Chapter Fifteen: First Impressions
After Joe and Frank- no, Jesse and Finn, Nancy reminded herself- had traipsed off, cameras in hand, the cabin seemed unnaturally quiet. Nancy hurriedly freshened up her hair and makeup, ignoring the prickly sensation at the back of her neck.
It's just nerves, she told herself. It is highly improbable that you are being watched.
Nevertheless, she found it a relief to lock the cabin door and begin walking briskly in a more populated direction.
After a few minutes she deliberately slowed her pace, shifting from her original purposeful stride to a casual stroll which would allow her to observe others along the path without drawing undue attention to herself.
Or it would, if there were anyone around to observe, she thought dispiritedly. The cabins and campsites she passed showed no signs of life.
A bead of perspiration slid down her back, and dust from the path coated her sandals. Nancy had just begun to wish she had taken the truck instead of walking when she spotted a man crouching in the undergrowth off to the side of the path.
"Good afternoon, young lady!" he called, straightening up and waving a handful of greenery at her.
"Hi," Nancy said, using her "Nadia" intonation. "Oh my god, are you okay? Those are stinging nettles!"
The man glanced from the plants in his hand to the plants surrounding his bare shins. "Well spotted!" he said, beaming at her through his glasses. "You know your plants. Very good."
"I know enough to know that I wouldn't want to walk into a patch of them," Nancy told him.
"There's where you'd be wrong!" the man said triumphantly, shaking his bunch of nettles at her. "Now, I'm not saying I'd like to sit down and have a picnic here, but it's not all bad, getting stung. Would you believe it's an old remedy for arthritis pain? Many's the time I've seen my granny grab hold of a nettle when her bones were aching. She's been gone these twenty years now, but I like to think I do my part in keeping her knowledge alive." The man picked his way out of the nettles and smiled at Nancy. "Now, with these, see, I'm going to brew a pot of tea. Very refreshing, very healthful, you know, wonderful for the kidneys and the bones, and it makes an excellent tonic for you ladies. My wife swore by it for conception. Maybe that's a little ahead of the mark for you, though, my dear."
Fertility, again. Nancy brushed aside the nettle-sting of remembrance and stayed in character.
"Maybe in, like, ten years!" she said, giggling. "I don't even have a boyfriend."
"You have plenty of time," the man said kindly. "That's what I tell my granddaughter. Plenty of time. My name is Wellesley Withers, by the way. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss…?"
"Nadia," Nancy said.
"Nadia. What a lovely name." The man was still looking at her, his gaze oddly intense behind the lenses of his bifocals. "Would you like to come up to my campsite, Nadia? I have some other plant specimens there. I'd be glad to pass on a bit of plant lore while my tea is steeping."
He seemed genuine, if eccentric, but Nancy had no intention of going with him and knew that even naive Nadia would draw the line at going alone to a strange man's tent.
"Maybe another time?" she said, letting her inflection rise disarmingly. "My cousins are waiting for me right now and I'm already late. If I don't hurry up they'll come looking for me." She said it with a laugh, with a roll of her eyes, but hoped that the implications were clear anyway: I am not easy prey. People know where I am. Let me go.
Wellesley pressed his hands together, nettles and all, and bowed slightly from the waist. "No, best not keep them waiting," he agreed. "Namaste, my dear. I am sure we will meet again."
. . . . . . .
No one else struck up a conversation as Nancy passed by. She exchanged greetings with an older couple eating lunch outside their camper and skirted carefully around a man on a mower, taking care to memorize the company name which was emblazoned on the side of the truck parked nearby.
Frank compiled a list of contractors and subcontractors, she remembered. We'll have to run background checks on all of these people. Maybe cross-reference them with neighbors and historical society members and the families of those missing girls.
Once she reached the main resort area, Nancy decided that the crowded swimming pool was her best chance to mingle and begin to get a read on her fellow guests. She bought a small ice cream cone from the concession stand and chose the deck chair in the most tactically advantageous position- in an easily defensible location with clear lines of sight to multiple exit routes, but also close enough to the pool to allow for easy eavesdropping.
