Chapter Eighteen: Gathering Information
The rain had slackened from a downpour to a steady drizzle by the time they were finished eating. While Frank washed the few dishes and Joe laced up his boots, Nancy applied a fresh coat of lipstick, collected her umbrella, and ventured out into the campground.
The path she chose was a meandering one. She knew which campsite belonged to the man in question, thanks to the intel Joe had obtained from Vanessa; but to make a beeline for the place and then linger around would look odd, at the very least. So Nancy strolled along idly under her umbrella, going first one way and then another, using the opportunity to build up her mental map of the campground.
Few other people were stirring, thanks to the rain. In fact, the area was so serene that when a man suddenly looked up from tending his fire and called out to her, Nancy nearly jumped.
"Miss Nadia, wasn't it? Well met, my dear!"
He rose, unfolding to his full height, and waved enthusiastically.
Nancy's heart sank. Wellesley Withers, she thought, while putting on a bright smile and waving back. Now I know where his campsite is, anyway. It doesn't look the way I imagined it.
Where she had expected general untidiness-m heaps of plants, probably, and a dilapidated tent, maybe even a rusty old van- there was, instead, order. His tent was faded with use, but expertly pitched. Beside it sat a cooler, a basket of limp nettles, another basket of assorted herbs, and a tidy fire ring, over which he was attempting to cook his breakfast, despite the rain.
The man's glasses glinted. "A fellow pluviophile?" he said jovially.
"I think it's stopping," Nancy said in a friendly tone. "It was much worse earlier!"
"Ah, well. After the thunder, the rain, as Socrates so memorably proclaimed," Wellesley Withers intoned. "Of course, in his case, his quarrelsome wife had just emptied her chamber pot on him. A little cloudburst seems scarcely inconvenient in comparison."
Nancy, who was familiar with the anecdote, refrained from responding in defense of the historically-maligned Xanthippe. Instead, she let Nadia wrinkle her nose and protest "Eww. That's disgusting!"
"Indeed," Wellesley said. "Where are you off to, this fine morning?"
"Oh, just walking," she said, taking a few steps onward. She did not want to be rude, but she also had no intention of allowing the gregarious man to draw her into a longer conversation.
To her relief, the man simply waved again, wished her an enjoyable day, and returned his attention to his meal.
Nancy picked up her pace, subtly, until she reached the next fork in the path. There she chose the branch that would lead her deeper into the more populated section of the campground and slowed back to her apparently-aimless saunter.
The isolated tents and occasional cabins began to give way, now, to neat rows of family-sized tents or campers.
This is the place, Nancy thought, catching sight of one of Vince's newly-installed signs. Section C, row 2. Now, for an opening gambit-
Thinking quickly, she stepped behind a clump of trees and quickly flipped the fabric of her umbrella off several of the metal ribs- a problem which was easily repairable, but not necessarily in Nadia's wheelhouse. Then she stepped forward again into a perfectly-timed resurgence of raindrops.
"Excuse me!" Nancy called, hurrying toward her target campsite. The man standing outside the camper turned to look at her. She hurried toward him and let her voice come out breathless, distressed. "Hi! I'm so sorry to bother you, but I caught my umbrella on a branch, and I think it's broken!"
The ease with which she could lie had long ceased to bother her. Nancy scampered under the shelter of the awning extending from the front of the medium-sized camper and looked up imploringly at the man standing there.
"Can I just stand here until it stops raining so hard? I won't be in the way," she promised.
"I'll do you one better," the man said. "Come on in and let me have a look at your umbrella."
"Oh, thank you," Nancy said gratefully. "I'm such a klutz, honestly. I don't even know what happened. It must have caught on a branch or something."
"You're in luck," the man said, examining the fabric. "It's not torn. I think I can pop the cover back into place."
"Oh my god, really? Thank you so much," she gushed.
"Don't thank me yet," he said, grinning at her before bending over the umbrella.
He looked, Nancy thought, like the kind of guy you would want as a neighbor: broad-shouldered, bearded, with an honest face and kind eyes framed by crows' feet. She estimated that he was about her own father's age. Between his truck and his camper, the ground was cluttered with an organized chaos of coolers and kids' bicycles and an assortment of bright plastic pool toys.
Kids? Grandkids? Nancy wondered.
A boy of about five or six stomped out of the camper, slamming the door.
