"There's only so long we can keep the camp on lockdown," said Stevens as they walked toward Puma Cabin.
"Don't say that where Millner can hear you," said Ella. "The cabin is the most obvious place for Patricia to bring Hayleigh's camera, but she also might have put it wherever they stash the kids' electronics for the duration."
Chloe frowned. "I don't remember this camp having a no phones rule." She skimmed in the passcode on her own device. Hadn't she whitelisted Rory's number? Was that why it had taken so long for the camp's messages to get through that morning? No, she would have whitelisted the camp office number too...
Ella peered at the screen over her shoulder. "Decker, I think you gotta reformat."
"It's not a PC, Ella."
"What's going on?" asked Stevens.
"Just my phone," said Chloe. "I had an identity theft scare earlier this week and I had to change half my passwords."
"Being a woman trying to reform the police in America is not easy," said Ella. "She's had to deal with vandalism, hate mail, and now someone trying to break into her WobbleWallet account."
Puma Cabin was a large building made of cinder blocks that looked like they'd provide some relief from the heat. Inside, it was split into two halves, with the walls painted pink on one side and light green on the other. Chloe scanned the rows of bunk beds and saw the lopsided imitation Miss Alien that Trixie had made for her freshman Home Ec class doing savasana on one thin pillow.
"That's Deer Group side," she said, pointing in the pink direction, "so then that's Puma."
"Which means that would be Patricia's," finished Stevens, pointing at the only single bed. She frowned. "Why's it decked out like that?" she said, frowning up at the metal ring on the ceiling that supported a sliding curtain that looked like it went all the way around.
"For privacy," said a voice from the doorway. "All the counselors get curtains so we don't find out what puberty is before we have to." Rory frowned. "Given the fuse Tee blew when she caught me using her period cup as a birdbath for my Barbies, I think they might not be that out of line this time."
"Rory," Chloe warned.
"I didn't come in!" she protested.
"Scoot!" said Ella. "But while we're at it, I pictured you as more of a top bunk kind of girl."
"The kitchen here thinks beans are Granddad's gift."
"And farts rise," Ella contemplated with a nod.
"Rory," called a voice from outside. "You're supposed to be with the rest of Deer Group!"
"Who was that?" asked Stevens.
"Counselor Trence." Rory looked at Chloe. "The boy counselors aren't allowed to come inside the girl cabins, so can I—"
"No," Ella and Chloe said at the same time.
"There you are, you little—" a freckled young man with short hair pulled up short as he saw Stevens' deputy uniform and the blue gloves on their hands. "—camper!" he squeaked.
"He was just going to say 'rascal' or something. He doesn't swear at us," said Rory.
The boy stared from Chloe and Ella to Patricia's bunk to the other counselor bunk. "Uh, I, um, uh..."
"Rory, if you stop running off, you can come with us to dinner at whatever diner we can find," said Ella.
"You couldn't have led with that?" asked Rory.
"The one on the [highway] is good," the counselor squeaked. "I mean, I eat there sometimes. It's mostly burgers and stuff you put katsup on..."
"My mom hates katsup," said Rory. She looked at Chloe, "And you got a deal."
Trence waved to Rory from the doorway, as if trying to get her to hurry up.
"Did you know Patricia well?" Chloe asked Trence.
He didn't exactly jump out of his skin, but he did give a bit of a jerk, "A little," he said, and he hurried away to a group of campers and one tired-looking counselor further down the path.
They waited until the sound of footsteps went quiet.
"Hiding something?" asked Ella.
"Sure, but he's what, nineteen? Could be anything."
"Probably weed," said Stevens. She turned to Patricia's bunk. "Okay, this I've done before." She nodded to Ella, who started taking pictures. Patricia's things were placed so neatly that they looked like the edges would cut. There was no bedside table, but the slats around the bedframe were wide, with drawers built into the underside. One hairbrush sat, bristles up, at a perfect ninety-degree angle to the edge. Chloe snapped on a pair of Ella's gloves and pulled open the drawer with one finger. Inside it sat a toothbrush, travel-sized shampoo and conditioner, a tube of concealer, and mineral sunblock. Not a single hair sat on the surface beside the brush.
