Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
By the time the sun started dipping behind the mountains and dusk settled over Happy Trails Campground, things had mostly gone back to normal.
Well, as normal as things could get after a murder investigation involving the First Lady of Kentucky, a poisoned massage roller bottle, stolen teacups, and Waldo Willy live streaming half the disaster to social media.
The campground loop had quieted back down after the sheriff’s truck disappeared down the gravel drive.
Most of the tourists had finally returned to their campers, where generators hummed softly and the smell of grilled hamburgers drifted through the warm spring air.
Lantern lights hanging around the tiki hut flickered against the growing darkness while frogs started croaking louder from the edge of the lake.
Fifi tore through the grass near the communal firepit, chasing Chester as both dogs barked wildly at each other.
Every few seconds, Fifi would stop long enough to splash into the shallow edge of the lake before taking off running again with Chester right behind her, barking like campground security.
“Those dogs are gonna wear themselves slap out,” Betts Hager said, settling deeper into one of the Adirondack chairs around the communal fire ring. She tucked her cardigan tighter around her shoulders while the firelight flickered softly across her face.
“I wish I could wear myself out enough not to think about Florence Sparks,” Queenie French admitted, sitting cross-legged in her chair, still dressed in bright-pink Jazzercise leggings from earlier.
She fanned herself dramatically with a campground brochure before glancing toward the dark campground entrance.
“This whole thing has me more wound up than a tick on a hound dog.”
Dottie snorted beside her, digging through her oversized purse for her cigarette case.
“Well, I for one need a cigarette and a nerve pill,” Dottie announced while tapping one out into her hand. “And if somebody’s got a casserole hidden somewhere, I’d take that too.”
“You’ve already eaten half a lasagna,” Abby pointed out, balancing the spiral sleuthing notebook across her knees. The firelight reflected off her glasses as she flipped to a clean page with neat little tabs sticking out from the edges.
“Stress burns calories,” Dottie answered matter-of-factly before lighting her cigarette.
Waldo Willy sat on the far edge of the firepit circle, perched awkwardly on an upside-down bucket, with his camera still hanging around his neck. His trench coat looked rumpled now, and his beanie sat crooked on top of his greasy hair while he scribbled furiously inside his reporter’s notebook.
“You are absolutely not quoting anything said around this firepit,” I warned him as I reached down to scratch Chester behind the ears after he barreled into my legs.
Waldo looked up innocently. “I’m off the record.”
“You don’t know what that means,” Dottie muttered around her cigarette.
The fire crackled loudly in the middle of the ring, sending sparks swirling upward into the dark Kentucky sky.
Around us, campers had settled back into evening routines.
Somebody down near the beach laughed loudly while another group roasted marshmallows near one of the lakeside fire rings.
Soft bluegrass music drifted faintly from somewhere deeper in the campground.
Honestly, if somebody had rolled into Happy Trails right then, they never would’ve guessed half the campground had spent the afternoon accusing politicians and socialites of murder.
“Mary Elizabeth finally went back to the Milkery?” Betts asked quietly while folding her hands together in her lap.
I nodded slowly.
“Al released the property after the forensic team finished up,” I explained as I stared into the fire. “Dawn drove her back over there about an hour ago.”
“She okay?” Abby asked softly while uncapping her pen.
I let out a slow breath.
“No,” I answered honestly. “I think she’s trying to hold herself together because people are watching her, but I’d bet money she’s already climbed into bed.”
That image sat heavy in my chest.
Mary Elizabeth Moberly was one of the strongest women I knew. She ran the Milkery like a five-star resort while somehow still making every guest feel like family. Seeing her shaken this badly unsettled all of us.
“Florence died in her home,” Queenie whispered, rubbing both arms slowly. “That’s hard to come back from.”
The fire popped again.
Fifi suddenly darted past us with Chester chasing her. It might’ve looked like playing, but it was great exercise for the two of them before bed to knock them out.
The dusk would soon fade to dark, which meant the two of them would have to go inside due to the fact the nocturnal friends would love to have either of them as a little snack.
Hank’s footsteps caught our attention as he walked toward the firepit. He had a tray of coffee cups, and the closer he got, the more the smell of fresh coffee filled the air.
“One black and one overloaded with creamer,” Hank announced while handing them down to Dottie and me. Then he put the tray down on one of the many logs sitting around that we used for setting.
