doe said as the sign disappeared in our rearview mirror–the one we still had.
Rudy pointed to a directional sign announcing the exit for the town of Winnebago. “Look, his cousin lives just north of here.”
I felt the fog of dispiritedness lift as the small jokes brought smiles to our faces. Ten minutes later, Blair spied a sign for a country store and deli.
“I’m hungry for some real food,” she said. “Anyone care if I stop?”
“Sounds good to me,” Doe said. “Tinker Bell needs to go out anyway.”
Blair took the exit off the highway and turned onto a frontage road that ran parallel to I-90. She pulled up to Jake’s Country Store & Deli. The building was designed like a western storefront, complete with a covered boardwalk, wooden bench and a couple of old whiskey barrels out front. A small parking lot sat off to the side of the building. Blair turned onto the side street and parked at the curb.
“Can someone grab me a turkey on wheat and an apple?” Doe asked.
“Sure,” Blair said.
We climbed out and entered the store, releasing the tingle of a bell above the screen door. The only person in the store was a tall guy behind the counter sitting on a stool reading a book. He had broad shoulders and a neatly trimmed beard. He appeared to be in his late fifties and had dark, smoldering eyes that looked up when we swung through the door.
“Do you have any premade sandwiches?” I asked him.
“Sure thing,” he said in a rich bass voice. “Just made them this morning. Check the cooler in the back. We also have some hot stuff up here,” he said, pointing to some shriveled hotdogs rotating on some spokes.
“Thanks, but we’ll check the sandwiches.”
He held my gaze for a moment as I followed Rudy and Blair down the center aisle. The three of us perused the selection of sandwiches, picked out what we wanted and grabbed individual bags of potato chips and an apple for Doe. We had just paid for everything and were moving towards the door when I realized I was out of Pepsi.
“Just a sec,” I mumbled to Blair’s back. I turned and hurried down to the back of the store again. Since there wasn’t a soda fountain, I had to find the right cooler. I grabbed a bottle of Diet Pepsi and came back up the aisle to pay for it. Of course, the candy and snack section at the checkout counter caught my attention, and I paused to contemplate whether to get a bag of sour fruit balls or a small bag of popcorn for later. I got them both and dropped them on the counter.
The guy behind the counter, whose name tag read Jake, rang up my purchases. As he dropped them into a paper bag, he asked, “Where you folks going?”
I’m only five foot two and had to crane my neck to look up at him. He had short curly hair that was gray at the temples and he was dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt, and suspenders that stretched over a barrel chest.
“Madison,” I replied, tearing my eyes away from his gaze. “We’re delivering a friend’s motorhome.”
“Madison’s nice this time of year,” he said, handing me the bag. “Be sure to see the Monona Terrace Convention Center there, if you can. The original design concept was Frank Lloyd Wright’s. He was born in Wisconsin, you know. Worth the trip if you have the time.”
I nodded and said, “Great idea. Thanks.”
The suggestion surprised me. He didn’t seem like the type to appreciate fine architecture. I snuck a glance at the book he was reading, which was lying on the counter. It was Ron Chernow’s Alexander Hamilton. I left the counter and swung open the screen door.
“By-the-way,” I said turning back. “You’re Jake, the owner?”
“Yep. Going on fifteen years,” he said with a grin.
I smiled back at him. “Nice place.”
I let the door close and turned towards the side street. I was reaching into my bag for the hard candies, when out of my peripheral vision, I saw the Hulk off to my left–leaving!
My head came up with a jerk.
The Hulk was crossing the dirt barrier between the frontage road and I-90, chasing the Jayco motorhome, both throwing up rocks and dirt in their wake. My mouth dropped open as I watched both vehicles bounce and sway over the uneven ground, leaving me behind.
I reached into my purse to grab my phone as they both made a hard left turn and disappeared up the highway, but realized with despair that I’d left it on the table in the motorhome.
Damn!
I stood there, feeling like a lost puppy.
I sighed and plopped down on the big, wooden bench in front of the store window with a nervous twitch in my stomach. How long would it take them to notice I was gone?
April’s warning not to get left behind played in my mind.
The afternoon was warm, and a few flies buzzed around my head. The rhythmic sound of traffic on I-90 reached me as cars passed going both directions. I glanced at my watch. It was 4:37 in the afternoon.
The roar of a motorcycle engine startled me, and I glanced to my right. Aria’s truck and camper appeared along the frontage road at a fast pace. Right behind her were two guys on big motorcycles. Aria took the corner by the store’s parking lot at almost full speed, making the camper sway precariously. Goldie sat in the passenger seat, her eyes wide. She glanced my way and gave me a quick, nervous wave as they disappeared up the street.
I listened to the fading sound of the engines feeling like I was watching TV. Moments later, the grinding engines came up on my left, as Aria and her pursuers came down the opposite side street. Aria ignored the s
top sign and made a sharp left turn, disappearing around a curve a half block away. The motorcycles followed.
The screen door opened and Jake stepped out.
“You see all sorts of weird things out here,” he said, watching the bikers. “She must have pissed someone off. What happened to your ride?”
I gestured off towards I-90. “They left me.”
He chuckled. “Sit tight. They’ll figure it out and come back.”
“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “They’re chasing some people we think are criminals.”
His thick brows lifted. “Really? You live an exciting life.”
This time, I chuckled. “You have no idea.” In a high-pitched stage voice I mimicked, “Nancy, every place you go, it seems as if mysteries just pile up one after another.”
“Who was that supposed to be?” he asked.
“Carolyn Keene wrote it in The Message in the Hollow Oak,” I replied. When he gave me a blank stare, I added. “Nancy Drew.”
“Ah,” he said with recognition. “You’re a mystery reader.”
“Yeah. And now it seems like they follow me around. Mysteries, I mean.”
“Well, there’s a turn off not too far ahead. Your friends will be back. Mind if I sit down?”
I scooted over. “Be my guest.” I pulled out the bag of popcorn. “Want some?”
He laughed. “Naw. I have to watch my figure.” He used one enormous hand to pat his stomach. “You know, a year ago there was a massive police chase right here. Four or five squad cars chased a guy in a stolen red Mustang. He kept taking the off ramp, coming back by here and then going out onto the highway again.”
“Did they catch him?” I asked, ripping open the popcorn bag.
“Yeah. He finally did a tail spin right there,” he said, pointing to the dirt strip between the highway and the frontage road. “Turned that nice Mustang over about three times.”
We were interrupted when the Jayco motorhome came barreling back along the frontage road, whizzing right past the store going in the opposite direction.
A heartbeat later, Rudy and the Hulk appeared behind them, streaking past us without stopping.