"Her phone was probably on her when she was killed," said Ella. "Did you find it?"
Stevens shook her head. "If it's not here, it's probably underwater."
"Or the killer took it," said Chloe.
When Ella finished taking pictures, Chloe stripped the perfect hospital cornered sheets off the mattress. Stevens pulled the pillow out of the pillowcase and shook it out, squeezing the thin filling. Then the two of them lifted up the mattress and turned it upside down.
"Classic," said Ella, nodding at the blue spiral notebook that had been sitting in the slats. She snapped a shot of it in its place, then gently eased it free to lay it on top of the mattress before flipping it open with the eraser end of her pencil. Chloe pulled out her phone and started taking pictures of each page while Ella fished out a Mead-sized evidence bag.
"Any idea what all this is?" Stevens asked. She pointed at the neatly rulered lines of writing. "'TJ' that could be 'Tanisha Jameson.' And the other sets of initials start with R for Rachel, A for Alicia..."
"People with control issues don't always just control," said Ella. "Sometimes they're happy enough just keeping track."
"That doesn't look so different from an old-fashioned paper marking book that a teacher would use on a class. Maybe she's tracking how well her campers do in each activity," said Chloe. She squinted at the row of labels at the top of each column, hoping that it didn't mean she finally needed reading glasses. "'Uniform,' 'neatness,' 'punctuality,'" she read.
Ella turned another page and the rows and columns shifted. "A week and a half into camp, she stops making them jump through hoops, just like the girls said." The only remaining column was "dental hygiene." Ella's eyebrows went up.
"But it looks like she did start tracking something else," said Stevens. She held her hand out to Ella for the pencil and turned another page. "Not lucky enough to find a diary entry saying, 'I know who's about to kill me'?" joked Stevens.
"No, that only happened the once," said Ella. "They were totally wrong, by the way."
Stevens looked at Ella and then back to the notebook. "These look like times, all after nine p.m."
"And campers' initials again," said Chloe, noting an "RD" that could have been Rory.
"Do you think she was tracking campers sneaking out of bed?" asked Stevens.
Chloe eyed the mass of lines and arrows on the page. Whatever graphing system Patricia had concocted, it wasn't the same one she used on her whiteboards.
"If it was campers out of bed, then Hayleigh would be on here," said Ella. "I don't see a letter H. Do you?"
Stevens nodded. "Doesn't mean it's a motive for murder; doesn't mean it's not. When you're done taking photos, I'll bag the original. They'll respect chain of evidence if my cruiser stays locked."
"Don't forget the label," said Ella, "but we can probably get some forms from the office with her handwriting on them to show that this book really is hers. Could be that Alicia or Hong-jae has really neat handwriting and figured this would be a good hiding place."
Chloe looked around the cabin, wishing again for a full team of techs to turn the place inside out. But she might as well have wished for another night alone with Rory's father.
"This is probably all we're going to find," said Ella. "Time to start looking inside people's heads."
"But I'm not authorized to use a—" Stevens stopped. "You mean talk to them, don't you?"
"Trepanning is fun, but yes."
"I've seen other deputies analyze witnesses, but I'm a bit new to it."
"We use what we have so far to make a list of people we need to talk to. Counselors. Teachers." She smiled at Stevens' notepad in a way that she hoped was mentorly but not too mentorly. "What have you got?"
"Probably this Trence kid," said Deputy Stevens, "and I got a full staff list before you got here. We should talk to whatever teacher was in charge of the art contest, and definitely Blanchard, the music guy."
"Why him?" Ella asked.
"Something about him, you know?" Stevens tapped her pad with her pen. "He's hiding something, I can feel it."
