Dandelions, Deception, & Detours
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Synopsis
In the heart of Kentucky’s Daniel Boone National Forest, murder has checked into Happy Trails Campground.
When a high-profile RV dealership manager is crushed beneath a fifth-wheel trailer, it looks like a tragic hitching accident.
Until the coroner rules it homicide.
And Mae West’s husband becomes the prime suspect.
As owner of Happy Trails Campground in Normal, Kentucky, Mae is used to managing campfires, communal suppers, and the occasional tourist meltdown—not clearing her husband’s name in a murder investigation.
With help from the sharp-eyed Laundry Club Ladies, a campground full of watchful guests, and more than a little Southern stubbornness, Mae follows a trail that will lead her straight to the killer.
In a town where reputation is everything and word travels faster than wildfire, Mae must uncover who was really behind the wheel before Hank’s future goes up in smoke.
Because at Happy Trails, loyalty runs deep.
And no one messes with family.
Dandelions, Deceptions, & Detours is a heart-filled Southern cozy mystery packed with campground charm, small-town secrets, loyal friendships, and a satisfying whodunit twist readers of the Camper & Criminals series love.
Perfect for fans of:
✔ Small-town cozy mysteries
✔ Strong amateur sleuth heroines
✔ Southern charm and community
✔ Campground life and RV adventures
✔ Clean mysteries with heart
Welcome back to Normal, Kentucky.
Pull up a camp chair. The fire’s already burning.
Release date: March 29, 2026
Publisher: Tonya Kappes Books
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Dandelions, Deception, & Detours
Tonya Kappes
Chapter One
There are four seasons here in the Daniel Boone National Forest, and let’s face it, the weather, the tree droppings, and the wear and tear of being rented to one guest after another, definitely dated our campers.
The average avid RV or camper owner purchases a new unit every two to three years, and needless to say, our campers were considerably older than that. My little old camping heart had been pitter-pattering, or more accurately, thumping hard—as I stood in the middle of the RV show surrounded by the latest and greatest RVs and campers available. My FOMO was turned up as high as it could possibly go.
“Mae.” Hank’s voice reached me through the trance I was in as I stared at the walk-in pantry in the fifth wheel he’d dragged me into. “Hello, Mae,” he called in the singsong way he did when I wasn’t listening to him, or I was daydreaming—and I was deep in a daydream, imagining all the possibilities I could store in that fancy pantry.
“I see you like the latest feature in this model.” The man who spoke stood about six feet tall, with dark hair that swooped to the side, a five-o’clock shadow that looked more on purpose than not, and a name tag that read “Manager of Forest Ridge RV Center.”
“Don’t temp her, Eric,” Hank said and turned to face the man. When he did, he put his arm around me. “Mae, this is Eric Logan. We went to high school together.”
“You always did score the pretty ones.” Eric’s grin barely reached his eyes. “The big tough football player, all buff out there, as every single cheerleader squealed his number when he ran in to make those big touchdown moves. Plus, I do recall you taking a few of the ladies away from me.”
I couldn’t help but catch the sarcastic tone in his voice, even with all the other couples and sales reps who were standing there with us.
I shrugged it off. It wasn’t the first time I’d come across someone in Normal who had stories to tell me how fabulous and likable my husband was. “Well, then I guess I’m lucky I got him.” I winked, placing a hand on Hank’s chest. “Now about this pantry.”
“Whoa.” Hank stopped me. “We are just looking.”
“Anything special you looking for?” Eric asked, pulling a folded pack of stapled papers from his back pocket. “We’ve got a few on sale, since I know your income is limited with being a Ranger and all.” Eric looked at Hank, looking satisfied that he’d finally gotten a leg up on him.
“I do have a sales job opening.” His lips pressed together in a thin grin as he nodded. “Now it might be beneath you, and it’s not rescuing folks on a trail, but I bet the pay is better.” He shrugged. “If you can lower your standards.”
