A Rip Roaring Good Time

  A Rip Roaring Good Time

  A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery

  Book One

  by

  Jeanne Glidewell

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-714-2

  By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 2015 by Jeanne Glidewell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my wonderful 152 Crew friends and neighbors, Janet Wright and Colleen Dudley, aspiring authors themselves, who help me by letting me bounce plots and titles off them. I appreciate that Janet and Colleen don't mind when I use some of their ideas in my stories. It was the two of them who convinced me, a former RV Park owner, to write a cozy series about RV enthusiasts, which I'm introducing with this first Ripple Effect mystery. I hope my Lexie Starr readers will enjoy this crossover novel, and my new cozy mystery series, as well.

  Acknowledgements

  I'd like to thank my editors, Judy Beatty, of Madison, Alabama, and Alice Duncan, of Roswell, New Mexico, who help keep me from appearing as if I flunked out of my English classes fourteen years in a row. I'd also like to thank Nina and Brian Paules, of eBook Prep, and ePublishing Works, for their expert advice, and professional eBook services. They are truly a pleasure, and a blessing, to work with.

  Cast of Characters

  Rapella Ripple - As Rapella, a full-time RVer, who has an unlimited number of clichés in her repertoire, would say, "You're only as old as you feel". At sixty-eight, she's a real pistol, ready to be fired. She'll do whatever it takes to help her friend, Lexie Starr, out of a rough spot.

  Clyde Ripple, a.k.a. Rip - Rapella's husband and the other half of the RVing couple. Having spent his entire career in law enforcement, he's a handy husband to have around when the you-know-what hits the fan.

  Lexie Starr - She's been sticking her nose into murder cases for several years, tracking down suspects and killers. When she ends up on the wrong end of a murder investigation, her friends, the Ripples, arrive in their travel trailer (affectionately known as the "Chartreuse Caboose") to rescue her.

  Stone Van Patten - Lexie's husband of just over a year. Together, he and Lexie own the Alexandria Inn, a bed and breakfast establishment in Rockdale, Missouri. His blood pressure has gone down significantly since Lexie gave up her part-time sleuthing habit.

  Wendy Starr - Lexie Starr's thirty-year-old daughter who works in the county coroner's lab. She's the guest of honor at her surprise birthday party. But when the party plans go awry, she gets a bigger surprise than anyone could have anticipated.

  Andy Van Patten - Stone's nephew, who moved to the Midwest after his uncle did, and fell in love with Wendy Starr. The rancher had planned to propose to her at the party, but a dead guest spoiled the special moment.

  Mattie Hill - Wendy's best friend, who helps Lexie plan the surprise birthday party, is in charge of making out the guest list. Did she have an ulterior motive in wanting the despicable victim to attend?

  Detective Wyatt Johnston - A Rockdale police officer, as well as a friend of the family. He's grown accustomed to pulling Lexie out of deep doo-doo. But this time, even his hands are tied.

  Veronica Prescott - Daughter of the first murder victim to land the Alexandria Inn on the front page of the Rockdale Gazette. As Detective Johnston's girlfriend, she has to cook a lot of food, even though she consumes very little of it.

  Trotter Hayes - A handsome piece of arm candy that left a sour taste in a lot of people's mouths. He finds out the hard way that his stepfather, Chief Smith, couldn't protect him from someone who thinks he's a pain in the neck.

  Chief Leonard Smith - The victim's stepfather, who also happens to be the Rockdale Chief of Police. He's had run-ins with Lexie before and is determined to see her behind bars for the murder of his stepson. Does he truly think she's guilty, or is he just fed up with her meddling into his murder cases?

  Joy White - The victim's date for the party. She's one of the "Three Musketeers", a tight knit trio of friends. Joy's an exercise instructor by day and something less reputable by night. Did she want to get back at the victim for forcing her to do something she'd later regret, in a tit-for-tot retaliation?

  Alice Runcan - As homecoming queen in her senior year in high school, she was stood up at the dance by the victim. Humiliated by his deliberate insensitivity, she's long had an ax to grind with him. She doubles as the second of the Three Musketeers and the owner of a health-food restaurant, called Zen's Diner. Was Trotter's murder a case of revenge is a dish best served cold?

  Rayleen Waters - This shrinking violet arrives at the party with business-owner Falcon Jons, but years ago the third Musketeer had shown up with a deceitful Trotter Hayes at the homecoming dance, after he'd stood up Alice Runcan at the last minute. The musketeers gradually disbanded following Joy's unintentional backstabbing of her good friend. Vengeance comes in many forms. Was murder her payback of choice?

  Falcon Jons - Owner of Midwest Aerospace, Inc. He's unimpressed when Rapella applies for a position at his firm. He takes Rayleen Waters to the birthday party, but is more interested in the victim's date, Joy White, whom he'd just broken up with when he learned she was cheating on him with the victim, Trotter Hayes. Did he find a clever way to eliminate the competition?

  Georgia Piney - As the caterer, she delivered the food to the surprise birthday party. Could she have served up some sweet revenge for dessert?