"Good instincts can be valuable," Chloe said tentatively. Lucifer had said as much to her shortly after they'd met.
"I'm guessing yours are telling you he's not our guy," said Stevens.
"Doesn't matter," she decided. "It's not my case. Just remember that feelings don't hold up in court. They're a starting place."
Stevens nodded slowly. "Do you think he's covering something up?" she asked.
Chloe exhaled slowly. "Places that work with children usually have employees sign forms permitting a background check, but some people bet that the employer will never actually do it."
"So he could have some secret, and maybe Patricia found out about it," Stevens thought out loud.
"Maybe I should talk to him alone," said Chloe. "He seemed to be responding to me." She swallowed and wondered if she should mention Hot Tub High School. Stevens probably wouldn't have trouble believing that she could still score a few points with older men who'd seen the film, for all that the girls weren't exactly stargazing these days.
"I'd rather not," said Stevens, holding up a hand. "Your friend was right. I can't let you do this for me. If that means you don't want to help, then I can accept that." She nodded to herself. "I can ask Opal back at the station to check for outstanding warrants."
Chloe nodded. "So our next big choice is who do we call into Millner's office, where they'll know they're about to talk to the police and have time to think, and who do we surprise at work?" she said. "Given that we have no warrants, no help, and only a little time?"
Stevens flipped open her notebook and tilted it toward Chloe.
"Moira," she said.
.
.
The music cabin smelled like stressed basswood and relaxed hygiene. There were several acoustic guitars leaning more or less neatly against one wall and perched like an eagle on the wall behind them...
Chloe blinked to clear her eyes and focused on the instrument that took pride of place. Back when she'd been seeing Jed, she'd known every type of electric guitar. Was that a Gibson Les Paul? Even from across the room, she could see an old but clear detail of a woman in a field of blue holding up what could be a sword. The Lady of the Lake. Excalibur.
A heavily duct-taped AC sat silent as a corpse in one window. There was a homemade warning sign stuck to one side, thick with Magic Marker lightning bolts. Hadn't the music teacher said he'd been electrocuted? No... No, Noah had said it.
Counselor Moira would probably have seemed wilted in any weather, but the heat wave had her looking like deflated foam on an hour-old latte.
"You're Moira Jenkins?"
"Hm." The sound might have been the teenager's voice or just air escaping as her bones cracked in the heat.
One underappreciated trick for questioning witnesses and suspects was silence. Most people were uncomfortable with empty spots in the conversation that they would say all sorts of incriminating things just to fill it. Chloe didn't think that would work on Counselor Moira. She'd probably use the time to get some sleep.
"I'm Deputy Stevens and these are my associates," said Stevens. "The campers said there was beef between you and Patricia," said Stevens.
"No one says 'beef' anymore." Counselor Moira's voice stuck to her throat like burned hot cocoa mix. Her intonation felt like a factory-issue human larynx that the user had never bothered to personalize. "And no."
Stevens looked at Chloe and scratched her eyebrow. Ella had come up with that as a signal for "I could use some help," but Ella was Ella, especially when she was bored.
"The kids say you were with them when they found Patricia's body," said Chloe.
"Rory said that?" asked Moira, disbelief coloring her dullness like a drop of half-sour cream in a cup of coffee. Everything was still brown, but now there were ripples. She looked slowly to the left. "I'd have thought it would be Noah. He blabs." She nodded to herself as if this were something profound.
"They probably didn't want to get Trence or me in trouble," Moira went on. "That little ...camper is a lot of things, but not a rat." She breathed out. "I hate rats."
Stevens looked at Chloe as if she expected her to say something, but Chloe just tipped her head at her to keep going. This was not about finding out what the counselors thought of Rory.
"Was Trence supposed to be with you this morning?"
Moira nodded. "Two adults or counselors with the kids. All times. No exceptions. "
"So why wasn't Trence there too?"
