Ripped To Shreds Read online

  "The likelihood of a serial killer in our area is slim. At this stage in the investigation, we have no reason to believe a search for a suspect is necessary," Sheriff Wright responded. "But it wouldn't hurt to ask your customers to be alert at all times and call the sheriff's department if they see anything suspicious. It's always better to err on the side of caution. You should, however, inform your customers of the dangers of wandering outside the park's perimeter. There's also a possibility an aggressive animal could encroach on your property."

  With that advice, the sheriff turned and stepped back from the podium. As she walked away, the buzz in the crowd was audible. It sounded like the hum of a high-voltage power line. It suddenly occurred to me that Rip and I were in the same boat as the nearby campground owner in the red jacket. However, due to our proximity to the scene of the woman's death, we were in even more potential danger. I asked Rip, "What if there truly is a killer on the loose? Shouldn't we be on the lookout for unusual activity, as well?"

  "One should always be on the lookout for suspicious activity in this day and age. And the sheriff was right about erring on the side of caution. But I also agree with her that the chances of a serial killer being responsible for Bea's death are remote." Sensing I was anxious, Rip reached over and patted my leg. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I've had at least a small measure of experience in this kind of situation and I'll make sure nothing bad happens to us. Wyoming's an open-carry state, and also recognizes Texas concealed firearms permits. So there's no reason I can't routinely carry my Glock with me while we're searching for our stuff in the woods, or even while we're just hanging out here in the campground. Would that make you feel more comfortable?"

  "The heck with the critter cam and your binoculars! What would make me comfortable is never getting within twenty feet of the park's perimeter again! I have no desire to experience the horror of what Bea might have endured. Promise?"

  "Well, I don't know that—"

  "Are you trying to make me more comfortable, or not?" I asked.

  "Oh, all right. But I really did love that pair of binoc—"

  "I'll order you a new pair exactly like the old ones!" I nearly shouted at Rip in my frustration. "I am not risking life and limb to recover a pair of binoculars that can easily be replaced."

  "Okay, okay! Calm down, dear. I'll buy myself a new pair for an early birthday present. I've had my eye on a pair with night vision, anyway."

  "Good try, Rip," I said after a long sigh. My relief was so palpable I felt compelled to tease my husband. "But July eighteenth is three months from now. You know as well as I do that by then we'll both have forgotten you've already purchased your birthday present."

  We'd given up trying to pick out gifts for each other many years ago. Selecting our own presents insured we'd like what we got and prevented wasting money on something that'd do nothing more than collect dust.

  Grinning like Lewis Carroll's infamous Cheshire Cat, Rip replied, "Forgetting about it was exactly what I was counting on."

  I had to laugh at his response, despite the heightened state of my anxiety from having just learned about Bea Whetstone's death.

  At least we have a good idea what happened to her now, I assured myself. But even as that thought crossed my mind, I had a hunch our involvement in her death had merely just begun.

  Chapter 9

  I bit my tongue when a knock on the door startled me. I'd been dusting our 240 square feet trailer for an hour, a few items two or three times. Even though I knew I couldn't have scared up one dust mite if I tried, I was antsy and felt the need to keep busy. It was obvious, even to Rip, that I was more uptight and on edge than I'd let on when he'd asked me how I was doing earlier while I was finishing up our lunch dishes.

  "Come in," Rip hollered, loud enough that the person rapping on the door could hear. I was appalled to discover he hadn't locked the door as I'd requested. I was even more appalled that it would appear to our visitor that my husband was too lazy to stand up and walk five feet to open the door.

  "Howdy folks!" Ranger Rick stepped inside and removed his hat out of courtesy as he shook both of our hands. A bulging Wal-Mart bag hung from his left hand. "I assume you've heard the news about Mrs. Whetstone."

  Rip assured him we had. He motioned to the ranger to have a seat in the vacant recliner and asked him what was on his mind that caused him to stop by.

