Chapter 1
As we drove the winding road, through a forest of tall oaks and views of the glistening lake with sailboats bobbing like ducks on a pond, my hopes for a perfect vacation soared. A week alone with my husband and no distractions sent naughty ideas scampering through my brain.
Mo stopped the RV at the entrance to the Oldies but Goodies RV Park and Flea Market.
All thoughts of hanky-panky screeched to a halt. “Are you sure this is the right place?” An old tire lay propped against a wooden sign hanging from frayed ropes, threatening to disintegrate at any moment. I sat up and stared at the dilapidated sign, my cheerful mood turning sour. “It looks sketchy.” And sketchy was being generous.
Mo pulled a packet from over the visor and thumbed through the papers. “Oldies but Goodies RV Park and Flea Market. This is the place.”
“How much research did you do? This is one step up from the county dump.”
“Mattie, don’t be so judgmental. I know how much you and Lizbeth like to go browsing at flea markets. I thought you’d enjoy it.” Mo shifted to drive and pulled into the parking lot.
My best friend and I loved to browse flea markets, but Lizbeth wasn’t here and flea marketing by myself didn’t sound fun. And flea marketing with Mo sounded even less fun. He had recently retired as police chief of our tiny town of Pine Grove. To be fair, I had been begging him for two years to retire, but I never dreamed we’d spend our retirement in an RV.
The RV was the last gift from my late stepfather, Lazy Lou. When Mo retired, even though I had reservations about RVing, how could I say no? This was our first trip in the new motor home. From the looks of this place, it could be our last. I missed Lizbeth. I didn’t know how I would get through an entire summer not seeing her.
“Nothing about this place screams fun, and besides, how much fun can it be? It’s not like you’ll be around. Not with all the fishing equipment you brought.”
“Did you see that lake? It’s calling my name. Mo. Mo.” He laughed and slapped the steering wheel. “I crack myself up.”
“More like you’re a crackpot.” I stuck out my tongue.
He reached over and squeezed my knee. “We can have lots of fun, if you know what I mean.” He winked, and his eyebrows wiggled like two fuzzy gray caterpillars.
I laughed and jostled his hand. “Don’t distract me.”
“We’re only here a week. Then we head back home.” Mo parked the forty-foot, Class A motor home in front of a blue stucco A-frame building that looked like it had at one time housed a gas station. Fading fish painted every color under the rainbow swam a motionless path around the building. A sign over the door declared it the office of the Oldies but Goodies RV Park and Flea Market. Fake topiaries of boxwood stood sentry on either side of the glass door.
“Yeah, we’re only home a week before we head out for the rest of the summer. Yippee,” I grumbled. Mo had picked this campground because it was next to one of the largest lakes in our home state of Missouri. He presumed the flea market would be an added benefit to keep me busy.
“I thought you were excited about starting this next chapter. You’ve been on my case to retire so we could travel.” Mo’s normally jovial grin sagged into a frown. “If you don’t want to do this, I wish you had let me know before we rented out the house for the summer. We’re kind of stuck now.”
The defeat on my husband’s face tore a hole in my heart.
“You’re right. Don’t worry, I’ll snap out of it. Promise.” We had leased our house to a young couple who had lost theirs in a fire and needed a place to live while they rebuilt. That had been my idea, not Mo’s. I had started this whole escapade. Now I was the one having second thoughts.
When Mo retired, I had been ecstatic, but I hadn’t thought about what it meant to leave our home and friends. By travel, I had meant a week in Florida, or a week in Texas, or a week in Maine staying in a quaint bed-and-breakfast with meals in restaurants and maid service—not three months in a home on wheels where I was the maid and cook. And certainly not a whole summer.
“You’ll see Lizbeth when we go back. We’ll set up in their driveway, and the two of you can blabber all night for seven nights. Then when we get to Wisconsin, you can video chat or text or whatever it is you do on that phone.”
Our rescue dog, Max, stirred in the back and stuck his nose between our seats. “I’m going to leash him up and take him for a walk while you check in.”
Mo squeezed my knee tighter. “Hon, it’ll be okay. This place looks a little rough around the edges, but the ratings were good. The reviews bragged about how welcoming everyone is.”
“We’ll see.” I snorted, unbuckled my seat belt, and felt around the back of the seat for Max’s leash. Instead of finding the leash, a cold, wet nose nudged my hand. “Hey, Max,” I said to the gray-muzzled, seventy-pound black Labrador we rescued last Christmas.
Mo handed me the leash. “Give it one night. If you’re still not convinced by this time tomorrow, we can head back. Lizbeth and Donny won’t mind putting us up an extra week.”
“Deal,” I said, wrangling the dog out the door. “Twenty-four hours.” I made a show of checking the fitness tracker strapped to my wrist. “Four thirty on the dot.”
Mo followed me out the door and kissed my cheek. “That’s my girl.”
I stretched and looked around, catching a glimpse of the lake beyond the office. I squinted and the office blurred. Maybe if I changed my perspective, I could do this for a week. Max tugged his leash, and the building came back into focus.
“Come on, boy,” I said.
Max sniffed every tree, bush, and blade of grass before finding the perfect spot to do his business. On the way back to the RV, I spotted a red-haired woman wearing a pair of bun-hugging shorts and a halter top. She entered the office with a tiny dachshund at her heels. I found a shady place next to the RV, filled a bowl with water for Max, and secured his leash.
