Minnie Crockwell - Will Travel for Trouble 01 - Trouble at Happy Trails

 
A figure emerged from the shadows just outside my RV.

The porch light reflected Sally Richardson staggering past my rig on her way to who knows where. Her pink tunic was wet, appearing dark red. She held her hands up in front of her like Lady MacBeth.

 
Ignoring my attire, I jumped down the last step and called out.

“Sally! Sally! Are you all right?” I ran toward her.

She turned to me, her mouth working but no sounds came out. She smelled heavily of copper and metal. The smell of blood! She had blood all over her hands and clothes!

Please take care, Minerva. I fear she may have murdered her husband.

TROUBLE AT HAPPY TRAILS

Bess McBride

Trouble at Happy Trails

Copyright 2014 Minnie Crockwell

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Cover Art by
 
Creative Book Covers

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Published in the United States of America

Dedication

This story is dedicated to all my fellow travelers, and those who wish they could travel but can’t for whatever reason. I hope to see you on the road soon.
 

Happy Trails!

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Foreword

Recreational Vehicles and the Terms We Love

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

About the Author

Foreword

Hello, readers. It’s so nice to meet you!
 

I’m Minnie Crockwell—single woman, traveler and amateur sleuth by accident. Please join me on my adventures as I travel across the United States in my recreational vehicle (RV). If my first adventure is anything to go by, I suspect I’ll be meeting all sorts of folks along the way ranging from the interesting to the weird, to fellow travelers and happy campers, and to liars and murderers.
 

And say hello to my constant companion, Peregrine Ebenezer Alvord. I call him Ben. Ben travels with me though we haven’t quite figured out why. That he was born in the eighteenth century only adds to his charm.
 

I’ll pen my cozy mysteries as I experience them along my travels, and I’ll keep them short and sweet for those of you who don’t have the time to read long stories. While I will do my best to make the stories stand alone, in order to prevent too much redundancy in back story, you might find it easier to read them in order. You’ll learn more about Ben and me as we travel.
 

I hope you enjoy the ride, fellow travelers and friends. I never know where I’ll be on the road, but you can always reach me at [email protected].

Recreational Vehicles and the Terms We Love to Use

Camper: Older term for any type of recreational vehicle. Most often refers to a trailer towed by a truck or a camper that is set in the bed of a truck. Can also simply refer to people who enjoy camping whether by tent or recreational vehicle

Class A: A specific style of recreational vehicle that consists of one unit where the driving “cockpit” is at the front of the vehicle and living quarters behind to the rear.

Coach: Another term for a Class A vehicle
 

Cockpit: The front portion of a recreational vehicle housing the instrumentation where the driver sits while driving the vehicle.
 

Motorhome: Can include any recreational vehicle that includes a motor and is driven versus being towed.

Rig: In the RVing world, term used for recreational vehicle and/or trucks and vehicles used to haul them. Normally used by truck drivers to refer to their trucks.

Recreational Vehicle: RV. Also can include the terms motorhome, coach, camper, rig, trailer. Also called a caravan by my friends across the ponds.

Towed: Also known affectionately as a toad for the play on words. A vehicle that is towed behind a motorhome and is used for local, less expensive transportation.

Trailer: Most often refers to a recreational vehicle that is pulled behind a truck.
 

*Note: This list is not inclusive of all recreational vehicle terms and definitions but includes all those used in this book. Additional stories will include other terms.

Chapter One

I pulled into the campground slowly, never quite sure what dangers lurked in the form of poles, signs, small children, errant tree limbs and one-way roads.

I paused for a moment and surveyed what would be my new domain for the next week or so. The office was clearly visible several hundred feet away, and marked helpfully with a sign which read “Office.” Always a good start to a campground stay!

While no longer a complete novice driver of a 37-foot recreational vehicle, I didn’t allow myself to relax my vigilance either. I drew my eyebrows and surveyed the approach to the office. A hard sharp 30-degree angle turn came between me, my rig and the office.

I pulled the wheel hard to the right, made the turn and rolled to a stop in front of the small one-story, nondescript beige building. Turning off the engine and setting the brake, I made my way to the door on the passenger side of the RV and clambered down the steps with a groan. Driving for 8 hours straight from the Oregon coast with only two rest stops was not the ideal RV traveling day, but I had been determined to reach my reserved spot at the Happy Trails RV Park in Spokane, Washington, before darkness set in.
 

Maneuvering into a site, hauling out hoses and cords, and finding the appropriate hookups (and determining whether they were working or not) was not one of my favorite parts of living on the road in a tin can (albeit an expensive tin can). But one grew used to it, along with the perks of electricity and running water. It was not something I wanted to do in the dark…ever.

I approached the office and jumped back as a middle-aged man, dressed in a snug T-shirt and form-fitting jeans, burst out of the office.

“We’ll see about that,” he said. He saw me, muttered a “scuse me” and hurried off in the general direction of the RVs peacefully parked in uniform rows on a diagonal slant.
 

“Hmmm,” I muttered under my breath. That wasn’t promising. Would I have trouble at this park?
 

I pushed open the door with some hesitation. Was the staff member inside just as angry as the man who had left? What was that all about?

A short, plump woman stood behind the counter with her back to the door. From the looks of her shaking, hunched shoulders, she appeared to be crying. Apparently, she hadn’t heard me open the door.

I cleared my throat loudly. In the past three months of traveling full time in my RV I can’t say that I had come across this situation before—a blubbering campground office attendant. Certainly, I had encountered abrupt, hasty, harried, tired, bored, ignorant and withdrawn attendants, but never one in tears.
 
To be fair, the majority of RV park and campground attendants and hosts were helpful, friendly, welcoming and knowledgeable. It remained to be seen whether the short-haired blonde woman in a bright pink flowered tunic would be one of those.

Who was the man? A disgruntled camper? Those were common. An unhappy husband? Those were just as common. Thank goodness I didn’t have one…or hadn’t had one for years.

I cleared my throat again, and this time, she looked over her right shoulder and jumped. She wiped at her face and smiled tremulously, her hot pink-lipsticked mouth puckering at the corners.

“Is everything all right?” I asked. What could I do? I couldn’t just ignore the fact that she’d been sobbing only a few seconds ago and probably still would be if I hadn’t walked in.

“Oh, sure,” she murmured, still dabbing at her face with the back of her hands. She approached the counter and looked up at me with reddened eyes which made her bright blue eyes that much brighter. She appeared to be in her early 60s.

“You know how it is with husbands,” she said.
 

“No, not really,” I said. “I gave the marriage thing a running start when I was in my early 20s, but I couldn’t go the distance.” What a hokey analogy! There was only one man I would have considered marrying now, in fact, wanted to marry, but John didn’t seem willing to give me another chance…at marriage. I pushed thoughts of my ex-husband aside for the moment. I still loved that man!
 

“Well, Carl and I have been going the distance for about six years now, but he wants out.”

Six years?
Somehow, I thought they must have been married longer, given their ages. Again, what could I say to such an intimate revelation from a stranger?

“I’m so sorry!” My immediate impression was that she was better off without him. However, I had learned over the years that my first impressions were almost always wrong. There was some comfort in being old enough to know that about myself. Turning 40 had been eye opening.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She sniffed and visibly straightened her shoulders. “I’m so sorry you found me like this. Now, do you have a reservation?”

“Yes, I do. Minerva Crockwell.”

“Oh, yes, here you are. What a great old-fashioned name!”