  "I just wanted to bring these to you." The ranger set the bag down on a small stack of newspapers lying on the table next to his chair. "I found your camera and binoculars as I was helping comb the woods for Bea's body yesterday evening. I put them in my Jeep for safe-keeping, afraid someone else would find them and you'd never get them back. A detective might have kept them as potential evidence, when I knew for a fact they'd played no part in her death."

  I had to wonder how he could know without a doubt that the Ripples had not premeditated and executed a plan to knock off the campground owner. After all, she was a very disagreeable individual who might have rubbed a number of people the wrong way. She'd nearly made a habit of that with me.

  I'm opposed to violence of any kind. However, Bea was so bad-tempered that I'd fancied stabbing her with a ball point pen myself one day in the park store, even though I'd never have actually done so. That particular morning I'd informed her that every time I'd put money in the vending machine next to the laundry room, I had received neither my soda nor my money back. She'd replied without batting an eye. "Then if I were you, I'd quit putting money in the vending machine."

  Now wouldn't a rude response like that make you want to poke the woman in the eye with whatever sharp instrument was handy? It sure made me want to!

  Rip and Rick had been discussing the best brand of binoculars, and before they got back to the subject of Bea's death, Rip said, "Thanks for returning our items, even though it effectively put a cork in my plan to buy myself a new set with infrared or thermal-imaging night-vision capabilities."

  "Sorry 'bout that, bud," Rick said.

  They both laughed before Rip continued. "Seriously, we appreciate your thoughtfulness very much, Rick. It was very kind of you to make the trip out here to return our stuff, as well as bring us home yesterday. I have to admit, in hindsight, I think it was probably a good thing we didn't attempt to get home before dark on our own."

  No shit, Sherlock? I was dying to say. Left to find our own way home, we'd still be walking in circles in the forest, provided we hadn't already been reduced to big piles of bear poop.

  "Have you heard anything new about her death, Rick?" Rip asked. "Why would they be collecting potential evidence if they were convinced she been killed in an animal encounter?"

  "I didn't mean to imply they were actively searching for evidence of any kind. At the time, I had no idea what had happened to her. I really don't know any more than you do, I'm sure. After I discovered the body—"

  Stunned, Rip and I interrupted him simultaneously. In unison, we asked, "You discovered her body?"

  "Yeah. I just followed the smell. It's a hard thing to get out of your mind."

  "I understand completely, son." Son, to Rip, was any man at least a year younger than his own age of sixty-eight.

  With an expression I couldn't possibly describe to you with only the one million or so words I have at my disposal, Ranger Rick said, "It's the first time I've ever smelled a dead person, and—"

  The visibly upset ranger stopped speaking, unable to finish. Rip gave the man a consoling smile and completed the sentence for him, "It's a smell you'll never forget. Been there, done that. I'm sorry you had to experience such a disturbing incident, Rick."

  "I'm sorry, as well," I added. "If you don't mind me asking, after observing the condition of her remains, what do you think happened to Bea?"

  Rip shot me a look that clearly was meant to admonish me for asking the already troubled ranger such an upsetting question. The look did not go unnoticed by the ranger, who caught Rip's eye and replied, "It's all right. I don't mind, Rip. It h
elps to talk about it. Anyway, I have no doubt at all she was killed by a bear. Possibly a cougar, but I'd place money on a bear. Around here, there are more black bears per square mile than cougars."

  Rip and I merely nodded, not sure what to say. After an uncomfortable silence, I told him I found it ironic that she'd be killed by a bear, and related the story about the day she shot the mama bear who had stepped just inside the perimeter of the campground with her cub. Ranger Rick appeared genuinely angry at the idea she'd kill a sow who was visibly protecting her cub from harm as the two were backing away to retreat into the forest. He shook his head. "It takes someone with no conscience at all to do such an evil thing."

  I wholeheartedly agreed. No matter how tempting it might be at times, I would never harm another creature, human or otherwise, unless I was in imminent danger of being harmed, or worse, and forced to protect myself. The mama bear had not been threatening anyone. She and her cub had accidentally happened upon the campground and had begun moving back into the forest as soon as she'd spotted humans, something she undoubtedly saw as a threat to her and her offspring.