No sooner had she settled in to eat her ice cream and observe her surroundings than company arrived, in the form of a kind-looking older woman trailed by two slim, dark-haired teenagers. The woman eased herself into the chair beside Nancy's with a heavy sigh, allowing her large straw tote bag to thump to the ground beside her. The teenagers in her wake split up, the girl perching light as a sparrow in the next chair in line, the boy making a beeline for the water.
The woman fumbled urgently in her bag.
"Felix!" she called. "Felix, wait. You forgot your sunscreen!"
The boy never looked back. The woman sighed again and sat back, smoothing the bright caftan she wore over a modest navy swimsuit.
"My grandson," she said, turning to face Nancy. "He's too old to listen to me anymore. I love your top, by the way. I think I had one like it back in the 70s. I had the figure for it then!" She laughed ruefully and removed her wide-brimmed sun hat, revealing carefully-coiffed dark hair threaded with silver. "I'm Lidia de Avila," she said. "This is my granddaughter, Daria Costales."
Daria, who looked about 15, looked up from her phone long enough to give a perfunctory little wave. "Hi."
"I'm Nadia," Nancy said. "It's nice to meet you."
"How long are you staying, Nadia?"
Good question, Nancy thought. "About a week," she told Lidia. "My cousins arranged the whole trip."
"How nice!" Lidia exclaimed. "Are you camping?"
Nancy shook her head. "No, we're staying in a cabin."
"As are we," Lidia said. "Daria, please put on some sunscreen."
"I don't get sunburned," Daria said.
"Everyone gets sunburned!" Lidia insisted. She turned back to Nancy. "The kids begged me to sleep in a tent. I said, listen, one night in a sleeping bag at my age could be the death of me. Not to mention the rain, and the bugs, and- "
"Abuela, you're being dramatic," Daria scolded affectionately. Nancy noticed that the girl was applying the contested sunscreen.
"All right, so it hasn't rained," Lidia conceded. "And the mosquitoes have not been as ruthless as I feared."
Daria capped the sunscreen and tossed the bottle back into her grandmother's tote bag. "That's a cool tattoo," she told Nancy. She poked at the strap of her purple-and-black bikini, indicating a place on the smooth, tan skin of her shoulder. "When I'm 18, I'm getting a butterfly right here."
"That's what you think," Lidia said ominously.
"It's my body, Abuela. My body, my choice."
"I've spent a lot of years taking care of that body of yours. I fed you and clothed you and kept you safe, and you want to run right out and let some stranger stab you full of ink- no offense, Nadia."
"It's just one tattoo," Daria protested.
"That's where it starts," Lidia retorted.
Daria rolled her eyes, and Lidia set her lips into a stubborn line, but Nancy could tell there was no real heat behind their argument. It was clear to her that Lidia was wise enough to let the girl's adolescent impulse run its course.
She looked again at Daria's shoulder, though, and wondered, for a moment, how it felt for Laura Hardy to look at Joe and remember his soft baby skin. Nancy herself could remember how he looked before he got his first tattoo, could remember him unmarked-
That's not exactly true, she told herself, breaking free from that line of sentimental thinking. Joe had always carried marks and scars of one kind or another. He had been an adventurer and a risk-taker from the time he took his first steps.
Lidia was rising to her feet now, a dramatic production involving much creaking of the deck chair and lamentation about the state of her knees. Finally upright, she accepted her hat and purse from Daria with stately aplomb.
"Save my chair, mija. I'm going to get us some Italian ice."
In the vacuum formed by Lidia's departure, Daria returned to scrolling on her phone and Nancy settled in to watch the crowd. An older couple eased their stiff bodies into the water and floated happily, smiling at each other. A gaggle of children- Nancy remembered seeing them dash through the campground earlier- flooded past, licking ice cream cones, squabbling and laughing.
The distinctive click of a shutter drew Nancy's attention back to Daria. The girl had a camera in her hands and was in the process of taking a series of selfies. Nancy waited for her to finish and lower the camera before saying "Are you into photography? I don't see many people do that with a camera instead of their phones."
Daria shrugged. "Yeah. I mean, I took a class in school last year, and it was pretty cool."
"What kind of camera is that?"
The girl turned the logo toward Nancy. "It's just an old point and shoot. I'm saving for a better one."
"My cousins are photographers," Nancy said.
"Cool," Daria said again. "Do they ever ask you to, like, model? For photoshoots, or whatever?"