  Lori Piney - The caterer's daughter, who also had a motive to want to exact justice against the victim. But did she despise him enough to give him a taste of her own medicine?

  Chapter 1

  "We ain't getting any younger, you know. Aren't you about ready to hit the road?" I asked Clyde "Rip" Ripple, my husband of nearly fifty years.

  "Don't get your bloomers in a bunch, my dear. All I need to do is get the jacks cranked up and the antenna cranked down, and we'll be ready to roll. We have plenty of time to get to the Alexandria Inn in time for the party."

  "Well, get to cranking, buster. I'm anxious to get the Chartreuse Caboose on the road." I had nicknamed our RV this after we'd hand-painted it chartreuse one weekend in a fit of boredom. We'd highlighted it with a few scattered yellow sunflowers for a little added flare. If nothing else, it was easy to locate in a crowded campground.

  We'd already eaten breakfast and, as usual, I heard a chorus of snap, crackle and pops before I'd even poured the milk on our cereal. It was just part of being a senior citizen, as was the prune juice we drank to wash down the whole-wheat toast that complet
ed our morning meal. Bacon, eggs and pancakes loaded down with butter and maple syrup had gone by the wayside when our cholesterol levels achieved "walking time bomb" status. They were just a fantasy now, as were a lot of other things we'd always enjoyed in our younger days. Even our sex drives were more often in "park" than not. Still, for both being sixty-eight years old, we felt we had a lot more active lifestyle than most folks did at our age. We made sure there was never any room on our schedule for bingo and potluck dinners, staples of many senior citizens' social lives.

  Rip and I, Rapella Ripple, are full-time RV enthusiasts, crisscrossing the country in our thirty-foot travel trailer. We both retired at sixty-two years old, the earliest we could and still draw our social security benefits. Rip spent his entire career in law enforcement, first as a beat cop, then as a detective, followed by seven years as the Chief of Police in our south Texas hometown of Rockport. He ended his career by serving ten years as the Sheriff of Aransas County.

  I, on the other hand, have had a vast array of full- and part-time positions involving dozens of different occupations. It's not that I'm a high-maintenance, incompetent, or difficult employee; it's just that I bore easily. I've quickly tired of doing everything from pitching magazine subscriptions, where I made random phone calls and was rudely hung up on ninety-nine out of every hundred calls before I could even spit out a full sentence, to working as a clerk at a stained glass art gallery, where the "You break it, you buy it" policy applied more often to me than to the customers.

  My favorite occupation was short-lived—a taste-testing job at a local ice cream factory, which I was forced to quit when I developed both lactose intolerance and a double chin. But lest you think I'm flaky or unreliable, of all of the many jobs I've had, I've only actually been fired once. And that was due to an unpleasant customer I was serving at a local restaurant. For some reason, she took it personally when I referred to her rowdy young son as an obnoxious spoiled brat who should be put in time-out until he graduated from college. Let's face it, some people are entirely too sensitive.

  We found retirement to be less than it was cracked up to be after a full year of sitting on the couch staring at a TV, speaking to each other only briefly during commercials. Fortunately, we could watch the same shows every other month and not remember whether we'd seen them before. The most excitement we were apt to have in an entire week was visiting a nearby park to feed the seagulls, at least until one of us felt the need to go home and take a nap.

  When it finally dawned on us that our rear ends were beginning to take root in the plaid fabric cushions of our couch, we decided enough was enough. After all, we were retired, not dead.

  Within a month, we had sold our home, given away most of our belongings, purchased a travel trailer, and hit the road. We made no plans, followed no schedule, just let each day take us wherever it might take us, which, on a number of occasions, was less than fifteen miles down the road.

  Sometimes we moved daily from one RV Park to another, and from one state to another, when we got a wild hair up our rear-ends. At other times, we would rest a spell and recharge our batteries—and I mean ours, not that of our trailer, or the truck we used to tow it with—and we'd stay in one park for several months at a time.

  We would often work as what is commonly referred to as "workampers", a name derived from a popular magazine that helped pair campgrounds with RVers willing to work there for various forms of compensation. We'd receive free site rent in exchange for helping in the RV Park office, cleaning shower houses, doing lawn work or whatever needed to be done. As you'll no doubt come to realize, "free" is my favorite word. Occasionally we're even paid a small chunk of change on top of free rent, which comes in handy with the outlandish price of gas these days.

  But right now we actually had a schedule to keep. In the Cozy Camping RV Park in Cheyenne, Wyoming, just a couple of weeks prior, we'd met Lexie Starr, her husband, Stone Van Patten, and her daughter, Wendy. Lexie and Stone were celebrating their one-year anniversary during Cheyenne Frontier Days. When another camper was found murdered, Lexie and Wendy had become involved in the case, and I'd ended up involved as well, to the extent that we three gals nearly bit the big one in the process of discovering the identity of the killer. Two days after our new friends headed home to the Alexandria Inn, a bed and breakfast establishment they own in Rockdale, Missouri, I'd received a phone call from Lexie. That call resulted in Rip and me preparing to head east in order to attend a thirtieth surprise party for Wendy at their inn.

