The Camp (13 page)

The broom was in the closet, the mop and bucket out back drying. She gathered the cleaning rags and dropped them in the hamper on her way out. As she was finishing these chores, she thought about her conduct lately, trying to remember if she’d done anything that could get her into trouble. When she entered the administration building, Jane was at the coffee machine.

“Ms. Stulov. Ellen.” She checked her watch. “Right on time. I appreciate that.” They moved down the hall, Jane sipping her coffee and Ellen feeling the knot in her stomach unwind a little after receiving such a pleasant greeting from her companion.

“Please have a seat. How are you, Ellen?”

Ellen nodded. “Very well, thank you.”

Jane took a long sip of her coffee. “I want to know how you’re getting along.” Then she pulled out a yellow pad and pen.

Ellen knew how to play the game and gave a sigh. “Comfortably. I like cooking and feel a sense of pride when I leave the kitchen clean.” She looked away for a minute and nodded for effect. “And, you know, I think that has been helping me keep my room neat and tidy.”

Jane made some notes and took a short sip this time. “One of the companions— the one overseeing the girls at the river—has noted that you spend your free time sitting alone on the bank.”

Ellen noted how Jane never said a companion was ‘watching.’ Instead, they were always ‘guiding’ or ‘overseeing.’

“Yes, I enjoy the solitude.”

Jane made more notes. “You can honestly tell me that you’re not brooding or sad?”

Ellen vigorously shook her head. “Oh no, not at all. The river brings me peace. It moves so gently. Sometimes, I’ll toss a small stick in and watch its progress.”

Jane’s voice became less innocent and soft, more probing. It took on an edge, like she was ready to catch her charge in a lie. “The companion said she saw you looking across the river with a pair of binoculars.”
 

Ellen ignored the implication that she might have been doing something wrong and projected as angelic a smile as she could muster.

“One day—I think it was the warmest this year, the day I could go out wearing just my t-shirt—I thought I saw an eagle’s nest. I’d been watching it circle and thought it landed among the trees. I borrowed the binoculars from Mr. Randle, the maintenance man, but I returned them the same day.”

She noted a sense of relief wash over her companion and that’s when she knew.

“Did you find the nest?”

“No. I think it was just resting or watching for fish or something.”

She noticed how Jane had stopped drinking her coffee when her questions became more pointed. Now she sipped her coffee and made a face. “Cold.”

Jane picked up her coffee cup as she stood, then looked across her office at the clock on the wall. “Group counseling is almost over. No reason for you to attend. Showing up late is such a disturbance. Looks like you have some free time. Will you go look for the eagle?”

Ellen followed Jane back down the hall where she stopped at the coffee machine.

“No, I think I’ll go back to my room and write a letter to mother.”

She continued to sit by the river during her free time, but now that she knew she was being watched, she made a point to look into the water, throw the occasional stick, maybe skip a stone. But she was also careful to always steal a glance across the river, in search of the non-existent boys.

At first when she arrived at Camp Hiouchi, she believed everything she was told, that there were boys across the river. How strange, she’d thought. Boys that never went swimming, never walked among the woods that surrounded the cabins. Even with the binoculars, she couldn’t find any boys.

But it was on the day that she was called into Jane’s office that she realized there was something on the other side that she wasn’t supposed to know about. The real reason she wasn’t allowed to cross the river—she knew it wasn’t boys.

Ellen didn’t know how, but she was going to find out what was over there. At first, she tried to speculate. When she couldn’t come up with anything, she decided to make a plan to cross over and find out for herself.

Chapter Nineteen

Amy slept in the back of the bus most of the way home, but cornered her father when they were carrying in their luggage.
 

“Daddy, have you given any more thought to Ed’s death?”

He frowned and tried to look puzzled. “It most likely was nothing more then a tragic coincidence and I really haven’t given it a second thought.”

But she knew he had. He gave it away when he used the phrase ‘most likely.’
 

