The Blue Coyote (The Frannie Shoemaker Campground Mysteries Book 2) by Karen Musser Nortman Read Free Book Online

miles to Limestone City,” Nancy said perusing the map.
    Out of Mickey’s hearing,
Larry asked Ben to lead and slow the pace down a little, even though they had
been going a very moderate speed. They mounted their bikes and with only a
little confusion and wobbling, they got going again. Most of the rest of the trail
to Limestone City was shaded, which Frannie was glad of for Mickey’s sake, even
though heat was not the issue. As they came to the edge of town, some
hand-lettered cardboard signs, precariously mounted on one-by-twos, directed
them to the “flee” market at the county fairgrounds. Mickey took some ribbing
on that, being a retired English teacher, as if he was personally responsible
for the spelling skills hundreds of miles from where he had taught.
    A few gaily striped canopies
and long tables piled with everything under the sun gave a feeling of a cross
between a medieval tournament and a giant yard sale. Frannie loved flea
markets—it boggled the mind the stuff people could put together to sell.
How did one accumulate hundreds of bottle openers? Or dozens
of pairs of well-used tennis shoes? Was there really a market for bows
and arrows or old magazines? There always was at least one table of original,
well-done crafts or beautiful woodworking and at least one table of Elvis
paintings on black velvet or gaudy macrame. She never bought much—the fun
was in the looking.
    This time, her attention was
split a little between keeping an eye on the kids and checking out the wares.
Fortunately, they were as intent on examining every item as she was. Joe
spotted a table of wooden toys including a Rube Goldberg-type contraption
operated by rolling marbles. Nancy motioned them over to an area where the
ground seemed to sprout solar garden lamps made out of old dishes. Sabet was
taken with a collection of small, knitted purses with flaps that looked like
animal faces. They ambled along, nudging one another at spectacular or
ridiculous finds. Jane Ann bought a jar of homemade peach butter and Frannie
snatched up a beaded bracelet in shades of coral and yellow.
    At the end of one row of
tables, a three-sided tent appeared to be under attack by a horde of kids. As
they neared, they caught the sound of a familiar voice. Bernie Reid, the
storyteller, held his audience spellbound with the help of a hand-puppet resembling an English bobby, who frequently bonked Reid on the head with a
small rubber nightstick and elicited howls of laughter from the kids. Circling
the kids were a number of adults, a few of whom
Frannie recognized from the campground. Sabet and Joe ducked through the crowd
to kneel in the front row for a better vantage point.
    Frannie’s instinct was to
follow on their heels, but she thought better of it. The crowd was not that
big, and although she couldn’t actually see them, she could tell if they left
the area or if anyone else was talking to them. She forced herself to relax,
until she noticed that three men at one end of the group were the road workers,
including the one who had had been talking to Sabet. Seeing them at an event
aimed at children put her back on edge, although she told herself she had no
reason to feel that way. She blamed Sam with all his warnings for making her
uneasy.
    The story ended, and after
enthusiastic applause, the children began to drift away with their parents.
Frannie craned her neck peering through the crowd and with relief saw Sabet and
Joe headed back to them. Mickey and Jane Ann came up behind.
    “We’re thinking about some
lunch over at the food tent before we head back,” Mickey said.
    “There’s a surprise,” Larry
answered. “You thinking about lunch, I mean.”
    “Someone has to make sure we
don’t all starve to death,” Mickey replied.
    Frannie knew this argument
could go on for hours. “Ben and Nancy are over watching that woodworker. Why
don’t you get them and we’ll herd the kids over to the food?”
    The sign indicated that the
food tent was the