"Bryce called me stupid!" he announced angrily.
The man straightened up. "Did he apologize?"
"No." The boy brushed past Nancy and grabbed onto the man's leg. "I want to go swimming," he whined.
"I wish we could, buddy," the man said sympathetically.
The camper door opened again and a woman stepped out. "Riley," she called. "I'm sorry, Ed, they're just bouncing off the walls in here- oh. Hi," she added, seeming to notice Nancy for the first time.
"Lisa White," she said, extending a hand.
"Hi," Nancy said. "I'm Nadia."
"She had a bit of an umbrella crisis," the man explained.
Lisa offered a friendly smile. "Don't worry, hon. You name it, Ed can fix it."
"You BREAK it, Ed can fix it!" Riley corrected.
"I'm gonna have that put on my business cards," Ed said, laughing.
"Come back inside, Ry-bear. You can help me make chocolate milk for everybody." Lisa scooped the little boy into her arms and retreated into the camper, calling back "Good luck, Nadia!" over her shoulder.
Ed returned his attention to Nancy's umbrella.
"He's a cute kid," Nancy offered, hoping to get some conversation going. "I have, like, a million little cousins, so I know how hard it is to keep kids entertained when the weather's bad."
Ed nodded. "Even harder when there's already some friction in play. Lisa and I haven't been married that long, and we're still trying to get things running smoothly between Riley and my kids." He frowned down at the umbrella. "This trip has mostly been a bust, anyway. Lisa hoped- well, this place has kind of a history for me, and Lisa got this idea that now that it's open again it might be good for me to spend some time here. But hell, it's just been one thing after another. Seems like every time the kids sign up for an activity the damn thing gets shut down for repairs, or the weather interferes…" He shrugged.
"The boats?" Nancy asked, hoping she sounded more casual than she felt. The vandalism has negatively affected him. That's important to know.
"Yeah, and the stable, the other day. Did it mess up your plans, too?"
"No," Nancy said. "We just got here yesterday. But I've heard about it from some other people."
"It's a shame," Ed said. "It seems like the new owner has done a pretty good job, all things considered, but he's off to a rough start. Maybe the place just isn't meant to be open." He shrugged again. "Anyway. Here's your umbrella, young lady. Can't promise it's good as new, but it should hold you until you get where you're goin'."
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The walk back to her own cabin passed quickly, both because she took a more direct route and because of the thoughts swirling in her head.
What had she learned from the short encounter?
'This place has a history for me.' That's what he said. Nancy frowned slightly. But he also said it was his wife's idea to come. Does Lisa think he needs closure? In any case, he seemed nice. Involved with the kids, kind to damsels in distress…
She shook raindrops from her repaired umbrella and let herself into the cabin.
"Why does this place give me the creeps when I'm alone?" she muttered to herself.
If you feel as though you're being watched, you probably are.
It was a logical thought; nevertheless, Nancy felt slightly foolish as she quickly and quietly swept the place for listening devices.
"Nothing," she said out loud. "Now stop being paranoid, and get back to work."
Despite her brave words, she was relieved when her phone rang moments later.
"George!" she said brightly. "How is everything?"
George sighed into the phone. "Please tell me you're nearly done up there."
That was certainly a contrast to her playful mood the last time they had spoken. Were things going poorly with Burt? Had there been a new development in Tom's behavior? Or was she simply exhausted by Bess's emotional neediness?
"What's going on?" Nancy asked gently.
"I love her like a sister, Drew. You know I do. But god damn, if she doesn't leave me alone, I- " George broke off. Gulped in a quick breath. "Surveillance has turned up jack shit so far and I don't know what to do. And she is driving. Me. Crazy."
"What - " Nancy began.
George talked over her, using the clipped, businesslike tone which Nancy knew meant she regretted her emotional outburst and wanted to change the subject. "Tom hasn't gone anywhere except work," she said. "He's keeping pretty quiet, too. Burt and I think the top suspects are Noelle and Nobuko."
"The trainer and the coworker," Nancy recalled.
"Right."
"We'll keep an eye on him," George said.
It was Nancy's turn to sigh. "We might not be able to fix this, George," she said tentatively.
George all but growled. "I know!" she said. "But we can't do nothing, can we? And we can't kick him in the balls, either, which is what I actually want to do."
"No," Nancy agreed. "Please do not do that."
