Arts
Do you yearn for a life of freedom? Minnie Crockwell is a free spirit. She travels the USA in her RV, with a very polite ghost named Ben in tow, exploring the country and, of course, solving crime. The life of a digital nomad has occasionally called to me, but I think I'm better off hearing about others' adventures. To me it seems that the Will Travel for Trouble mysteries are the perfect confluence of living an adventurous life vicariously through literature. Today's show is supported by my patrons at Patreon. Thank you! When you become a patron for as little as $1 a month you receive a short mystery story each and every month. And the rewards for those who love mystery stories go up from there! Learn more and become a part of my community of readers at www.Patreon.com/alexandraamor This week's mystery author Minnie Crockwell has traveled and lived in too many styles of RVs to remember. Without a land yacht at present, she lives in a sticks and bricks home in Virginia and wonders what her next RV purchase will be. She’s shopping! Minnie also writes time travel romance novels as Bess McBride. Learn more about Minnie/Bess and all her books at BessMcBride.com. Press play (above) to listen to the show, or read the transcript below. Remember you can also subscribe to the show on Apple Podcasts. And listen on Stitcher, Android, Google Podcasts, TuneIn, and Spotify. Excerpt from Trouble at Happy Trails I pulled into the campground slowly, never quite sure what dangers lurked in the form of poles, signs, small children, errant tree limbs and one-way roads. I paused for a moment and surveyed what would be my new domain for the next week or so. The office was clearly visible several hundred feet away, and marked helpfully with a sign which read "Office." Always a good start to a campground stay! While no longer a complete novice driver of a 37-foot recreational vehicle, I didn't allow myself to relax my vigilance either. I drew my eyebrows and surveyed the approach to the office. A hard sharp 30-degree angle turn came between me, my rig and the office. I pulled the wheel hard to the right, made the turn and rolled to a stop in front of the small one-story, nondescript beige building. Turning off the engine and setting the brake, I made my way to the door on the passenger side of the RV and clambered down the steps with a groan. Driving for 8 hours straight from the Oregon coast with only two rest stops was not the ideal RV traveling day, but I had been determined to reach my reserved spot at the Happy Trails RV Park in Spokane, Washington, before darkness set in. Maneuvering into a site, hauling out hoses and cords, and finding the appropriate hookups (and determining whether they were working or not) was not one of my favorite parts of living on the road in a tin can (albeit an expensive tin can). But one grew used to it, along with the perks of electricity and running water. It was not something I wanted to do in the dark...ever. I approached the office and jumped back as a middle-aged man, dressed in a snug T-shirt and form-fitting jeans, burst out of the office. “We’ll see about that,” he said. He saw me, muttered a “scuse me” and hurried off in the general direction of the RVs peacefully parked in uniform rows on a diagonal slant. “Hmmm,” I muttered under my breath. That wasn’t promising. Would I have trouble at this park? I pushed open the door with some hesitation. Was the staff member inside just as angry as the man who had left? What was that all about? A short, plump woman stood behind the counter with her back to the door. From the looks of her shaking, hunched shoulders, she appeared to be crying. Apparently, she hadn’t heard me open the door. I cleared my throat loudly. In the past three months of traveling full time in my RV I can’t say that I had come across this situation before—a blubbering campground office attendant. Certainly,