Phantom's Rest
an excerpt
Chapter One
Beauregard Barker was in hell. He was positive no place on earth could be any worse than where he was. He bit through his lip and turned his head, holding back a scream when jagged agony ripped through his shoulder. Something, a deep, primitive sense of danger, strangled his cry.
An angry babble of foreign words drifted down through the rubble. He heard Tom's deep voice roar his name, drowning out the argument as the sharp rat-tat-tat of automatic weapons abruptly silenced the voices.
Desperately, he choked back another scream as he fought the urge to cough in the hazy, dusty hush. Keith joined the chorus, yelling at him. Did he answer? He wasn't sure. As he struggled to make sense of his dark surroundings, fragments of memory, disjointed flashes of a tremendous blast, bombarded his brain.
Jerry, his team medic shouted his name, pleading with him to let them know he was okay. Did he answer? He didn't know. The rubble shifted, crushing his foot with incredible force. He screamed as the waves of pain built into one huge tsunami rolling through him, until he surrendered to oblivion.
Hours or days or even months later, he eased into wakefulness, irritated by incessant beeping nearby. He inhaled, his nose wrinkling at the sharp scents of anti-bacterial cleaner and medications. Blurrily, the clues came together in sudden recognition.
Hospital.
His eyes squinted at the bright light. Nothing particularly familiar. He could be anywhere in the world. With vague relief, he realized he wasn't in pain, and found he was profoundly grateful for whatever meds they were giving him. Noting the solid pale-green walls, he breathed out a slow exhalation of relief. At least he wasn't in one of the temporary units on the front lines.
Well, son, I'm glad you pulled through.
Frowning, Beau looked around, his cloudy vision slowly clearing. Seated next to the bed, an older gentleman in civilian clothing smiled at him.
I'm your Uncle Richmond. Before we go any further, I may as well tell you I'm dead. I figure if we get that out of the way in the beginning, we'll get on a lot better.
"Why are you here if you're dead?" Beau objected, shocked at the rusty, unused sound of his voice. As he studied the man, he noted the resemblance to his Aunt Agatha. That wasn't so unusual, since Agatha was Richmond's sister. But Aunt Aggie hadn't written anything about Richmond dying.
Don't try to talk. I can hear you just fine if you, uh, think what you want to say. It's been a long time since you used your voice.
How long?
Months.
Fuck. Where am I?
Bethesda. The man smiled sympathetically. I know how disoriented you're feeling. I just came to tell you that you have options. When it all shakes out, and you're wondering what you're going to do or where you're going to go, remember what I said. My friend Jake will be getting in touch with you. Don't make any rash decisions. Listen to what he has to say. I did the best I could for you, son. I wish I'd had more time.
Beau demanded reassurance. You say you're my uncle? Uncle Richmond?
That's right. Your Aunt Aggie did a fine job raising you. Now it's my turn to do my bit for you. When you get out of this joint and you're wondering what to do next, just remember what I said.
Between one slow blink of Beau's eyelids and the next, the man was gone. Beau's brows wrinkled in disgust. Great. Now he was hallucinating. Although he had to admit, the man definitely caught his interest, he knew better than to mention the encounter with his uncle's ghost. If he did, they'd no doubt decide his meds were to blame. A vague sense of guilt tugged at his conscience. Even if Beau didn't visit him as a kid, he should have tracked him down once he was an adult. His eyes fluttered shut as he thought about the kindly stranger who talked about options as though he really had any.
Beau wasn't stupid, even if he had been out of the loop for a while. Injuries that required months to recover guaranteed retirement for him. Though he didn't know exactly what was wrong with him, he had no illusions about his future. When he left the hospital, he would be a civilian.
* * *
Several months later, early spring...
Beau slowly inched his way alongside one of the torn up paths that criss-crossed the Phantom's Rest. The RV park was a mess of renovations and new construction-sort of like Beau. After three surgeries on his ankle and leg, the military finally cut him loose to recover on his own. By the time his Uncle Richmond's partner had shown up, Beau'd been more than willing to listen to the unusual offer. What did he have to lose?
Just my dignity, if I fall on my ass. He cursed when the tip of one of his crutches sank in the soft soil. Should have used the damn golf cart. But he was tired of sitting, sitting, sitting. Besides, it made him feel like even more of an invalid than he was. And his butt was getting numb from all the inactivity.