"Not going to," George said. "Wishful thinking, that's all."
"Give it time. She has to process what happened, and figure out how to move forward, and we can't do that for her."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Do you want me to call Hannah and see if she's available for moral support?"
"No. Maybe." George laughed. "I'll give her a call if I need her, okay? Thanks for letting me vent."
"Any time, George. I just wish I were being more helpful."
"Nothing we can do, remember?"
There was a teasing note in George's voice, now. Nancy smiled in response. "Got me there," she said.
"Okay. I'll let you get back to it. How's it going, anyway?"
"It's…" Nancy hesitated. "It's more complicated than we had expected," she said.
"Isn't it always?"
"Too true," Nancy said. "We'll talk soon, okay?"
"You got it."
George hung up, unceremonious as ever, leaving Nancy with a burgeoning sense of guilt and an intense desire to talk to Joe.
She checked the time and concluded that Joe was probably still at the coffee shop.
I don't think I like working this way, she thought. "Divide and conquer" could be a useful strategy, but it had its shortcomings as well.
I'm getting a little tired of independent investigation.
Nancy sighed and went to her suitcase to retrieve a pair of jeans. I suppose I'll go talk to Melanie. It's better than waiting around. And besides, I'm still curious about her history with the camp.
Feeling better now that she had a goal, Nancy exchanged her skirt for jeans and her sandals for boots, touched up her hair and makeup, put on the ring she had found at the other cabin, and headed out.
The rain had stopped, now, and the sun was beginning to shine in a watery but determined way. Nancy's spirits rose as she walked. They rose further when Joe's familiar truck happened down the road just as she approached the stable. She waved, and Joe immediately found a place to park.
"Nadia!" he called, jogging over to her. Frank followed behind at a more sedate pace. "I wasn't expecting to see you down here. We brought you a coffee."
Nancy accepted the paper cup gratefully, sipped, and fixed him with a meaningful look. "How was your coffee?"
"Pretty good," Joe said casually. "They had the scones I wanted."
"The exact flavor?" Nancy asked.
"A selection of flavors, actually."
"Interesting," Nancy said, barely containing her excitement. The conversation with the reporter must have been very productive!
Frank made an odd kind of choking sound. "Sorry," he said, amusement glimmering in his eyes. "Must've swallowed the wrong way. Were you going for a ride, Nadia?"
"I was considering it."
"Then," he said, taking her and Joe each by an arm and steering them into the stable, "as riveting as this conversation is, maybe we can continue it later? Let's see if there are horses available for all of us."
. . . . . . . .
The first time Nancy had visited the stable it had been almost eerily quiet. This time, despite the morning's uninviting weather, the place was bustling with activity.
Spotting Melanie, Nancy raised a hand in greeting.
"Hi!" she called out.
"Be right with you, hon," Melanie called back, accepting the reins of a tall black horse from a returning guest.
"Is that Melanie?" Joe said quietly.
Nancy nodded. "I want to talk to her," she said in a low tone. "I have a feeling she knows something useful."
"About which case?" Frank said.
Ignoring this, Nancy moved a little way down the aisle so she could say hello to the friendly horse she had met on her previous visit. He put his face out eagerly, lowering his head to have his ears rubbed. Nancy laughed, obliged him, and then moved aside to let Joe join in.
"Who's your friend?" he said.
"I don't know his name, but we hit it off yesterday." Nancy patted the horse again and then stopped, staring toward the end of the aisle. A familiar teenage girl was standing there, scrolling on her phone as she waited.
"Speaking of new friends…" she murmured, starting toward her. "Daria? Hi! It's Nadia, remember? We met at the pool?" She didn't wait for Daria to respond. Instead she waved toward the Hardys, who had tagged along. "These are my cousins. Finn, Jesse, this is Daria!"
"Hi," Daria said, looking the boys over with more interest than subtlety. She was wearing jeans, Nancy noted, and had her camera slung over her shoulder. "Are you guys going for a ride?"
"Maybe. We have to check if there are any horses available."
"You should come with me!" Daria said. "I'm going to explore this, like, old building, and try to get some good pictures, and my stupid brother wouldn't come with me."
"Old building?" Nancy repeated.
"Do you remember that app I was telling you about?"
Nancy nodded.
