I really am a stupid woman, Bess thought angrily as she glanced around the little café in town. The café Bess had never set foot in until Greg took her, true to his word from the other day, and she soon decided that the café was now her refuge, the place she could make believe she was in a caring society. The tiny café huddled despondent among the huge city buildings. Washed out under the overcast sky, it hunched, fighting against the drizzle. Hundreds of people rushed by it, outside on the crowded street. The few customers that were in the joint barely looked up as they entered. Unlike the outside, the interior of the café was warm and cheery, with bright lights and colorful walls. The stragglers returned to their conversations as the door swung closed behind the new entrant and the cold breeze was forgotten.

Bess shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other as she impatiently dipped into her purse for her wallet, only for her hand to be slapped away by Greg, harder than he probably intended to, for it hurt, and she was surprised and hurt. Startled, frowning slightly, she glanced upwards toward Greg.

"What's that for?" But to her surprise, he was smiling, though it didn't quite match his eyes. There was something in them, something glistening…dark…evil…

And yet, she found herself inexplicably drawn to this man for reasons she could not explain, and she wasn't even sure that she wanted to. He wagged his finger at her in mock disappointment and clucked his tongue. "I don't think so, Marvin. Didn't I tell you that I was buying? Put it away." There was a slight growl to his tone, and she knew better than to argue. The laughter that had been up to this point in his eyes evaporated. His warmth gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac. Hell, even his focus was somewhere on the chalkboard above their heads, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, as though trying to decide what he wanted off the menu, as if Bess had become invisible to him or he couldn't bear to see her at all. She had crossed some invisible line, offended his sensibilities.

Now her blood drained and her heart hammered. When it came to men, she wasn't afraid anymore of their anger when it came as fire, for that burned strong and fast and faded out quickly. But she knew just by looking at Greg, she was deathly afraid of his ice. It coated him like protective permafrost. Bess knew it was pointless to try to reach him now. Her well-meant words would bounce off the young man as good as hard rain. But he had already asked to see her again even going as far as to demand, not ask, that if she went anywhere outside of the campgrounds, he went too. For her safety, he claimed. To protect her, he claimed.

And she agreed. So, for better or worse, Bess tried to thaw Greg's anger, return that kind spark to his eyes. But with one look, the verdict was told. Greg had been reflecting longer than usual, past the point at which Bess believed was about the time when she'd apologize. That's how it usually went on all her last first dates she'd gone on, at least. Bess's face fell as Greg locked his eyes on hers. She saw hateful disdain in them. But it was more than that. There was a tenseness that Greg wasn't even trying to mask. Bess backed away, nothing about this was making any sense, not his curling fists or the anger that seemed to radiate from his skin and boiling his bloodstream. It was still relatively early in the day yet, the machines yet to warm, and as the line inched forward, Bess, to distract herself, turned to the front and drank in the aroma of the place. The barista had tired eyes, yet there was that glimmer, a giveaway of her good heart.

The café employee was one of those surviving sparks, one of the ones who held onto what they really are. Bess shyly asked for her Danish to be warmed, apologizing amid her own tired smile as she gratefully accepted her Styrofoam cup of coffee with cardboard around the cup to protect her hands from the scalding heat. "Sorry, sorry, I—I'm just feeling like being a fuss pot today."

To Bess's great relief, the barista saw her spark glow a little brighter, her face more relaxed, a smidge more joy in her eyes. "That's okay. You go be a fuss pot."

Greg laughed unexpectedly at the barista's comment, and Bess felt the tenseness leave her shoulders as they slumped, and she allowed herself to relax that little bit.

"Thanks for indulging my fuss-pot-ism. I really needed that," she grinned, accepting her Danish, wincing as the heat burned the tips of her fingers as she ripped off a tiny chunk. "Try a taste?" she asked, biting her lip, turning to Greg.

He did so and pulled a face. "Ugh. Awful. How can you eat that? It's—it's…"

"Delicious?" she finished dryly, munching on a piece of Danish, ignoring the chill that traveled down her spine as another customer entered the café and a cold gust of wind traveled through the establishment from the chilly outside of the eve.