“You’re my favorite person right now,” Dottie told him, taking the cup carefully with both hands.
“And you’re mine,” Hank answered before leaning down to kiss the top of my head.
The warmth from the fire mixed with the smell of coffee, cigarette smoke, lake water, and spring grass while darkness settled deeper around the campground.
The twinkling lights wrapped around the tiki hut reflected softly across the lake fountain while somewhere in the woods, cicadas had finally started up for the night.
And sitting there surrounded by the Laundry Club Ladies, while we sipped on the hot coffee, I felt assured that two heads were better than one when it came to murder theories.
“Well,” Abby said as she adjusted her glasses, clicking her pen before she smoothed out the page of our open sleuthing notebook. “Let’s get to work.”
“You’re not going to have a lot,” Hank said.
“Oh no,” I gulped, holding my cup between my hands. “What have you heard?”
“I saw Tucker this afternoon, and he released Tara and Alice.” His words made all of our mouths drop. “Both of them might not have liked Florence. Tucker said their alibis do check out.”
“What is Tara’s?” Abby asked, flipping the page in the sleuthing notebook.
“Her assistant,” he said and hesitated for a brief moment. “I can’t remember her name.”
“Brittany Dales,” Abby said, tapping her pen on the notebook. I leaned forward and noticed that on the paper, she was circling Brittany’s name then writing “alibi” next to it.
“It would be hard getting away from her,” Queenie piped up. “It was Brittany who coordinated everything for Tara when it came to the fundraiser. And I mean she was involved in everything.”
For a split second, my mind reeled to Brittany possibly being a suspect due to the fact that if she was that close to Tara, she’d apparently do anything for her. Then I recalled that she was Tara’s alibi, so she couldn’t be the killer.
“Unfortunately, Tex is going to be charged before his twenty-four hours are up,” Hank said, really getting our attention.
“What?” I jerked up. “There is no way Tex could’ve killed her. And why?”
“They did find the poison mushroom on his property in the woods,” Hank said, making it harder for Tex to be innocent.
“Let’s take a deep breath and update the notebook,” Abby said, adjusting her glasses and smoothing the page flat across her knees. “Maybe that will jar something.”
“Tara had motive,” Queenie argued while throwing both hands into the air dramatically. “The woman practically admitted she hated Florence.”
“Alice had access to the forest and Tex,” Abby added quickly, scribbling furiously into the notebook. “Plus the teacups.”
“Which means she could’ve gotten the mushrooms when she was with Tex.” I snapped my fingers, but my shoulders fell when I looked at Hank, and he gave me a sympathetic frown.
“Apparently, motive ain’t enough,” Dottie muttered while taking another drag from her cigarette.
“Tex, on the other hand,” Hank continued carefully while glancing toward me, “not only had the mushroom toxin in his camp, but he also owns and sells and uses the roller bottles.”
“But that doesn’t mean he put it there,” I argued immediately, gesturing toward everybody around the firepit. “Tex has people in and out of that pamper camper nonstop. Campers. Hikers. Locals. Half this town gets adjusted by that man.”
“And he leaves those oils sittin’ everywhere,” Dottie added while waving her cigarette around. “I had one leak in my purse once and smelled like eucalyptus for three days.”
“I agree with Mae,” Betts said softly, looking around the circle. “We need to go over every single fact before Al charges Tex with murder.”
“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” I agreed and pointed toward Abby’s notebook. “Leave nothing out.”
Abby immediately flipped back several pages.
The fire crackled loudly while she uncapped her pen again and balanced the notebook carefully against her knees. Fifi collapsed dramatically beside the firepit, and Chester continued carrying Hank’s old boot around like a trophy.
“Okay,” Abby said, clearing her throat importantly. “Victim. Florence Sparks.”
“Professional fundraiser,” Queenie added, counting off on her fingers. “Connected. Wealthy. Bossy.”
“Affair with the governor,” Dottie added bluntly as smoke curled around her face.
Waldo’s pencil immediately scratched faster across his notebook.
“Don’t you dare print that,” I warned him while pointing directly at him.
“I’m taking notes,” Waldo said innocently.
“Keep going,” I told Abby, pulling my knees up beneath me in the chair.
“Cause of death,” Abby read aloud while glancing down at the page. “Poison from destroying angel mushroom found inside roller bottle connected to Cascades Mobile Spa.”
“Which still sounds insane when you say it out loud,” Betts admitted quietly.