Anger Management

By Laura J Jenski

You have to be mad to be this crazy!

Camping in the Colorado Rockies, Franklin and Wendy Becker find the poisoned body of a local birder. When a bedeviled park ranger is arrested, Franklin tries to help her by performing an exorcism. After that, it all goes to hell.

 

The Motorhome Mu

• Language: English
• Publisher: Snowbound Stories, LLC
• Release date: May 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985697100

Laura J Jenski

Laura Jenski is the author of dozens of scientific research articles, but she now writes what she loves to read: mystery, suspense, and humor. Laura has a Ph.D. in oncology and postdoctoral training in immunology and is the author of the adult mystery "Falling Plaster" and the humorous "Cooked Goose." She lives in Boise, Idaho, with her husband, a slightly spoiled rescue dog, and three pampered cats.

Book preview

Also by Laura Jenski

Falling Plaster

In the Motorhome Murder Mystery series:

Cooked Goose

Spacemen Don’t Camp

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Laura J. Jenski

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [e-mail].

First paperback edition May 2022

Cover designed by GetCovers.com

Cartoon animal image on cover used under license from Shutterstock.com

Motorhome Murder Mysteries logo by Sara Spink

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022905774

ISBN 978-1-7340094-9-1 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-9856971-0-0 (epub)

ISBN 979-8-9856971-1-7 (kpf)

www.snowboundstories.com

Dedication (of sorts)

If you want to consume copious amounts of time reading conflicting information, google capitalization of English bird names

The Players

Our Heroes

Franklin Becker: Forty-four-year-old former owner of the Puss and Pooch Pamper Parlors. With his wife and pets, he is traveling the country in an RV in search of a new career

Wendy Becker: Franklin’s sarcastic wife, an expert in information technology

Mad Dog and Estancia: Franklin and Wendy’s basset hound and Persian cat, respectively

Grizelda: The Beckers’ cantankerous motorhome

At Millet State Park, west of Denver, CO

Susie Jasniewski: Petite, red-headed park ranger who appears to be demonically possessed

Harry Braun: Colorado Parks & Wildlife supervisor and Susie’s boss

Bert Crappert: Denver politician and universally disliked windbag who fancies himself an expert birder

Jabar Trudeau: Wildlife biologist with the Federal Bureau of Land Management who clashes with Bert Crappert on birding issues

Millie Drummond: Herbicide expert in the university extension office who dated Bert Crappert

Nick Scott: Assistant professor of biology at Elitch College and Susie’s boyfriend

Natasha: Professor Scott’s student

Sheriff Wysocki: Long-standing sheriff in Clear Creek County, Colorado, and close friend of Susie’s late grandfather

Prologue

Bert Crappert thought he knew everything about birdwatching. Migration patterns of woodland ducks and hummingbirds. Mating calls of robins and the danger cry of the thrush. Even the average length, to the nearest millimeter, of seagull bills. It was thus fitting that Bert’s last sighting was Red-breasted Sapsucker droppings, landing on his nose as the poison took effect.

Chapter 1

Franklin Becker sucked in a deep breath of the fragrant Colorado air. Everything smelled wonderful compared to San Diego and Los Angeles, where he grew up. Pines and spruce trees dominated the scents at Millet State Park, and despite the cloudless August sky, a pungent earthy smell lingered from earlier rain. Occasional chirps sounded among the green Douglas-firs and silvery Rocky Mountain junipers blanketing the vast sloping terrain. Franklin had no formal training in birding—or, if truth be known, any special knowledge of birds whatsoever. Nevertheless, he swore he heard a Red-bellied Woodpecker’s tapping in the distance.

This is a perfect campground, he said to his wife as they stood in front of the park’s administration building.

Wendy looked up from her smartphone. The cell signal here is too spotty to use the online birding app. We’ll need a password for the park’s Wi-Fi. What’s the park supervisor’s name, again?

Harry Braun. On the phone, he said he’d picked out a great campsite for us. We’re lucky to have influential friends.

He’s not a friend. He’s an acquaintance of the attorney who was an acquaintance of the crazy park ranger who kidnapped me in New Mexico last month.

But she let you go and even saved your life.

Wendy slipped her phone into the back pocket of her blue jeans. I’m trying to erase that incident in Roswell from my memory. Maybe this is Harry coming in the truck.

