I raised a hand in protest.“That’s okay. You really don’t—”
“I must. That way I’ll also know when it is done. Thank you, kind human. You do the animals in this wood a great service.” And with that, she turned and wandered back from whence she came.
Well, what was one more task before finally settling into our relaxing weekend? Ultimately, it wouldn’t make much of a difference for me, but it could be a huge help to Gloria, her cubs, and the other animals who called the park home.
Charles squeezed my hand, and I turned into his chest.“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Yes, we just have to make a quick pit stop before we can have lunch. C’mon.”
Chapter Eight
Charles and I made quick work of the walk back to camp, mostly because my stomach was growling worse than a grizzly in distress. And now that I had an adequate frame of reference, I could totally make that comparison, thank you very much.
Pringle hitched a ride in the berry-stained picnic basket, which I carried while Charles handled the salmon. To prevent our little stowaway from getting dirty again, I padded the basket interior with Nan’s track suit jacket. Of course, this meant that my juicy booty was now exposed to anyone who dared take a peek at my derriere.
And that wasn’t the only thing I had to be embarrassed about in this campsite full of strangers. I also desperately clung to the hope that no one would ask us how we managed to catch this massive salmon without any fishing gear on us, because I had no idea what lie I could tell to get us out of that one.
That’s how we returned to the RV park—a hidden raccoon, a berry-stained track suit, juicy booty, and big fish to boot. Understandably, a few people paused what they were doing to openly gawk at us. But mostly folks let us go about our business.
“That’s her camper right there.” Charles pointed with his chin as we approached an older model RV with an army of pink plastic flamingos forming a makeshift fence around the front.
He took the basket from me, struggling to hang on to both it and the fish.
Pringle chittered something as he got jostled around, but it was too muffled for me to make out his exact words. Also I didn’t care. Frankly, the whole thing served him right.
“I’ll see you back at ours,” Charles said, dawdling off with a very awkward gait as he attempted to balance the salmon on top of the heavy raccoon basket. “Good luck. I know you’ll do great!”
Well, at least one of us had confidence in me and my persuasive abilities.
I ran my hands over the front of my pants to wipe off the dark juice that had transferred from the basket onto my fingers, then walked past the tango line of flamingos and knocked on the door.
When no one answered, I knocked again.
“If she’s not answering, feel free to go right in. Junetta has a door’s always open policy for folks at the campground,” someone called, then popped her head through the open window of an aqua-accented Airstream parked in the adjacent lot to the right. She brushed her also aqua-accented curls out of her face and studied me with casual interest before pulling her head back inside.
“Thank you!” I called after her, then pushed the door open and stepped inside the dimly lit interior.
This was not nearly as luxurious as the model that Charles had rented for our weekend away. For one, it looked like the darker side of my normal wardrobe. Not everything about the 80s was fun and brightly colored. Some parts were brown and orange with avocado-colored refrigerators. I even spied a bit of rust around the faucet of the sink in the kitchenette. It all sort of clashed with the happy kangaroo logo on the outside.
Never matter.
No judgment. That wasn’t what I was here for. I was here to negotiate on behalf of the animals. I didn’t know this person, so I had no idea what to expect. Still, the worse she could do was say “no” to what I asked. Part of me wondered what she’d say to Gloria if she could’ve asked for herself. I chuckled tomyself a bit at the thought.
“Hello,” I called as I tiptoed back toward the bedroom.
The door hung open just a crack—not enough for me to get a good look inside. Seeing as I didn’t want to catch Junetta in a compromised position, I knocked gently.
The door creaked open a little more, and a familiar, rotten smell wafted out to assault my senses.
“Hello?” I asked again, begging my suspicions to be wrong.
When no one answered, I held my breath, covered my nose, and pushed the door open the rest of the way.
On the bed, an older woman with a wrinkled face and unnaturally curly, copper-colored hair lay splayed out. One hand clutched at her stomach while the other groped the comforter—or at least it had until all life had left it. The bed had been nicely made, but a portion of the blanket had since been pulled and twisted.
The scene showcased a jarring mix of chaos and slumber. Junetta had suffered, but now she lay still. The smell I’d detected came from a puddle of pink-tinged vomit that had seeped into the carpet in front of the bed.
I stepped back out, taking care to shut the door behind me and give the poor woman some semblance of privacy. Partly just to shut the smell out. My fingerprints were already on it, anyway.
As I carefully retraced my steps back through the main living space of the camper, I spotted a half-eaten slice of pie sitting on the table. The fork had fallen to the ground, while the remainder of the pie was nowhere to be seen. Provided it had even been in here at all.
I stepped toward the table and examined the dessert. Mixed berry. Judging from the scene in the bedroom, my best guess was that it was poisoned.
I had to tell somebody.
Tearing my eyes away from the murderous pie, I rushed back out the door and jogged right toward the Airstream where the woman had stuck her head through the window to urge me into Junetta’s RV when she hadn’t answered the door.
This time, I must have knocked with a bit too much vigor because when the woman pulled the door open, her eyes darted back and forth wildly, her large, cat-eyed glasses making her look more like an owl as she attempted to make sense of the scene.
“Sh-sh-she’s dead,” I sputtered, taking a step back and pointing toward the flamingo-adorned trailer.
“What?” The woman clambered down the steps and stood to face me outside. While she’d stood in the doorway, I hadn’t realized just how tiny she was. If I had to guess, I’d say she barely cleared five feet.
I sucked in a deep breath and let it out again before I attempted to explain.“Junetta. She’s dead. Someone poisoned her, I think.”
She squinted her eyes at me as if gazing into the sun—and given the angle she had to tilt her face to meet my eyes, perhaps she was. “Who are you?”
“I’m Angie. My boyfriend and I just arrived today. I had to talk to her about something, and you told me to go right in. When I did, I found her body in the bedroom.”
She studied me for a good long moment without saying anything more. And even though I towered over her, and even with her resembling a lawn gnome from the 1950s, I still found her quite intimidating as she sized up me and my story.
Her eyes bore into mine as she announced,“I’m calling the cops.” Then she hurried back into her Airstream, slamming the door straight in my face.
Well, that had not gone as planned. Nope, not at all.
Chapter Nine
I returned to our RV to find Charles standing at the kitchenette with a spatula in hand.
“Hope you’re in the mood for grilled cheese. It’s the house, er rather, RV special today,” he said, but then he caught the look on my face, set both the spatula and the fry pan aside, and came to meet me where I stood. “What’s wrong? Did you talk to the camp manager? Was she not willingto help?”
I stared straight ahead, my head shaking and eyes unfocused, still recalling the horrible scene I had stumbled upon only moments before.
“Angie?” Charles prompted, placing a hand on my arm.