"Somebody posted that there's a haunted building in the woods here, right near one of the riding trails." Daria lowered her voice, gleeful, anticipatory. "You have to come check it out with me. It's gonna be so cool."
It was Frank's turn to repeat Daria's words. "Haunted?"
As Daria began explaining her app to him, Nancy exchanged a quick glance with Joe. She felt compelled to go along with the plan, if only to make sure that the girl did not come to harm; and she was relieved to read the same line of thought in Joe's eyes. He nodded, as if to say I'm in.
Melanie joined the group just as Daria began pulling up pictures of different haunted buildings on her phone to show to an increasingly cornered-looking Frank.
"Four horses?" she said in her abrupt way.
"Don't we need to do some paperwork first?" Frank asked.
Melanie looked them over with a practiced eye and shrugged. "If Nadia here can vouch for you, I'll let it slide," she said.
Nancy let her eyes widen. "You bet," she said, tipping her voice into Nadia's eager Midwestern cadence. "My cousins have so much riding experience. Probably more than me, even!"
"Great," the woman said dryly. "Then you three can take care of Miss Costales, here."
"I already filled out the form," Daria said.
Melanie nodded. "I'll have Chris set you up. I'd stick around, but I have a private lesson to teach."
"Oh," Nancy said, feeling slightly crestfallen. She was more intrigued than ever by the stable manager, and it seemed she would have no chance to learn more about her today.
She clearly cares about the horses under her care- and yet she is lax about smoking, lax about paperwork, lax about who knows what else?, Nancy thought.
By now Melanie had hailed a short, burly man who had been passing by with an armful of fly masks.
"Can you handle prep for this group? I think Diesel, R.C., Amaretto, and Vertigo."
"Sure, boss," he said.
Melanie nodded, a curt gesture of approval. "There. Chris will take care of you." She took the fly masks from the man and strode away, calling "Thanks. Enjoy your ride!"
"Now what?" Daria asked, looking uncertain.
The burly man- Chris- sighed in a resigned way. He looked in the direction of the group but did not quite make eye contact with any member of it.
"Wait here," he said softly. "I'll get your horses."
. . . . . . . . . .
When the horses arrived, Nancy found herself accepting the reins of the one called Vertigo.
A misnomer if I ever heard one, she thought, looking with relief and amusement at her mount. Rather than the towering menace his name suggested, Vertigo was a compact and drowsy-looking bay Quarter Horse.
"Need a leg up?" Joe offered.
"Yes, please." Nancy allowed Joe to give her a cousinly boost into the saddle while Frank helped Daria. Nancy was feigning most of her ease in the saddle- it had been years since she rode a horse, and even longer since she had ridden in the Western style- but Joe, she noted, once he had mounted his own horse, looked genuinely comfortable and happy. He grinned down at her from atop R.C., a massive black-and-white paint gelding.
"I think I want a pony for Christmas," he joked, patting the horse's neck. "Hey, Finn, do you think our parents would notice if I cleared some space in the old barn?"
Frank laughed and swung easily into the saddle of his black horse- Diesel, Nancy assumed.
"I think they would notice," he said. "Everyone ready?"
. . . . . .
Adequate signage, Nancy thought, was proving to be Vince's hallmark. The riding trails were no exception: they were cleared, groomed, and well-marked. Frank rode ahead, followed by Nancy and Daria, with Joe bringing up the rear. The arrangement, which they had fallen into instinctively, was more tactical than casual.
Daria was a nervous rider. Every time she wanted to stop and take a picture she asked Nancy to stop, too, and hold the reins of her little chestnut mare- and she wanted to take a lot of pictures, most of them selfies. Nancy was beginning to feel impatient when suddenly Daria reined in Amaretto yet again, clumsy in her eagerness, and did not immediately reach for her camera.
"Hold on. I think this is it!" she said, pointing off to their right.
Frank halted and came trotting back, peering into the forest.
"Looks like it," he said evenly.
Daria was already slithering off her pony. "Come on!" she urged, taking Amaretto's reins and tugging her into the undergrowth.
"Okay, I guess we're going in," said Joe, dismounting lightly and following the girl.
Nancy slipped to the ground and guided Vertigo forward. The ground was muddy underfoot, and wet plants slapped and snagged at her legs. By the time she reached the decrepit building she was wet to the knee, with a generous caking of mud on her soles.