"Why is he ever not there?" deadpanned Moira.
"Where was he?" asked Stevens.
"Not at the mess hall. Where he was supposed to be," said Moira.
Chloe chimed in. "Are you telling us you don't know?"
Moira glowered. "It's not my business," she said. "Ask him."
"We're asking you," said Stevens.
"You sound a little tired, Moira," said Chloe. "Were you up late last night?"
Moira glowered. "I'm trying to get into the ecology program. Stanford. They run all the application essays through BotDetector, so I can't use my WriteAid. When the kids' lights are out, I study."
"What were you and Patricia fighting about?"
"Not fighting," said Moira. "I called her a hypocrite. Because she is."
"That's a strong word," said Chloe.
"P'tricia was always 'follow the protocol! follow the protocol!'" Moira's body straightened up like a whirligig then spun down again. "Until protocol said something she didn't like. Then she was all like 'don't follow the protocol.'" She looked up at the three of them in turn. "You know? It'll be easier if I show you."
.
.
A teenager with a head full of braids looked up from a craft table where she was prepping something involving pine cones and glue that wasn't holding up to the humidity. Moira greeted her with a minimalist upnod and pulled a key off a high hook. "Er," she said at the redhead.
"I'm Erinne Johnson," the redhead said to Chloe and Stevens. "What's going on?"
"We had to start locking them up," Moira was already saying as she walked to a long-suffering wooden cabinet.
"Wait, there's a camper in there?" Chloe heard Stevens whisper to Ella as the key squeaked in the lock. The door groaned open to show at least four shelves full of brightly colored papier mache sculptures. Most of them were roughly conical and glued with rows of buttons and sequins and feathers and leaves that would make a magpie's brain explode.
"What are those?" asked Ella.
"Puma group's entries into the art contest," piped Erinne. "They had to start over after..." she exhaled.
"After one of the kids trashed them all," said Moira.
"Contest?" asked Chloe. Camp Sierra Lake didn't have a competitive angle. That was part of why she'd let Rory come.
"New owner thought it would be 'fun,'" Moira air-quoted.
"Oh no," said Ella.
Moira closed her eyes and pulled in a breath so slow that Chloe wondered if she taught meditation. "I could have told him."
"What am I missing?" asked Stevens.
"Look, Mr. Millner's not the worst—" said Erinne.
Moira shot her a glare as if she'd just denied the holy power of caffeine.
"—but he's from that, you know, participation trophy generation? My parents told me the self-esteem movement backfired big time. They'd work their butts off to win what their teacher said was a contest, and then they find out everyone gets first prize."
"Miller went too far the other way," said Moira. "Thought giving the kids a 'real' contest with a 'real' winner would be good. I've been counseling here since I was sixteen. I could have told him."
"He took a bunch of type-A rich kids and told them the specialest one was going to win a prize," said Erinne. "Participation was mandatory."
"Mandatory," muttered Moira.
"It would have been one thing if he'd set up a competition where there is a clear winner," said the Erinne. "If he'd picked archery or something, then you can just tally up the scores."
"Nope. Art," said Moira.
"And he doesn't know shit about art," said Erinne.
"We had campers out of bed. Campers skipping meals. Campers doing all the things the parents will get mad at us for 'letting' them do," said Moira. She closed her eyes. "I hate parents."
"They would hide the art supplies like they were textbooks at a law school," said Erinne. "Another kid switched the papier mâché paste with flour from the kitchen." She tipped her head. "Of course, flour does work..."
"We got ants," said Moira. "One kid stole all the newspaper and gave it to his group. He hid it in his own bunk, so we caught him. But still."
"The biggest problem was kids sneaking back in here to do more work on their own projects, which is fine, except when they're supposed to be somewhere else," said Erinne. "If you're doing swimming or leading a hike and suddenly you have one less kid than you're supposed to, the whole thing shuts down until we find them."
