Free Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping by Jeanne Glidewell Page B

like this would happen when we put the swimming pool in last year, because a pool is such a liability,” Emily told me. “Our insurance went up substantially, as you can imagine. Now I assume we’ll be embroiled in a major lawsuit. Not to mention that a murder occurring here on the premises is not exactly going to encourage other campers to stay here in the future. I’m wondering if an RV park could lose it’s Good Sam status when customers start getting whacked on the premises. That distinction is very important to the success of the campground.”
    I could relate to the fact that Emily’s main concern was how it might potentially harm their business. I’d been in her shoes before, worried a murder at the Alexandria Inn on its opening night would adversely affect the success of our new bed and breakfast establishment. 3 I assured her that it hadn’t hurt our business and I doubted it would hurt Cozy Camping RV Park either.
    After listening to my opinion, Emily asked, “But why did this have to happen during Frontier Days, the busiest ten days of the season?”
    “Just fate, I guess. You know what they say about the Lord working in mysterious ways. It could have happened on any day, and could have just as easily been one of us whose number was up last night.”
    “Yes, but I can’t see either one of us having a line of people waiting to have first crack at bumping us off. Oh, well if it had to happen, I couldn’t have picked a better customer for it to happen to,” the park owner said.
    “Emily!” I gasped.
    “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud,” she said with a sly smile. “But, truthfully, I wouldn’t wish something like this on anybody, not even my worst enemy.”
    “You have enemies?”
    “You know what I mean, Lexie. In all the years of owning and operating this campground, I’ve found that every customer brings me pleasure.”
    “Oh, how wonderful for you,” I said, wondering how a pain-in-the-tush like Fanny Finch could bring anyone pleasure, least of all Emily. I had watched the deceased browbeat her just a couple of days ago. “You can’t tell me it’s true that every single one of them actually brings you pleasure!”
    “Yes, it really is true. Some bring me pleasure by coming here and others by leaving. And, in this case, even by leaving zipped up in a body bag.”
    “I can’t believe you said that, Emily!” I exclaimed. I might have thought the exact same thing, but I’d have never verbalized it for fear of looking extremely cold-hearted. I expected Emily to tell me she was only pulling my leg again, the way she had when I checked us in at the office on Friday evening.
    “Did I mention she brought me pleasure?” Emily said instead, with a wink. “Seriously, I’m very upset about Fanny’s death, but I’m not particularly surprised she’d tick someone off to the point they’d want to kill her. Who do you think might have done it? Her poor hen-pecked husband? Or maybe even one of the authors who participated in the book signing event with her? None of those three seems to be capable of such a horrific act, but you never know, I guess. How often do you see the next-door neighbor of a serial killer being interviewed on TV saying they’d have never guessed their kind, quiet, and thoughtful neighbor capable of cutting the eyes out of their numerous victims and serving them up like Brussels sprouts with a steak and salad for supper?”
    “Egads, could you be any more gruesome, my friend? But I admit you’re absolutely right, Emily. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of those neighbors being interviewed say something like, ‘Yeah, my neighbor’s a psychotic nut job, and I’ve always wondered how many people he’d strangled, disembodied, and stored in his freezer.’”
    Emily chuckled and replied, “And you called me gruesome? Is that not the pot calling the kettle black? But I suppose a serial killer would shy away from carving up a number of