  The somber conversation shifted back to small talk as Rip and the ranger discussed their favorite types of firearms and exchanged stories about interesting situations their individual occupations had involved them in. I think Rip was deliberately trying to lighten the mood, because before Ranger Rick left, at Rip's subtle guidance, their discussion had deteriorated to the topic of how fun it'd be to pass gas in an elevator filled with nuns. I saw this as a sign they were quickly becoming not only acquaintances, but also friends. It doesn't take long to determine if two men were cut from the same cloth.

  I listened to their banter as I occupied myself by scouring the sink for the fifth time and organizing the spices sprawled out in one of the kitchen cabinets. With limited space in the travel trailer, it helped to have contents of the cabinets in an orderly arrangement. More importantly, it took my mind off other, more unnerving, things.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes after Ranger Rick departed, I was scrubbing the kitchen table with the abrasive side of a sponge. The fact that I was still restless was not lost on Rip. He said, "Honey, why don't we get out of the trailer for a while and find something to do before you scrub the veneer right off the table."

  "Is it that apparent I'm on pins and needles?"

  "Yes, it is, dear. By the sheen on the coffee table from numerous layers of furniture polish, and the overwhelming aroma of disinfectant spray throughout the trailer, it's clear you feel as if you're walking on eggshells. Let's do something to get your mind off of the horrid news about Bea."

  "Got anything specific in mind?"

  "Not really. You have any ideas?"

  It had just occurred to me we might have acquired a zillion images on the game camera Rick had just returned to us. Maybe even a photo of whatever, or whoever, killed Bea. "Why don't we run into town for groceries and stop by Cora's on the way back? She can upload any photos we might have on our memory card. After all, it's been out in the forest for a while."

  "Oh, that's right!" Rip exclaimed. "I forgot all about the camera. Great idea, honey. Put that blasted sponge down and let's go! I'm starting to feel guilty about lounging around watching this marathon of old John Wayne movies while you're working yourself to the bone. I don't want to feel obligated to straighten up all the junk in our storage compartments. The last time I did that I came across the leveling blocks I had accused you of throwing away."

  "I should have pitched them, dear. I still can't understand why we have to haul those around when this trailer has built-in leveling jacks. We also lug around a tool box containing twenty-seven different screwdrivers, when any one of them could accomplish the same thing as the other twenty-six. That makes no sense to me whatsoever."

  "And it never will. It's a man thing, you see. Besides, there are slot head screwdrivers, Phillips head, Torx, Hex sockets, Pozi Drive, Robertsons—"

  "Okay, okay. I stand corrected."

  "Besides, it's no different than us men not understanding why you ladies require twenty-seven different bottles of lotions and potions when any one of them can accomplish the exact same thing as the other twenty-six."

  "Touché, my dear."

  * * *

  "Seven thousand, three hundred and six images?" I asked in astonishment. I was as giddy as a girl after her first kiss. I was so confident I'd have a slew of amazing wildlife photos to choose from, I was already considering what I'd do with the twenty-five thousand bucks I was hoping to win.

  "Yep, that's what it says, Aunt Rappie. With over seven thousand images, there's bound to be some good ones," Cora said. Like us, she was anxious to see if we'd captured any good wildlife photographs. She pulled a transfer cord out of a kitchen drawer and plugged the memory card into it. "Might as well make yourselves comfortable. It might take a while for all of these photos to upload to your tablet."

  We accepted Cora's offer of a cup of coffee and conversed with her as we waited. Willie was at baseball practice and was due to be picked up shortly. While Rip fiddled with her remote control, as men are wired to do whether it belongs to them or not, I related to her what we'd learned from Ranger Rick. After I finished my recital, I added, "Crazy, huh?"

  "Yeah, but what's really crazy is that Bea Whetstone was the only sibling of Richard Myer's ex-wife. In other words, Bea was Rick's former sister-in-law. A friend of Bea's told me their mother, who has terminal esophageal cancer, is in her final days."