Balancing with care, he freed the crutch and moved to a sturdier patch of grass, where he leaned on his crutches, surveying the workers milling around him. Everyone seemed to be busy...except two men standing off to the side. And neither of them wore a hardhat. Frowning, he hitch-hopped in their direction. Civilians weren't allowed near the construction.
"Hey, you! This is a work area!"
The men turned to stare at him, but they made no effort to move away. Irritably, Beau struggled across the soft lawn toward the men. "Dammit! Move along. You can't hang around here."
"I seriously doubt we'll take any hurt, son," the older one replied with an odd smile. His soft, gray beard quivered as his lips twitched in obvious amusement. Shivering in the cool breeze even in his heavy sweatshirt, Beau wondered how the old man could possibly be warm enough in a thin white T-shirt and faded jeans. Under Beau's sour stare, the old man's rough work boots shifted.
The other one nudged the old man. He was a sturdy youngster with rumpled red hair, wide shoulders, and was dressed in similar clothing to his companion. "Not really fair to tease him. He don't know why we won't get hurt." He tugged at his ear. "I'm Samuel. This is the captain. We're just watchin'."
"That's what they all say." Beau halted in front of them. "This is a fuckin' work area. You. Cannot. Be. Here."
"Mind your language, young man. I don't hold with cursing."
Samuel pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not proper to swear in public."
"And I don't give a damn whether you approve of my language or not. If you weren't here, you wouldn't have to hear my fuckin' language, would you?" A sharp pain seared up the outside of Beau's leg, prompting a colorful string of curse words. "Damn leg!"
The captain bowed his head. "As you say. If we weren't here, we wouldn't have to listen to your foul language. So we'll go away."
Under Beau's disbelieving gaze, the two men faded...away. He staggered back, falling on his ass in the damp grass. Fuck me!
"I see you've met some of our resident ghosts," Jake observed with a laugh. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "I was headed over to your trailer when I saw you making a beeline for the captain. Do you need a hand up?" He offered a strong arm.
Wrapping his hand around Jake's forearm, Beau climbed to his feet. "Resident ghosts? What the hell?"
"Phantom's Rest. It's in the name, Beau." Jake steadied Beau while he retrieved his crutches. "There are several ghosts that live here. The older gentleman was Captain John. He died in the Civil War. The younger man is Samuel. He's been dead since the early eighteen hundreds."
"Ghosts. You're insane." He shook his head in denial, but Beau wondered about the disturbing dream he'd had in the hospital. Had he really had a conversation with his dead uncle?
"Ask around. You'll find they're a common sight here at the Rest." Jake led the way across the lawn toward the office. "In the meantime, while you're mulling over the ghosts, I need you to cover the registration desk, so I can run into the village for a meeting with the mayor."
"Registration? I don't know, Jake. I'm not much for paperwork."
"You'll manage. I have confidence in you. Anyway, there won't be too many campers stopping in this early in the spring. The ones on the road now are heading north for the summer."
"How are we supposed to manage with so much of the park under construction?" Beau looked around at the controlled chaos. "Half of the park is unusable."
"The owners of the big campers all agreed to move to the overflow. And we're shifting the smaller campers as we complete renovations. The advantage to permanent residents as opposed to temporary residents is they are all enthusiastic about the improvements." Jake pointed toward the row of Kamping Kottages. "We were even able to relocate the residents for the Kottages. By the time mid-summer is here, everyone should be back in their usual lots."
* * *
Six months later, early fall...
A tiny house rolled past Beau's camper at two a.m.
Woobie, the mutt he'd inherited when his Aunt Agatha died, raised her head and woofed softly. Beau rose up on his elbow to look out the window to see what the noise was and discovered there were two trucks and two houses passing his driveway. He shook his head and lay down.
After a moment, it occurred to him that couldn't possibly be correct. He lurched up to peer one-eyed out the window, absently noting the house moving by before he blearily reached over his head and flicked the blinds closed to block out the irritating lights. After imbibing too much Irish ale at the Phantom's Rest fall cookout for the permanent residents, his mental processes weren't firing on all cylinders.
When the Irish band approached Jake about a place to park their tour buses earlier in the week, Jake had pragmatically settled them in the overflow area of the park, happy for the unexpected income and invited them to the cookout. In return, the group had provided entertainment. Since Beau didn't need to get up early the next morning because it was one of his half-days, he took advantage of the chance to hang out and enjoy their impromptu jam session.