"Over there," he barked, his voice sounding slightly clipped, gesturing to a little round table in the corner, away from the bustle and noise of the café, the quiet place where they could sit and talk and actually hear each other for a change.

They sat in silence for a while, just content to bask in the quiet. Finally, Greg, unable to keep his curiosity at bay, asked her a question that nearly caused poor Bess to spit out her still-scalding hot chocolate and choke. "You hide, don't you?"

She coughed, almost choking on her bite of Danish, immediately reaching for a napkin to cover her mouth as she turned to take in the expression on her new friend's face. His gaze was steady, eyes wide and huge like that of an innocent kid.

Bess released a short, sharp breath. This wasn't even fourth date material and this new guy wanted to play see-through-skin. "How…how do you mean?"

Greg paused before answering, his tone dropping to a softer octave, getting that familiar glint in his eyes that she wasn't all together sure she liked.

"Everything you say is a mask. But each thing gives a clue to the real Bess Marvin, the one hiding behind that smile and those bright blue eyes of yours. You could just cut it out and let me in, you know, let me into that fragile, broken little head, Bess. Really."

This time, Bess stumbled to her feet, almost overturning her chair and toppling her purse to the ground in the process. Greg just watched, his gray eyes still like headlights on full beam, his expression serenely calm and somehow, knowing.

Like he knew more about her than she thought. And perhaps he did, in a way.

Greg did not yell or scream at her to sit down, just kicked upright the chair she had accidentally overturned, motioning with those haunting eyes of his for her to sit back down, that he wasn't quite finished with her just yet. Reluctantly, she did so.

Greg let out a light chuckle as he lifted the rim of his cup to his lips. In Bess's mind, it was more of a cold laugh, and it unnerve her. Just a little.

She shivered, both hands clutched around her steaming cup of coffee.

"Well, we can't go walking like we planned," he added, glancing outside at the fog that enveloped the lakeside in a thick white blanket, skirting around the tree trunks. "So, why don't you tell me something about yourself? I'd love to know you better."

"Like what?" Bess fired back immediately, feeling her defenses rise. This wasn't a date and she wasn't about to go revealing her deepest secrets to him.

"Tell me…" Greg paused to give himself time to think, tapping his chin for a moment. "Tell me one of your fears. You can't expect me to let you into my head without giving anything away, now can you? Plus, it'll make us feel connected."

"Huh?" Bess was utterly lost. She'd never once asked him what his fears were.

He was growing excited now. Giddy, like a child almost, resisting the urge to bounce in his head. Bess wondered for a moment what she'd gotten into. "You might even like telling me something. Hang on, don't worry, let me guess. I'm getting a strong feeling right now…" Greg closed his eyes, deep in thought.

"Greg, don't, this is stupid!" Bess protested, vehemently, but he shook his head.

"No, no, no, don't tell me…it's…fear of untapped potential," he said at last.

Bess stared. "How did you guess?"

Greg grinned, his smile slightly wolfish and predatory. "Well, It certainly wasn't going to be something childish like clowns or snakes, was it? No. You're too good for any of that, Bess." Greg paused and frowned. "What? What's wrong?"

"N—nothing," stammered Bess, immediately looking away, out to her left at the fog. Didn't the old man say when the fog rolls in, that's when Baines shows up?

"What? You're uncomfortable? Well, we're not strangers anymore, so there's no need to be nervous around me, Miss Marvin," Greg said, lowering his voice a tad.

Bess turned back and stared. It was odd for her to make a connection this fast, to give her trust so easily to a man, tentative though it was. But there was something in the way that Greg smiled, a warmth, a genuineness, a softness of spirit that she just couldn't seem to get enough of or stay away from. He listened to her. Still, something about the man felt off, something Bess knew he wasn't telling her… She hoped George would be able to catch every word of this somehow. She'd let it slip to George she was allowing Greg to take her on a date to hopefully get more information out of the man, but so far, it wasn't going nearly as well as she had hoped. Greg was a clever man.

