“No,” Stevie said again. “Something’s not right.”
“Did anything seem off about her when you gave her the list?” Janelle asked.
“No. She was happy to get it.”
She could tell from their expressions that, like David, they knew Stevie was quick to say that something was not an accident. They also knew better than to voice this in the
state Stevie was in. She walked back to their cabin, feeling lightheaded and sleepy. She called David.
“Hey,” she said.
“You sound weird.”
“Just tired,” she said.
“The kayak thing didn’t work out so well. Do you want to walk over and I’ll meet you by the path?”
Stevie rubbed her face with her hand. She had so little time with David—every day counted—but she was leaden with exhaustion. Something about Allison’s death had knocked her sideways.
“I think I need to sleep,” she said.
She heard him sigh.
“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” she said, going up the steps to her cabin.
Once she got inside, she flopped onto her bed, not even bothering to take off her shoes. It was only seven in the evening—still light out—but Stevie was shutting down. She closed her eyes, letting the cabin and the camp and the confusion of the day slip away. Just as she was nodding off, her phone rang. It was an unknown local number.
“Is this Stephanie Bell?” said a woman’s voice.
“Yes?”
“My name is Susan Marks,” she said. “I used to run the camp when it was Wonder Falls.”
Stevie knew the name and sat up.
“Allison . . .” The woman sounded pained. “Allison Abbott gave me your name and said I should contact you. As
you knew her, I thought I should let you know . . .”
“I know,” Stevie said softly.
Susan was silent in acknowledgment.
“She asked me to talk to you about what happened here, before. . . . I was hesitant, but I want to honor her wishes. If you’d like to speak to me.”
“Definitely,” Stevie said. “Yes. Could I . . . come to town? In the morning?”
“Fine. Come by any time after eight.”
After giving Stevie her address, Susan Marks hung up. Stevie texted this update to David, then slipped into a deep, unbroken sleep.
“So who is it we’re going to see?” David asked as they pulled out of the camp the next morning.
David had come in the old gray Nissan to take Stevie into town, thus sparing her from the treacherous and sweaty bike ride. Stevie had made a show of going over to the art pavilion, but left as soon as Nicole had done the morning rounds. The day was almost unbearably humid. The air-conditioning in the car didn’t work, so they had the windows open. The morning was bright, but the sun shone through a haze of cloud. Some kind of wild summer weather was afoot.
The twelve hours of sleep Stevie had gotten seemed to have revived her. Her body had decided to shut down completely and reboot, and now she was alert, maybe even a little hyper. Sometimes anxiety did that—it could slow you down or speed you up.
“Susan Marks,” she said. “She was the head of the camp in 1978.”
“What am I supposed to be doing during this interrogation? When do I get to pound my fist on the desk? Or am I the one who offers the coffee? You tell me who I’m supposed to be.”