  Rip's attention swerved away from the TV and back to Cora. "Are you for real?"

  At the very same time, I asked, "Bea had a friend?"

  "Yes, to both questions," Cora said. "Their mother was a pediatrician until her illness forced her to give up her practice five years ago. Up until then, she was the physician I always took Willie to."

  "Does their mother have a substantial estate?" Rip asked.

  "Hard to say, Uncle Clyde. She's been in an assisted-living facility for several years, and I'm sure that has sucked a lot of money out of her savings."

  "No doubt," Rip said with a nod.

  I was surprised to hear Cora knew both Ranger Rick and Bea Whetstone even though Buffalo is the kind of small town where everybody seemed to know each other. Not unlike our hometown of Rockport, Texas, where one couldn't even get fined for an overdue library book without everyone in town knowing about it before twenty-four hours had elapsed.

  I listened as Cora went on to explain Richard Myer's relationship with the victim. "Rick never did cotton to Bea much. In fact, I'm not sure his loathing of her didn't have something to do with his divorce from her sister. But I heard a lady say at the hair salon that after the pair's divorce, Bea and Desireé had a falling out, as well. Something to do with their momma's will, they said. 'Course you can't believe everything you hear, particularly at a hair salon."

  "Their momma's will? Sounds like there was a substantial amount of money involved if the woman's two daughters are squabbling about it. I can't believe Bea and Ranger Rick's ex are sisters." I was dumbfounded. Why hadn't Ranger Rick given us some indication of having known Bea Whetstone as anything other than just a local business owner?

  Rip was puzzled too. When I broached the subject of the ranger not bringing up his relationship with Bea, Rip shrugged his shoulders, and in defense of his new friend, said, "Well, Rick probably has a very good reason to not want to advertise his former connection to the victim. He never actually said he didn't have some kind of tie to her and we never questioned him about it. However, it would explain why he was so emotional this morning. Like a person or not, the death of a former sister-in-law would have a disturbing affect on even the most cold-hearted among us. Then again, finding any dead body, whether you knew the victim personally, or not, would have a disturbing affect on just about anyone. Unless they were a sociopath, of course."

  The photos had just finished uploading to our iPad when Cora apologized for having to leave to pick Willie up at the ball field
. "You two are free to hang around. We'll be back in no more than fifteen minutes."

  I was anxious to get home and review the photos, and I'm certain Rip was too. Besides, even though it was cool outside, I didn't want to leave the groceries in the back of the truck for much longer.

  I thanked my niece for uploading the photos for us. Cora had offered to lend us a spare transfer cord, and I had quickly agreed to borrow it. I wasn't about to pay good money for one of our own when she was all too happy to let us take advantage of hers. I told her we hadn't intended to be underfoot all afternoon, and it was time to get home to stow the groceries away and take a roast out of our oven anyway.

  "Okay. See you later. And hey, on second thought, why don't you just keep that spare transfer cord. I don't really need two of them, and I'm sure you'll need to have one in the future." Cora knew her aunt well enough to know it'd be difficult for me to hand over thirty bucks for a little four-inch cord, no matter how badly I needed one. If I did have to buy my own, the store clerk would have to wrench the cash out of my tightly clenched fist. Buying a thirty-dollar cord for a twenty-dollar camera didn't seem like a financially-justifiable expenditure to me.

  "Thanks, sweetheart," I said. "That is so thoughtful of you. No wonder you're my favorite niece."

  "We love and appreciate you more than you know," Rip added.

  "Love you guys more, Uncle Clyde and Aunt Rappie. Stop by any time. And don't forget, Willie's team competes for the league championship this weekend."

  "We wouldn't miss it," I assured her.

  "We'll be there with balls on," Rip quipped, using a sport's reference.

  "Speak for yourself," I said.

  "Sorry. I meant bells." Rip cracked himself up with his play-on-words, and Cora and I both groaned at his cheesy quip.