Minnie Crockwell - Will Travel for Trouble 01 - Trouble at Happy Trails by Minnie Crockwell
Authors: Minnie Crockwell
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rummaged around on my computer, searching for a site on the Lewis and Clark Trail.
“Hah! Here it is,” I said. “You all entered Washington via Lewiston, Idaho. There’s a Discovery Center down there near Lewiston. You know how I like those! You can pick up all kinds of things there.”
Ben chuckled.
I see references to the Nez Perce on your picture. A fine people, very large families, kind to weary travelers.
“We can do that, Ben. We’ll go in the car. Leave the RV here. No sense dragging this monster around. It’s just a day trip.”
Excellent! I would suggest a picnic, but I am not currently eating. Perhaps for yourself?
I laughed outright.
“Well, since you say you can taste everything I eat, I guess you’ll be picnicking anyway. Sure! A picnic. It sounds wonderful. Tomorrow?”
I have no plans, my dear. Tomorrow would be lovely.
I smiled and rose to sort through laundry. While murder and/or suicide were afoot, I still have to have clean clothes. I grabbed my towels and stuffed them in my laundry basket along with the detergent and fabric softener. This was as good a time as any to meet the owner as the laundry room was located in the same building along with the showers and bathrooms.
I hauled my little basket over to the office building and veered to the right to enter the laundry room.
I do wish I could ease some of your burdens, Minerva. This makes me most unhappy. It is not proper for me to stand by whilst you hoist heavy things.
“There’s not much you can do about that, Ben. And it’s not heavy anyway.” I smiled as I set the basket down on the small laundry table. There were two washers and two dryers, and luckily, no one else was using them. “I appreciate the concern though. I know you would help me if you could.”
Yes, Ben said with a sigh.
I threw my clothes into one washer and the towels into another and stuffed coins into the machine slots. Some soap and bubbles later, I was ready to head to the office for more recon.
I do not think this owner has anything to offer regarding Mr. Richardson’s death, Minerva.
“Maybe not, but I think I’ll stop by for a chat any ole how.”
I rounded the building and opened the office door. At the desk behind the counter sat a tall, tanned, salt and pepper-haired man. He rose as I entered, towering over me even across the counter at something well over 6 feet. A light blue striped polo shirt matched the color of his eyes. I could see that he wore white shorts.
He looked beyond me through the windows outside, no doubt to see if I had pulled up in an RV.
“Can I help you?”
I stuck out my hand.
“I’m Minnie Crockwell, space 18.”
“Oh, you’re Minnie. Sally told me about you.” He took my hand in his .
Oh, gosh, what had Sally said? The way he said “you’re” made my palms sweat.
“Really?” Say more, Mister.
“Nick Granger” he said. He gave my hand a shake and released it.
“You only got here yesterday, right?” he asked. His voice held a pleasant timber, though not as deep as Ben’s baritone.
I am flattered that you think of me in these seemingly random moments, Minerva.
It’s hard to get you out of my head, Ben. And I mean that literally.
Ben chuckled, and I smiled broadly.
Nick responded to my smile with a white-toothed one of his own, made more bright in contrast to his tanned skin.
“Yes, I did.”
“How long are you staying?” he asked. “I haven’t had time to check the computer yet.”
“A week.”
He nodded pleasantly. “Are you visiting family or…”
The usual round of questions commenced. What he avoided was the subject of Carl’s death.
“No, just traveling around. I’ve been full-time RVing for a few months now.”
He nodded. “I did it for a couple of years, but found it kind of lonely, so I settled down for a bit. Bought this RV park. Now, I golf.”
Which explained the tan.
“So, do you live here at the park?”
“No, although I might have to put
“Hah! Here it is,” I said. “You all entered Washington via Lewiston, Idaho. There’s a Discovery Center down there near Lewiston. You know how I like those! You can pick up all kinds of things there.”
Ben chuckled.
I see references to the Nez Perce on your picture. A fine people, very large families, kind to weary travelers.
“We can do that, Ben. We’ll go in the car. Leave the RV here. No sense dragging this monster around. It’s just a day trip.”
Excellent! I would suggest a picnic, but I am not currently eating. Perhaps for yourself?
I laughed outright.
“Well, since you say you can taste everything I eat, I guess you’ll be picnicking anyway. Sure! A picnic. It sounds wonderful. Tomorrow?”
I have no plans, my dear. Tomorrow would be lovely.
I smiled and rose to sort through laundry. While murder and/or suicide were afoot, I still have to have clean clothes. I grabbed my towels and stuffed them in my laundry basket along with the detergent and fabric softener. This was as good a time as any to meet the owner as the laundry room was located in the same building along with the showers and bathrooms.
I hauled my little basket over to the office building and veered to the right to enter the laundry room.
I do wish I could ease some of your burdens, Minerva. This makes me most unhappy. It is not proper for me to stand by whilst you hoist heavy things.
“There’s not much you can do about that, Ben. And it’s not heavy anyway.” I smiled as I set the basket down on the small laundry table. There were two washers and two dryers, and luckily, no one else was using them. “I appreciate the concern though. I know you would help me if you could.”
Yes, Ben said with a sigh.
I threw my clothes into one washer and the towels into another and stuffed coins into the machine slots. Some soap and bubbles later, I was ready to head to the office for more recon.
I do not think this owner has anything to offer regarding Mr. Richardson’s death, Minerva.
“Maybe not, but I think I’ll stop by for a chat any ole how.”
I rounded the building and opened the office door. At the desk behind the counter sat a tall, tanned, salt and pepper-haired man. He rose as I entered, towering over me even across the counter at something well over 6 feet. A light blue striped polo shirt matched the color of his eyes. I could see that he wore white shorts.
He looked beyond me through the windows outside, no doubt to see if I had pulled up in an RV.
“Can I help you?”
I stuck out my hand.
“I’m Minnie Crockwell, space 18.”
“Oh, you’re Minnie. Sally told me about you.” He took my hand in his .
Oh, gosh, what had Sally said? The way he said “you’re” made my palms sweat.
“Really?” Say more, Mister.
“Nick Granger” he said. He gave my hand a shake and released it.
“You only got here yesterday, right?” he asked. His voice held a pleasant timber, though not as deep as Ben’s baritone.
I am flattered that you think of me in these seemingly random moments, Minerva.
It’s hard to get you out of my head, Ben. And I mean that literally.
Ben chuckled, and I smiled broadly.
Nick responded to my smile with a white-toothed one of his own, made more bright in contrast to his tanned skin.
“Yes, I did.”
“How long are you staying?” he asked. “I haven’t had time to check the computer yet.”
“A week.”
He nodded pleasantly. “Are you visiting family or…”
The usual round of questions commenced. What he avoided was the subject of Carl’s death.
“No, just traveling around. I’ve been full-time RVing for a few months now.”
He nodded. “I did it for a couple of years, but found it kind of lonely, so I settled down for a bit. Bought this RV park. Now, I golf.”
Which explained the tan.
“So, do you live here at the park?”
“No, although I might have to put
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