  There was an RV repairman in Rockdale who worked at a station called Boney's Garage. We'd arranged to have him do some repairs on our trailer while we were there. Lexie had insisted we stay at the inn as their guests while our trailer was in the shop. Along with the word "free," I was also quite fond of its cousin, "guest." My favorite thing about being sixty-eight was the senior citizen discount that came with it.

  Less than an hour later, we had Wyoming in our rearview mirror as we crossed over the Nebraska border. I had a feeling this trip would turn out to be one we wouldn't soon forget. Call it a premonition, or just a fit of fancy, but it was a feeling I couldn't shake. I was anxiously looking forward to finding out if there was anything to my anticipation, because boredom was nipping at our heels once again, and I was more than ready for a little excitement.

  * * *

  "According to this GPS thingy you bought yourself for our last anniversary, we are only a mile and a half from Rockdale. How can that be?" I asked Rip. I'd barely gotten my seat belt on, for goodness sakes.

  "We pulled out of Cozy Camping forty-five seconds ago, dear. We're over six hundred miles from our destination. And, as you know, that's about twice what I like to drive in one day, so we'll pull over in a campground in Kearney tonight."

  "Now it says we're only a mile from Rockdale," I insisted. As usual, I was pretty much just tuning out Rip's side of our conversation, as he nearly always did with me, too. "What kind of silly contraption is that thing, anyway?"

  "Sweetheart, that isn't the distance to Rockdale. It's indicating that we're to stay on College Drive for a mile before taking the ramp on the right onto I-80 East."

  "You couldn't have figured out yourself that we needed to go east on I-80 without that thing telling you? Ask me next time. I'd have been happy to inform you that if you went west on I-80 you'd end up in Utah, not Missouri. I could have saved you about a hundred bucks."

  "Then we won't turn again until we reached Lincoln. We'll be in Nebraska all day," my husband explained patiently, as if I'd never spoken. As I suspected, not only had he tuned me out completely, he likely didn't have his hearing aids in either. For some reason, he found them unnecessary when there was no one around but me.

  Rip often said it was fortunate that he had the patience of a saint, and I had to admit he was probably right. But the GPS thingy still made no sense whatsoever to me. We'd been traveling around the country for six years. I couldn't recall driving around in circles, hopelessly lost, before Rip bought the GPS device. But I could remember a number of times since he's had it that the female voice has had him backtracking, making illegal U-turns and driving down dead-end streets while she'd been "recalculating" her butt off the entire time. Worst of all, she had him doing all this as he was driving to a location he'd driven straight to a hundred times before without her assistance. I didn't bring this up to Rip, however, knowing he wasn't paying a lick of attention to me anyway. Knowing him, he'd have only replied, "I thought maybe she knew a better way to get there."

  "So why does your gadget say it's six-thirty? My watch reads ten o'clock."

  "That's not the current time, dear. It's the E.T.A, estimated time of arrival, if we were to drive all the way to Rockdale, Missouri, tonight. I estimate we'll be arriving in Kearney around two-thirty, just in time for our three o'clock highball."

  "Well, I'm all for that, but I think this GPS doo-dad was a waste of good money. It's too complicated, like that cell phone we've tried to use and can't even fig
ure out how to call anyone on. Well, except for the time when you butt-dialed everyone on the contact list. It was the same day you accidentally placed a call to the Russian Prime Minister, Vladimir Putin."

  "Yes, and if his secretary had put me through to him, I'd have had plenty to say to him. He needs a comeuppance, and I'm just the guy to give it to him."

  "No doubt. Yesterday you talked to the fellow sacking our groceries for ten minutes about his haircut. By the time we got to the car, the ice cream was dripping out the little hole in the plastic bag. All I can say is, thank God Wal-Mart has such a liberal return policy on both Ben and Jerry's and cell phones."

  "Sometimes I just like to be friendly. And I am not returning that phone, Rapella. We need to figure out how to use it. After all, we are two of the last remaining dinosaurs in existence who aren't totally tethered to their cell phones. Plus, it would be handy to be able to call and make reservations at RV parks from the road, you know. How many times have we driven miles out of our way to get to an RV Park with no vacancies? Cell phones are almost a must these days. And very handy in emergencies too, I'm sure."

  "Fine. Whatever. It took you three months to figure out this silly GPS thing, so you'd best get started figuring out the cell phone right now if you want to learn how to use it while you're still on the right side of the grass."

  Without replying, Rip put on the blinker as he gradually merged onto the I-80 exit ramp. He awkwardly extracted the cell phone from his front pants pocket and placed it in the center console. In the past, he'd nearly caused several pileups trying to get the ringing phone out of his jeans pocket while driving down the road. He'd drop it on the floorboard and weave from lane to lane trying to pick it back up. Then, instead of answering the phone, he'd nearly always hang up on the caller. It was like watching a toddler trying to operate the controls of a fighter jet; a lot of clueless button pushing with no idea what might happen as a result.