Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The entire campground seemed to hold its breath the second Al mentioned poison found inside Tex’s roller bottle.
The sounds of the Daniel Boone National Forest still carried around us, but now every chirp of a cricket, croak of a frog, and rustle of a tree branch felt sharper against the silence spreading through the campground.
Smoke drifted from the communal firepit and curled through the humid summer air while lanterns hanging from camper awnings cast soft yellow light across the gravel roads winding between campsites.
Gasps spread through the crowd gathered near the campground entrance, and more camper doors opened as people stepped outside, pretending they were simply stretching their legs before bed.
Golf carts rolled slowly closer while porch lights flicked on one after another all around the campground loop.
Somewhere down near the lake, Chester barked wildly before Fifi answered him with an annoyed yip from inside my fifth wheel.
Glenda Russel looked completely stunned as she stood beside Tex underneath the string lights hanging from the pamper camper awning.
Her dark curls had started falling loose from the messy bun piled on top of her head, and the purple tank top she wore from working the fundraiser was wrinkled and stained with massage oil near the hem.
She looked from Tucker’s evidence bag to Tex and then back toward Al like her brain physically couldn’t process what she was hearing.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Glenda said as she shook her head hard enough to send curls falling against her cheeks. She stepped closer to Tex and folded one arm protectively across his back. “Tex didn’t poison anybody.”
Sheriff Al Hemmer shifted awkwardly beside his truck while sweat rolled down the sides of his face beneath his crooked sheriff’s hat.
He adjusted the belt sitting too loosely around his waist before glancing toward the growing crowd around them.
“Ma’am, I’m just askin’ him to come downtown and answer some questions,” he explained while trying hard to sound calm and in charge at the same time.
“With handcuffs?” Glenda snapped while pointing directly toward the cuffs hanging from Al’s hand. “That feels a little dramatic for questions.”
Honestly, she had a point.
Tex stayed surprisingly calm, considering half the campground was staring at him like he’d suddenly become dangerous.
He rubbed one hand slowly across the back of his neck before glancing toward Hank and me standing beside the communal firepit.
The flashing blue patrol lights bounced across his bare chest and cowboy hat while humid night air settled thick over the campground.
“This is crazy,” Tex said quietly as he looked toward Tucker. “Those oils were sittin’ out all day long.”
Tucker Pyle stood beside the truck, with the evidence bag hanging carefully between his gloved fingers.
His ranger uniform still looked crisp despite the long night, and unlike Al, Tucker didn’t appear rattled by the growing crowd or whispered gossip spreading through the campground.
He looked focused, serious, and fully locked into investigation mode.
“We’re aware of that,” Tucker answered calmly while watching Tex closely. “But the roller bottle found near Florence Sparks tested positive for toxin residue.”
The crowd immediately started whispering louder.
Dottie shifted beside me in her Adirondack chair and lit another cigarette while narrowing her eyes toward the road. The tip glowed bright orange in the darkness before she slowly exhaled smoke into the humid night air.
“This town turns on people faster than warm mayonnaise at a church picnic,” she muttered while watching campers whisper to one another beside their golf carts.
I could already hear pieces of gossip bouncing around the campground loop.
People whispered about poison. About the oils.
About Tex living in the woods and doing Reiki.
Someone farther back near the bathhouse mentioned crystals and “weird healing stuff” like that somehow automatically connected him to murder, when they were the ones who probably just got an adjustment from him.
Glenda looked around at the crowd gathering beside the road, and disbelief spread across her face.
“Y’all cannot seriously think Tex murdered somebody,” she said while throwing both hands into the air. “Do you know how much good this man has done for this community?”
Al sighed heavily and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Glenda…”
“No,” she interrupted while stepping closer toward him. “No, sir. I’m not standing here quietly while everybody starts acting like Tex is dangerous.”
Tex shifted uncomfortably beside her and lowered his voice. “Glenda…”
But she was already fully worked up.
“This man fixed Mary Elizabeth’s back after she fell hiking and couldn’t hardly walk for a week,” Glenda said while pointing toward my fifth wheel farther up the campground loop.
Her voice cracked harder with every sentence.
“He helped Mae work through trauma nobody else could get her to talk about. He sat with Alicia Becker while she cried over that abusive relationship and didn’t charge her a dime. ”
People nearby exchanged uncertain looks while she continued.
“He gives free adjustments to hikers who come off those trails hurting. He works every fundraiser in town. Every wedding shower. Every community event. Every festival where Normal wants tourists spending money.” Glenda pointed toward the pamper camper behind her.
“And tonight he donated all these oils and massages for free because it was for the Historical Society fundraiser.”
Queenie slowly nodded beside the firepit.
“That part’s true,” she admitted softly while folding her hands together in her lap.
Her blond hair had flattened from stress and humidity, and every few seconds, she unconsciously rolled her shoulders or stretched her arms, like nervous energy physically couldn’t stay still inside her body.
“He brought the pamper camper to Abby’s wedding shower,” Betts added quietly. “Everybody loved him.”
“And now everybody’s standing around acting like he’s a killer,” Glenda snapped while motioning wildly toward the crowd.
The campground noises seemed louder again for a second.
Wind moved through the trees lining the campground roads, and somewhere deeper in the Daniel Boone National Forest, an owl hooted low and steady.
Smoke from nearby campfires drifted through the campground, carrying the smell of charcoal, citronella candles, and lake water.
Tucker finally stepped forward slightly while keeping his voice calm.
“Tex, did you personally prepare the roller bottles handed out today at the Historical Society tea fundraiser?” he asked while glancing down at his notes.