Her father was, if nothing else, dogged in his investigations. Once he got hold of a clue, or an unanswered question, he wouldn’t quit until he’d found the answer.
 

Like he’d said back at the Lucas Lodge. She was a chip off the old block. She had no intention of leaving Ed’s death as an unexplained coincidence.

She couldn’t drive, so she couldn’t visit Agness and the lodge again by herself. Then the next best thing slammed home. She’d call Ron.

He’d given her father his number and she knew where he kept his list of contacts.
 

That afternoon, right after school when she knew her dad was in Medford with an attorney, she ventured into his office. First stop was his Rolodex. Nothing. Then the top middle drawer, left side: his contact list. Again, nothing. She tried to remember if Ron had given him a card. She didn’t think so. What was daddy wearing that night? She pulled and pushed through his clothes closet, checking every pocket. “Bingo.”

Each step of the way she’d been sure to cover her tracks, returning the Rolodex back to the letter R, where it had been when she’d found it. When she replaced the contact list, she was careful not to disturb the rest of the drawer’s contents. But after rifling through his closet, she didn’t know how to cover up her search. Maybe he’d never notice something like how his clothes were hanging.

Every night for a week, she sat at her computer desk and stared at Ron’s phone number. She knew she couldn’t just call him out of the blue, and began to make a list of questions. And she wanted a map, a lay of the land, and maybe a list of residents. She’d watched her father assemble facts, names, and places on his giant dry erase board. He’d always told her that if you get all the pieces of the puzzle together, then it was just a matter of figuring out means, motive and opportunity before you’d be able to assemble it.

Uncle Rye thought someone had killed Ed because he was talking about trafficking. But daddy said the disconnect was that no one had heard what Ed said outside of the four of them, and that there was no reason for him to tell anyone if he’d been giving away secrets.

Somebody knew. Uncle Rye or Aunt Claire might have mentioned the conversation, but to whom?
 
She eliminated that possibility.

Someone wanted Ed dead, but why kill him in Agness, at the Rivers there? Oregon was so rural. He could have been killed and dumped in any number of places where his body would never be found.

Rye was in the back bedroom. He’d christened it the library. All their medical and legal books pertaining to the business would reside there but he was more excited about his collection of novels and adventure fiction finally having a place to live.
 

He was straining, bent slightly backwards, under the weight of the last box of books when someone pounded at the front door. He grudgingly set the box on the coffee table and half expected Claire to dash into the room in response. Then he remembered. She was in the back mudroom setting up the various weight machines. The pounding continued.

Claire had called in a medical day off and here he was carrying boxes. Taking a break, they’d both marveled at the progress they were making around the new house. They’d hoped to be completely unpacked last week, but the river rescue training had gotten in the way and now they had such limited endurance that Rye wasn’t sure they’d finish tonight like they’d wanted to.

When he opened the door, Paul stepped in. Rye laughed, pulling it open extra wide. “Well, come on in.”

“I peeked in the barn and saw the ambulance and your sidecar rig and figured you were home. But I couldn’t see Claire’s motorcycle. Is she around?”

Rye had seen his friend like this before, although usually during a rather dangerous case. “You need some strong arm? This way—I think she’s still in the mudroom.”

Claire looked up from the floor where she was securing a support bar to its stand. She pushed up with a groan. “This had better be our last move.” Then she looked over at Paul. “Well, if it…” Rye, standing slightly behind the PI and to his right was shaking his head. She cut off her smart ass question, walked up, and took Paul by the arm. “To the kitchen! We need a break and I’m starving. How do you feel about lunch? I think I know where everything is.”

A short time later, Rye was digging into a bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.
 

“Chow hound,” Claire laughed. Then she nodded her head at Paul. “How can we help you?”
 

Paul produced a folded yellow page from a legal pad. “I haven’t been able to get Ed and his suspicious cause of death out of my head.”

Rye put his half-eaten sandwich down. “Go on.”

“Remember how I said there was a disconnect?” His friends nodded as one. “Alright, let’s push that aside for a minute. Amy said she saw his roommate working at the store. The owner is a woman.” He consulted the yellow page of notes. “Cindy James. Locals describe her as a real looker, but all business.”

