“My coin purse.” Lavelle stuck her face in the purse’s cavernous opening and dug around, then started pulling out bottles of pills, hand sanitizer, a lipstick, wadded up tissues, lint-coated hard candy, and a scarf. “Where’s my coin purse?”
Ellen helped Lavelle turn the purse upside down and shake the remaining contents onto the log bench.
“Are you sure your coin purse was in here?” Ellen asked.
Lavelle stomped her sneaker in the dirt. “I know it was here. And now it’s gone. Along with my hundred dollars cash for souvenirs.” Her lips trembled. “I was gonna buy my grandkids a little something with that money.”
After a search of her room, Lavelle confirmed the cash had vanished. Grant Sommers quietly passed a baseball cap to replace Lavelle’s souvenir money. Sotheara dug in her shorts pocket for a ten.
“My money is gone!” Yvette raced to the campfire circle while waving her arms, ensuring everyone would notice her distress. “I wanted to give Lavelle something because she’d been robbed, and discovered all my cash is gone!”
Everyone in camp did an inventory of their wallets and purses. Other women had lost cash. The total came to over two hundred dollars.
“I can’t believe someone took Lavelle’s money,” Sotheara whispered. “Maybe it will show up later. She is a little forgetful.”
“I admire your optimism,” Madison said, “but it looks like there’s a thief in camp.”
The party mood ended abruptly. Campers dispersed. Their host Rowdy Hunter was long gone. Aubrey left with her husband.
“All this drama has worn me out. I feel—” Sotheara paused. “I don’t know exactly. Vulnerable? I’m ready to turn in.”
Madison nodded. “I’m looking forward to sleeping indoors. I’ll walk you to your cabin.”
The pea gravel crunched under Madison’s boots and smooshed under Sotheara’s bare feet. The sounds from the campfire circle subsided. The evening breeze rustled through the pine trees gently and an owl hooted.
“Mmmfffhhh.”
“Did you say something?” Sotheara asked.
“Wasn’t me. You didn’t yawn?”
Sotheara shook her head. “Maybe it’s a squirrel, plotting revenge against Jeremiah.”
“Wait.” Madison held a finger to her lips. “I hear it.”
Madison tiptoed toward the source of the sound, a cluster of bushes a few feet off the walkway. Sotheara shone her flashlight, illuminating a pair of cowboy boots. She screamed.
Jeremiah rushed up the graveled path. A half dozen people beat him to the scene. A few had flashlights, the beams dancing in crazy patterns over the foliage.
“Another death.” Yvette pointed at the bottom of a pair of cowboy boots protruding from beneath a bush. “This camp is cursed.”
The bushes stirred. Rowdy Hunter groaned as he struggled to sit up. When he touched the back of his head, his fingers showed red in the glow of flashlights.
“He’s alive,” Grant said. “Someone call 911.”
“No!” Rowdy winced. “Don’t call anyone. I’m okay.”
“You’re bleeding.” Grant pulled a bandana from his pocket and pressed it to the back of Rowdy’s head. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
“I just ran into a tree branch. It’s dark out here. I’ll be fine.”
Jeremiah helped Grant pull Rowdy to his feet. They supported him on the short walk to the television host’s two-story cabin. Rowdy seemed reluctant to let anybody inside, but Grant and Aubrey insisted they needed to get an ice pack on his wound. Jeremiah followed.
He could see why Rowdy didn’t want Survive or Die campers inside his cabin. There might have been a riot. The place looked like something out of a magazine. They seated Rowdy in front of the stone fireplace, a towel packed with ice cubes pressed to the back of his skull.
“You sure you don’t want us to call the EMT?” Jeremiah asked. “Maybe one of us should stay with you for a while.”
“I don’t need help,” Rowdy said. “I need to be left the hell alone.”
Jeremiah followed Grant and Aubrey to Otter Creek cabin.
“I’m not buying his story,” Jeremiah said.
“Me either,” Grant said. “You can’t run into a low hanging branch backwards with enough force to put a lump that size on your head.”