Tex nodded once. “Mostly. Glenda helped me label them this morning.”
“And where were they stored before the tea fundraiser?” Tucker asked while watching him carefully.
“In the camper overnight,” Tex answered. He hesitated briefly before adding, “But people were in and out all morning, helping unload tables and decorations.”
That tiny hesitation shifted the mood immediately.
Glenda looked sharply toward him. “Tex?” she asked quietly while concern spread across her face.
Tex rubbed his jaw slowly before continuing. “I’m just saying people had access to the camper all day.”
“Meaning anybody could’ve gotten near the oils,” I said softly before I could stop myself.
Tucker’s eyes immediately flicked toward me while Al let out a tired sigh.
“Exactly why civilians don’t need to insert themselves into active investigations,” Al muttered while adjusting his oversized belt again.
Dottie took another drag from her cigarette and slowly blew smoke toward the firepit.
Hank folded his arms across his chest and studied Tucker closely while campground guests continued whispering nearby.
Tex finally lifted both hands away from his sides. “Sheriff, I’ll cooperate with whatever y’all need,” he said calmly while looking directly at Al. “But I didn’t poison Florence Sparks.”
“I know you didn’t,” Glenda answered immediately before anybody else could speak. She grabbed Tex’s arm tighter and then looked directly toward me. “Mae, please tell me y’all aren’t gonna sit there and let them railroad him.”
Hank shifted beside me and lowered his voice carefully. “Nobody’s railroading anybody,” he said while watching Al and Tucker.
“You know how this town works,” Glenda snapped while tears started filling her eyes. “By breakfast tomorrow, people’ll be calling him the shirtless poison killer from the woods.”
The campground crowd had doubled in size while we stood there talking.
Campers clustered beneath awnings, whispering to one another while golf carts lined both sides of the gravel road.
Someone near the recreation hall had absolutely started recording on a phone despite trying to hide it poorly behind a paper plate.
Dottie sighed heavily and tapped ash beside her sandal. “Well, this night officially turned into a complete mess,” she muttered while shaking her head slowly.
Betts looked toward me carefully while smoothing down the front of her cardigan. “Mae?” she asked softly.
I hated when they used that tone because it always meant the Laundry Club Ladies were seconds away from pulling me into another murder investigation, whether I wanted to be involved or not.
I looked toward Tex standing beneath flashing patrol lights with Glenda gripping his arm tightly. Then I looked toward Tucker holding the poisoned roller bottle inside the evidence bag while Al struggled to keep control of a campground full of nosy people.
We all watched as Tucker helped Tex into the back of the ranger truck, where they were really going to haul him off to the one cell at the sheriff’s department.
And deep down in my gut, something about the entire situation felt wrong.
Tex forgot where he parked his own camper half the time. The man lived in cutoff shorts, played guitar barefoot beside campfires, and handed out free herbal tea to tourists. Nothing about him screamed “calculated poison murderer targeting socialites during fancy tea parties.”
More importantly, if somebody really planted poison inside that roller bottle, then the actual killer was still walking around Normal while the town focused entirely on Tex because he was the easiest answer.
Easy answers in Normal almost never turned out to be right.
Glenda stepped closer toward me while wiping quickly beneath her eyes. “Please,” she said quietly, “y’all know Tex. You know he wouldn’t hurt anybody.”
The Laundry Club Ladies all looked toward me at once. Abby still clutched the spiral notebook in her lap while Queenie stopped stress stretching long enough to stare expectantly. Betts looked worried while Dottie calmly smoked beside the firepit like she already knew exactly where this was headed.
“We’ll ask questions,” I finally said while crossing my arms tightly across my chest.
Relief flashed across Glenda’s face immediately.
“Mae,” Hank complained while dragging one hand down his face.
“We’ll ask questions,” I repeated firmly while holding his gaze. “That’s not illegal.”
“Usually ends illegal adjacent,” Hank muttered quietly beside me while rubbing the back of his neck.
Dottie smiled slightly around her cigarette. “That’s my girl,” she said proudly while smoke curled upward into the lantern light.
Abby immediately opened the notebook back up with entirely too much excitement for midnight after a poisoning. “Should I make Tex a suspect page or a framed suspect page?” she asked while clicking her pen dramatically.
“Abby,” Betts warned softly while shaking her head.
“What?” Abby asked innocently while looking around the firepit. “Organization matters.”
Queenie finally stopped rolling her shoulders and pointed toward the pamper camper. “Tomorrow morning, we need to retrace the entire fundraiser timeline,” she announced while slipping fully into Historical Society president mode again.
“Every person who touched those oils,” I agreed while glancing back toward Tucker’s evidence bag.
“And everybody who sat at Florence’s table,” Betts added carefully.
“And that waitress,” Dottie said while narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. “I still don’t trust anybody carrying trays during a murder setup.”
“I hope y’all understand interfering with an active investigation doesn’t help anybody,” Hank said firmly.
“We prefer the term ‘community involvement,’” Dottie answered while crushing her cigarette beneath her sandal.
“We all meet at the Laundry Club Laundromat at eight a.m. sharp,” Betts said, looking around at each one of us for a confirmation nod.
“I’ll be there with everything you need,” Glenda called, stomping back to the pamper camper, which Al had started to wrap in police tape.
And standing there beneath the campground lanterns while frogs croaked near the lake and sheriff lights flashed against the dark Kentucky woods, I realized exactly why this murder suddenly mattered so much to me.
Because if the Laundry Club Ladies didn’t start digging, Normal would hand Tex over as the easiest answer and move on.
And somebody out there knew the truth.