Murder on Wheels (A Tourist Trap Mystery, #6)
Lynn Cahoon
To my sisters, who make me crazy in a good way.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a book is like making a stew. You take pieces from here and there, maybe stored up from late-night dinners where no one finished the corn or the last few green beans from the garden. Then you mix it up, add some broth, and brown up some beef, and you hope the flavors mix together into something not only filling on a cold night, but also tasty.
My mom taught me to hold on to everything, including leftovers. For Murder on Wheels, I’ve mixed several of these tasty ideas that came from a mixture of sources. So, big thanks to my cowboy’s best buddy, Dan Moore, for taking us geocaching for the first time. My sister, Roberta, always provides me with interesting tidbits from her cottage on the sea. And, of course, big thanks to the Food Network for their wide variety of shows to distract me, including Truck Wars. Or The Great Truck Race—it’s called something like that. LOL
I’m always thankful for Esi Sogah’s careful eye and kind direction in her edits and for loving South Cove as much as I do. Big thanks to Rebecca Cremonese for keeping me from freaking out when I find an error after turning in my last notes, and of course Michelle Forde, Alexandra Nicolajsen, and Lauren Jernigan for getting me and the Tourist Trap series out into the world.
Enjoy the stew.
CHAPTER 1
Fun , just like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. As I watched Greg and Justin stare at the handheld GPS hung around Justin’s neck with a University of California lanyard, two things were perfectly clear. One, Greg King, South Cove’s lead detective and my boyfriend, was not having the least bit of fun. And two, Justin Cross, history professor and Amy’s boyfriend, was oblivious to everyone else’s discomfort. Amy shot me a look as we leaned against an old wooden-post fence. “Do you think we might talk him into lunch at least?”
I glanced at my watch and shrugged. “Are we allowed to leave the hunt without finding anything?”
Justin had talked us into a new activity for our monthly double date. Geocaching. Basically, people go out into the woods, hide an object, and then post the GPS coordinates with a list of clues for others to find the item. Then, apparently, you post on the website that you “found” the spot (without leaving spoilers), take something from the cache, and leave something for the next explorer. It would be fun and all if the people hiding the stuff weren’t crazy illusionists.
The hobby was like a big scavenger hunt. Except this game was self-study instead of time-based. Today when we’d shown up at the park outside Bakerstown, there was a group of geocachers milling around the parking area. Most people were the same age as us, thirty-somethings looking for a weekend distraction that didn’t take place in a bar. We’d been directed to the registration desk and given our assignments.
Now we were in the middle of the Los Padres National Forest watching our boyfriends argue over our current GPS coordinates. Justin glanced back at us. “It should be here. What was the clue again?”
“Fake rock,” Amy called over to him. We were looking at an abandoned water pumping shed. The building had been made of stone, but now it looked more like it had been hit by a bomb. Or a meteor. She pointed up to the still-standing trees. Some of them were small, new growth. Others were old but charred on one side. “The forest fires ravaged through this area about ten years ago, and they let loggers come in to clean up the damaged trees. That’s why there’s so many dirt trails.”
“So, maybe this cache was destroyed in the fire,” I said, looking around for any kind of rock.
“The cache wasn’t placed here until last year.” Greg took my hands and pulled me into a standing position. “Come on, you’re not going to find anything by holding up that fence.”
I followed him, keeping my eyes on the ground for a plastic rock. After a few minutes, I was into the hunt. I stepped toward a tree and froze. A snake lay curled up next to the trunk. My stomach cramped, and I slowly moved away from the tree, pointing but not saying anything.
Amy came up next to me. “What is wrong with you?” She followed my gaze and laughed. “Jill found a snake.”
“It’s probably harmless. I don’t think there are rattlers in the area.” Justin crouched near Amy to examine my find.