Claire stirred her soup. “Sounds like you’ve been checking into this a little.”

He looked at her sheepishly. “More then a little. I knocked on some doors around where Ed used to live with that roommate. Aside from a lot of negative comments about the house looking like a dump, one Mrs…” Again he consulted his notes. “Ethel Hump noted that they had a good-looking female visitor that she was sure was a prostitute.”

He looked up expectantly, first at Rye, then Claire. When they didn’t respond, he stood up and began to pace. “Don’t you see? This connects the store with Frank and Ed.”

Claire got up and took his bowl of soup. “Would you like me to zap it in the microwave?”

He nodded mindlessly then continued. “Amy said that when she asked how he knew about the date rape pills, that Ed told her it was just something he’d heard Frank talk about. So…” He consulted his notes. “That begs two questions. First, who was Frank talking to about trafficking and date rape pills? Second, was Ed killed because he overheard something that he shouldn’t have? Now, I know this is pure conjecture, but what if the person on the other end of Frank’s conversation was Cindy?”

The timer on the microwave went off and seemed to signal that it was time for a pause.

“I have an idea,” Claire interjected. “Let’s eat.”

Rye was already finished and at the stove for the rest of the soup. “Anybody want more?”

Mouths full, his companions shook their heads.

Once they’d all eaten their fill, Paul cleared the dishes, picked up a sponge, and began to wash. “There’s more.”

Rye snapped up a towel to dry while Claire looked mockingly across the now- cleared table. “I don’t think so.”

Paul ignored her reference to dishes, dried his hands, and came back to the table. “It’s Amy.”

Claire became serious. “What about her?”

Rye put the last bowl away and joined them at the table.

“She’s gone through my office, my closet. She took Ron’s phone number.”

Claire looked over at Rye, then back at Paul. “Have you confronted her?”

“No, and I don’t think I will. If Ed was murdered, I’ll want her input. If I make a big deal about her going through my office, I’ll loose any chance of her cooperation.”
 

Rye reached across the table and slid the page of notes over, spinning it around so he could read it. “Sounds like Amy is doing her own investigation.” He slid the sheet over to Claire without further comment.
 

She did a quick scan. “I don’t see where Ron mentioned that the two workers from the store climbed in the raft with Ed.”

“Exactly, there it is. That seals the connection between his death and the store. Then you have the storeowner and her visit to Frank’s house. We now have means and opportunity, two out of three. If we can prove that Ed’s death was a murder and not an accident, the motive will reveal itself.”

“Do you think Amy will really call Ron?” Claire asked, as she spun the sheet of questions around in circles.

Paul reached over and took his notes back. “Without a doubt. But I’m more curious about what she’s going to ask him”

Chapter Twenty

Ellen made up her mind.
 

It was a moonless night and she felt foolish. Understandably, since she was standing in the kitchen in her underwear, rubbing Crisco all over her body and even on her face. Replacing the can of shortening in a cupboard, she scampered out the back door and over to a bucket of ashes taken from one of the fire pits. Squatting down, she began to shovel the ash into a giant baggie.

She’d scoped out her route during the day. It afforded her the greatest cover from the kitchen to the river. She figured the Crisco was so greasy that it would help keep her warm and not wash off during the swim.

Hair tied back and holding the bag of ash to her chest she wadded into the river. Filled with air she was able to use the plastic bag as a flotation device. And employing a frog kick, she was able to keep from splashing.
 

Although it’d just been part of her cover story at first, throwing sticks into the river had been helpful in her planning. All week, she threw twigs in the water and then followed them, walking along the shore to gauge the speed of the river. Now that was paying off.

When she reached the other side, she rolled onto the shore and crawled behind some scrub brush. She was surprised at how out of breath she was. She lay there for a moment, just listening to her heartbeat. No one sounded an alarm, and she didn’t see any wavering flashlight beams searching the shore.