"We can't bring the horses in there," Frank said. "I'll hold them while you take a look."
Daria looked disappointed. "Can't we tie them to a tree or something?"
"No," Nancy told her kindly. "Not by their bridles. It's not safe."
"I'll switch places with you in a couple minutes," Joe told his brother.
"Thanks."
"Come on," Nancy said, touching Daria's arm lightly. "Let's check it out."
Nancy had been expecting something small. A shack, perhaps, or a crumbling farmhouse, tucked away here in the forest. Instead she found herself approaching a long, two-story wooden building, with what had once been an enclosed porch running the entire length of the front.
Inside was dark. Grime coated the windows, blocking out most of the light. Nancy blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust, and heard Joe give vent to a low whistle.
"This place is haunted, all right," he said. "Haunted by the ghosts of a thousand marijuana plants."
He laughed, but Daria scowled. "Don't," she insisted. "You're going to stop it from manifesting."
"Sorry," Joe said. "Positive vibes only from here on out, I promise. How does it look, Nadia?"
While they talked, Nancy had been moving cautiously into the room, trying to evaluate the condition of the building.
"I think it's safe to explore," she said, returning to where Joe and Daria were standing. "But I don't think we should try to get upstairs."
She watched Daria's face for any sign of rebellion, but the girl nodded agreeably enough.
"That's okay. The last sighting was on the ground floor," Daria said.
"What's the protocol if we do see a ghost?" Joe asked.
Nancy only vaguely registered Daria's response and their ongoing conversation about ghost etiquette. She was more interested in her own exploration, in moving with almost reverent caution deeper into the abandoned building- across the long porch, across the small foyer, and into the hallway beyond.
"Take lots of pictures!" Daria called out, hurrying to catch up. "Sometimes spirits show up in photos."
"Orbs?" Joe said.
"Yeah, sometimes. You sure know a lot, for a skeptic," the girl commented.
Hiding a smile, Nancy obediently fished her phone out of her pocket and began to take pictures. Daria was already snapping away enthusiastically with her camera.
"Was this a medical facility?" Joe asked in a low tone, coming up to stand beside Nancy.
"I was wondering that, myself," she murmured back. "And if so, why was it abandoned?"
Bedroom after bedroom opened off the long hallway. Each one she peered into seemed the same: ivory walls, curtainless windows, and narrow iron bed frames devoid of mattresses rusting orange-red blotches onto the wide floorboards.
Was this place still operational when the property was Camp Sunshine? It seems too big to be the camp nurse's building. It could easily house an entire summer's worth of casualties at once.
Whatever it had been, it appeared to have been relatively undisturbed since it went out of use. There was the pervasive odor, of course, which proved that at least one person had been coming here regularly to smoke weed; but aside from that, the only apparent signs of trespass were some crumpled wrappers, the occasional tossed-aside beer or soda can, and a few spray-painted tags, none recent-looking.
Nancy had drifted ahead again, both out of curiosity and an instinct to clear the way before Daria's approach, so she spotted the sleeping bag before anyone else did. The rolled-up bedding was a jarring slash of bright blue against the muted tones of the old building. Nancy froze. There was no movement from within the room, no place to hide except behind the door, which was sagging, hanging from one hinge. She took a swift step forward, looking at the sleeping bag, at the open box of protein bars and half-drunk bottle of water sitting in its shadow.
Someone's been squatting here, she thought. I need to get Daria out.
She turned, quickly, and looked back down the hall.
"Where's J- where's Jesse?" she asked, nearly stumbling over the name in her excitement.
Daria had her camera aimed at a faded placard tacked to a door. She shrugged and said, without turning around, "I think he went to change places with Finn. Why?"
"Just wondering," Nancy said lightly.
She raised her phone and snapped a quick selfie, making sure to off-center her face in her phone screen so that the sleeping bag and supplies were visible behind her. Then she sauntered back toward Daria, keeping her body language casual.
"There's nothing interesting down there. Are you ready to head out?" she said in as bored a tone as she could muster.
"We can't leave yet. We didn't even look down the other hallway," the girl objected.
She followed Nancy anyway, like a reluctant duckling trailing behind a mother duck, until they met Frank in the foyer.
"This way!" Daria said, leading him toward the opposite doorway.
"Anything interesting so far?" Frank asked, directing his question to Nancy.
