Chapter 8 #3
“Speaking of which,” Abby said while pointing her pen toward the gravel drive. “Here comes Al.”
Sheriff Al Hemmer’s truck bounced over the potholes a little too fast before he slammed on his brakes hard enough to spray gravel near the campground office. The flashing blue lights lit up the trees surrounding Happy Trails and bounced off the lake water in uneven streaks.
“That man drives like he learned from watching chase scenes on television,” Dottie muttered while grinding her cigarette into the dirt beside her chair.
But before any of us could stand up, another set of headlights suddenly appeared farther down the campground road near the recreation hall.
The pamper camper.
Cascades Mobile Spa slowly rolled forward between campsites, with soft interior lights glowing through the windows. Even from the firepit, I could see the painted waterfall mural running along the side of the camper van and the little string lights Glenda always kept wrapped around the awning.
“Well, now that’s awkward timing,” Queenie whispered.
It got even more awkward when Al jerked his truck sideways across the campground road and completely blocked the pamper camper from leaving.
The entire campground seemed to freeze.
Conversations stopped. Camper doors opened. Porch lights flicked on one by one as people peeked outside to see what was happening. Somewhere across the campground loop, a dog started barking wildly.
“Oh no,” Betts breathed.
The driver’s-side door of the pamper camper opened slowly, and Tex climbed out, shirtless as usual despite the late hour.
His cowboy hat sat low across his forehead while his cutoff denim shorts rode dangerously high on his tan muscular thighs.
He held a guitar pick in one hand and, in the other, a mason jar containing a half-finished drink that looked suspiciously like sangria.
Even standing beneath flashing police lights, the man somehow looked relaxed.
Tex glanced from the sheriff’s truck to the campground full of staring people before finally settling his attention on Al. “Evenin’, Sheriff.”
Al climbed out of his truck already sweating through his oversized brown uniform. His hat sat crooked, and his flashlight kept smacking against his belt while he hurried forward trying to look authoritative.
“Need you to step away from the vehicle,” Al announced loudly.
Tex blinked once. “This about the permit for the massage tent because Glenda mailed that in.”
“No, sir. This is about Florence Sparks.”
Every sound around the firepit seemed to disappear for half a second. Even the frogs near the lake suddenly sounded quieter.
The side door of the pamper camper slid open, and Glenda Russel stepped out, looking confused and alarmed all at once. Her dark curls had been piled into a messy bun, and she still wore one of the spa’s purple tank tops with yoga pants.
“What happened?” she asked quickly while stepping down onto the gravel. “Did something happen to Florence?”
Dottie leaned closer toward me. “Judging by Al’s face, something definitely happened.”
Before Al could answer, another vehicle came flying into the campground entrance. Ranger Tucker Pyle’s National Park Service SUV rolled up beside the sheriff’s truck with enough speed to send dust swirling through the lantern light.
The second Tucker stepped out, the mood shifted harder.
Because unlike Al, Tucker didn’t look nervous.
He looked focused.
And serious.
Hank appeared from farther up the campground path near our fifth wheel and started walking quickly toward the communal firepit. His ranger instincts never really went away even after leaving the department. The second he saw Al blocking the pamper camper, his pace picked up.
“What’s happening?” Hank asked quietly once he reached us.
Nobody answered immediately because all eyes stayed locked on the road.
Tucker walked straight up beside Al, holding something small in a clear evidence bag. Even from the distance, I could make out the familiar shape of the amber-colored roller bottle inside.
My stomach dropped instantly.
“Oh no,” Abby whispered beside me.
Tex looked at the evidence bag and finally lost that easygoing expression he usually wore. “What’s that?”
Tucker kept his voice calm and steady. “We found this in Florence Sparks’s room.”
Glenda frowned immediately. “That’s one of ours.”
The entire campground collectively inhaled.
Tex slowly set down the mason jar on the hood of the pamper camper. “Hold up now,” he said carefully while pushing his cowboy hat back slightly. “We handed out dozens of those today.”
“That one tested positive for toxin residue,” Tucker answered.
Queenie slapped one hand over her chest dramatically. Betts immediately grabbed her elbow before she toppled backward into the firepit.
Al cleared his throat loudly while pulling out a pair of handcuffs with all the confidence of a man pretending he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Tex Randal, I’m gonna need you to come with us for questioning about the poison found in your roller bottle that was on the victim.”