A Rip Roaring Good Time Page 24

* * *

  Lexie and Stone had offered to let us stay at the inn until Rip had completed rehab and was fit to drive again. As much as we appreciated their offer, we'd opted to get a monthly site in a nearby RV Park. The campground was only two blocks from the physical therapy clinic Rip was going to be treated at, and the park owner agreed to let me help out in the office for free rent. And as I said at the beginning of my story, "free" was one of my favorite words.

  Compared to the monstrous Alexandria Inn, our abode was tiny and without frills and thrills. There were no mints on our pillows at bedtime, no baskets of fresh fruit on our nightstand, no fancy four-course meals, and no hosts ready to tend to our every need and desire. But to Rip and me it was home. You should know by now how much I hate to use clichés, but home is definitely where the heart is. And to us, our hearts were in the comfortable old Chartreuse Caboose, complete now with a toilet that actually flushed, and no leaks, squeaks, or reeks to be found.

  Even Dolly seemed to be content to be back in her favorite napping spot on the back of the couch. She was now spending most of her waking hours staring out the window at the finches and wrens flitting around a feeder the campground owners had hung on a branch of the Mimosa tree located next to our RV site.

  * * *

  I was sitting in a chair next to my husband's hospital bed. After a three-hour operation early that morning, Rip was bullet-free. Better yet, he'd come out of the surgery with a brand-spanking new artificial hip joint, like the one I'd been nagging him to get for months.

  Lying on his hard and uncomfortable hospital bed, Rip turned slowly and tenderly in my direction. He looked at me for a few seconds before his face broke out in the most endearing smile I'd ever seen on a man. Then he said, "I've learned a thing or two about you over the years and I know that, because you were itching to know and couldn't stand the suspense, you asked either Lexie or Wendy what was in the wrapped package Alice brought to the inn last night. So, tell me, what was it?"

  "Okay, you've got me there," I replied. "Alice Runcan's birthday gift to Wendy was a very ragged first-edition copy of Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman."

  "Seriously?" Rip asked. I had to laugh at his usage of my new least favorite word.

  When I nodded, he said, "How fitting! Now I'm itching to ask you something else, knowing without a doubt you will know the answer. What did Trotter Hayes do for a living?"

  "According to Wendy, he owned a used car lot in St. Joseph with a rather shady reputation, just like its owner."

  Rip chuckled and said, "Considering her gift, I think Ms. Runcan has got that insanity plea option in the bag!"

  Even though it was no doubt highly insensitive and inappropriate, Rip started laughing so hard that he was groaning in pain at the same time. Naturally, his amusement cracked me up, and our rowdy laughter enticed one of the night shift nurses to stick her head in the door to make sure her patient was all right.

  When we finally got control of ourselves, I asked Rip, "You know the author, George R.R. Martin, whose books the Game of Thrones series was adapted from?"

  It was a rhetorical question since we both knew Rip couldn't come up with enough authors to use up all ten fingers if he had to. And those few authors included Mark Twain and Dr. Seuss. He'd always said that if God wanted us to read he wouldn't have created the television. I once heard him tell an influential author at a law enforcement seminar that his favorite book was A Tree Grows in Boston. I'm pretty sure the writer was not as impressed as Rip had hoped she'd be.

  "Well, George R.R. Martin once wrote, 'Shattered legs may heal in time, but some betrayals fester and poison the soul.' I think in this instance, a shattered soul poisoned the betrayer."

  "Very clever, sweetheart," Rip said. "Not to mention, I'm impressed you can remember a quote like that but forget where you've left your glasses nine out of ten times."

  "Yeah, no kidding! Hey! I almost forgot. I've got good news and even gooder news," I excitedly told my husband.

  "Gooder news? This from a woman who beat me at Scrabble a few weeks ago with the word 'zyzzyva'?"

  "It's a tropical weevil. Everyone knows that."

