Minnie Crockwell - Will Travel for Trouble 01 - Trouble at Happy Trails (6 page)

She shook her head again. “No, I don’t want any of that stuff. Whoever gets rid of the trailer can give all that away.”

“Whoever gets rid of the trailer?”

“Bob or somebody. I’m not going to worry about it. It’s paid off. They can haul the whole thing off for all I care.”

I tilted my head and studied Sally. She had definitely buried Carl…mentally anyway. He was long gone as far as she was concerned. I thought last night that she had grieved his death, but this morning, I wasn’t so certain.

I said nothing. She returned to perusing her list.

I have news!
Ben returned.

What?

Mr. Brothers and his wife are in the midst of a great marital spat.
 

What’s new about that? Isn’t everybody?
Perhaps that was a bit too cynical.

Yes, but I believe it pertains to the events of the previous evening.

Aaaaannnnd?
Ben was playing with me.

I cannot be absolutely certain, but I believe that “the wife” had some sort of…em…relations with Mr. Carl Richardson.

Chapter Four

You’re kidding!
I said silently to Ben.

I turned to look at Sally. Had she known? What in the heck was “the wife’s” name, anyway?

I do not jest. Mr. Brothers is verbally eviscerating his wife, poor woman, who continues to wail and bemoan Mr. Richardson’s death. I quote, “If you’d have kept your legs crossed, this wouldn’t have happened!”
Ben coughed.
Forgive the vulgarity, my dear, I only quote the man. The grammar is appalling but I merely quoted.

Good gravy! Well, how old is “the wife?” I can’t imagine an elderly woman being told to “cross her legs.”

Ah! I see you enjoy some familiarity with the term, my dear. I find it abhorrent. Mrs. Brothers appears to be somewhere near your age.

Forty?

No! Are you forty years of age? I did not know, madam! I thought you younger.

I rolled my eyes. Sally looked up just as I did.

“What is it?” Her lower lip quivered.

My cheeks heated. “Oh, nothing! My contacts are dry, and I’m just trying to moisten them.”

Sally seemed appeased by the answer and turned to give her list to Bob. Bob took the small piece of paper, nodded without a word, and opened the door.

A metallic smell wafted out, and I knew what it was. Dried blood. Awful! Thankfully, Bob closed the door behind him.
 

“What will you do now?” I asked.
 

“I’m going back with Bob to Astoria, Oregon.”

Ah! Only 18 miles from Cape Disappointment. I know Astoria well.
 

I’m sure it has changed since you were last there, Ben.
 

I switched back to my conversation with Sally.

“Will you work or…?” I was probably pressing her too much, given her present state of confusion.
 

“No, I don’t think so. Carl had a life insurance policy. It wasn’t much, a hundred thousand, but that will take care of me for a while.”

A hundred thousand? That’s a lot of money, Ben!

Indeed, especially in my era! Quite unheard of.

“I really wish you well, Sally. When are you and Bob heading out to Oregon?”

“In a couple of days, hopefully. We have to get Carl taken care of. They’ll release his body to the funeral home tomorrow.” She shook her head. “No funeral. I’ll have him cremated. And then I’m off.”
 

I smiled pleasantly.

Ummm… Ben? What would you think about riding along with Sally and Bob to their motel? Ya know, just to see if you hear something?

What should I listen for?

I don’t know. Something’s off here. If someone I love were killed or killed himself unexpectedly, I don’t think I’d have my plans so firmly set within 12 hours. I mean…everyone doesn’t react the same, but Sally seems to be alternating between this weird grief and a well-planned goodbye for Carl.

Yes, I see what you mean. I will “ride along” for a bit as you say.

You’re a peach, Ben! Thanks!

It is my pleasure, Minerva.

Something in the caress in his voice made me blush. Ben was flirting again.

Just then, Bob erupted from the trailer, his arms full of plastic bags, a suitcase, and a cardboard box. He kicked the door closed behind him and descended the stairs to deposit his booty on the picnic table. I rose quickly, successfully avoiding the desire to jump back. I had the heebie-jeebies. I eyed the bags and box with half closed eyes, hoping not to see blood on anything.

“Is it bad in there today?” Sally asked with a wince.
 

Bob nodded. “Pretty nasty.” He ran a shaking hand through his gray hair.

I shuddered harder than Sally at that moment.
 

“Let’s go. I have to go over some things in the office with Nick. I think he’s there now today.” Sally turned toward me.

I presumed Nick was the owner or manager of the park.

“Thank you again for everything, Minnie,” Sally said. “I’ll come say goodbye before I leave town.”

She leaned in to hug me, and I smelled alcohol on her breath—probably from the brandy the evening before. At least, I hoped so.

“Take care, Sally.” I withdrew from her arms and made my way back to my own RV.
 

“Ben?”
 

Yes. I am following them.

“Don’t be gone too long.”

Will you miss me, Minerva? I am flattered!

“Well, you’ve been around for quite a while, and I’m getting used to you. So, yes, I’ll miss you.”

He chuckled.

I stepped up into my RV and decided on a shower—both because Ben was out and about and because I needed to wash something off me. Something. The heebie-jeebies, I guess.

The hot water soothed me, and I relaxed and contemplated the new revelations. Jim Brothers’ wife could possibly have been one of the women Carl was having an affair with. At least, it sounded plausible from the amount of grieving she was doing over the park maintenance man. I had no idea if Sally knew about it, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her, so I couldn’t even ask her about it.
 

