Read Online Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping by Jeanne Glidewell - Free Book Online
Authors: Jeanne Glidewell
Ads: Link
the crack of dawn during Frontier Days.”
Kylie related a funny anecdote about a customer she’d checked in the day before as we walked over to the pool area. “I asked her how many people were in their party because the rate is for two adults only. We charge an extra two dollars for each additional adult, as is a common practice for campgrounds, according to Emily. But we never charge for kids under twelve, because the Harringtons don’t want it to be too expensive for young families with lots of children. The customer told me there were two adults and a child in her party. So I asked her how old the child was to see if I needed to charge for him or not. I couldn’t help laughing when she kind of hung her head in embarrassment, and replied, ‘He’s thirty-nine.’”
“What? Thirty-nine?” I asked Kylie in astonishment. “That’s a little old to be considered a child, isn’t it?”
“That’s what I said to the customer,” Kylie said. “And she responded, ‘Well, he’s my child!’ So I let the thirty-nine year old kid stay free because I didn’t want to get involved in a confrontation with the customer. But, jeez, I mean, thirty-nine? Really? Some people will do anything to save a buck, won’t they?”
We were still laughing at her story as Kylie turned the key in the lock on the pool area gate. As she swung open the gate and turned to hurry back to wait on a gentleman walking up the sidewalk to the office door, she said, “Have a nice swim, ladies, and enjoy your day.”
We thanked her and I followed Wendy onto the concrete patio that surrounded the pool. I almost swallowed my tongue when Wendy looked into the pool and cried out in alarm, “Oh, my God!”
I rushed to the side of the pool and looked down into the water. Just as it was registering in my mind what had startled my daughter, Kylie appeared at my side to see what had caused Wendy’s outburst. It had been loud enough to potentially wake half the people in the campground. When it dawned on her what she was seeing, she echoed Wendy’s exclamation, and her face paled. She put her right hand over her mouth. I saw her stagger a bit and I grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her, in fear she might pass out on the pavement.
“Is that what I think it is?” Kylie stammered. “Is that a body on the bottom of the pool?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” I replied. “And not just any body. I recognize the suit she’s wearing. That’s Fanny Finch!”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Kylie said, her face drained of color. I could tell from her reaction that she’d never seen a dead body before. Unfortunately, I’d seen a few too many in the past couple of years. But, even so, it was a jolt to my senses every time it occurred.
“I’ll call 9-1-1 while you run and get the Harringtons, Kylie. And Wendy, perhaps you should go inform her husband that there’s a problem, and let Stone know what’s going on, too. I wouldn’t go into detail with Mr. Finch if I were you,” I instructed.
I was getting accustomed to situations like this, having been involved in the investigation of a number of deaths in the last couple of years. Because of those past experiences, I was able to maintain control of my emotions and react with a sense of calmness in the face of a crisis like this one, after the initial shock had worn off. But Wendy, who makes a living as an assistant to the county coroner, deals with deaths and cadavers on a daily basis. She immediately pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and said to me, “I’m probably better equipped to speak to the 9-1-1 operator and emergency technicians, so why don’t you go get Stone and Mr. Finch while I take care of this matter.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an order. I knew she was right, but I couldn’t help resenting the fact my daughter didn’t seem to think I was competent to speak with the emergency personnel. But I also knew she’d get some degree of perverse pleasure in detailing the
Kylie related a funny anecdote about a customer she’d checked in the day before as we walked over to the pool area. “I asked her how many people were in their party because the rate is for two adults only. We charge an extra two dollars for each additional adult, as is a common practice for campgrounds, according to Emily. But we never charge for kids under twelve, because the Harringtons don’t want it to be too expensive for young families with lots of children. The customer told me there were two adults and a child in her party. So I asked her how old the child was to see if I needed to charge for him or not. I couldn’t help laughing when she kind of hung her head in embarrassment, and replied, ‘He’s thirty-nine.’”
“What? Thirty-nine?” I asked Kylie in astonishment. “That’s a little old to be considered a child, isn’t it?”
“That’s what I said to the customer,” Kylie said. “And she responded, ‘Well, he’s my child!’ So I let the thirty-nine year old kid stay free because I didn’t want to get involved in a confrontation with the customer. But, jeez, I mean, thirty-nine? Really? Some people will do anything to save a buck, won’t they?”
We were still laughing at her story as Kylie turned the key in the lock on the pool area gate. As she swung open the gate and turned to hurry back to wait on a gentleman walking up the sidewalk to the office door, she said, “Have a nice swim, ladies, and enjoy your day.”
We thanked her and I followed Wendy onto the concrete patio that surrounded the pool. I almost swallowed my tongue when Wendy looked into the pool and cried out in alarm, “Oh, my God!”
I rushed to the side of the pool and looked down into the water. Just as it was registering in my mind what had startled my daughter, Kylie appeared at my side to see what had caused Wendy’s outburst. It had been loud enough to potentially wake half the people in the campground. When it dawned on her what she was seeing, she echoed Wendy’s exclamation, and her face paled. She put her right hand over her mouth. I saw her stagger a bit and I grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her, in fear she might pass out on the pavement.
“Is that what I think it is?” Kylie stammered. “Is that a body on the bottom of the pool?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” I replied. “And not just any body. I recognize the suit she’s wearing. That’s Fanny Finch!”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Kylie said, her face drained of color. I could tell from her reaction that she’d never seen a dead body before. Unfortunately, I’d seen a few too many in the past couple of years. But, even so, it was a jolt to my senses every time it occurred.
“I’ll call 9-1-1 while you run and get the Harringtons, Kylie. And Wendy, perhaps you should go inform her husband that there’s a problem, and let Stone know what’s going on, too. I wouldn’t go into detail with Mr. Finch if I were you,” I instructed.
I was getting accustomed to situations like this, having been involved in the investigation of a number of deaths in the last couple of years. Because of those past experiences, I was able to maintain control of my emotions and react with a sense of calmness in the face of a crisis like this one, after the initial shock had worn off. But Wendy, who makes a living as an assistant to the county coroner, deals with deaths and cadavers on a daily basis. She immediately pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and said to me, “I’m probably better equipped to speak to the 9-1-1 operator and emergency technicians, so why don’t you go get Stone and Mr. Finch while I take care of this matter.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an order. I knew she was right, but I couldn’t help resenting the fact my daughter didn’t seem to think I was competent to speak with the emergency personnel. But I also knew she’d get some degree of perverse pleasure in detailing the
Similar Books