On the very edge of sinking back in the black hole of slumber, the words moving and house coalesced into an alarming picture. He struggled upright. With a thud, he ended up in a heap on his knees in the tiny space between the bed and the miniscule toilet. When he stumbled into his camper after the cookout he'd fumbled the zipper on his fly open to use the bathroom before passing out on his bed with his pants around his knees. He paid for that oversight when his feet promptly tangled in the jeans twisted around his ankles.
Woobie rose and whined as she bounced over to the edge of the bed. She licked his face and nudged him with her nose.
Beau absently patted the dog while he puzzled over why he was on his knees on the floor. Something was not right. He plucked at the wrinkled fabric around his thighs, fuzzily deciding that must be the problem. Ahhhh. Stupid jeans. With a clumsy twist, he sat upright, cursing when his balls came in contact with the icy tile floor, shocking him into a hyper-awareness of his surroundings. Levering himself up so he was hunched on the side of the bed, he yanked the plaid boxers up from around his knees and then pulled up the jeans.
After a moment of drunken cogitation, he stood up and finished hauling his boxers and pants in place. He stared down at his feet with the exaggerated astonishment of the extremely inebriated and discovered his shoes were still on his feet. Ah-hah! Won't have to find my shoes. Never took them off. Unaccountably pleased, he carelessly zipped his pants halfway until his boxers got caught in the zipper. After struggling with the recalcitrant zipper, he gave up, opened his camper door and sailed out into the darkness, missing the two metal steps entirely as he measured his length in the cold, damp grass.
Always eager to spend time outdoors, Woobie leaped through the open door, where she prudently took advantage of the opportunity to answer the call of nature. Once she landed on the small lawn, she raced over to the bushes lining the next driveway. Her business finished, she trotted over to Beau, tail wagging furiously as she snuffled his ribs with her cold, wet nose before plopping down next to him. He rested his big hand on her head, gently rubbing the soft, white hair between her floppy ears. She whined and wriggled closer as her fluffy tail thumped the ground.
Beau lay there, cheerfully cursing his stupidity in hanging around with the Irish band after the cookout. Most sane people went back to their campers or RV's. Why didn't he?
I am so wasted, he concluded. He groaned and sat up, noting the lights flickering through the hedge that divided his site from the next one over-the site that was empty when he came home from his ill-considered binge with the Irish rockers. The site that was reserved for staff members only.
"Go back inside," he growled at the dog.
She sat up with her tongue hanging out and woofed.
"No, dammit. No barking. Go inside."
Obediently, she stood up, slurped her wet tongue over his chest and edged away. Tail dragging, she trudged back to the camper and hopped inside before turning to sit in the open doorway.
Clambering to his feet, he staggered out to the blacktop road that ran around the outer edge of Phantom's Rest staff area. No one should be occupying the site. That site was reserved for some old biddy who was expected in a couple weeks. Jake had mentioned the woman stayed at Phantom's Rest for several months every year. A chill breeze sifted across the wide driveway, raising goose bumps on his bare chest and arms. He rubbed his arms and frowned, trying to solve the conundrum presented by the inexplicable appearance of his new neighbor. Stumbling over to the driveway for the next site he wavered to a stop and stared in disbelief at the building parked there.
A tiny house was parked there. It was as though it had just appeared out of nowhere. Poof! The little house was complete with porch, peaked roof, and brightly colored stained glass windows. Two pots of creamy mums sat next to the steps. A soft, pink light illuminated the porch. At the foot of the steps a rubber mat with three bright yellow sunflowers on it bid him welcome.
Beau had lived at Phantom's Rest for nearly six months. During the time he'd lived at Phantom's Rest, he'd encountered quite an array of traveling homes from the minimalist Teardrop campers to plush, converted-bus RV's. This was the first time an actual house had shown up.
His working visit, a condition he had to complete before claiming the mysterious inheritance from his Uncle Richmond, depended on his completion of six specific tasks at Phantom's Rest. With his military service definitely ended by his spectacularly busted ankle, Beau had shrugged and accepted the terms, figuring his uncle's behest would give him time to consider his future. He shoved the vague disturbing memories of his conversation with his dead uncle to the back of his mind. Though Jake had firmly absolved him from any neglect for not tracking them down once he was grown up, that vague sense of regret still dogged him. When he was young, Aunt Agatha had explained Richmond and Jake's absence in terms that allowed him to add his own interpretation until he grew old enough to understand. But in his own mind, that didn't excuse Richmond's inaction as an adult.
