Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I couldn’t turn my car around fast enough.
The tires squealed against the pavement as I switched directions and headed straight toward Happy Trails Campground, with my pulse thumping harder the closer I got.
The entire drive through the Daniel Boone National Forest felt different now.
The peaceful spring morning had officially left the building.
Campers and tourists were still pulled off at scenic overlooks, taking pictures of the mountains and wildflowers blooming along the roadside, while kayaks strapped to SUVs bounced slightly over potholes.
Nobody else seemed aware that the governor of Kentucky had apparently rolled into my campground ready to drag his wife home while Henry Bryant barricaded himself across a bungalow doorway like a human sandbag.
“Lord help me,” I muttered while gripping the steering wheel tighter.
I hit Hank’s number first.
“Where are you?” I asked the second he answered.
“At the station with Tucker,” Hank said immediately, his deep voice clipped and serious. Papers shuffled in the background while somebody nearby yelled for Agnes to check a fax machine. “Why?”
“Get back to the campground now,” I told him while flying around a curve so hard my bakery box slid across the passenger seat. “The governor’s here. So are those men from the Milkery.”
“The men from the Milkery?” Hank asked.
“That’s what I was going to tell you when I got to the sheriff’s department, but you’ll just have to hear it at the campground,” I told him.
“I’ll tell Al now,” Hank said. “You stay out of the middle of it until we get there.”
“I absolutely will not,” I answered honestly before hanging up. I gave it a few seconds, then I called Al next.
“You better be on your way,” I told him before he could even say hello.
“I already am,” Al answered over the sound of sirens. “Waldo Willy’s got half the county watchin’ online, and Agnes says Channel Two’s switchboard is blowin’ up.”
“That man’s a menace.” I groaned as I realized Waldo, the local newspaper and TV reporter, was there.
“Well, he’s your menace because he keeps yellin’ your name into the camera, askin’ where Mae West Sharp is.” Al didn’t make me feel any better.
“I told Tara and Alice not to leave the campground,” Al continued while breathing heavily enough that I figured he was driving too fast again. “And if the governor thinks he’s takin’ people out of an active investigation, he’s about to find out I do, in fact, know Kentucky law.”
That actually made me feel slightly better.
Slightly.
The second I turned beneath the rickety wooden Happy Trails sign, I knew the situation had already gotten completely out of hand.
Cars lined both sides of the gravel drive all the way to the lake.
Campers stood outside their RVs, holding phones in the air while tourists gathered near the recreation hall, openly watching the drama unfold near Bungalow Three. Somebody had actually pulled lawn chairs into the grass beside the loop around the lake.
“This town,” I muttered while pulling into a crooked parking spot beside the office.
The pamper camper still sat parked near the tiki hut from the fundraiser while strands of lantern lights swayed overhead in the warm spring breeze.
The fountain in the middle of the lake sprayed peacefully into the air, like none of this foolishness was happening, while Chester barked hysterically from my camper.
And standing dead center of the chaos was Waldo Willy.
Of course he was.
The man stood nearly a full head taller than everybody else, with his greasy black hair sticking out beneath a brown beanie despite the warm weather.
A long trench coat hung open over a wrinkled T-shirt while a giant digital camera bounced against his chest. In one hand, he held his phone high, filming live video while the other clutched a spiral notebook packed full of scribbles.
“Normal, Kentucky, is currently experiencing what appears to be a political standoff,” Waldo announced dramatically into his phone while pivoting toward Bungalow Three.
“Behind me, Governor Kelly’s wife, Tara Kelly, remains inside the residence while campground handyman, Henry Bryant, refuses to allow removal of any potential witnesses tied to the Florence Sparks murder investigation. ”
“Oh, for the love,” I hissed while slamming my car door.
Mary Elizabeth spotted me first.
“Oh, thank heavens,” she said while hurrying toward me in one of her flowing floral blouses and white capris. Her face looked flushed from stress while Dawn Gentry stayed close beside her, holding two cups of coffee neither of them appeared to remember having.
“Mae West Sharp!” Waldo suddenly shouted the second he noticed me. “The owner of Happy Trails Campground has officially arrived on scene!”
He spun the phone toward me immediately.
I threw one hand up in front of my face. “Turn that thing off before I shove it in the lake.”
“Viewers are asking if corruption reaches all the way to Frankfort,” Waldo continued while walking backward to follow me.