“You stay here and be good. I’ll be right back.” He made two circles and curled up in the shaded grass. “Good doggo. If you see a squirrel, ignore it.” No matter how well behaved he was, all it took was a stray cat or an errant squirrel to divert his attention. I handed him a treat and headed inside.
* * *
“You’ll be in space eighteen. Go down this lane, turn left after the golf cart crossing, and you’re the second spot on the left.” A petite white-haired woman, about my age, handed Mo a brochure. A name tag pinned to a scoop-neck flowered tee announced her as Olive—Manager.
“Here’s a map and a calendar of activities. Yoga every morning except Sunday at seven a.m. Pool’s open until ten every night. Keep your dog leashed at all times, and make sure you pick up after him. Flea market is open tomorrow and Sunday from eight to eight, and a half day on Wednesday. Lots of bargains. Some vendors are open tonight, but only for park residents and guests. If you need anything else, just ask. I’m Olive.” A network of soft lines etched her friendly face.
The woman in the skimpy outfit sidled up to Mo—a little too close. Her dog sniffed at Mo’s ankles. “Or you could ask me. I’m a permanent resident, so I know my way around.” She chuckled and stuck her hand out. “I’m Calla Lily, but everyone calls me Cal. I’m the social director here.”
I stared at her. The woman I’d seen from behind had looked much younger, but face-to-face I determined the years had left their mark on Calla Lily. Deep crow’s feet clawed at the corners of her eyes. Brackets surrounded her mouth, giving her the look of a marionette. She was every bit of seventy-five, maybe older. The color of her hair did not exist in any form in nature except maybe the scarlet macaw I’d seen at our local zoo.
“Quit making a nuisance of yourself, Cal,” Olive said between clenched teeth. “Leave Mr. Modesky alone.”
My thoughts exactly.
“And you are not the social director,” Olive added with a force that belied her tiny frame. “Social distracter is more like it. Go on. Let my customers be.” She made a shooing motion.
Mo grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “Oh, she’s fine.” He took Cal’s hand and shook it. A little too long for my comfort.
I cleared my throat and gave her what I hoped was a dismissive look before turning my attention to Mo. “Are we ready?”
Mo dropped her hand. “Sure thing, hon.” He handed me the brochure. “I have all the information we need.”
“I bet you do,” I said.
“Stop by my place tonight. I can give you the grand tour.” Cal ignored me and winked at Mo. “Then maybe we can take a dip in the pool.” She picked up her dog, who had wrapped his leash around her leg.
I stepped between her and Mo. “He doesn’t swim. And with this map, we can find everything we need. And I do mean everything.”
Olive made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Cal, leave the Modeskys alone.”
“I’m in the corner unit three streets down on the right. You can’t miss it. I have Chinese lanterns hanging from the porch. Stop by for that tour and a swimming lesson.” Cal fluffed her fake-as-a-three-dollar-bill hair, flounced across the room, and slammed the rickety screen door behind her.
Olive blew out a breath. “She will be the death of me. You’d think after a certain age, her hormones would dry up and wither away. Instead, she’s like a sex-starved sailor. You’d do well to keep an eye out for her and her twin sister, Ruby. They’ll chase anything wearing pants, and they aren’t picky. No offense, Mr. Modesky.”
Mo still stared out the door as Cal sashayed across the parking lot.
I jabbed him in the ribs.
“Huh?” Mo said.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth. She’s got to be ten years older than you,” I said.
“Cal and Ruby turn seventy-eight next week,” Olive said. “Not that it’s slowed them down.”
“Are you serious? She’s got some nerve blatantly coming on to my husband while strutting around like a teenager.” I winced, wondering how my sags and bags would look in a halter top.
“She swims laps, jogs five miles a day, and she and Ruby take turns running our yoga class. All that when she’s not riding her bike.” Olive handed Mo his credit card and the receipt.
“No wonder she looks so good.” Mo’s face turned red. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes, you did,” I said.
“I meant fit,” Mo said. “You know. In shape.”
I looked down at my belly pooch and the one threatening to spill over Mo’s belt. Mo and I had been a little careless with our diet and exercise since he’d retired. Maybe now was the time to think about getting into shape, especially if we’d be running into people like Cal in these campgrounds. “Quit while you’re ahead, lover boy.” I wondered if Mo would be interested in bike riding. That would keep him occupied and provide a great opportunity for both of us to get some much-needed exercise.
Olive reached over and touched my arm. “She will try anything to get a man’s attention. Anything. Married or single—it doesn’t matter to her. Between you and me, keep a tight leash on your man.”
“Hey, I’m standing right here,” Mo said.
“Just sayin’. She has no scruples. And when she’s not on the prowl, Ruby is. Cal’s current obsession is Sarge, but that won’t stop her from testing the waters with a new man.”
“She’d better watch herself. I don’t take kindly to anyone messing with Mo.” I didn’t worry about him cheating. He’d had his share of opportunities in our forty-plus years of marriage, but he’d never once given me a reason to worry. I grabbed his arm. “Come on, hound dog, let’s go find our spot.”
Mo leaned in and kissed my cheek. “No woman holds a candle to you, hon.”
“You got that right, and you’d best remember that, because that candle could burn you to a crisp.” I laughed and made a sizzling sound.
“Don’t underestimate Cal.” Olive flipped the Closed sign into place and followed us out the door.
“Cal better not underestimate me,” I said.
