Peete and Repeat (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 3) by Karen Musser Nortman

school.
    “Sure is,” Larry replied, tugging back on Cuba’s leash. At her age, she was no threat to anyone but still big enough to frighten people not fond of dogs.
    “Any of you folks headed inta town later?”
    “Sorry, I don’t think so,” Mickey said, sounding sincere enough to get a tweak on his arm from his wife.
    “Awright—thanks anyway. Say, gonna be around a few days? You oughta come see my show—I’m a singer,” she actually batted her eyelashes. “And I perform almost every night up at Farrell’s on the county line. Name’s Jonie Rump, but my stage name’s Jonie Helene.” Her accent slipped the more she talked.
    “Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind,” Frannie said. She ignored the look from Jane Ann.
    Jonie gave them a coquettish little wave and sashayed by. When she was out of earshot, Jane Ann mumbled to Frannie, “Rump? Are you kidding me?”
    Frannie shrugged in innocence. “I didn’t say a word.”
    “Jonie Boob is more like it.”
    Frannie giggled. They were trailing behind the others, and Larry turned around to check on her.
    “Are you getting too tired? We can go back.”
    “No. I’m fine. I haven’t done anything all day.”
    “Just found a couple of bodies and made a spectacular one-point landing. Probably would have only scored about a six but spectacular anyway.”
    Actually, she had been thinking about turning around soon but now decided to stick with the group.
    “Technically, Donna found the bodies.”
    “Whatever.”
    When they got to the river, they saw no sign of the beavers. The setting sun filtered through the trees but the river was already dark in most places. The derelict trailer could only be glimpsed through the trees, small, angry, and threatening. Frannie saw no sign of life around it. They headed back to the campsite and settled into their favorite night time activity, sitting around the fire.
    “What’s for breakfast?” Mickey said. A vigorous discussion ensued. Frannie didn’t know from experience about armies, but there was no doubt in her mind that campers definitely traveled on their stomachs. Soon she excused herself, received several sympathetic looks and went in to bed.
     
    She woke in the night, tried to turn over and was punished for her efforts with a stab in her side. After trying several positions, she gave up and got out of bed to take another aspirin. She finished the glass of water, opened the camper door, and peered outside. The entire campground was dark and quiet. A few coals still glowed in the fire pit and the night was so filled with stars that there seemed no room for any more.
    She went out and sat on the steps, wrapping her arms around herself, and took breaths as deep as she could manage of the cool night air. What a beautiful night. The breeze was light and made occasional rustling sounds in the trees and shrubs. A few scratching and scrambling sounds attested to the presence of wild creatures. No doubt the raccoons were checking out opportunities at every campsite. There were no lights, but she could make out the light-colored shape of Ferraros’ motor home, the darker shapes of trees towering above it, and in the distance, a faint whitish smudge against the sky marking the top of the limestone bluffs across the river.
    She again puzzled over the strange relationship between the twins and Richard, and caught the reflection of a small light against the Nowaks’ trailer across the road. It must be coming from the vicinity of the twins’ trailer, out of Frannie’s line of sight. Someone was over there; not likely the authorities at this hour, and there was no sign of a vehicle. A cold lump of fear gathered in the pit of her stomach and she held her breath. She thought she could hear sounds from that direction, but not that different from what she had earlier interpreted as raccoons.
    She carefully stood on the steps and as quietly as she could, turned around and opened the camper door. She mounted the steps and eased in the