"What does this have to do with a dead camp counselor?" asked Stevens.
Moira reached into the cabinet and pushed some of the sculptures out of the way. "We threw most of them out, but Mildreth's..." she pulled out a flattened, nasty chunk of gray recongealed goo.
"Moira, why is that still in there?" said Erinne. "I told you, mold," she whispered the last word.
"So Er comes back from campfire sing with Puma Group and we find someone turned the water sprinkler on."
"The kids had been building them for weeks, always adding things. Destroying them was a truly cruel act," said Erinne.
Moira nodded. "They were ugly as butts, but the campers, like, worked hard on them or something."
"Did Patricia want to find out which camper did it?" said Stevens.
"We knew," shrugged Moira.
"We all knew," explained Erinne. "It was Cavenaugh Grant," said Erinne. "I caught him hiding in the supply closet right when I went to check on the fire alarm," said Erinne.
"Cavvie. Parents left him here and went on a book tour. He was a monster the whole time." Moira looked from Chloe to Stevens and back. "Kids who don't want to be here find something shitty to do so we'll kick them out. Millner expelled him or whatever. I hate expulsions."
"There was this one kid who went absolutely feral on opening campfire night," said Erinne as Moira smiled infinitesimally. "Grabbed the Puma flag right out of Trence's hands, nearly clipped three Chipmunks. We had to call her mom at like two a.m."
Chloe scratched the back of her neck.
"We figured she'd settle down, and she did."
"I repeat," said Stevens, "what does this have to do with Patricia?"
"Miss Protocol didn't like the protocol," said Moira.
"It's camp policy not to discuss one kid's disciplinary issues with the rest of the campers," said Erinne. "We tell them they should apologize, but they can choose not to. We told everyone that Cavvie went home but not why. Patricia wanted to tell the whole camp that he was the one who ruined the art projects."
"Why?" asked Stevens.
"She was full of herself," said Moira.
"They were trying to figure it out for themselves, and it was making drama," said Erinne.
"I hate drama," said Moira.
"Most of the campers decided that girl Rory did it," said Erinne.
.
.
"Yes, I'm the counselor wrangler this year, so I suppose I knew Patricia as well as anyone," said a woman in her early sixties over the clicking of enough beaded necklaces to curtain off the Love Bus. "Amanda Abbatemarco. The campers call me Mrs. Abby," she smiled. "I've been working here in the summer since before I retired from teaching third grade. So sorry to hear about Patricia," she said as she swept pieces of colored cloth off a folding table and threw them in a basket marked "scraps." "But the girl was a priss if you ask me."
"Thought she was too good for this place?" asked Stevens.
Abbatemarco rolled her eyes. "Opposite. Thought this place was better than it is. Took everything miles too seriously." She swept off a bench. "Some days she acted like we were a military camp, others like we were a feeder school for Julliard!" She picked up what looked like a scrap of elastic, but it was attached to an eyemask made of quilted cotton with the words "SLEEP" over one eye and "TIGHT" over the other.
"According to your brochure, it is a feeder school for Julliard," said Chloe. Her mother had cooed over its acting program.
Abbatemarco sighed, "One student, six years ago, when we were under our previous management. Patricia practically made her girls march in step. The new thing where the counselors take the children's cell phones away? She got a little too interested in that. Acted like some kind of—" she stopped, her eyes landing on Stevens' badge.
"Cop?" she asked.
"Like the fun police." Abbatemarco corrected as she put a pincushion on a high cupboard shelf next to a roll of white elastic. "I'm not saying I approve, but there's a balance to be struck. A grown girl like that tattling like a toddler over every little thing." She shook her head. "Of course, some of the other counselors slip away for a private moment or two," she gave a twinkling smile. "I certainly did when I was their age." She tipped her head to the side. "But we can't have the children learning about the birds and the bees by walking in on their chaperones."
"Do you mean that Patricia reported counselors who were having an affair?"