"Not really. They do mostly wildlife pictures," Nancy said, feigning disinterest. "What kind of pictures do you take?"
Daria shrugged again. Fidgeted with the strap on her camera, pressed a few buttons, played with the lens cap. And then, suddenly, she seemed to come to a decision. She looked at Nancy and blurted "I'm actually hoping to get a picture of a ghost."
"What?" Nancy said. All disinterest, real or feigned, was gone now.
Daria leaned forward, making eye contact with Nancy. "I swear, I'm dead serious. Me and my friends all have this app on our phones, and it gives you, like, a map of where people have seen ghosts or like, anything paranormal. And this camp is on the map. So I promised my best friend I'd try to take a picture or, like, get a recording. Some proof of whatever spirit is here."
Nancy found herself leaning in, mirroring the other girl's posture. "Are you for real?" she breathed. "What's the app called? I want to know if my cabin is haunted!"
A shadow fell across their chairs suddenly. Both Nancy and Daria jumped, then looked at each other and giggled.
"Don't tell me, she's telling you about the ghost," Lidia said, frowning at Daria. She handed the girl a cup of Italian ice and resumed her seat.
"She has the right to know! What if her cabin is haunted?" Daria said, half-joking.
Lidia looked sober. "Daria. Darling. Do I really need to remind you that those poor girls who went missing were your age? I don't want you skulking around, trying to look at ghosts. It's not any safer these days for a teenage girl to go prowling around alone at night than it was- "
"Abuela. I know," Daria said impatiently. "I'm not going to skulk. What does that even mean?"
"I just want you to be safe," Lidia said firmly.
Rather sulkily, Daria sat back and dug her spoon into her Italian ice. Nancy, watching her, felt a surge of horror. The comparison had put the victims' ages in poignant perspective for her in a way the dry facts of the police reports had failed to do.
I knew, she thought. But I didn't understand. They were children!
She swallowed hard and looked at Lidia.
"Were you here back then?" Nancy asked. "When the girls disappeared, I mean. I keep hearing about them, but I'm not from here, so…" She let her voice trail off.
"No, no, no." Lidia waved, a broad gesture, as though she were trying to sweep away any association with past tragedy. "I only moved here ten years ago. And honestly, I'm just trying not to think about the past. The new owner seems to have done a good job renovating the place. Everything feels fresh and new."
Nancy nodded. "It looks really nice."
"Where are you from?" Lidia asked.
Nancy had a hunch that Lidia, if given the opportunity, would ask endless questions about her hometown, her neighbors, her entire life story; and since that level of prevarication on the fly, though exhilarating, could be dangerous, she simply answered "Minnesota. We live a little bit north of Duluth," and immediately turned the conversation to the other guests.
Let's see what Lidia has gleaned about these people, she thought.
Her hunch proved correct. Lidia seemed to have met every single person on the property and to have learned their life stories. She seemed reluctant to move on without cross-examining "Nadia," but the allure of passing on information quickly diverted her attention.
After a very satisfying hour of gossip, Nancy made a show of checking her watch. "Oh, wow," she murmured, pretending surprise at the time. "I have to go!"
"So soon?" Lidia asked.
Nancy nodded. She was enjoying Lidia's company, and Daria's, but she wanted to do a bit more sleuthing before meeting Frank and Joe for dinner.
"I'm supposed to meet up with my cousins now," she said glibly. I'm sure getting a lot of mileage out of that excuse.
"Of course," Lidia said. "Don't keep them waiting. I'm sure we will see you around, dear."
"I hope so!" Nancy said. "It was so nice meeting you both." She waved to Daria and took her leave.
Nancy chose a different route back toward the cabin, first meandering past the lake and then crossing toward the stable, all while doing her best to look like someone out for a walk rather than someone doing reconnaissance. She was making her way up the little path toward the stable, deep in thought about Daria- the ghost-hunting girl was going to require some discreet watchfulness on Nancy's part- when she saw someone approaching from the other direction.
Vanessa, she thought, even before the face came into focus. That blonde ponytail and that graceful walk with turned-out toes were unmistakable. And she looks almost upset, she noticed, as the other woman came closer. I wonder why?
There was no time to study the expression further. Vanessa caught sight of Nancy, and her expression immediately went neutral.