“You know,” I said, stepping up, “we own Happy Trails Campground, and we are just looking to upgrade some of the campers on site, so money is no obstacle when it comes to business.”
“Little lady has a little spunk,” Eric snarled at me. “I’m not sure if Hanky Panky’s ego could handle you all his life.”
“That’s enough.” Hank stepped in, putting his hand up after Eric referred to him by the nickname his sister had given him. “It’s nice seeing you. Let’s go, Mae.”
Hank slid his hand down my arm and curled his fingers between mine before he turned me around and tugged me toward the door.
“Hank, buddy,” Eric called after us, “I’m joking. Listen, I’m the manager of Forest RV, and I’m happy to make some deals with you and the little lady.”
“Mae. My name is Mae, not ‘little lady,’” I told him a little louder than I should have as my eyes narrowed. “And as a business owner—” I started to let him have it, but I had to step aside when the other customers moved around us to get out, along with the other salesperson.
“Boss, I think someone at the tent was texting the group for you to come sign off on a deal,” the young man cut in. “I can take care of y’all,” he said with a genuine smile, nodding toward Hank and me.
“Fine, Jared,” Eric said, holding out his hand out for Hank to shake, but Hank didn’t take it. Eric snickered then told Jared, “Give them the best prices we have on anything. Hank and I go way back.”
“Sure thing, boss,” the young man said.
The young man was probably in his late twenties. He stood about six feet tall, with short brown hair that looked like it never needed much fuss. He had a lean build and a clean, put-together look, dressed for spending his days talking to customers and walking lots. His face was open enough at first glance, with a polite smile and a faint scruff that darkened his jaw. His steady eyes were the kind you’d expect from a salesperson meeting someone new.
“Thanks, Jared,” Hank said. “But I think we’re going to head out and look at some of the other RVs.”
“Are you sure?” Jared asked. “I’m happy—”
“I’m sure. Thank you,” Hank told him with a stern nod.
I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realized I was holding as Hank guided me down the narrow aisle and out of the fifth wheel. The air outside felt cooler somehow, or maybe it was just the relief of not being trapped in a metal box with Eric and his mouth.
“Well,” I muttered once we were a few steps away, “that was… festive.”
Hank didn’t answer right away. His grip on my hand tightened just a fraction, and that told me more than words ever could. Hank Sharp wasn’t the type to get rattled easily. I’d seen him deal with lost hikers, angry families, and more than one situation that had turned sideways fast.
But Eric had gotten under his skin.
“Let’s go look at another place,” Hank finally said, his tone even but firm. “Plenty of dealers here.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the Forest RV setup. Eric was already talking to another couple, all smiles and salesman charm, like nothing had happened.
Figures.
“I liked that pantry,” I said, half joking. “But I don’t need it that bad.”
Hank snorted. “No pantry in the world is worth dealing with him.”
“You want to expand on that?” I asked Hank.
Hank shook his head as we walked, the gravel crunching beneath our feet. “Not today. Let’s just see what happens.”
Which, in Hank language, meant there was a story there. A real one, and one he didn’t feel like sharing in the middle of an RV show surrounded by overpriced campers and people with lanyards.
I let it go. For now.
The event stretched out in every direction, rows of shiny campers lined up like they were ready for inspection. Flags flapped overhead. Someone was handing out bottled water. Another booth was grilling something that smelled suspiciously like sausage, and my stomach growled in protest.
“Now this,” I said, spotting a different dealership with a big open layout and fewer people hovering inside, “this one feels less… smug.”
Hank laughed, the tension easing just a bit. “Lead the way.”
As we headed toward the next row, I couldn’t help but think about the young man Eric had left us with.
Jared.
He hadn’t said much, but he also hadn’t smirked. He hadn’t talked down to us or tried to puff himself up by knocking Hank down a peg. He’d just done his job.
Funny how that stood out.
I shook the thought loose and focused on the campers ahead of us. There were still upgrades to consider, numbers to run, and a business to think about. Happy Trails deserved better than patched-up problems and aging units.