“I overheard Rowdy breaking up with Candace earlier tonight,” Aubrey said. “If you can break up after a three-day fling.”
“You think Candace hit Rowdy?” Jeremiah asked.
Aubrey shrugged. “Who knows what a woman scorned would do in that situation?”
“She’s one tough cookie at Bender Clips,” Grant said. “I suspect Candace Milbank is not a woman to be trifled with.”
Thursday
Rain pattered on the cabin roof all night. That should have been soothing, but Aubrey tossed and turned. Not an easy task with her husband snuggled next to her in the squeaky bed. Scenarios for larceny and murder ran through her mind. The faces of fellow campers took turns appearing in post office wanted posters, then faded as she decided there wasn’t enough evidence against any of them to warrant another call to the police.
Early Thursday morning, Grant rolled off the bed, muttering with every movement.
“I might need something from Lavelle’s purse,” he said. “I’m used to our king-sized bed.” He stretched his back and groaned. “I feel like I was run over by a truck.”
“Sorry. It was my fault. I didn’t sleep well.”
“You grew accustomed to your life of luxury in the tent?”
“Ha, ha,” Aubrey uttered without humor. “No, I was obsessing about Lavelle’s missing coin purse. Bender falling in a mine. Madison’s spiked drink. Both Harv and Jessie landing in the hospital. The death threat. Rowdy’s incident.” She paused. “Stewart and the bees.”
“Today’s an opportunity to forget all that.” Grant stuffed clothes into his daypack. “Better bring an overnight bag.”
“What for? We’re coming back to camp this afternoon.”
“Sure, but the meteorologist predicts rain. You might need dry clothes.”
The way he grinned, Aubrey suspected he wasn’t anticipating stormy weather. They joined campers milling around the parking lot. The engines of the two buses competed with bird song and the splatting of last night’s rain dripping from pine boughs. Puddles reflected dark clouds holding the promise of more rain.
Berdie appeared in a blouse, skirt, and sensible walking shoes, with no machete. She looked ready for church services, not a day at a cannibal museum. Madison’s sundress displayed her pleasantly dramatic plus-sized figure. Sotheara carried flip-flops in her mesh bag for those annoying businesses requiring patrons wear shoes. A scarf covered her thick black hair, matching the colorful print of her T-shirt dress. Aubrey wore Capri slacks, a blouse, and sandals. Everyone looked ready for a return to civilization.
Jack Bender arrived in the parking lot grumbling and complaining. Doug supported his father on the right, and Candace on the left. Aubrey guessed he had a monumental hangover.
Bender scanned the crowd. “One of you slipped something in my drink last night. If I wasn’t able to hold my liquor, I might have been dancing on a bench like Madison the show tune girl. I’m going to find out who’s messing with peoples’ drinks.”
Rankin had been waiting hand and foot on Bender all night, except when he was packing to move to Bender’s cabin. He had plenty of opportunity to slip something into Bender’s drink. Candace hadn’t left Bender’s side, except for her pathetic meeting with Rowdy. Then there was Bender’s body-builder son, Doug, who would inherit his father’s fortune.
Rowdy whistled, causing more than one person to wince. “Remember folks,” he announced. “No matter how tempting the historic hotels in town look, you have to come back to camp to still be part of the Survive or Die Challenge
tomorrow.”
“If you leave,” Bender said, “you lose your keys, and enter the running for a pink slip.”
Campers piled onto the buses like kids going on a school field trip. Bender opted to be chauffeur-driven to town in his metal-flake navy blue Humvee. As they circled Turquoise Lake, Aubrey noticed waves rushing over the lip of the concrete dam. Water lapped dangerously close to the edge of the road.
“Wow, look!” Madison pointed. “The rain filled the lake to overflowing.”
“We’ll get even more today.” Grant stared out the window at gray clouds.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Sotheara pressed her cheek to the cold window. A banner strung between lampposts across the two lanes of Main Street announced Going Batty Days. Flags, banners, and posters decorated all three blocks of downtown Lodgepole. The bus driver downshifted.
“They sure make a big deal out of that old cannibal dude,” Tweet said.