Jim Brothers sounded pretty angry about the whole thing. Sally had been angry. Bob had been angry. Even Carl had been angry the one time I saw him. Who knew the slender, nondescript man I bumped into in the doorway was such a Lothario?

I combed out my shoulder length brunette hair thinking it was time I had it styled. I’d let it just grow willy-nilly for the past six months or so, finding it easier to tie back into a ponytail rather than haul myself into a decent salon while on the road. After all, I was camping…for all intents and purposes. Who really cared?

Now, if John had invited me to visit him at his new condominium in Colorado, I would have put myself in the hands of experts who could have turned me into at least a semblance of the young woman with whom he had fallen in love. My waist was no longer as small as it had been, my hips had widened, my hair had thinned, and lines creased the corners of my eyes, but hopefully, he would kindly attribute my physical flaws to the passing of the years. Although he teasingly urged me to send him a current photograph, I had refused. The last thing I wanted was my ex-husband looking at a picture of me and thinking “What happened to her? Thank goodness it ended when it did!” I indulged in the fantasy that I would present myself to him someday, and hopefully regain his love with my winsome personality. I was still working on the winsome personality thing.

But John never invited me to visit him in Colorado. Ever.

I sighed, turned away from the mirror and dressed in jeans and a light blue button-down, long-sleeved shirt. Emerging from the bedroom and with John still fresh on my mind, I eyed the computer. Why not!
 

I composed an email in response to his note from yesterday.

Hey there ex!

Update! Everyone has been sleeping with everyone here at Happy Trails RV Park. No, I’m exaggerating. It seems though that the dearly deceased, Carl, might have been sleeping with “the wife” in the RV next to me. I haven’t seen her yet, but I’ve met her husband, a senior gentleman who seems remarkably unsympathetic about Carl’s death. Then I heard them arguing. His wife was crying, and he told her that had she kept her legs crossed, this wouldn’t have happened. By this, I assume he means Carl’s death.
 

So… Suspicious much?
 

And the dearly widowed wife, Sally, seems to be alternating between grief and washing her hands of the man.
 

I dunno. Thoughts?

Ex-Number One

I sent the mail off with a flourish and a smile. I rose and poured myself a cup of coffee. I didn’t think Ben was back yet. I didn’t feel his presence, although that was an unpredictable sensation.

I heard a ding from my computer indicating an email had arrived. John had come back with a response almost immediately.

Number One,

The plot thickens! Hopefully, you’re staying out of the thick of things? This all sounds a little fishy to me. Don’t pry too much. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to my favorite first ex-wife. I can’t even begin to guess what’s been going on there, but I’m sure the police will sort it out. That’s what we do!
John inserted a smiley face.

Keep in touch, Number One

I sighed, resisted the urge to kiss the computer screen, reread the term
favorite first ex-wife
a few times, and closed the computer.
 

“Ben?” I said to the air.

I have returned. I am afraid there is not much information to report. Mrs. Richardson went to the office to visit with the owner while her brother stayed in the car. I heard nothing untoward between Mrs. Richardson and the owner, other than that they seem to know each other fairly well. They discussed matters of the park, and he expressed his condolences and his own unhappiness. He seemed to know the deceased Mr. Richardson well. He did ask about disposition of her “trailer” as you call it, and she said her brother would handle that matter.

“What did Sally and her brother talk about?”

They seemed to studiously avoid the subject of her husband, discussing the fine weather today, the time and distance to travel to his home in Oregon…some 440 miles which he stated he could do in 7 hours! The speed of travel in your world continues to astound me!

“Focus, Ben! What else did they say? Nothing about Carl or the suicide?”

Not a word. As I said, they seemed intent on avoiding the subject.
 

“Well, that’s odd, don’t you think? It seems like they’d be talking about arrangements for his cremation or something!”

It does seem dismissive. I think there was no love lost for Carl, though I thought Mrs. Richardson had professed some love for him.
 

“I know!” I jumped up restlessly. Out of my RV door window, I saw a woman come around the side of Jim Brothers’ rig. It was her stealthy movements that caught my attention. Was this “the wife?”

“Ben! Look!”

I watched as she lifted the cover of the sewer drainpipe and dropped something inside. Whatever the object had been, it appeared to have been wrapped in plastic.
 

“Oh my gosh, Ben! Are you looking?”

Yes, dear. I can see the woman. What is she doing? I do not know enough of your contraptions to ascertain her intentions.

“Oh, gee, this looks like something straight out of the movies!”

She straightened and vanished around the back of the trailer. I barely had time to register her shoulder-length blonde hair, slender build, and casual black walking shorts and red T-shirt. She appeared to be my age.

“That has to be Jim’s wife,” I said. I hesitated to open the door. Had I wanted to hide something and was so desperate as to drop it down the sewer pipe, I might look out the window to see that it stayed there.

“Should I call the police?”

Do not be too hasty, Minerva. We do not know what she has disposed of. Is that pipe what I think it is?
 

“Yes, it’s the sewer. We all have them. You’ve seen me hook up the sewer hose, haven’t you?”

I am afraid I have tried to avoid that unsavory aspect of your coach.

I smiled.
 

“So, you can imagine if someone throws something down there, it stays there for a while.”

Perhaps it was something she did not want her husband to see.

“No doubt, but what?”

I cannot hazard a guess.

I sat down on the couch and stared at the door. What should I do? If I called the police, what would they do? The only people who would be upset that “the wife” threw something down the sewer pipe (and it hadn’t exploded yet) might be her husband, the park owner, and the wastewater treatment plant. It was probably not something the police would be interested in—if they had determined that Carl killed himself.