As we walked toward the next row, my eyes were already darting from camper to camper. Some were sleek and shiny, while others looked like they belonged in a museum, or at least parked under a tree with a story to tell.
“Ohhh,” I said, slowing my steps. “Now these I like.”
Hank glanced over. “You would.”
A line of vintage campers sat off to the side, clearly not the main attraction of the show. They weren’t flashy—there were no slide-outs, no fireplaces, no chandeliers hanging where no chandelier had any business being.
But they had charm.
One was pale yellow with rounded edges and chrome trim that had seen better days. Another was a soft robin’s-egg blue, with tiny windows and curtains someone had taken the time to starch. I could practically see them lined up beneath the trees at Happy Trails.
“This,” I said, already drifting closer, “is what we need.”
Hank folded his arms, watching me the way he did when I got that look—the look that meant I was mentally rearranging the campground.
“We already have a few vintage ones,” he said carefully.
“Yes,” I agreed. “But we don’t have personality.”
A man stepped out from behind one of the vintage rigs, wiping his hands on a rag. He was older, maybe in his late fifties, with sun-creased skin and a baseball cap that looked like it had lived a full life.
“Mornin’,” he said. “Y’all lookin’, or dreamin’?”
“Both,” I told him honestly. “I’m Mae. We own Happy Trails Campground.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You don’t say. I’ve heard of that place.”
That pleased me more than it probably should have.
“I’m Cal,” he said, extending a hand. “These beauties are more passion projects than profit, but folks love ’em.”
“I love them,” I said, walking around the yellow one. “They’ve got stories.”
“They sure do,” Cal said. “Some folks want the biggest and newest thing on the lot. Others want somethin’ that feels like summer again.”
I glanced at Hank. “Hear that?”
He smiled despite himself. “I hear trouble.”
“Picture this,” I said, already on a roll. “One whole side of the campground. Just vintage campers. String lights. Picnic tables. Maybe a shared fire pit. Call it something fun.”
“Like what?” Hank asked.
I snapped my fingers. “The Retro Row.”
Cal chuckled. “I like her.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “People don’t just want a place to sleep anymore. They want an experience. They want photos. Memories.”
“And working plumbing,” Hank added.
“Well, yes,” I conceded. “That too.”
Cal nodded. “She’s not wrong. I’ve got folks who don’t even care if they travel with these. They just want to park ’em somewhere permanent.”
Hank’s posture shifted. I could tell the wheels were turning now.
“That could work,” he said slowly.
I grinned. Victory.
We moved toward the blue camper, and that was when the air shifted.
Not dramatically. Just enough that I noticed Cal’s eyes flick to someone behind us.
“Problem?” Hank asked.
Before Cal could answer, a familiar voice cut in.
“You selling junk now, Cal?”
I turned.
Eric stood a few feet away, arms crossed, that thin smile plastered back on his face. He wasn’t looking at me or Hank. His attention was locked squarely on Cal.
“Vintage,” Cal corrected evenly. “Not junk.”
Eric snorted. “These things are money pits. No warranties. No upsell. No future.”
“Funny,” Cal said. “They sell just fine without your help.”
Eric stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to be rude without making a scene. “You undercut dealers like me, you hurt the whole event.”
Cal straightened. “I was invited here same as you.”
I glanced at Hank. His jaw was tight, but he stayed quiet.
Eric waved a hand toward us. “You really gonna let folks like this think they’re getting a deal?”
That did it.
“They are getting a deal,” I said, stepping forward. “Just not from you.”
Eric’s eyes flicked to me, irritation flashing. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“It does when you start running your mouth in my direction,” I replied calmly. “We were having a conversation.”
Cal nodded. “A respectful one.”
Eric let out a sharp laugh. “Respect doesn’t pay the bills.”
“Neither does being a jerk,” Hank said flatly.
A few nearby shoppers slowed, pretending not to listen.
Eric looked between us, his smile slipping. “You know what,” he said to Cal, “good luck.”