Nancy shrugged. "It's mostly empty," she said, making eye contact and putting the faintest emphasis on the word "mostly."
Frank's expression did not change. "Too bad," he said, following Daria down the other hallway. He put out a hand and for a moment Nancy thought that he had picked up her hint, that he was going to stop the girl and pull her back toward the exit. But he was only reaching out to steady her as she tripped over a stray bottle.
Joe would have understood, Nancy thought in annoyance, trailing after them.
To her relief, this wing was much the same as the other, with the addition of a kitchen and a sitting room.
"Can we head back now?" she asked, as soon as she thought the girl could be persuaded to leave. "We've seen enough dusty, empty rooms for one day."
And now Frank must have picked up on something in her voice or her face, because he nodded his agreement. "We should get the horses back before Melanie sends out a search party," he said.
"I guess," Daria said, reluctant but conceding. Then she brightened. "I'll upload my photos to my laptop and make Felix help me look for orbs!"
The ride back to the stable passed mainly in a thoughtful silence. The sky was beginning to cloud up again, its high pearly grey casting a sense of peace over the landscape without threatening immediate rain.
About halfway back Daria broke her silence by guiding her mare up close to Nancy's gelding and asking, quietly, "Is he single?"
"Jesse?" Nancy asked, because Joe was riding point this time and he was the one visible ahead of them, all long legs and broad shoulders and quiet assurance in the saddle.
Daria blushed. "No! I mean Finn."
Somewhat taken aback, Nancy blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "He has a boyfriend."
Daria huffed out a sigh. "Damn it."
"Sorry," Nancy said, feeling a sudden affectionate swell of compassion and indulgence. She was not sorry for nipping the girl's crush in the bud. But she could remember Bess at that age, daydreaming about older boys and flirting her way through every summer; and she could only hope that life would treat Daria with more kindness than it had Bess.
Back at the stable, they returned their horses to Chris, who accepted the influx of work with stoic grace. Daria ran off to meet her brother and grandmother for lunch, pausing only to look wistfully at Frank and say "Thanks. That was amazing," to Nancy.
"If you find anything in your photos, show me!" Nancy said.
"You too!"
Nancy and the Hardys stayed to help untack their horses, though Nancy was bursting with impatience. She finished tending to her mount as quickly as possible, closed Vertigo's stall door, and hurried down the aisle to where Joe was feeding R.C. a carrot.
"Cabin. Now," she demanded.
"I think we should drive a quick loop of the property first," Frank said, materializing at her shoulder. "I want to keep an eye on things."
"We can talk in the truck," Joe said, nodding.
"Okay," Nancy said. "I've been dying to hear about those scones."
Frank groaned. "Baked goods are a terrible code," he complained quietly. Then, in a normal tone, he added "Meet you at the truck."
Frank walked away. Joe lingered a moment, giving R.C. a final treat and pat, before letting himself out of the stall.
"I'm coming," he said.
Nancy wanted to touch him. She wanted to slip her hand into his, to interlace their fingers, to indulge in a few moments of casual affection. But they were cousins, here in public, and could not afford to break cover, so she settled for bumping him lightly with her shoulder as they walked down the aisle.
"Stay in your lane," he said, playfully bumping her back.
Nancy smiled up at him. "It's not my fault, you're taking up all the space," she retorted.
They were walking a fine line between flirting and bickering, Nancy knew, and the interaction had only made her crave his touch even more than before. Judging by the knowing sidelong glance Joe gave her, he understood and returned the sentiment.
By now they had caught up to Frank, who was getting into the driver's seat of Joe's truck. The sight of him jogged something loose in Nancy's memory.
"By the way, Finn, I told Daria you have a boyfriend," she said as she slid into the middle of the bench seat. "So if she asks, just go with it."
The surprise in his eyes quickly faded to amusement. "Okay," he said. "I just hope she doesn't ask to see a picture."
"I have a good one," Joe said. "Here, I'll send it to you." He tipped his screen toward Nancy, displaying a candid photo of Frank and Chet taken on their most recent camping trip. The two men were standing on a hilltop, looking rugged and windblown and very intense.
Frank took his eyes off the road long enough to glance over. "That one? We were having an argument about how much farther to go before making camp," he said.
"It's perfect," Joe said, hitting "send."
"Fine," Frank grumbled. "But for the record, Chet's not my type."