"Hi!" Nancy said brightly, letting her Nadia personality guide the encounter. "Victoria, right?"
Vanessa took her cue easily. "Close," she said, adopting the cheerful and professional tone she would use with any guest. "It's Vanessa, actually. How are you enjoying your stay?"
"It's been wonderful so far," Nancy said.
"I'm glad to hear it. Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you."
"I will. Thank you."
Nancy could tell Vanessa wanted her to break character and tell her more. Gently but firmly she gave an almost-imperceptible shake of her head and moved on along the path.
Inside the stable it was comparatively cool and dim, a welcome reprieve from the heat of the day. Nancy strolled down the central aisle, patting a few inquisitive equine faces which emerged over the stalls' half-doors to greet her. One horse, a striking dark bay, was particularly demanding. Nancy lingered for a moment, stroking his neck, before gently pushing the soft nose away.
"I don't have a carrot for you," she told him. "I'll bring you one next time, okay? I promise."
He nosed at her again, lowering his head for her to smooth his forelock.
"Hey," Nancy said, laughing a little. "I've got to go, and I can't bring you along. I don't think the boys would be thrilled if I came home with a horse. Our cabin isn't much bigger than your stall." She gave him a final pat and moved on.
As far as she could tell, Nancy was the only human on the premises. A saddle sat ready on a rack beside a set of cross-ties; a wheelbarrow stood idly beside one of the few empty stalls; but not until Nancy had traversed the entire building and stepped out of the far doorway- which was labeled EMERGENCY EXIT, but which had been propped open with a sizable stone- did she encounter another person.
"Nothing to see out here but the manure pile," a voice said abruptly. "Can I help you?"
Nancy jumped and turned, looking every bit the naive girl she was portraying. "I didn't see you there," she gasped.
"Sorry." The woman who had spoken was tall, lean, and stern-looking. She took a drag on her cigarette and sized Nancy up with the weary pragmatism of a person who has spent decades dealing with flighty girls. "Did you book a time slot?"
"Did I what?" Nancy-as-Nadia asked.
"Did you book a time slot," the woman repeated, enunciating with barely-concealed impatience. Nancy was pleased. Clearly, this woman had absorbed exactly what Nancy had designed her clothing and posture to convey.
"To ride," the woman added. She took another long drag on her cigarette.
Arson, or accident? Nancy wondered, watching this. Does Vince know he has an employee who smokes in close proximity to large amounts of hay?
"Oh. No," Nancy said, letting herself look slightly cowed. "I was just looking. Is that a warmblood in there? The bay gelding, third from the end?"
The woman's gaze registered slightly-surprised approval now. "Good eye," she said. "You have experience with horses?"
"A little," said Nancy.
The woman nodded curtly and half turned away. But Nadia, Nancy decided, was not the type to take a hint. She went on talking, thanking her lucky stars that she remembered enough from her childhood riding lessons to fake her way through a short equestrian-related conversation. Nancy knew this woman's type: aloof and superior, but willing to unbend if they felt their audience was both knowledgeable enough to appreciate their wisdom and malleable enough to be impressed.
"Anyway," she concluded, when she finally felt the woman's energy shift from guarded to interested. "We just got here today and I didn't, like, memorize the information packet, but I'd like to ride while I'm here, so…"
The woman exhaled smoke. "It's all in your guest information folder. You have to jump through a few hoops, sign some waivers, that kind of thing. Then you can reserve a time slot. You can sign up for a whole week at once or go day by day." She gestured with her cigarette. "It used to be less uptight, before."
"Before what?" Nancy asked, feigning ignorance.
"Before the re-opening. Before Camp Sunshine shut down. It was a lot more lax in those days."
Nancy's pulse accelerated. "I keep hearing about that place. Were you here when those girls disappeared?" she asked.
"Yeah." The woman raised her cigarette to her lips again. "I was a camp counselor. The girl they just found, Elizabeth? She was in my cabin the summer before she went missing."
"God," Nancy said inanely. "So you, like, really knew them. Weren't you so scared?"
"Not really." She shrugged. "I was too young to know better. It was all an adventure back then. All a game, you know. Stick together. Don't go out in the woods alone. Female counselors had to be escorted back to their bunks by male staff after our evening meetings. We used to hide and grab each other, try to scare each other. You shoulda heard some of the stories we'd tell each other at night. It was a crazy summer."
