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

door. It didn’t take much to cause the trailer to rock and roll.
    She should be able to see the twins’ trailer from the window over the couch, so she edged over to the couch, and kneeling on it, parted two of the slats on the blinds and peered out.
    The light came from inside the trailer, bouncing from window to window. Where had she laid her phone the night before? Sometimes she put it on the table or the end counter; sometimes in a jacket pocket.
    She was pretty sure that last night she had put it on the table. Checking to make sure the light was still inside the trailer across the road, she crept the few steps from the couch to the table, making sure not to fall over the dog. A little glow from a night light made the black rectangle stand out on the light colored table top. When she turned it on, she noticed it was after 3:00. She dialed 911 and quietly explained the situation to the dispatcher, mentioning Mary Sorenson, and that the trailer belonged to the dead women. As she shut off the phone, she started at a rustling noise and looked around to see the shape of her husband in the bedroom doorway.
    “What’s going on?” The bear just emerging from hibernation.
    “Someone is in the twins’ trailer,” Frannie said.
    “Maybe the sheriff,” Larry said, bending over to squint through the blinds.
    “At this hour?”
    “Not the sheriff,” he amended. “He’s leaving and it’s definitely not Mary Sorenson.”
    Frannie kneeled beside him on the couch to get another look. A figure taller than Mary ducked under the crime scene tape and headed to the wooded slope at the back of the campground.
    “Maybe we should…”
    “No,” Larry said firmly. “We shouldn’t. He may be armed, he has a head start and certainly is younger than we are. Also, he may not be alone.”
    Frannie hadn’t thought of that. She continued to watch the trailer for an accomplice and saw no sign of anyone else. But she supposed there could be someone waiting in the woods. She sighed and stood up, avoiding sudden twists.
    “I wonder what they would be looking for? Could you tell if he was carrying anything?”
    “Too dark.” Larry stuck his perpetual travel mug of coffee in the microwave to reheat.
    Frannie unsnapped the lid of a plastic container on the counter. “Cookie?” she asked, taking one and holding out the container to Larry. He took two.
    “We might as well get comfortable.” He dropped in his recliner, snapping it back. Frannie cringed at the sound but realized the intruder was nowhere close by now. She poured herself a glass of milk by the light from the refrigerator, and sat down to wait. It was like waiting out a power outage or a tornado warning in their basement at home. Nothing to do but think.
    Larry looked at her. “How did you know there was something going on?”
    “I woke up and couldn’t get comfortable. So I took some aspirin and went out to sit on the steps a minute. It was so peaceful and beautiful.”
    Larry sat up. “Frannie, did you go over there?”
    “No, I did not. I saw the light and came in immediately and looked out the window. Since the sheriff’s car wasn’t there and it was so late, I called 911.”
    She half expected a pat on the back for her good sense—not always so evident—but the closest Larry could manage was a grudging, “Good.”
    They sat in silence a little longer until they saw headlights coming up the camp road. Larry went to the kitchen window.
    “It’s the sheriff. You stay here.”
    She didn’t argue, but adjusted the nearest blinds so that she could see out without moving.
    Larry and the sheriff were silhouetted against the car headlights. Sorenson nodded at Larry’s explanation and then walked to the trailer door, hand on her gun. Frannie couldn’t see the actual door and waited, drumming her fingers on the dinette table. Finally, the sheriff came back around the corner, and as she and Larry stood talking, while he pointed in the direction they had seen the