Hopefully George will have better luck, Bess thought darkly. Nancy needs us…


"Thank God," grumbled George under her breath as she watched Greg and Bess return from their coffee date, not having moved one inch from behind the old willow tree by the lakeside, pair of binoculars in hand. She winced at the stiffness in her joints. She'd been waiting for them to come back for what felt like the better part of an hour. Snooping was totally Nancy's thing; George would be the first to admit it. As would Bess. It wasn't necessarily the cousin's area of expertise, but Nancy and Frank needed them now more than ever, so they would do this for the pair of them. "But you both owe us one," whisper-hissed George through gritted teeth as she knelt by the door, straining to hear. But Bess was behind closed doors with Greg, and as far as George Fayne was concerned, if it concerned the health and well-being of her cousin, then her listening in to what would otherwise be considered a 'private' conversation was warranted.

A common occurrence, those among the camp would say, but George in general preferred not to stick her nose in other people's business. That morning, however, as she was silently wandering the campgrounds, she found herself near Greg's cabin. She heard voices coming from inside, gradually rising in volume. One voice drew her attention because George immediately recognized it to belong to none other than Greg.

George told herself it was out of concern for her friend as she lingered by the front door and tried to find the source of the noise.

Bess was saying something to the head counselor, to which Greg responded curtly.

"This is a really bad time for Casston, there is no denying that. But we will not close. Not now, not when people need the reassurance the most. We won't close the camp. It's during times like these that we must be strong."

"Are you stupid? People are dying, Greg!" came Bess's voice, sounding muffled through the door. "You can't just…brush this under the rug like nothing happened! What happens to you and to Helen if the word gets out—and you trust me when I tell you the word will get out—that the camp remained open and the head counselors took no action and just…allowed all these kids to get murdered, huh? You both could go to jail as an accessory to murder! I know you don't want that, a—and what about Helen? She's your friend! Are you really that pathetic? Don't you have any pride left in you? You'd really not put her needs first? The camp needs to shut down! Just for a little while until the Black Lake guy is caught a—and then you can reopen! Please." Bess had been trying to convince Greg for the better part of the afternoon to see reason and close the camp and send all the other counselors home before anything else could happen. But the head counselor, as usual, was not listening to a head of reason, not even Bess.

Greg mumbled something inaudible and George furrowed her brow into a frown. Leaning slightly towards the windowsill, George gulped as she caught snippets of conversation. Things seemed to have calmed down considerably since she had gotten there, for she only heard mutterings. George let out a sigh of relief and stepped away. It was only Helen.

"I see why the townsfolk have been telling us that you know everything, Fayne. I wasn't sure whether to believe them or not. I can see now that they were right, and we let you stay here for free and are something of a friend to you, and this is how you choose to repay her act of kindness, by prying into Greg's private affairs? It's despicable. You're snooping."

George flinched, immediately realizing the voice came not from inside the room where Bess and Greg, but rather from directly behind her. Turning around at great speed, the young woman gasped as she came face to face with Helen, the other head counselor, a woman whom she felt the most unease with among all the others in the camp, aside from Greg himself. Which was saying something really. Helen was dressed in a simple knee-length brown summer dress, which George found odd. You had to be a certain type of person to pull off such a dull shade of brown. Unassuming, perhaps, useful, with an eloquence. A certain untrustworthy attitude, too.

In response to her rather guarded expression, Helen smirked, as if she had found some hidden amusement in George's presence. This only made George crinkle her brow even harder. Of course, Helen was no stranger to her. But even now, George had to admit that she did not know what the head counselor's feelings towards her were. Adjusting her posture and tucking back a wisp of her dark pixie cut back behind her ear, George did her best to seem as nonchalant as possible, for she did not wish to be the butt of some perverse joke.

Noting her change in stance, the young woman mirrored her slightly by staring at her in a serene manner. She was cautious, that was all. She had to be, given her situation. "You were snooping," said Helen, her voice sly and knowing as she took a few steps forward, her hands folded behind her back. "Yes?"

"I was not," retorted George immediately, contorting her face into that of outrage, until she realized, due to Helen's amused expression, that she was teasing her. She sagged her shoulders in disappointment, feeling defeated.

"I'm sorry. I tease you too much, George," replied Helen, although the woman did not seem sorry at all. "It's just that it's too easy."

