Bats and Bones (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries) by Karen Musser Nortman

and
River still had their heads together over the small screen on Mickey’s phone.
    “Oh-oh,
River,” Mickey said. “I think we have a dessert warning.”
    River
straightened up. “What’s a dessert warn…?” but his eyes followed Mickey’s
pointing finger to the picnic table.
    “Mom! Can I
have some?”
    Stephanie
smiled and nodded. They all gathered around the fragrant pan and Donna handed
out heaping bowls.
    As she
savored the warm cinnamony apples and crust complemented by the cool creamy ice
cream, Frannie kept sneaking glances at the scene across the road. Angry
grumblings from Stub’s friends accompanied the officers as they efficiently
pulled out, checked, and stacked the coolers and boxes around the campsite.
Sanchez questioned Randy at length; then they left the stacks for the Chicago
men to return to the storage compartments and went inside. Stub appeared to be
questioning Randy in turn while Sanchez and Ingrham were inside, but Randy just
shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, palms up.
    Larry and
Rob cleared the dessert things while discussing their respective golf games and
Mickey and River went back to watching the radar screen.
    Sanchez and
Ingrham finally emerged from the motorhome empty-handed, spoke briefly to Stub,
shook hands, and got in the sheriff’s car. Neither man looked over at the
Shoemakers and their friends, almost as if they wanted to discourage any
further ‘tips.’ It seemed to Frannie that their earlier plea for information
meant anyone but her group. She was sure Randy had hidden the old cooler in the
woods, but wondered why Sanchez didn’t appear to have found the GPS either.
Randy must have stashed that also.
    The patrol
car had no sooner pulled slowly away than the two rangers appeared walking
along the road, stopping here and there to reassure campers.
    As they
passed, Ranger Sommers asked if they needed any help tuning a weather radio.
Larry shook his head and Mickey held up his smart phone.
    Ranger
Phillips said to Mickey, “Do you have that set to send you a message in case of
a warning?”
    “Yes, sir,
I do.”
    “Good.
We’ll keep our fingers crossed that this passes us by but we want everyone prepared.
Be sure and get as much put away as possible,” he reminded them. And to Rob,
“Especially those lights, if you want to keep them.”
    Over the
last half-hour, dusk had arrived with an eerie yellow glow. The stillness and
humidity seemed heavier even than it had all day. Around the campground, people
packed up games, cards, books, and magazines. Lawn chairs took refuge under
campers and tablecloths returned to cupboards inside. Lanterns and flashlights
were placed inside within easy reach. Rob returned to his trailer to perform
his lighting operations from the night before in reverse, unplugging,
disassembling, coiling and storing.
    Many
planned to sleep in their clothes or not at all. Others scoffed and declared no
storm was going to ‘rob me of my beauty sleep.’ Mostly false bravado.
Stephanie, who had gone to secure her own campsite, returned to ask if Larry or
Mickey got any early warning to please let her know. They assured her they
would make sure she and River headed to the shower house when they did.
    With
everything, except for a couple of chairs, as safely stowed as circumstances
permitted, they perched on or sat at the picnic table as the darkness deepened.
No stars twinkled above them. Mickey gave continued reports from his tiny radar
screen. The storm still appeared that it would pass south of them but it also
seemed to be expanding.
    Stub
wandered over, beer in hand.
    “Are you
guys crazy?” he asked, shaking his head. “You do this all the time and enjoy it? If we make it back to Chicago,
we’re going to forfeit what we’ve paid for that thing and find a nice motel
somewhere.”
    Mickey
laughed. “It really isn’t usually like this. I mean, we’ve been through storm
warnings before but I can’t say that we’ve ever had a murder