This is not the crime you are solving, Nancy reminded herself, but could not help filing the information away: Male staff had access to the bunkhouse area.
"Anyway, kid, I'd better get back to it." The woman ground her cigarette butt out underfoot and thrust a hand in Nancy's direction. "Melanie Glover," she said. "What's your name?"
"Nadia," Nancy said.
"Nadia." Melanie nodded briskly. "I'm the stable manager here. You want to ride, anytime, screw the paperwork. You just tell any of my guys Mel gave you the okay."
. . . . . . .
A hum of voices, and then a burst of laughter, emanated from the cabin as Nancy approached. She could not help smiling in response as she pushed the door open and walked in.
Frank and Joe were seated at the little kitchen table, playing cards.
"Hi, Nadia!" Frank greeted her.
"Have a seat," Joe offered. "We'll deal you in on the next hand."
Nancy cocked her head. "Bugged?" she mouthed silently. The Hardys both looked relaxed, even happy, but they were too experienced to let a little thing like a listening device get them on edge.
"No," Frank said. "Sorry. I was just keeping in practice."
Nancy relaxed. "Got it," she told Frank, and said "No, thank you. The two of you know too many card tricks for a fair game" to Joe, dropping a hand on his shoulder in a casually affectionate gesture as she squeezed past the table to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
"We're not cheating," Joe assured her.
"Speak for yourself," Frank said. He grinned and tugged at the rolled sleeve of his shirt, allowing several cards to drop to the table. Nancy nearly choked on her sip of water.
"Are you fucking serious?" Joe demanded, wide-eyed.
"Says the guy who's been counting cards this whole time!" Frank retorted.
"It's a reflex! I can't help it!" Joe's eyes narrowed. "What other tricks have you been pulling?"
"Nothing else. On my honor."
"Ha. What honor?"
Frank slapped his hand of cards down in mock outrage. "You question my honor? This is grounds for a duel, sir!"
"Pistols at dawn!" Joe agreed. "Nan, bury me somewhere nice, okay? Make sure my headstone says something flowery and passive-aggressive."
Laughing, Nancy made a hasty retreat from the kitchen. "I'm not getting involved in this. I'm going to get a shower before dinner."
The bedroom door closing behind her muffled the sound of the ongoing conversation.
"They're in a good mood," Nancy said softly, as she dropped her clothes into the laundry bag she had packed. I wonder what they learned today. She was eager to hear their first impressions and to fill them in on her own discoveries.
Inside the overwhelming pinkness of the bathroom, Nancy turned on the shower and stepped into the resulting trickle of hot water.
I can't believe I found someone who worked at the original Camp Sunshine, she thought. I have so many questions for her. I just have to figure out how to make them sound natural- ow!
The trickle of hot water had suddenly turned to an icy deluge which did not abate no matter how many adjustments Nancy made to the hot and cold knobs- and then, just as inexplicably, it subsided again to a scalding drip. Without further musing, Nancy hurried through the rest of her ablutions, dried herself as best she could in the steamy and unventilated room, wrapped her hair in a towel, and stepped back into the bedroom.
Her phone lay on the bed where she had dropped it. Nancy checked for new messages from Bess, found nothing, and impulsively dialed George's number.
George answered promptly. "What's up, Drew?"
"Hi, Nancy!" Burt's voice chimed in from the background.
"Hi," Nancy said, quelling her surprise. George had refused to call Burt back just the other day, and now they were apparently hanging out?
"You'd better not be calling to beg me to come pick you up, young lady," George joked. "We paid good money for you to go to camp, so I don't care how homesick you are. You're going to have to tough it out."
Nancy laughed, put the call on speaker, and set the phone down so she could retrieve clean clothes from her suitcase. "But Mom, Dad," she whined, "my bunkmates are boys. They probably have cooties. I want to come home!"
"Coed cabins? What the hell kind of camp is this?" George demanded.
"I think you should call them up and demand a refund, dear," Burt advised.
"I might just do that. Hold on, kiddo, we'll get you out of there. Don't let those boys try anything funny."