He turned and stalked off, muttering something under his breath.
Cal exhaled. “Sorry about that.”
“Not your fault,” I said. “He seems to have a talent for inserting himself where he’s not wanted.”
“I’ve known Eric all my life. Still the same.” Hank squeezed my hand. “Let’s keep talking.”
Cal smiled again. “I’ve got numbers.”
As he led us back toward the campers, I felt lighter. Energized. Like something had clicked into place.
No drama. No tension.
Just ideas.
And plans.
And a campground that was about to get a whole lot cuter.
Cal reached into the little office nook built into the side of the vintage trailer and pulled out a clipboard.
“Before we even talk numbers,” he said, lowering his voice a notch, “I have to apologize for Eric, even though you already know what kind of feller he is. You should know why Eric’s act is worse than usual right now.”
Hank leaned back against the camper, arms crossed. “I had a feeling there was more to it besides his feelings that I was better than him in school, which I wasn’t.”
Cal let out a quiet breath. “Both Forest RV and my dealership are up for one of the industry awards this year.”
“What kind of award?” I asked.
“The big one,” Cal said. “The Top 50 Dealer Award. They only hand it out to a handful of dealerships across the country.”
I blinked. “That sounds… fancy.”
He smiled. “It is. It’s judged on customer service, how you treat your employees, community involvement, all of it. Not just how many rigs you move.”
Hank nodded slowly. “And Eric wants it.”
“Badly,” Cal said. “Forest RV’s been chasing that recognition for years. They’ve got volume, I’ll give them that. But the judges don’t just look at sales numbers anymore.”
I glanced toward the Forest RV setup across the way. Eric was pacing near one of the displays, phone pressed to his ear, his free hand slicing the air as he talked.
“So if he wins,” I said slowly, “that’s a big deal.”
Cal nodded. “It’s a marketing dream. Dealers slap that award on everything. Signs. Websites. Ads. It puts you in a different league.”
“And if you win?” Hank asked.
Cal shrugged, but there was pride there. “Same thing. Only I don’t have to be loud about it.”
I liked him more by the second.
“That explains a lot,” I said. “He wasn’t just being rude earlier. He was being territorial.”
“Exactly,” Cal said. “This show matters. Judges walk the floor. They talk to vendors. They watch how dealers handle pressure.”
Hank’s mouth tightened. “Then Eric running his mouth out here isn’t doing himself any favors.”
Cal smiled faintly. “You’d think.”
I looked back at the vintage campers, my mind still spinning with ideas. “If they’re judging on innovation and community,” I said, “then these make sense.”
Cal’s eyes lit up. “That’s what I’ve been saying. Not everyone wants bigger. Some folks want character. They want something that feels different.”
“And permanent placement,” Hank added. “That’s a steady revenue stream.”
Cal nodded. “Exactly. Which is why Eric hates it. He’s all about flash.”
I smiled. “Flash fades.”
Cal chuckled. “You sound like someone who’s been around awhile.”
“Long enough,” I said.
We stood there for a moment, the noise of the show buzzing around us. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed. A door slammed. A sales bell rang.
Normal chaos.
“Well,” Cal said, flipping his clipboard back up, “if you’re serious about creating a vintage section, I can walk you through what I’ve got coming in over the next few months.”
“I’m very serious,” I said.
Hank looked at me then back at Cal. “Let’s hear it.”
As Cal started explaining availability and timelines, I caught a flicker of movement across the aisle.
Eric had stopped pacing.
He was watching us.
Not smiling this time.
I leaned a little closer to Hank and murmured, “Looks like we’ve made an impression.”
Hank didn’t look over. “Good.”
Cal kept talking, unfazed. “Now, this yellow one here would be perfect under trees. Needs shade, not spotlight.”
I nodded. “Happy Trails has plenty of both.”
And just like that, the RV show faded into the background again, replaced by plans, possibilities, and a vision that felt right.
No awards.
No egos.
Just good ideas and better intentions.
end of excerpt
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