Bats and Bones (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries) Read Online Free

leaves, ignoring others. The percolator
gurgled and wheezed in spasms until it crescendoed into that final effort to
present her first caffeine of the day.
    This was
her favorite time of the day, anywhere really, but especially in a campground.
Usually a few people were stirring but for the most part little disturbed the
morning quiet.
    A truck
door slammed and she looked up to see a red pickup back out of the space across
the road and several sites down. The truck then peeled out at a speed not quite
up to the standards of a newly licensed teenager but certainly more than
dramatic enough for a campground.
    The night
before, they had noticed the pickup next to a new Airstream, fresh and shiny
and comfortable in its retro good looks.
    “That is so
cool--we should go over and ask if we can see inside,” Larry had said as he
sipped a beer and stood frankly staring. A group of six or seven people of
varying ages had been laughing, eating and enjoying a campfire near the
Airstream.
    “Can you do
that?” Rob had asked.
    “Sure,”
Jane Ann said. “Most people consider it a compliment. Those people next to us
two weeks ago wanted to see ours.”
    “Ha!”
Mickey said. “With our luck the guy would be a serial killer or something.”
    Now Frannie
smiled at the thought. Most of the campgrounds she and Larry frequented were
not exactly hotbeds of wild characters, let alone felons. Although there had
been a few odd ducks…She read for a while, occasionally looking up at the sound
of a bird in a nearby tree or rustling in the woods.
    Eventually
the screen door of Nowaks’ trailer opened and Donna emerged carrying Bugger.
Speaking of odd ducks…
    “Good
morning!” Donna called, placing Bugger on the ground and deftly grabbing his
leash before he could escape. He strained at the leash and Cuba slowly raised
her head and lowered it again with a sigh, not interested in the antics of
youngsters.
    “Be right
back!” Donna said.
    “Coffee’s
on,” Frannie said, grimacing inwardly at having her quiet time disturbed.
    Donna waved
acknowledgement as Bugger pulled her out on the campground road. The morning
parade began soon after, as people from campsites further down headed for the
shower house. Although most RV units have bathrooms, the limited size of tanks
and water heaters encourages the use of campground facilities. The pilgrims
were arrayed in attire as outlandish as any seen anywhere. A woman in Sponge
Bob pajama bottoms, a ‘wear pink’ t-shirt, and turban from an olive green towel
tottered along on spike heels, no less. Maybe she came here directly from work
and forgot to put other shoes in, thought Frannie. A small boy clomped along in
cowboy boots and a t-shirt down to his knees. A man at his side, presumably the
boy’s father, sported khaki shorts and a flopping Iowa Hawkeye robe, a towel
that looked like some variation of Disney princesses around his neck. Two young
girls, possibly sisters, shuffled along in the ubiquitous flip-flops, the
bigger one madly texting a message of great import on her phone, her face
hidden by long stringy hair, the smaller one poking her sister in the back with
her toothbrush. All carried their grooming necessities in plastic grocery
sacks, florescent-colored buckets, drawstring bags, or just gripped in one
hand.
    The screen
door of the Shoemaker trailer opened and Larry bounced down the steps, coffee
mug in hand.
    “Did I hear
the magic words?” he asked, eying the percolator.
    “Just
finished,” Frannie said. Larry ambled over to the table and poured a cup,
adding a couple of packets of sweetener. He then dragged another camp chair
over next to Frannie.
    “Certainly
don’t need a fire this morning to ward off the chill,” he said. Instead of his
usual early morning outfit of sweatpants and hooded sweatshirt, he wore baggy
shorts and a T-shirt that looked like the raccoons had been at it. “How about
breakfast? Are we cooking?”
    Frannie
shook her head. “I think it’s a