Read Online The Chocolate Pirate Plot by JoAnna Carl - Free Book Online Page B

the door open for future membership.” I mulled the situation over.
    â€œYeah,” Zelda said, “but I didn’t feel hopeful when I hung up. Why do you need to know?”
    â€œIt’s kind of complicated.” I made up my mind. “Do you have any membership material handy? I don’t want to send you back to the office, but I could make a membership call on them this afternoon.”
    â€œWhy? I mean, what’s the attraction?”
    â€œI got curious about the camp. A membership call will give me an excuse to take a look at it. And maybe they’ll rejoin.”
    â€œGood luck with that! And I think you’ll need it. I’ve got some brochures in my car, and you can have them. I’m not going to turn down an offer of a volunteer membership call.”
    Thirty minutes later I had put on sandals, sage green slacks, and an ivory cotton sweater—dress-up business attire for Warner Pier—had picked up a dozen membership brochures from Zelda, and was headed for Camp Sail-Along.
    I’d had to look up the address. It wasn’t inside the Warner Pier city limits, of course. It was a mile inland on a small body of water called Lake o’ the Winds. The entrance to the camp was off McIntosh Road and was marked by a dilapidated sign. I got a sinking feeling when I saw it. I had speculated that Jeremy Mattox might have picked up a shirt at a garage sale, and now I saw a notice attached to the main Camp Sail-Along sign. That notice said YARD SALE.
    Oh, gee! My speculation had come true, and my trip was looking like a washout. But I didn’t turn back. I laughed at my lucky guess and drove on.
    The driveway curved through a band of trees and came out on a sunny lawn. Eight or ten cabins were grouped around a larger building, a building with a broad porch. It was the classic summer camp layout: cabins used as bunkhouses and a central building for meals.
    Only two other vehicles were in the parking lot—a rattletrap pickup and a subcompact. This yard sale was following the typical pattern of such events—the serious shoppers had come early. By late afternoon, the sale was dragging to a close.
    The yard sale was set up on the porch of the main building. A guy in white was standing behind the table, apparently running the sale, and I could see that he was in trouble. The woman across from him was Lovie Dykstra.
    Lovie was a well-known Warner Pier character. She had a special liking for me because—long ago—my mother was engaged to her younger son. When the son died, my mom left town and wound up in Dallas, where she married a long, tall Texan who became my dad. But Lovie says I was almost her granddaughter, and no matter how far-fetched her idea is, she treats me like a relative.
    Her personal troubles drove Lovie out of her original career—teaching—and today Lovie is a secondhand dealer. She still has unruly gray hair, but a year and a half ago Lovie’s life took a turn for the better, and today she’s known as a town character, rather than the town crazy woman.
    Lovie will buy or sell anything. And she drives a hard bargain.
    I took pity on the camp representative and walked toward the porch. I surmised that he’d had a long, lonely day. He had a radio to keep him company. It was tuned to a fifties station.
    As I approached, I heard Lovie’s raspy voice. “I’ll take everything that’s left, take it right off your hands.”
    I looked at the items left on the table. If I’d been the short guy, I’d have snapped up twenty-five dollars. The things left looked like junk to me. Towels were stacked neatly, but the top one was stained, and they all had frayed edges. A box of silverware was beside them, and all the forks seemed to have bent tines. Ragged blankets, some rusty skillets, a box of leather scraps, odd lengths of rope, and, yes, a dozen or so T-shirts in a bright rust color were also on the table. A cardboard