A black pickup truck with a circular Colorado Parks and Wildlife logo pulled up to the administration building. From the driver’s side leapt a tanned, middle-aged man, lanky, with a thatch of prematurely white hair. He stood at least six foot five, a good five inches taller than Franklin. He grinned and offered a hand to Franklin and then to Wendy.

Harry Braun, he said, pumping Wendy’s arm. We talked on the phone. I’m always happy to help out a friend of Bill Case. How is that old shyster doing, anyway? We call him Billable Case. Did he mention that? Because lawyers bill for every fifteen minutes.

Franklin grinned back at Harry. This was his kind of guy. Friendly, talkative, enthusiastic. The frown on Wendy’s face indicated she’d taken an immediate dislike to him. It would be an interesting afternoon if Harry didn’t let go of Wendy’s hand soon.

The nickname must have slipped Mr. Case’s mind, Franklin said. Should we follow you to our campsite in our motorhome? She’s our pride-and-joy. We call her Grizelda. He motioned to the tan and white motorhome parked at the side of the gravel road. Two pairs of eyes stared from the dashboard.

I see you brought your dog and cat, Harry said. Be sure to keep a close eye on them. Bears around here would swallow that cat whole.

Wendy took a step toward Grizelda, shaking her head. Any bear that pesters a cat like Estancia would rue the day.

Although trees had been cleared here and there, and large rocks moved to make room for campsites, the campground was an untamed, coniferous wonderland. The Beckers and Harry Braun made their way from the administration building single file a short distance down a gravel road. Harry’s truck danced over the ruts and holes with ease; Grizelda lurched from side to side and shuddered. In the minute it took to reach campsite thirteen, Estancia had buried herself between the pillows on the bed. Mad Dog, the basset hound, had shifted his terrified baying up an octave.

I’ll back Grizelda into the site, Wendy shouted over the dog’s howling and unbuckled her passenger seatbelt. You go outside and tell me if I get too close to the trees on the right.

Franklin patted Mad Dog’s quivering head, pulled a pink Puss and Pooch Pamper Parlors baseball cap over his graying brown hair, and slid out the driver’s side door. He avoided backing up the motorhome whenever possible. Wendy had installed several backup cameras in the dashboard, and the bizarre assortment of camera angles felt like a carnival house of mirrors. Besides, he wanted to ask Harry for birdwatching tips and about the great birding club Bill, the attorney, said frequented the park.

While the motorhome slowly backed onto a gravel pad behind them, Franklin and Harry stood in the center of the road, facing a small rustic amphitheater about fifty feet away and across the road from Grizelda. The tiered benches of the amphitheater were hewn from logs and faced a dirt stage crowned with a slatted, unpainted wood roof. Just beyond the theater, clustered in a clearing among the Ponderosa pines, sat a half dozen brightly colored tents and a dozen campers, also brightly clothed. The lettering on the campers’ matching hats read Beers and Bears. Music blared as the young people lounged in low-slung chairs and drank from aluminum cans.

You’re in luck, Harry said. There’s a birdwatching lecture scheduled for four o’clock in the amphitheater. Jabar Trudeau, a BLM wildlife biologist and an officer in one of our local birding clubs, is giving a bird call demonstration.

The speaker is from the Federal Bureau of Land Management? Not a park ranger? Franklin glanced over his shoulder. Wendy was lowering the hydraulic jacks to level the motorhome. He’d completely forgotten about helping her back up Grizelda. Apparently, his help wasn’t essential after all—a lesson repeatedly learned over twenty years of marriage. Twenty happy years, in his opinion; he’d never asked Wendy hers.

We at CPW need to cultivate partnerships to keep our programs afloat, Harry said. Federal, state, county. Hell, we even have partnerships with the Denver city council and the university’s extension office. If any of that support dried up, I don’t know what we’d do—lay off staff and drop programs, I guess. Harry hitched up the trousers that had slipped down his narrow hips. But why am I chewing your ear off about all this administrative stuff? After you settle in, head over to the amphitheater for the lecture. I think there’ll be cookies and—

A screech of tires and spray of gravel sent Franklin and Harry scurrying out of the road to a huddle in front of the motorhome. A black SUV zoomed past and skidded to a stop by the colorful tents. The round logo on the vehicle’s side matched the one on Harry’s truck.

Popping out of Grizelda, Wendy yelled, Who’s the maniac driving that SUV? They’re going hit someone!