“The festival isn’t about Mad Stockton,” Sotheara said. “Lodgepole is celebrating bats all week. You know. The flying mammals?”
“Ha. Yeah.” Tweet flapped his hands. “They fly like they’re stoned.”
Fawn elbowed him in the ribs.
“I got this from Dale in the infirmary.” Sotheara unfolded a flier. Not the one with the death threat on the backside. She handed it across the narrow aisle to Fawn.
Berdie twisted around to face Sotheara. “Aren’t you coming on the museum tour?”
“I need to learn about the plight of the bat,” Sotheara said.
“The tour isn’t until three,” Berdie said. “I’ll expect to see you at the museum then.”
Sotheara had begun to imagine Thursday might actually resemble a vacation. My bad.
“I don’t remember this from the television show,” Madison said.
Barriers blocked Main Street. Canopies lined both sides of the narrow brick-paved street, covering arts and crafts displays and food booths. Brick buildings housed T-shirt shops, an old time photography studio, microbrewery, ice cream shop, restaurant, and gift shops.
The bus paused to unload passengers. Fawn headed for the green cross displayed in a window, indicating a marijuana dispensary. Surprisingly, Tweet didn’t follow. He wandered into the bat festival, probably drawn by bright colors and shiny things. Her coworkers and their partners descended on Lodgepole for a day of relaxation at a small town arts and crafts fair.
I’m on a serious mission. Sotheara felt weighed down by responsibility, until she considered a happier option. But if I hurry, I can still have a little fun before the bus goes back to camp.
Grant offered Aubrey a hand as she exited the bus with her daypack in hand. He led her away from his coworkers. In his worn jeans, flannel shirt, and newly sprouting whiskers, Grant fit in with the Old West atmosphere. All he lacked was a fringed buckskin jacket.
“And now for my surprise,” he said.
“I’m not much for surprises these days,” Aubrey said.
“You’ll like this one. I got us a room at the historic Gold Hill Lodge.”
Aubrey felt deliciously naughty, checking into a hotel when they weren’t planning to spend the night. Grant had made reservations in advance, planning the day trip before leaving home. His explanation that they were part of the Survive or Die camp and just wanted a room to use for the day seemed to lower the desk clerk’s eyebrows a notch.
Aubrey giggled as they trotted up the wide, carpeted stairs to the second floor. Grant turned a key in the lock. No key card. Now that was historical. He threw open the door.
“Taa daa.”
“My,” Aubrey said. “This is different.”
The room was decorated in a cross between Victorian brothel and the decades outdated country style dominated by rose and smoke-blue colors. A frilly ivory canopy covered the bed. On one wall were framed photos of working girls, alluring in their whalebone corsets and lace-up ankle boots. Rain splattered against the French doors, running down the windowpanes in sheets. Grant dug into his daypack and pulled out a bottle of sweet white wine.
“For later.” He took Aubrey’s hand. “Right now, we’re going to do something I’ll bet you’ve wanted to do since we arrived at camp.” He led her, unexpectedly, to the door. “They claim to have great vegetarian food here. Let’s have brunch.”
Grant teased Aubrey about being a vegetarian, but he had noticed that she’d missed a few meals at camp. Aubrey could smell food and hear restaurant noises of clinking glasses. They started to push through the swinging half-doors. Grant ducked away from the door, his back pressed to the wall. He held a finger to his lips.
“Damon and Habika are in the restaurant,” he whispered. “I don’t want to be bothered by anyone from Bender Clips. I just want to spend quality time with my wife.”
Aubrey squeezed Grant’s hand as they snuck into the restaurant. The waitress led them to a secluded booth. Dark wood paneling, Wild West décor, and the smell of seared meat suggested a steakhouse, but the menu did have vegetarian options. Aubrey ordered a tofu curry, while Grant picked steak.
The enforced separation of Survive or Die camp had done their relationship good, in an absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder kind of way. They moved quickly into the sort of conversation they used to have when they were first dating. Heady talk of hopes and dreams. The only interruption was when the waitress brought their food.
“I had forgotten how much I love camping,” Grant said.