Before I could answer him, Dottie suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she barked while stepping directly in front of Waldo’s phone, wearing rhinestone flip-flops, leopard-print capris, and a hot-pink T-shirt that read Camper Queen.
A cigarette dangled from one hand while she waved the other wildly in front of the camera lens.
“Ain’t nobody needin’ to see this campground lookin’ like an episode of Cops. ”
“Dottie,” Waldo complained while trying to sidestep around her. “You’re obstructing journalism.”
“I’m fixin’ to obstruct your forehead,” Dottie snapped while moving with him in every single direction he tried to go. “Go report on birds or possums or whatever it is you do when you ain’t harassin’ innocent people.”
Behind them, the actual chaos continued escalating.
Henry Bryant had indeed laid himself directly across the threshold of Bungalow Three.
Flat on his back, arms folded, and boots crossed.
The governor of Kentucky stood over him, red-faced and furious, while two men in expensive suits hovered nearby, looking just as irritated as they had upstairs at the Milkery. One of them was the silver-haired man we’d seen tearing apart Alice’s room.
“You cannot hold my wife hostage in a campground bungalow!” the governor shouted while pointing aggressively toward the door.
“You step over me and I’ll scream assault so loud folks’ll hear it in Lexington,” Henry replied calmly while adjusting his baseball cap against the bungalow step.
Inside the bungalow, Tara pounded against the door.
“Help!” she shrieked. “Open this door immediately!”
“No, ma’am,” Henry answered without moving an inch. “Sheriff said stay put, and I ain’t losin’ my job over politics.”
Alice Charles suddenly stepped into view from inside and flung open the window.
“She is not leaving until law enforcement arrives,” Alice announced firmly. She appeared to be strong-arming Tara from inside and not letting Tara get to the window.
“You don’t have the authority to detain the First Lady of Kentucky,” the silver-haired man snapped.
“And you don’t have the authority to tamper with a murder investigation,” Alice fired back while lifting her chin.
Honestly?
Watching Alice Charles block the governor himself wasn’t exactly helping me believe she was some innocent little forest supervisor.
“This is better than Dateline,” someone called out from behind me.
Dottie fought Waldo Willy’s live stream with a cigarette in one hand and pure spite in the other. I realized this murder investigation had officially turned into the biggest spectacle Normal, Kentucky, had seen in years.
The sound of sirens echoed around us before we even heard the spit of gravel pinging up underneath tires.
Sheriff Al Hemmer came barreling around the curve toward the bungalow loop so fast his truck fishtailed near the bathhouse before straightening back out. Behind him came Tucker Pyle’s ranger truck, followed closely by Hank’s dark pickup bouncing hard over the potholes.
Every camper in sight turned toward the noise.
Phones rose higher.
Waldo Willy practically danced in place while holding his live-stream phone over his head.
“We now have law enforcement arriving on the scene,” Waldo announced dramatically into his camera while backing toward the communal firepit. “This confrontation between the governor’s office and local authorities appears to be escalating in real time.”
“Lord have mercy,” Mary Elizabeth whispered while pressing one hand against her chest beside Dawn Gentry. The lantern lights reflected off her pearl earrings while worry deepened across her face.
Al climbed out first, looking sweaty and overwhelmed before both boots even hit the gravel. His brown sheriff’s hat sat crooked on top of his thinning hair, and his uniform shirt already had dark sweat marks beneath the arms.
“Nobody move!” Al shouted while pointing toward the crowd. He adjusted his oversized belt nervously before adding, “Official business!”
“Nobody’s movin’ but your blood pressure,” Dottie muttered beside me while narrowing her eyes toward Waldo’s phone.
Tucker stepped out next, looking far calmer than everybody else combined. His ranger uniform was crisp despite the long morning while his serious expression swept over the campground in one quick glance.
Hank headed straight toward me the second he climbed from his truck.
“You okay?” Hank asked quietly while slipping one hand against my lower back. His green eyes searched my face carefully.
“I’m fine,” I answered while nodding toward the bungalow. “But this whole thing sure isn’t.”
Inside Bungalow Three, Tara started pounding against the door again.
“I demand somebody let me out of here!” Tara yelled from inside while rattling the screen so hard it shook against the frame.
“You stay put!” Al yelled while marching toward the bungalow, his voice holding more confidence than he actually looked like he felt.
Henry Bryant finally sat up from the threshold with a grunt before climbing to his feet.