Black Cat Weekly #87

Chapter 5

by“Well, isn’t this nice,” Sue said as her husband, Mike, approached their RV.

Well, “What is it?” Mike said, checking some of the paperwork he had received at the campground office.

Holding up a small sheet of paper, Sue said with a smile, “Somebody left us a sticky note on the door.”

“What does it say?”

Sue handed her husband the handwritten message:

Mike & Sue,

Just a note to say thanks for your terrific leadership of the RV club this past year. We knew that on our caravans even if we need help at one thirty in the morning, we can call on you, and you’ll be there.

Mike shook his head. “Now who could have written such a thoughtful message? When you’re a rally master, you can expect the gripes, but a thank-you?”

“Only three other couples have arrived early for the rally,” said Sue, a twinkle in her eye.

“And you want to figure out who wrote the note,” said Mike.

Both retired from law enforcement and avid mystery buffs, Mike and Sue often challenged each other to solve “cases” ranging from how long it would take to arrive at the next campground to who would win one of the crazy-but-fun contests they dreamed up for the RV club.

“We’re meeting the couples for dinner,” said Sue. “If we keep our eyes and ears open, I’m sure one of us—let’s say me—will pick up a clue to solve ‘The Case of the Anonymous Note’.”

“You’re on, Officer Jones,” said Mike with a salute.

As the two walked toward the pavilion where they were meeting the other couples for an early potluck, Mike said, “In the interest of fair play, I have to tell you that all the guys were with me checking in at the campground office this afternoon, so the note must have been written by one of the women.”

“That should make our job easier,” said Sue. “Thanks, Sarge.”

The first couple Sue and Mike approached were Sam and Marcie Beckwith, both recently retired from the Navy. “Ah, our fearless leaders,” bellowed Sam, his deep baritone echoing across the picnic grounds.

“Not so loud,” scolded Marcie, raising a finger to her mouth. “When we unhooked the coach at our last campground around zero eight hundred this morning, I had to shush the Captain’s singing in case anyone was still trying to sleep.”

Walking away from the Beckwiths after sampling one of Sam’s barbequed ribs, Mike said, “Life with the Captain must be quite a trip.”

Mike and Sue found June and Jack Fletcher fussing over a stack of sandwiches at a nearby table. “Welcome to our spread,” said the thin, red-haired woman as she meticulously cut the crust from what looked like a pimento cheese sandwich. “Jack insists on crust-less sandwiches.”

“At home June makes me ‘de-crust’ them myself, but she’s being kind.”

“It’s not too much to ask for my hero, who was out in the rain at home loading the coach before six forty-five yesterday morning.”

“I wish Mike would be so gallant,” said Sue, accepting a ham on rye from June.

The last couple Sue and Mike encountered were the Baileys. Retired university professors, Ann and Larry had been caravanning almost as long as Mike and Sue. “I wonder what our rally masters have planned for us this rally,” said Larry before taking a bite of apple.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” said Mike with a Cheshire-cat grin.

“You guys always eat so healthy,” said Sue, scanning the open containers of fresh fruits and vegetables.

“I just wish it didn’t take so long to slice and dice all this stuff,” said Ann. “We were up at half-past four this morning to get things ready for the potluck.”

With dinner ended, Sue and Mike headed back toward their RV. “I hope you have a better handle on this case than I do, Officer Jones,” said Mike.

Glancing down at the note she had pulled from her vest, Sue said, “Sarge, I believe I have this one solved.”

Sue had indeed kept both her eyes and ears open. While Marcie Beckwith used the military notation for time (zero eight hundred), and Ann Bailey said she was up at “half-past four,” June Fletcher praised Jack for loading the RV at “six forty-five”—a similar time designation to the “one thirty” in the note.