In the meantime, thanks to their generosity, he had a place to live, an adequate paycheck, and responsibilities that kept him busy. And those responsibilities included dealing with stray houses that appeared in the middle of the night.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hunched his bare shoulders against the cold wind and prowled down the driveway, slowly circling the house. The occupant had hooked up the electricity and water. According to the license plate on the truck parked at the other end of the driveway, the owners lived in Montana. Meandering along the other side of the house, he noted the fine attention to detail in the woodwork.
That's some purty woodworkin' there.
Without breaking stride, Beau nodded his head. "It is indeed, Samuel," he murmured to the young, red-haired ghost who was studying the polished detail work. "That's the kind of craftsmanship you don't see much anymore." In the time he lived at Phantom's Rest, he learned to cope with the sudden appearances of the various ghosts who inhabited the park and lent it their name.
Samuel wistfully ran his rough, calloused fingers over a particularly well done jointure. I sure would like to see the tools the carpenter had to work with. Rob, the carpenter that worked on the Painted Ladies, let me look at his tools when he was here.
"I know you enjoyed talking with him. Maybe there will be some fine craftsmen at the fall festival. Until then, you'll have to make do watching Andy work on the sheds."
Shaking his head in genuine puzzlement, he went back to his camper, leaving Samuel to admire the woodwork. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with his new neighbors. Next to the little jewel of a house, he realized his second-hand trailer looked decidedly worse for the wear, even in the dark. He had an idea it was going to be more so in the glare of full daylight. Without turning on the lights, he climbed back inside, shucked his clothing completely this time, and stretched out on the bed next to his dog.
* * *
Narrow shafts of sunlight sneaked past the blinds to bombard him in the face. Grumpily, Beau rolled over and pulled the lumpy pillow over his head. A series of muffled thumps from outside invaded his restless sleep.
Woobie whined.
Beau groped in the covers for Woobie's "baby"-a tattered, ragged teddy bear-and tossed it in her direction.
Then the familiar strains of a man singing something Italian wove their way from next door. Vaguely, he recognized the artist as one of Aunt Agatha's favorites, though his name escaped Beau at the moment. When the volume abruptly grew louder, Woobie lifted her head and howled along with the singer in a doggie duet. The music soared to a towering crescendo as Woobie ended on a high note.
Cursing, Beau sat up and glared at the door. The melody sounded a lot like opera-his least favorite genre of music. When the singer switched from operatic Italian to a hypnotic Spanish number accompanied by flashy guitar work, his patience reached its limits. While Woobie soulfully howled along with the new song, Beau knuckled his burning eyes, listening to his dog in disbelief. He leaned over, groping on the floor for his clothes. Finally, he snatched up his plaid boxers, jerking them on wrong side out before leaping from his camper to storm his way to the driveway next door.
His eyes were bloodshot from the inside out. Tiny leprechauns were lustily hammering in his head. He yelped and cursed as he stepped on a sharp stone. Hopping sideways on his bad foot, he twisted his ankle, landing squarely on his butt in a small puddle of water. Clapping his hands over his ears, he tried to block out the soaring music as the singer reached a powerful finale with Woobie howling in the background.
Abruptly, the music stopped. He closed his eyes, savoring the exquisite relief.
And then she laughed.
* * *
Standing at the end of her driveway, Emmeline planted her hands on her hips as she studied the nearly naked man sitting in a puddle on the edge of the road. His dark brown curls looked as though they'd been whipped by an eggbeater. Sexy, scruffy morning whiskers didn't disguise his square, determined jaw. When he opened his eyes, she caught a glimpse of sharp, bloodshot, blue eyes. Goosebumps roughed the tanned skin covering muscular arms and a chest dusted with dark curls. The scars on his chest and long, strong legs didn't put her off in the least. After all, she had her own scars.
The placket on his boxers gaped open, affording her a yummy view of his morning wood. If he wasn't so cranky, he might even be attractive. Pressing her lips together, she fought the wild urge to laugh and jump him. When a small, fluffy white dog freckled with black spots trotted up and washed his face with an enthusiastic pink tongue, Emmeline gave up the fight and chuckled.