"Summer romance," Abbatemarco corrected. "And not reported. Not yet. She said something about other counselors sneaking around but decided not to file anything formal until she had all her ducks in a row. Military camp again," she tsked.
"Any idea which ones?" asked Stevens.
"Any idea?" Abbatemarco's eyes gleamed over her pink-rimmed glasses. "I'd have guessed that Trence Bishop was sweet on Patricia, the way he was always so nervous around her, but she'd hardly skulk around after herself, would she? No, I don't know whom Patricia suspected."
"Did you ever catch them together?" asked Stevens.
Abbatemarco gave a snort. "Not likely," she said. "That boy was terrified of her."
"We heard something about an art contest," said Stevens.
Abbatemarco sniffed, "It got out of hand," she said. "At first, the children's entries were what you'd expect, simple representations about what nature means to them, but once they realized that whoever had the best one would win priority swim schedule, they all just kept gluing more layers of junk on top, as if the winner was the one with the biggest pile. When the mâché is that thick, it doesn't dry properly. I almost want to thank that little bastard Cavenaugh for putting those blobs out of their misery before the CDC showed up in hazmat suits."
"Was anyone angry at Patricia?"
"Over that?" Abbatemarco laid her hands in her lap and thought. "Perhaps Millner. He told her point-blank that she had to keep her mouth shut around the campers or else he'd send her home without her credit form signed. Half the counselors are in undergrad," she explained. "They're studying ecology, education, forestry. I think one of them's in computer science. If it's relevant to their major, they can earn internship credits. But only if we sign off," she smiled.
"Do you think Patricia would have leaked Cavenaugh's identity to the camp?" asked Chloe.
"She might have," said Abbatemarco, "but she didn't. Doubt that girl would want to miss out on grad school at Harvard or Stanford or whateverford for one of these miscreants."
"So she didn't feel sorry for Cavenaugh?" asked Stevens.
Abbatemarco shook her head, "Cavenaugh was already gone. No, Patricia wanted to tell the other campers Cavvie's business because they got it in their heads that that one of the Deer Group girls did it."
Chloe said nothing. Stevens looked at Chloe for a second. "Why did they think it was her?" she asked.
"She was one of the kids who didn't want to do the contest," Abbatemarco explained. "When I first told them it was required, most of them threw something together and then let paint dry. But once everyone else got invested, almost everyone jumped on the bandwagon." She grimaced. "They're gluing on feathers, bits of rock, pine cones... But not Rory. When she felt her piece was done, she left it alone. I didn't want to give the prize to something so obviously half-assed, but the fact is that it was the only one that still looked like anything except a heap of mismatched junk."
"Did you tell the other campers Rory was going to win?"
"I advised them on what kind of art project seemed likely to win to me," Abbatemarco said primly. "And I may have been holding Rory's little amazon statue or whatever when I said it. Frankly, I wouldn't have put it past that little weirdo to wreck the project just to show how much she didn't give a damn," said Abbatemarco, "but Deer Group was at sing-along that night and..." she exhaled through her nose. "And John said she never left. But if you ask me, he's been off lately. One little air conditioner falls out of the wall and he thinks that's some kind of sign to start making an effort? The whole point of this job is that it's not the rat race. At least he finally got rid of that godawful combover."
"How did Millner feel about Patricia's misgivings?" asked Stevens. "Territorial? Didn't like being disobeyed?"
"More like he didn't like anyone disagreeing with anyone about anything," said Abbatemarco. "Can't stand conflict, that one. But even if he forgot that he's the boss around here, Patricia didn't."
.
.
It wasn't Interrogation Room One back at the precinct, but it would do. Chloe pushed Director Millner's desk into the middle of the room. It was just wide enough for Deputy Stevens and herself to sit behind it with the interviewee directly under the fluorescent light.
"People call me John Blanchard," said the music teacher. "Good enough for a boy from Johnson County. Terrible what happened to Patricia."