"I think I'll be fine," Nancy said, hooking her bra. "Listen, George, I was actually calling to check in with you about Bess."
"Right!" George sounded faintly embarrassed at having been caught up in their roleplay. "Um, I think she's with Callie this afternoon. They said something about getting dinner."
"Good," Nancy said, feeling relieved. "That will be good for both of them. What about the girls?"
"At the Marvins'," George said, referring to Bess's parents. "Myra's soaking up all this Grammy and Grampa time. Vivienne's getting a little fussy though. Apparently Tom said he was capable of watching his own kids, so Bess told him she thought he'd forgotten he had kids, and he stormed out- "
"Shit," Nancy said.
"Yeah. Whole thing's FUBAR."
Nancy slipped on a pair of shorts. "I'm guessing he hasn't made any dramatic confessions."
Burt snorted in the background, and George barked out a laugh. "Nope. But we've dug up a few things. Might be useful, might not."
"Okay," Nancy said. "Let's hear it."
George shifted into her Mission Report tone. "We compiled a list of his associates who have names beginning with the letter N."
"How many do we have?" Nancy asked.
"Honestly? A shitload," George said, lapsing back into a casual speech pattern.
"Some are relatives, though," Burt added.
George cleared her throat. "You gave me seven of his coworkers' names, Nance." There was a sound of paper rustling in the background, and George read out "Nadine Watson, Nobuko Kishi, Natalie Macdougal, Natalie Branson, Nina Savage, Nolan Rheiner, Nash Freeman, Nestor Cole."
"I think we're wasting our time listing men," Burt said.
"You don't think Tom could be bisexual?" Nancy asked.
She could practically hear Burt shrug.
"I've never noticed him checking out a man," he said.
"Maybe none of our friends are his type," Nancy said.
"We're friends with a lot of good-looking guys," Burt said, "and I've caught nothing off him. Not a look, not a vibe, not a hint. Nada."
Is Burt gay? Is that why George is suddenly comfortable with him? Nancy wondered. Aloud, she said "I'll take your word for it. I guess we can take Ned Nickerson off the suspect list, then."
George laughed. "I'm leaving him on, but only because it would make him uncomfortable."
"Who else have we got?" Nancy asked.
Paper shuffled again. "Nicole Kim, but she's his cousin, and I hope to god she's not the one. Neil Kim, another cousin. Noelle Athanasios, she's a trainer at his gym. Blonde. Probably my top suspect. Niles Lundgren, a college roommate he keeps in touch with. Nova Bates, you know who she is. And," George concluded, her voice turning gleeful, "Nancy Drew."
"I think we can eliminate that last name," Nancy said dryly.
"That's exactly what you want me to think," George teased.
"I'm pretty sure Nova is off the table, too. I have some inside information on her current love life."
Bess would have pried. George simply accepted this.
"Okay, so if we eliminate Nova, Nancy, and the two cousins, that brings our total down to...11 names."
"Six of which are women," Burt said.
"And that's assuming 'N' even stands for a given name, not a nickname," George concluded. "Anyway. He's been sticking close to home most of the weekend, but he goes back to work tomorrow, so I figured we'd tail him and see if he does anything stupid."
Privately, Nancy believed that it would not be long before Tom broke down and told Bess everything. But she could also tell that George wanted an excuse to keep hanging out with Burt, so she simply said "Okay. It can't hurt. But what about your studio, George? You can't keep pushing back your re-opening."
"It's fine," George said dismissively.
It was a simplistic assessment of the situation, at best. Nancy knew that with the right series of questions she could have coaxed more out of her friend, but she held her tongue. George had always felt responsible for Bess, on some level; had always chosen to be the stoic and dependable foil to her cousin's emotion-driven highs and lows. As much as Nancy wanted to dig deeper into George's actual feelings- and into what was going on with Burt!- she knew she needed to respect her friend's privacy.
"All right," she said, picking up her phone. "We'll talk soon, okay?"
"Ten-four," George said. "Stay safe out there, okay? Keep an eye out for bears."
Nancy laughed. "Will do, George. Good luck on your surveillance."
For just a moment, as she reached for the bedroom doorknob, that little prickle of- not fear, but awareness- resurfaced. Nancy whirled, scanned the completely empty room; and then, feeling foolish, she opened the door.