“You take Cody and the Pinon Pine troop out every summer,” Aubrey said.
“Where I’m responsible for a dozen kids, all of them clamoring for attention. I love being a troop leader, but I miss the days when just the five of us went camping.”
“Remember that summer when we decided we’d quit our jobs and become national forest campground hosts?”
“Until we learned how much it paid,” Grant said. “Or should I say how little? I suppose that’s a winning the lottery dream.”
“We might not win the lottery,” Aubrey said, “but we will retire some day.”
“Some day.” Grant shook the steak knife in his fist. “There’s something better out there for us than this daily grind, but I don’t see how we can manage it yet. A few more years—”
“Are a few more years spent miserable.”
“There aren’t many jobs in my field. Not locally. We’d have to relocate.”
“Then we’ll relocate.”
“Cody would be fine with a move,” Grant said. “He’s that kind of kid. But Junie and Shane?” He shook his head.
“Okay, suppose the kids aren’t a factor. Or we can get them on board because one of us finds a job someplace so fabulous, they want to move. Would you?”
“If you’re talking fantasy jobs.” Grant set his knife down, a dreamy look filling his green eyes. “But who am I kidding.”
“What? Tell me!”
“I’d love to have Rowdy’s job. Not a survival camp. I’m talking about a dude ranch. Okay, and maybe some survival skills training, but geared toward families. What do you think?”
Aubrey felt overwhelmed with the passion of Grant’s dream. She wanted to jump on board. But dreams were just dreams.
“First,” she said, “we have to survive camp.”
“We’ve only got two more days. What can go wrong?” Grant twisted his mouth to one side, making his whiskers bristle. “Look out. Here comes Madison.”
“I looked all over for you two,” Madison said. “Did you sign up for the museum tour?”
“That’s at three, right?” Aubrey asked. “I’ll see you there.”
“I’m going to the live melodrama at one o’clock,” Madison said. “I can get you tickets.”
“Grant and I need some time alone.”
“Okay, but you’re going to miss a really good show.”
When Madison
was out of sight, Grant grabbed Aubrey’s hand.
“I can’t risk one more interruption to the special day I promised you. Let’s go.”
Grant led her up the maroon carpeted stairs to their room.
Jeremiah followed Bender’s Defenders to a bar. Not the touristy microbrewery with large windows facing the sidewalk that a person wouldn’t be afraid to take their kids inside. No, they headed for a dark hole-in-the-wall place, the kind where a guy who started his drinking early in the day could do so without being on public display.
Jeremiah hated wasting the one free day of his supposed vacation chasing after Jack Bender, but the two people he wanted to hang out with had fled the bus like their tails were on fire. Madison was clearly avoiding him, while Berdie Placer made a beeline to the cannibal museum. He figured he might as well stick with the three-ring circus surrounding Bender.
At least the smoking ban was enforced in Lodgepole. There’d be no danger of infusing his expensive wool Stetson with cigarette smoke. Jeremiah blended in with the Old West theme, while his coworkers dressed like it was business casual Friday in the office, except their khakis were shorts and their polo shirts brighter colors than usual.
Jeremiah felt anonymous, sitting at a table for two by himself, sipping ginger ale and munching homemade potato chips. Any bar that fried its own chips wasn’t all bad, he decided. Then Nigel, Doug and Rankin decided to play pool. When they recruited Jeremiah, he realized they had been aware of him all along. He hoped he hadn’t been glowering malevolently at them, but they wouldn’t have invited him to play if they’d been able to read his soul.
Space in the dimly lit bar was cramped. Conversation flowed easily between the players. Nigel was all of five feet tall. He stretched to reach a shot in the middle of the table.
“Some vacation, eh?” Nigel said, his Canadian accent thick.
“We should get paid overtime,” Rankin said.
Jeremiah leaned over his table for a tricky shot, tapping the cue ball against the three. It rolled into the pocket. He lined up his next shot, and missed. Doug stepped around the table. The gym junkie walked with the awkward gait of a knight in armor, only Doug’s armor was bulked up muscle. He leaned over the table and squeezed one eye shut.
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