“He said the hotel bought up a few surrounding businesses—restaurants, stores, and so on—and then deliberately closed them down to starve him out and drive business away from his area. They want to position themselves as a destination for fishermen and build some upmarket chalets.”
“Doing that seems like a very underhanded move,” May observed. “Is it true?”
“I don’t think it’s altogether true, but it might be partly true,” Owen said.
He turned off the main road.
“Here we are,” he said.
There was a small stream running through the grounds, with a bridge across it, leading to a large wooden sign that read Featherstone Campground—Enjoy Fishing and Boating, with a rainbow trout on it.
A little shop stood at the entrance. Through its wide window, May saw fishing rods hanging from the wall, and a variety of different bait and lures displayed.
Beyond the store, May could see a few different campsites within the spacious grounds. The area was green, treed and shady.
“This looks like a nice spot,” May said. “It doesn’t deserve to go under. It’s not even that close to the hotel.”
She stepped out of the vehicle and gazed around.
It seemed a pity that anyone would want to try and destroy it. Why would a large hotel target a smaller business like this? Had they even done so?
May hoped they could get clear answers.
She and Owen walked across the bridge and headed to the wooden kiosk on their right. There, an attendant smiled warmly.
“We’re looking for Freddy,” May said. “It’s in connection with an investigation.”
“Ah. He’s moved out of his house. He unfortunately had to sell off that piece of land.”
“Is that so?” May asked. This was sounding worrying.
“He’s now living in the communal camping area. That’s his yurt.”
“It is?” May looked in the direction the attendant was pointing. “Is he inside?”
Amid the scattering of colorful tents she saw a plain brown yurt near the center of the campground.
“I’m not sure where he is,” the attendant explained.
“What does Freddy look like?” May murmured to Owen as they headed across the grass.
“He’s tall and blond, with a mustache and a ponytail,” Owen muttered back.
There was a fair amount of activity in the campsite as they approached. Kids were running around, screaming and yelling, climbing trees and playing in the shallow ponds. People were arriving with picnic baskets and setting up tents and walking dogs.
May had no idea where to start looking.
She turned back to the attendant, but saw he was on his cell phone, speaking urgently.
It suddenly occurred to May that he might be warning Freddy that the police had arrived.
“I’m worried about this,” she said to Owen. “We need to find this man fast, because if he’s guilty, I think the campsite attendant has given him the heads-up that we’re here.”
“He could well have done that,” Owen said. “I think we need to shut down this campground and get the attendant to close up the gates, and then do a proper search.”
“Let’s go back and do that,” May said.
But as she was about to turn back, she narrowed her eyes. “Is that smoke coming out of the top of the yurt?”
“Smoke?” Owen sounded startled. “So it is. What’s going on?”
As she watched, the smoke thickened. It coiled up, first gray and then black.
This was an emergency, May realized. Something had gone terribly wrong.
“Freddy’s yurt’s on fire!”
May and Owen sprinted across the campground in the direction of the now-blazing yurt.