  "Well, I didn't. I thought the word 'weevil' pretty much covered it. And I'm still wondering where you came up with the extra 'z's'."

  "Slight of hand, my dear. And just for your information, 'gooder' describes the tail feathers of an albatross."

  "No kidding?" Rip asked. "I'd never heard of that."

  "Yep! As in 'the large bird's gooder was thinning out as it began to molt,'" I explained, with just a hint of superiority in my voice.

  I didn't tell my easily fooled husband he'd fallen for another made-up word with a matching made-up definition. You know, just in case I might want to use the fictional word in a future game of Scrabble. Naturally, if Rip ever tried to use "gooder" as a word in the board game, I'd most certainly challenge it.

  "Hey, baby, we got side-tracked. Tell me the good news," Rip requested, as he soothingly caressed my shoulder with his hand.

  Our playful bantering may have side-tracked us, but it also seemed to make Rip forget about his pain and discomfort for a few minutes. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. I did go off on a tangent, didn't I? Lexie called while you were in recovery to tell me that first thing this morning, Wendy was offered the promotion to Deputy County Coroner, replacing Max when he retires at the end of the year."

  "That's terrific," Rip said. "She deserves it, and I couldn't be more proud of her."

  "And the other bit of news is that Alice Runcan was booked on murder charges, as you already knew. However, Lexie told me that Judge Jueti has recommended a mental evaluation be performed on her first. The judge believes Alice really could qualify for an insanity plea."

  "Outstanding! I was only half kidding about Alice having that option in the bag."

  "Oh, and there's one more thing. Chief Leonard Smith has been placed on administrative leave pending an investigation into his alleged misconduct and corruption. At the very least, instead of heading up the Rockdale Police Department, he'll likely be working at Wendy's favorite restaurant in the near future."

  "If I owned Wendy's, I wouldn't even hire that louse to ask decent law-abiding folks if they'd like fries with their burgers. But, I gotta say, that's the goodest news of all."

  After he finished speaking, Rip moaned and gave himself a dose of morphine via his pain pump. I was trying to think of some other silly topic to discuss that might help Rip take his mind off the pain. But before I could come up with anything, he had reached down to take my hand, and asked, "Do you remember me saying I thought our stay here would be a rip roaring good time?"

  "Yes, I do, as a matter of fact."

  "Well, I was wrong. Dead wrong, in fact! But it's definitely been an experience we won't soon forget."

  "You can say that again!"

  "But it's definitely been an experience we ─ "

  "Oh, you nut!" I smacked him gently with the pillow I'd been leaning against. I was happy to see that despite the pain Rip was enduring, his sense of humor was still intact. "By the way, I called your brother and told him why we wouldn't be able to make it to Chicago for the wedding next week. He told me to give you his best and tell you he hopes you get back up on your feet quickly."

  "Good. Thanks, dear. I was thinking about where we'd head after I get a couple of months of physical therapy under my belt. How do you feel about going home for the holidays? We could stay in that new RV Park overlooking Copano Bay that was just getting ready to open up for business when we were in Texas for Reggie's fiftieth birthday."

  "I think that's a wonderful idea. It'd be nice to see all our friends, and to spend some more time with Reggie. We'd also get an opportunity to get to know her new husband better," I said.

  "Yeah, I thought of that too. Other than at their wedding and the few days we were down there in May, we've hardly had a chance to speak with Milo. Regina's over the moon about him, so he must be a pretty terrific guy. I'm just glad she finally found someone
she loves after her bitter divorce fifteen years ago."

  Rip's expression took on a sorrowful look. He'd been close to our first son-in-law and was really torn up when he and Reggie grew apart and split over irreconcilable differences.

  I hated to see Rip's chipper mood darken, so I changed the subject. "I'm looking forward to enjoying some sunshine this winter. So, as far as going home for the holidays, I'm all for it. You'll be able to do more walking if we're in a warmer climate, and that can only be beneficial to having your hip heal well. And, after all, I haven't gotten to cut the rug with my dancing partner for ages."