"Who the hell are you?" Beau demanded as he pushed the dog away in vain. "Dammit, Woobie, quit licking my face!"
The dog sat down, tail wagging unrepentantly and regarded Emmeline with a friendly doggie grin.
"Apparently, I'm your new neighbor. Emmeline Fairchild. And you are?"
"Beauregard Barker."
"Had a rough night, Beauregard? Too much booze? Too many wild women?"
"Shut up." His eyes traveled slowly down her body, from head to toe. "Nice outfit. You planning on becoming a working girl?"
Emmeline smoothed her thin nightshirt down over her hips and cocked her head to one side. "It depends. You think there'd be a sufficient customer base around here?"
"Hell if I know. But I sure wouldn't advertise if it isn't for sale."
She nodded her head. "I'll keep that in mind." Turning on her heel, she strolled slowly back toward her little house. "Oh, Beauregard? That's a mighty fine advertisement poking out of your boxers...How much do you charge?" she inquired as she opened the door and went inside, closing it behind her with a definite snap.
She snagged her mug from the desk-the orange one with Arizona printed on it in dark green-and sipped the last of her apple tea. He was certainly a good looking man, she grudgingly admitted as she prepared a fresh cup of hot tea. Clearly, he had a ferocious hangover. All the signs were there. Taking her cup over to the drafting table in the front alcove, she settled in her comfortable swivel chair and watched Beauregard stuff his unruly penis back in his shorts, before clambering to his feet and limping away with the dog scampering at his heels and Susannah, the resident femme fatale ghost trailing after him in her nightgown. If there was a naked penis involved, it was absolutely guaranteed that Susannah would be drifting somewhere nearby. Wistfully, she wished she was as confident as the ghost. Exchanging quips with Beauregard had been fun. Maybe Susannah could give her some advice. As Emmeline sipped her tea, a small grin tugged at her lips. She'd missed the ghosts of Phantom's Rest when she was away over the spring and summer.
Her shoulders and spine gradually relaxed as she settled in. For months, the insidious voice had filled her nights with dread. She'd futilely scoured the ranch house in Montana for the source of the murmured innuendoes and accusations until she thought she would go mad. No matter how urgently she searched, she found nothing. Finally, in desperation, she'd packed up and left for Come-by-Chance two weeks earlier than she'd originally planned.
Her new neighbor was an unexpected bonus. There was something about him that struck a familiar chord. Then she realized he reminded her of her brother, Malachi. Despite their odd introduction, there was a sense of masculine competence about him. Whatever came along, he would be able to handle it.
All things considered, Emmeline thought she was ahead of her new neighbor on points, but she suspected he wouldn't let things rest that way for long. She savored the unfamiliar, exhilarating feeling while she could.
From experience, she knew she would be damp and dusty by the time she finished unpacking, so she'd chosen to wait until later to shower and dress. She supposed she shouldn't have gone outside in her thin sleeping shirt and panties, but when he fell, she'd rushed out to make sure he was all right. The last thing on her mind was her state of undress.
After finishing her tea, she sighed and went back to her pile of boxes. The downside to moving her home to a new location was the packing and unpacking to be done. Some things could be dealt with by simply strapping them in place with bungee cords. Others, such as the kitchen supplies, required real packing.
She looked around meditatively, speculating on the time it would take her to finish settling in. If things went according to her schedule, she had two weeks to finish all the pieces she had committed for the Regional Calligraphers Convention. And then she had to mat and frame them. It was an honor to be this year's featured Celtic style calligrapher. But there was so much to do, so little time.
She already had six students registered for her calligraphy classes after the convention. No doubt by the time the event was over, she would have a full class of ten plus a waiting list. And she had a long waiting list for her tapestry crochet lessons. Every winter, it was the same. There were more students than time. She was so thankful her skills were in demand. The best thing she'd ever done was use the inheritance from her parents to leave her stifling career as an executive secretary and leap out into the unknown world of the self-employed. With the remainder of her inheritance as an emergency cushion, she was free to live as she chose.
As she unpacked and arranged her inks and brushes and pens in the built-in drawers that lined the flat section of her drafting table, she started jotting down a list of things she needed to order from her supplier. Since she'd actually arrived early, she could ask the vendor to ship them to Phantom's Rest. In the meantime she had enough inks and brushes to start work tomorrow. And later this afternoon, she would pay a visit to the little shop that stocked her paper supplies.