.
"Marvina Carraway," said a full-bodied woman in her late thirties, "I'm the head acting coach. I also teach modern dance."
"That your stage name or your real one?" asked Deputy Stevens.
Carraway smiled at Chloe. "Do you want to tell her or should I?" When Chloe said nothing, she turned back to Stevens. "Stage names are real names, darling. And..." She sobered a little. "And the Screen Actors' Guild already had a Mary Elizabeth Connor."
.
.
"Carrie Alvarez," perked a dowdy woman with a Girl Scout pin who could have been anything from thirty to fifty. Hiking, backpacking, campfire songs, you name it!"
.
"Trence Bishop?" squeaked a twenty-year old counselor with a lifeguard's body and a sixth-grader's voice.
.
"Erinne Johnson. We met."
.
"Moira Biggerman. Again?"
.
"You want to know what I thought of Patricia?" asked Trence. "Uhhhhhhh..."
.
"Patricia wasn't much interested in acting," said Carraway. "Would have been good for her if you ask me. That girl needed to learn how to present herself."
.
"Patricia had a bit of steel to her," said Blanchard, one thick fingertip hitting the desktop. "No 'Patty,' no 'Trish.' She said to use her right name or nothing."
.
"A city girl but not too good to get her hands dirty," said Alvarez. "Threw herself into learning everything. Building fires. Removing ticks." She nodded slowly. "I had begun to think she might take my place here one day." She gazed off into the distance.
"Do you hear the drums from Shogun?" asked Ella.
"Shhh," said Chloe.
.
"The last time I saw Patricia was when she and Trence brought the Puma Group acting kids in for their afternoon lesson. I know..." Carraway held up a hand. "It's nowhere near as good as individual instruction, as a former child actor would remember."
Chloe smiled, "Most people don't recognize me from my early work."
"I meant me," said Carraway. She gestured to her face. "I was on five whole episodes of Cory's Campfire Ghost Stories. I think that's why they hired me for this place."
.
"The last time I saw Patricia was when Puma Group got back from their hike," said Alvarez. "They wanted to hit the showers before their next activity. It was around two in the afternoon. Then I was with the Chipmunks until chow time."
.
"Deer Group had Campfire after dinner," said Blanchard. "It was a sing along, so I was there with the banjo." He exhaled slowly. "And earplugs," he admitted.
.
.
"Deer and Puma girls share a cabin," said Moira. "Puma Group had dance with Ms. Carraway. Campfire is on the way back."
.
"I know it's all about never being alone with the campers, but sometimes it gets stupid," said Erinne. "Patricia and Trence walk all the Puma kids to the campfire rings, then they switch partners. Patricia and Moira take the Deer and Puma girls back to their cabin, and the Puma boys wait with Trence and whatever teacher is on duty until Bryce gets there with the Deer Group Boys, and then they hit the bunk beds." Erinne sighed. "And that's only if everyone's on time. The Chipmunks and me got so many mosquito bites because Katelynn thought we had to switch off at the mess hall instead of the lake..."
.
"Patricia met up with Moira, and the girls left like they do every night," said Blanchard. "I think I waved."
.
"I stuck around at the campfire with Blanchard and my boys in Puma group," said Trence. "We're not supposed to be alone with the kids, so I had to wait for Bryce to get there. With the younger boys," he added. "So we could go to our cabin. For the night." He gulped. "Things are coed during the day but we split up the boys and girls for showers and bunks and stuff."
Chloe flipped over a piece of paper and showed it to Stevens.
"What are you studying?" Stevens asked.
"Huh?"
"Course credit, college applications," said Stevens. "Mrs. Abby said some of the counselors are getting college credit for working here."
Trence nodded. "I'm at University of Oregon," he said. "I'm studying ...trees?"
"Dendrology?" asked Chloe.
"No, my cousin's a doctor and he hates it."