  "I promise you I'll be spinning you around like a top at the Sheets' annual New Year's Eve party," Rip said as he lifted my hand to his lips. "Have I told you lately that I love you, my darling? Being shackled to you for nearly fifty years has been such a pleasure. And once this new hip gets all healed up, I'll be ready for another fifty."

  After I assured him I loved him with all my heart too, and that I'd hold him to his promise about dancing with me, he said, "I'm kind of lonely in this hard, uncomfortable bed all by myself. If I can move over without screaming bloody murder, would you join me up here until the nurse chases you out when visiting hours are over?"

  "I'd be happy to," I replied. I carefully crawled up onto the bed, making sure I didn't jar Rip's legs. I snuggled up next to him, and asked, "Would you do me a favor? Don't be so darn hard-headed next time you have a problem that can be easily fixed with all this incredible medical technology they're continually improving. It hurts me to see you in such pain."

  "Okay, dear, I promise! But only if you do me a favor in return."

  "What's that?"

  "Remind me in the future not to take a cane to a gunfight!"

  The End

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  Rip Tide

  A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery

  Book Two

  Excerpt from

  Rip Tide

  A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery

  Book Two

  by

  Jeanne Glidewell

  "Fishy, fishy in the brook, come and get on daddy's hook," my husband, Clyde "Rip" Ripple said, as he pretended to cast a heavy duty fishing rod in Tackle Town, a popular sporting goods store in our hometown of Rockport, Texas. I don't think he had any idea how ridiculous he looked when he set the invisible hook on an imaginary fish. When Rip started pretending to reel in a large catch, which was clearly putting up quite a fight, I had to walk away so it wasn't obvious to other shoppers that he was my husband.

  After he'd apparently landed the "whooper" successfully, he walked over and placed two identical rod and reel combos in our basket.

  "I can't wait to catch a big redfish," he said excitedly.

  "Oh, wasn't that what you just caught in the bait bucket aisle? I didn't see you measure it, honey. Are you sure it was of legal size?"

  "Oh, good grief! I almost forgot I need to get a couple of those stick-on measuring tapes to apply to our rods. Thanks for reminding me."

  "Seriously? I can't wait to see what a $117.29 fish looks like!" I replied.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "We're buying fishing licenses, expensive rod and reels—"

  "I wouldn't want a trophy red to get away because we were using inferior equipment."

  "Hand-held nets and neoprene waders—"

  "Milo said they like to get out and wade for redfish in the shallows of Aransas and Copano Bays, and we wouldn't want to have to sit in the boat feeding bait to the crabs while Milo and Cooper are catching keeper fish right and left."

  "And fishing line, nets, stringers, life jackets, pliers—"

  "Duh."

  "And why do we need all those six and seven dollar plastic rigs when Milo said we'll be using live bait? Mullet and shrimp, I think he said."

  "Well, dear, it's because I had to have something to keep my steel leaders, sinkers, hooks, and all in, and there's no sense having a big tackle box if it's not fully stocked with tackle. It'd be embarrassing. I'd look like a kid fishing with a Mickey Mouse fishing pole. Besides, that way we'll be prepared if the reds aren't biting and the guys decide to 'throw some plastic' for speckled trout, as Milo put it," Rip said in defense of his power-shopping spree.

  "Okay, I get it, Donald Trump! My point is that Milo said we were each allowed to keep three redfish per day. If we both limit out we'll have a total of six fish. Divide six by what this basket-full of stuff's gonna cost us and we'll have about $117.29 invested in each redfish we catch. And that's not including the bait we'll still have to buy!"

  "Just be thankful we didn't have to buy the boat, too," Rip said. "You can ask any fisherman and they'll tell you they can buy fish at the grocery store cheaper than they can go out and catch them themselves. But that's of no significance. You don't fish to save money on your grocery bill, you fish for the pure enjoyment of the sport. The same thing goes for hunting, sweetheart."