"You should not toy with other people's emotions, Helen, it never ends well," said George coolly as she pursed her lips into a thin line.

"Yet you find it perfectly acceptable to eavesdrop on private squabbles where such…conversations are taking place," Helen said.

George hesitated before replying and her response became that of a more inquiring nature, as she tried to steer the conversation to her advantage. "How do you know which two people are talking in there?" she asked, pointing towards the closed door in front of her with her thumb.

"It's not hard to make out," Helen snorted quietly, as she stepped not towards George, but instead towards the window on the left side of the room in the cabin. As she leaned against the windowsill, George noted the somber quality to her voice, despite the fact she wore a benign smile.

"You heard from all the way outside?" inquired George, relaxing slightly as Helen stared up at the ceiling fan, at a spot on the blade.

"How could you not?" the woman chirped rather jovially, but still retaining that strange form of melancholy. "Greg has always had a powerful voice, especially when he yells. When he so wishes it, of course."

George continued to stare at Black Lake's head counselor in a guarded fashion, but she could not deny her curiosity had peaked. Becoming a little curious as to how she would reply, she asked whether she knew who the other person in Greg's room was. Helen smiled wryly as her posture turned languid, turning her attention back towards George, much to her discomfort. "I think we both know the answer to that question, Fayne. I would not stand so close to the door, or else you'll hear something improper, for your ears," she said softly as she stood and came slowly towards George, who was staring at her.

"I don't appreciate your tone," she replied hoarsely as she took one cautious step away from Helen. "My cousin is not that sort of woman, and she is a respectable young woman, and should Greg dare to even so much as think about lay a hand on here, then she'll be—"

"Wow. I was not expecting this!" exclaimed Helen as she came even closer, maintaining her infuriating act of benign innocence, though her eyes implied something much more untoward. "You defend your cousin. Though your sudden passion in defending your…new friend, betrays that I am not too far off from the truth, would I be right in saying as much, George?"

"How dare you!" snapped George, feeling the color rise to her cheeks and flush hot, this time stepping backwards, looking at Helen directly in the eye. "Bess is the most intelligent person within my family, and she would never allow herself to be used in such a despicable way! You tease about things that should not be teased about! Take it back!" George took several deep breaths as she waited for her thoughts to catch up to her emotions.

She could not quite comprehend why she had let herself get so carried away on a matter that had so little to do with her personally. All she had been doing was coming by to see if Bess had been able to find out anything new since Nancy and Frank called. But somehow, this woman had struck a chord within her. Looking up cautiously, she could already feel another bout of anger rising within herself as she imagined wiping the amused expression, which she now undoubtedly supported, clean off her face. Her breath caught as her gaze connected with the woman's, and Helen was much closer than anticipated. "I…" stammered George, her voice faint as she felt for the door behind her with a loose hand. "I did not mean to offend Greg, I know he's your friend, I just…"

"No. I can tell you meant every word," Helen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, as though she were getting a splitting headache.

George let out a haggard breath as Helen looked up towards her.

"Nevertheless, I shouldn't have yelled at you," said George in response, having finally found her voice again. "It is just…I am cautious, and I do not think that Bess would ever…if Greg should try to… to lay a hand on her or—or…. worse." Her voice trailed off.

She couldn't finish that thought.

Helen lifted her head silently, a serious expression her face. "You must have heard quite a great deal about Greg from the others," said Helen, her voice soft but firm. "I must warn you, however, that it is ill-advisable to believe in gossip from the other counselors here. Greg is not quite what people paint him to be, and I can assure you that he would never harm Bess in that way. He is not that sort of man, despite what proof there is to make him seem it…"

Her voice trailed off and she fell silent and glanced upwards at the sound of barreling light footsteps coming from inside.

George faltered backward to avoid being hit in the face as the door flung open and Bess stormed out, a fuming expression on her features, rendering her cheeks flushed pink.

Greg trailing close behind her, looking utterly annoyed, wringing his hands together. He froze when he saw Helen and George there. "Ah…Helen," he stammered, his face blanching. "George," he said stiffly, and it did not escape George 's attention that he stiffened and straightened his posture, squaring his shoulders at seeing her again. "I—I did not expect to see you here."