Susie, Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. Franklin sensed a tinge of dread in the man’s voice.

The young woman who exploded from the SUV wore the tan shirt and blue cap of Colorado Parks and Wildlife. Unlike Harry, whose shirt was ironed and neatly tucked into clean, pressed blue jeans, Susie’s uniform flapped like a witch’s cape over ripped and mud-laden pants. Her carrot-colored hair sprouted at various angles from a ponytail, and the whites of her wild eyes encircled neon green irises. She marched up to an orange, dome-shaped tent and kicked the aluminum frame. One of the campers, a burly guy with a full beard, ran over to her.

Hey, lady, I don’t know what your problem is, but that’s my tent, and I paid to camp here.

Susie didn’t speak, but her eyes rolled in their sockets, giving her face an eerie, shark-like appearance. The bearded man met her stare with arms crossed and feet wide apart. Gradually, however, he drew back, stepping close to the other campers who had gathered behind him. Susie’s irises rolled back into view, and her stare remained riveted on the man.

You’re being a real a-hole, one of the campers shouted.

Susie’s body quivered and then rippled from head to toe in undulating waves, ending with jerks of her head that sent her red ponytail whipping in circles. As suddenly as the display started, it ended, and Susie stomped to the rear of her SUV.

Is she okay? Franklin whispered to Harry.

Harry hesitated, cleared his throat, and whispered back, Well, of course, that’s not typical ranger protocol.

Wendy snorted. Typical if your body and soul have been seized by the devil.

Harry turned sharply and stared at Wendy. His eyes and mouth formed three identical O shapes. Why did you say that?

Before Wendy could reply, Franklin jumped into the conversation, his face aglow with interest. I’m fascinated by demonic possession. I wrote a term paper about it in eighth grade. Scared the crap out of my teacher. Me, too, at the time.

Wendy shook her head. These cases of possession are more likely mental illness or epilepsy, not the supernatural work of devils.

Franklin stroked his chin, a gesture he hoped signified deep thought. I’m sure it’s a real phenomenon. I read a magazine article about satanic curses and possession when I was waiting in the dentist’s office. The authors interviewed experts who said these manifestations were real, that we’ve probably seen a possessed person but didn’t know it.

The skin between Harry’s eyebrows pinched into worried folds. Jabar did mention his parents had seen bewitched people in Haiti, he said.

How did they act? Did they quack like a duck or speak in tongues? Franklin snuck a peek at Wendy; her cheeks quivered with a repressed smirk.

The sound of Harry’s response landed somewhere between tsk and pshaw.

Undeterred, Franklin continued. One of my clients at the Puss and Pooch Pamper Parlors had an exorcism performed on her two-year-old Yorkie. It cured the dog of its penchant for biting off human toes. He donned his most sincere expression. The magazine article said people suffer needlessly because of the stigma associated with satanic, um, infection.

Wendy groaned and turned away, but Harry seemed genuinely interested. I did laugh Jabar off at first. But if you knew Susie before all this started—well, you’d understand she just isn’t the same sweet, softspoken girl I hired two years ago. At first, I chalked it up to stress, to overwork—

A clatter of metal and a deep-throated grunt cut short Harry’s comment. Susie pulled a half dozen chains with large metal hooks from her SUV and headed toward the tents. When she began threading the hooks around poles and through tent flaps, the bearded man stepped forward, warning her to stop. Another camper pulled him aside, pointed to a case on Susie’s belt, and made a gun shape with his hand. The remaining campers scurried behind trees.

Susie totes a gun? Wendy asked Harry.

No. Well, I don’t think so. We don’t issue guns to rangers, but she might carry her own. She’s a damn good shot. Harry blew out a shaky breath. I’ll try to have a word with her.

Harry edged toward Susie, his shoulders curled forward and chin tucked in. She had attached the sixth chain to a tent and was heading to her vehicle when she stumbled, landing on one knee. Harry hurried to her aid, his hand outstretched.

The redheaded ranger looked up, a pained, dazed expression on her face. She took Harry’s hand and rose shakily to her feet. Thank you. I’m not sure what—

A series of explosions brought everyone’s attention to the tents. A camper stood grinning amidst smoking firecracker remnants. They’re still good, he said before swigging more beer.

Out of my way, toad, Susie said as she shoved Harry aside and lurched toward the SUV. Her voice sounded barely human—a