  Rip walked over to a rack of Guy Harvey merchandise; t-shirts, belts, jackets, and ball caps, with depictions of trout, redfish, flounder, tarpon, and other game fish on them. I assumed the fish needed to see which particular fish you were hoping to catch before they decided whether or not to bite down on your bait. Judging by the cap Rip brought back and tossed in the basket, he was hoping to land a hammerhead shark.

  "I'm putting my chest waders back if we're going to be out there wading amongst hammerhead sharks," I said.

  "Actually, Milo told me we were more in danger of a dolphin grabbing a hold of the fish on our stringer than being attacked by a shark. But he did say a fisherman pulled a five-hundred-pound bull shark out of Aransas Bay a few years ago."

  "Thank you, honey. That makes me feel so much better about wading now!" I said. Rip shrugged and turned to head toward a rack of Columbia fishing shirts with cape-like things on the back. "Don't tell me that to have a successful day of fishing we have to look like Harold Ensley, too."

  I wondered if Rip was afraid the fish wouldn't take me seriously if I had on my stained Texas Rangers shirt that I was planning to wear? They'd been handing the t-shirts out free at the admissions gate when we attended one of their games nearly twenty years ago. And if something's free, I want it whether I have any use for it, or not. I was much more financially conservative than my husband of nearly fifty years was, as was abundantly clear by the over-flowing basket of merchandise he was now pushing toward the check-out counter. All I'd purchased at the store was a two-dollar tube of lip balm with SPF-30 sun protection in it. I was more concerned about getting blisters on my lip than I was about catching a fish.

  Rip and I had sold our home in Rockport about five years ago, when we were only sixty-three, and bought a thirty-foot travel trailer we had nicknamed the "Chartreuse Caboose" after we'd painted it that color with bright sunflowers on both sides to give it a little flair. Now we were full-time RVers, traveling the country and living the good life. Occasionally we'd stay in an RV park for several months and help out the campground owners for free rent, and occasionally a little cash, to boot. Other times we'd drive from place to place just enjoying the scenery and the open road.

  But we were spending this entire winter back in our south Texas hometown on the Gulf so we could spend some time with our fifty-year-old daughter, Regina, and get to know her husband a little better. Also, we felt it would give Rip, with his new artifi
cial hip, some much-needed time to recoup and recover in the warmer climate.

  We'd found a nice site in a newer RV Park only a matter of blocks from Regina and Milo's home. Reggie, as we call her, and her husband, Milo Moore, were still newlyweds. They worked as a team, buying up properties that needed a little TLC, work which they hired out, and then selling the houses for a profit. They called it "flipping houses". Cooper Claypool was an old friend of Milo's, who'd first gotten him involved in the house-flipping business and had offered to take the three of us out on a fishing trip the following day while Reggie spent the day having her hair done and getting a manicure and pedicure at a local nail salon.

  Despite the 'bite' the fishing equipment would take out of our budget, I was looking forward to the fishing excursion. Milo said we'd be launching the boat at the Little Bay boat ramp by Rockport Beach, and crossing the Intercoastal Waterway to fish in the shallow areas along a small piece of land called St. Jo Island, which was about six-and-a-half miles across the ship channel.

  I walked toward Rip to join him at the check-out counter. I had resigned myself to the fact that even though our fishing excursion wouldn't come at a cheap price, it would no doubt be a memorable adventure. I was even getting excited at the prospect of landing a trophy fish that I could brag about at the bunko party I was planning to attend the following weekend.

  As I approached Rip, his cell phone rang. After a few brief one-word responses to the caller, he ended the call and turned to me. He said, "We need to head straight to Reggie's house when we leave here. She's so riled up that I can't even make out what she's trying to tell me. I'm not sure what, but something has happened to upset her."

  Rip Tide

  by

  Jeanne Glidewell

  ~

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  Rip Tide

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