But George had had it with this guy's false niceties. "Are you honestly and truly not going to shut this place down?" she snapped, feeling her temper swell.

Helen looked surprised. "Greg?" she asked, her voice faltering. "Is this true?"

"Why should we?" he retorted hotly. "The people need hope, to know that we're not going to kowtow to this creep's demands. It's what he wants. We can't give in. You agree with me about this, right?" he snapped, his arms folded across his chest.

"I agree with whatever Bess said," Helen said, furrowing her brow into a frown. "People are dying, Greg. We cannot ignore that, and we won't be able to hold off the swarm of media forever, you know. The cops have been called. It's over. We should close this place up tonight, send everyone home. I won't have more blood on our hands."

Greg scowled, his face flushing an angry red. "Can we talk?" he growled, his gaze flitting from George's angry expression to Helen's irate look as her eyes narrowed. "Now."

Helen let out a heavy sigh and nodded. "Fine," she growled. "George, we're going for a walk," she grumbled, grabbing her bag and hoisting it over her shoulder, double checking it before she zipped the thing up to ensure she had her cell phone. "Call me if something comes up. You've got my number," she hollered after George, leaving Nancy's friend no time to respond. George winced as the door to Greg's cabin slammed shut, rattling the door in its hinges.

"Jeeze," she snapped, huffing in frustration as she set off in search of Bess and Joe and the others. "As head counselor, you'd think the guy could afford some manners." Still, George could not help but to tune into her intuition, though that was usually Nancy's thing. "Something isn't right," she murmured, glancing back towards the closed door towards Greg's room of the cabin. Now would be a good time to look around if he's not here, her conscience thought. George drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs as she crept forwards towards Greg's room, silently inching her way forward with her right hand outstretched, hoping for a closer look. Darkness fell over the two-room cabin like a velvet blanket and all that's left was the light from the moon streaming in through the glass windows.

It's the sort of movement that's seen on the peripherals of vision, the kind that breeds rumors of monsters lurking in the dark dragging the shadows with them like coattails.

George stopped in the shadows, her body shifting back to solid in a dizzying rush of suddenly fleshed out bones and skin, she pressed back against a wall deeper in the darkness, where it would have been absolute save for the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Steeling herself, she opened the door and stepped inside. Squinting, she waited until her eyes had adjusted to the darkness before taking a good look around. She really shouldn't be here. "Nan, if we get out of this, you and I need to talk about what constitutes as a favor."

George crinkled her nose in disgust as the thick smell of dust and something else she couldn't quite identify filled her nostrils. Cramped, dim and cave-like, a cheap spindly pine framed bed was cut shorter to fit into the room with a narrow strip of carpet graying with decades of filth placed to its left. To the right of the bed was a meanly proportioned window layered in aging mold and dust, covered by twenty-something year old net curtains swaying mysteriously in the shadows. Draws were overflowing with moth-eaten clothes and bedding thriving with and grime. Dirt encrusted beige wallpaper was peeling off the wall near the dented floorboards. "He really sleeps here? In this hovel? Ugh, do they not clean this place?"

"Guess not," spoke up a woman's voice from behind, eliciting a startled scream of distress from George as she whirled about to face the intruder. "Shush!" hushed Bess urgently, raising a finger to her lips. "You want to get us all caught, George? We can't help Nan and Frank if they kick us out of here," she whisper-hissed through gritted teeth, shoving George further inside Greg's room and slamming the door shut before anyone else could have heard.

"S—sorry," panted George, her breathing rate slowly returning to normal. The young athlete quickly focused her attention back to her task at hand. "We gotta look around quick."