.
"Did you hear anything strange last night?" asked Stevens.
"Oh, when it's time for me to go lights out, I have a little help. And a prescription," Carraway added quickly. "And let me tell you, being in an all-adult cabin does not mean I get a summer free of shenanigans. I got up the next morning, told Abby to keep her macrame-making hands out of my French moisturizer, and went over to the theater to prepare for my first class: Basic movement with the Chipmunks." She exhaled. "They're easier to handle earlier in the day."
.
"I heard nothing but the sweet sweet sounds of Bufo boreas. This time of year, they hop back to the ponds where they themselves were spawned and sing to the universe. Well, it's more like a—" Alvarez made a sound like a rubber band being murdered. "Trust me, to lady frogs, that's Barry White."
.
"I couldn't sleep," said Blanchard. "I had a lot on my mind."
"Like what?" asked Stevens.
"That's personal," he said back.
.
"I didn't want to wake the girls up, so I studied outside for about two hours. Flashlight," said Moira. "Came back in quiet. Then I was dead to the world."
"Are you supposed to leave the cabin with only one other counselor in it with the kids?" asked Stevens.
"No," said Moira.
"Was Patricia in her bunk when you got back?"
"Don't know," said Moira. "Curtains."
.
.
"I was in my cabin all night. Bryce can tell you," said Trence.
Stevens flipped over a paper in her notebook. "Millner told me Bryce Redmond, 19, went home this morning. Parents picked him up."
"You're not a camper. You have a phone." Trence clamped his mouth shut as if he could pull the words back in. "I mean," he took a deep breath, "do you need me to get you Bryce's phone number?"
.
.
"Look, folks from Jefferson County don't hold much with the police," said Blanchard. "But if I knew what happened to Patricia, I'd tell you."
"Really?" asked Stevens. "You don't have a reputation for cooperating with law enforcement. Do you think Director Millner would knowingly employ someone with your criminal record?" asked Stevens.
Blanchard's mouth clicked into a smile, "See, that's the thing right there. You're talking like you know something about me. And you got me. I've done some wild stuff, things that would make these children's well-heeled parents flip their Gucci sunglasses," he smiled again, showing the nicotine stains on his teeth, "but I know you didn't run no full background check on me, not in the time you had. But like half the boys from Jefferson County know, all you can do that fast is check for outstanding warrants, and I don't have a one."
"But do you think Miller's upscale clients want an ex-con teaching their children? These trust fund liberals seem so cosmopolitan right up until it's in their own backyard. Millner might fire you, at least."
He leaned back in his chair. "I got things to fear in this world, but Dennis Millner ain't one of them. Dennis Millner signed a contract to keep on all the legacy staff when he bought the place. He breaks it, he's in quite the pickle with the old owner."
His eyes flicked to Chloe. "You're young Rory's mama."
Chloe didn't open her mouth. "Aren't they all young?" asked Stevens.
Blanchard looked from Chloe to Stevens and back. "I think I should explain. See, it's not so unusual for campers to ask to switch programs, especially first-timers. I had no reason to think you'd disapprove of her learning music instead of acting."
"I sent my daughter here to make her own choices. I don't—"
Stevens shot her a warning look. I asked you to mentor me. Why am I the one keeping YOU focused?
Chloe clammed up, "We need to finish here before I can talk to you about Rory," she said. His yellowed eyes seemed to take that in. "Mr. Blanchard, this is not a normal conversation."
Blanchard stared at her and then nodded. "People like to tell me things," he said to Stevens. "Patricia thought something wasn't right around here. Now whether she was on to something for real or not, people don't take a liking to a woman poking her nose in their business, and the shadier the business is, the less they like it." He looked back at Chloe, "I expect you both know that. Being who you are."
"Do you know if she found anything?" asked Stevens.
Blanchard shook his head. "If she did, she'd have hid it. All I know is that she didn't hide it with me."