She was returning from her initial supply run to the grocery store, paper shop, and a quick consultation with the framer she usually used when she was hailed near the registration office by her new neighbor. She watched him trot across the parking lot, noting the long, lean muscles showcased in his tight faded jeans and T-shirt. Her heart speeded up at the way the jeans molded over his hips and thighs, cupping that package she'd inspected firsthand earlier in the morning. Boy, he cleaned up nice.
He grinned as he reached the truck. "Thanks for stopping! We're kind of busy. I thought I would have to bring these forms out to your site."
"Forms?"
"Yeah. Jake-he's the manager-said to tell you there are new rules since you were here last. In the spring we had some major vandalism. Now everyone who visits the Rest has to stop at the office and show identification. Jake said if you're going to hold your classes this year like you did in the past, your students will need to stop at the office and turn in their IDs until they leave."
She regarded the stack of paperwork he was holding and sighed. "Look, I have perishable groceries in the back of the truck. Let me go home and put my stuff away, and then I'll walk back and fill out the paperwork."
He nodded agreeably. "Sure thing. I'll see you in a few." With a casual wave, he stepped back from the truck.
She pulled away, keeping an eye on him in her rearview mirror. He stood watching her until she turned onto the outer park road. Then he strolled back across the parking lot with the stack of forms clutched in his hand. Idly, she wondered about the new procedures. In previous years, when the former owner had been alive, Phantom's Rest was comfortably shabby, resembling a small village. Everyone knew everyone.
Apparently, in the months since his death, there'd been some changes. She wondered what happened to Carol Ann, the old manager and hoped the new guy hadn't instituted too many changes. It would be complicated and time consuming to find a new place in the area to park her house. As for finding a convenient place to hold her classes...that didn't even bear thinking about.
Twenty minutes later, as she walked along one of the new footpaths to the office, she took the time to observe the changes, some small, others more sweeping. The playgrounds had been updated and fenced, the bathhouses had a fresh coat of paint and new walkways, and the group shelters were both painted and screened. Nice. Actually, everything she saw had a fresh coat of paint.
Neat little signs provided concise directions. The park roads all had new layers of blacktop. Gardens and landscaping provided attractive counterpoint to the vast spreads of carefully mowed grass that no longer sported bald spots. All in all, it was obvious there had been some major changes at The Phantom's Rest.
Across the lawn, she caught glimpses of the Kamping Kottages, small one-room cabins furnished with kitchenettes, small baths, and double beds or bunks. The last time she lived at the Rest, they'd looked pretty tumbledown. Now they were delicious miniature Victorian painted ladies with new shutters and matching trim. Each house had its own color scheme with fresh shingles, new metal roofs and complementary landscaping. Jeremiah and Nathaniel, two young sibling ghosts whooped her name and wildly waved from their perch on the roof of the end cottage.
She cheerfully waved back, reflecting it was a good thing they were already ghosts, since a fall from their perch would likely prove fatal. Returning to her survey of her surroundings, her brow wrinkled as she started to realize the full scope of the changes. This wasn't just a little cosmetic paint and planting. This was a complete overhaul. Her fingers tightened on the wide strap of her woven bag as her mind raced with possibilities. What if Phantom's Rest wouldn't allow her to continue her classes? Where could she go if she had to move?
Or worse yet, what if the owners were planning to sell the park? She might be able to rent a lot from one of the families who lived in Come-by-Chance. But quite a few of the permanent residents wouldn't be able to find another place to live nearby. So many of them were living on the financial edge already. Where could they go?
Uneasily, she mentally picked out the residents she knew paid full rent-or even a bit more-to cover the ones who couldn't. The dentist from south Lexington whose wife caught him with his dental hygienist. Before she found her tiny house last year, Emmeline had lusted after his "green" high-end Earthbound camper. It looked like a space ship inside.
And there were Gerald and Gary, the gay couple living in the fancy Big Country fifth wheel. She'd been inside that one for their New Year's party. It was very nice inside. That thing even had a fireplace and a flat-screen TV.
Two families with teenagers lived in the park models at the far end next to Jake's park model. Emmeline speculated about what kind of rent they paid. And there was another retired couple-the Jensens-who lived in a Wildcat fifth wheel. Emmeline really admired the faux stone wall in the kitchen in that one.
She ran her eye along the campers on the back road the residents called Fancy Row. Were there enough? She wasn't sure.