"Why?" Bess asked. "Greg and Helen are out for a walk…sorting out their…differences, not unlike a few other people we know these days, but that's beside the point. Do you think she'll pick Frank over Ned?" Bess breathed, that familiar loving glint sparking in Bess Marvin's blue eyes whenever she stumbled across a juicy piece of gossip she was just dying to discuss, but then she realized whom she was talking about, and, under the withering gaze of George that would have had the power to wilt a rose, she shook her head to rid her mind of inappropriate thoughts of their best friend and her drama surrounding her relationship, or lack thereof these days, she let out a heavy sigh. "Not that it matters right now, but I hope she goes for Frank. N—not that Ned isn't handsome but…" Bess trailed off. "He's not right for Nan," she emphasized with a heavy sigh as she took a moment to readjust her blonde ponytail. "Something tells me by the way they were shouting down the path that they'll be gone for a while, so I don't think you have to hurry. What are we looking for?"

George furrowed her dark brows into a frown. "Anything out of the ordinary," she mumbled lowly under her breath as she began to look around. "Notice anything?" she asked.

"Other than an austere sense of decorum, no," growled Bess sarcastically, rummaging through the drawers of what looked like an old writing desk. "Anything out of the ordinary."

Bess and George ran through the list of items they could look for, and where they could look, checking off the places they had already searched: under the bed, the closet, George was in the midst of rummaging through the drawers of the man's desk. As Bess gazed around the man's bedroom, she realized that, thanks to their efforts, it now had the look of a burgled place. Then it occurred to the pair of women that you often find things as you tidied up, something Hannah Gruen had told Nancy growing up in the Drew household thousands of times, and it had since stuck with the pair of cousins since they were over there so often, and the two set about the task with a sort of meticulousness that was quite uncharacteristic of them. As George sifted through the piles of old envelopes, note cards, and letters in Greg's desk, the athlete's dark eyes were constantly on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.

"What's that?" Bess asked in a low voice, pointing a pink-tipped manicured finger towards one of the drawers, emptied as a result of George's frantic searching. "Look…"

The pair of cousins leaned in closer for a better look. "What is that?" George breathed.

Drawing in a sharp breath that pained her lungs, she craned her neck forward.

The key to the desk was still in the lock. "That's odd," Bess commented, furrowing her brow into a frown. "If Greg didn't want anyone to snoop through his stuff, he should take the key out of the lock, don't you think? Something isn't right, George. I don't like this."

"The key's in the lock, but…" George's voice trailed off as her inner detective kicked in. Hanging around Nancy all these years had really paid off. "But what if it's the point? If he left the key in the most noticeable place he could think of…" she whispered, pulling the drawer open and having a closer look at the silver metallic ballpoint pen. "Bess?"

"Here!" whispered Bess urgently. "Th—there's a hole underneath the drawer," she gasped. "What if you just insert the point of the ballpoint pen, and…" She let out a tiny gasp as the bottom fell out. "A fake bottom! And…oh," she whispered as a pile of clippings and photographs fell out, old Polaroids by the look of them. "What are these, George?" Bess squeaked, her voice terrified as she knelt to the floor and picked up the newspaper clippings.

Bess frowned. "Why would Greg be keeping tabs on the Black Lake killer's victims? L—look at the dates. This was years ago. And…" Bess picked up a photograph, her thumb caressing one of the photographs. "Hey, wait a minute," she breathed, tapping George.

George, noticing where Bess's index finger was pointing, craned her neck forward to see. "Is that…it is," she breathed, feeling her dark eyes grow wide and round with shock.

The pair of cousins were looking at a dated photograph of the camp back when the place first opened and standing right next to a much-younger Greg was Todd Baines. "Why would he keep these clippings in his dresser? Unless...no. You don't think...Oh, my God…a—are you thinking…what I'm thinking?" Bess whispered.

George gave a curt nod, turning to meet her cousin's horrified gaze, and George was surprised to see Bess's normally kind blue eyes filling with tears. She was scared, but not for Greg, George knew. For Nancy and Frank. They were out alone in the woods.

"I am," she said, visibly flinching at how cold her tone sounded. "Greg must have been there, the—the night Todd drowned." Then an even worse thought struck her. Thumping her palm to her forehead and dragging it along her face in exasperation, she figured it out.

"Then that means…" Bess whispered, but George finished that awful thought for her.

"It was Greg," George whispered, horrified. "Greg drowned Todd Baines and tried to kill him. We've got to warn Nancy and other others."