Chapter 10 Summer Camp
TEN
Summer Camp
It seemed so stupid to need a lift to avoid a five-minute walk down the road, but I wasn’t ignoring direct messages. Declan gave me another kiss when he dropped me off. He wanted to walk me to the back door, but I reminded him we both had work to do, and I was perfectly safe at the gallery.
Seeing the new gate made me happy all over again. It was so beautiful and in the same weathered gray as the rest of the deck. I dropped my backpack on a bench and went to the railing.
“Good morning, Cecil! How are Poppy and the babies? Hey. I just realized. We’re going to be parents at the same time. I’ll bring her down to meet yours when they hatch.” Three of Cecil’s tentacles slapped the surface of the ocean.
Wilbur’s speckled gray head popped out of the water. “Good morning. Let me get your ball.” I found it under a bench. I ducked through the studio back door, got the long orange ball flippy thing, used it to pick up the waterlogged ball, and went back to the railing.
“Are you ready?”
Wilbur barked, so I reached back and sent the ball sailing over the waves. While he arrowed through the water after it, I leaned over again and said hello to my starfish friends, Charlie and Herbert.
“Okay, all. Be good out here. I need to work now.” I picked up my backpack and went into the studio to start my day.
I was putting my second octopus into the annealer when I saw movement on the deck.
Damn. Detective Osso, a very tall, broad-shouldered Black man who was also a bear shifter, was standing in the window, hands on hips, glaring at me.
I knew he couldn’t actually see through the glass, but he was glaring nonetheless.
“Give me a minute,” I shouted, and he finally relaxed and walked to the railing to wait.
I had a feeling I knew why he was here, and this wasn’t going to be a fast visit. I closed down the hot shop, opened the vents in the roof to air it out, and then went into the studio to use the bathroom, grab a drink, and pick up my backpack.
When I finally went out onto the deck, Osso was back to looking pissed off. “What took you so lo—”
“Let’s go,” I said. “You have to bring me back, though. Declan’s meeting with a potential client today.”
“You don’t even know why I’m here,” he grumbled, following me around the back of the gallery toward his SUV.
“Sure I do. You found a body at an abandoned summer camp. And by the way, if Mrs. Voorhees jumps out at me, you better be there to swat her head off.”
He opened the passenger door for me then gave me his hand to help me up, which was very unlike him. Wait. Did he know I was pregnant? My dad had said that shifters picked up on scent differences in gestating women. Interesting.
A moment later, he slid behind the steering wheel on a growl. “How come when I make a Jason joke, I’m told I’m being insensitive?”
I shrugged. “I think people just don’t like you.”
He grumbled some more as he spun the SUV around and we headed out of town. “Did you have a dream about this or something?”
I redirected all the air vents toward me. “Something like that. I had a vision.” I drank from my water bottle, face still red and sweaty from working in the hot shop.
“Do you want me to tell you what we know so far?” he asked.
I tipped my head into the rushing air. “Shoot.”
“It was some kind of Christian camp that was started in the early fifties,” he began.
“Churches in the county visited for decades. It was a family camp and later became a kid’s summer camp.
The owners couldn’t afford to keep up on repairs and eventually had to shut it down in the early nineties.
The family continued to own it but let it go derelict.
“The owner, Mrs. Sloane, inherited it when her parents passed in the late eighties. She tried to keep the camp open, but in addition to the repairs she didn’t have the money for, there was some scandal that tanked them.
Hernández is in the station, doing a deep dive on the owners.
All we know now is that Mrs. Sloane died a few months ago and the property was sold to someone who wants it all demolished so he can build a vacation home. ”
Hernández was Detective Sofia Hernández. She was the one I’d agreed to help on a child abduction case a few months ago. She and Osso often work together, though, so by default, I became a consultant for both.
I checked my face in the vanity mirror on the sunshade. I was no longer red, so that was good. “Do we know how long the body was under the cabin and whether or not he was actually murdered? I mean, maybe he was looking for shelter and died of exposure.”
Osso gave me a look over his dark sunglasses. “Not a lot of severe weather in Monterey County. Do you think a breezy evening where the temperature dropped to fifty might have done him in?”
I watched the trees we passed. We were definitely out in the woods now. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with a murder victim this time.”
“Sorry, kid.” And he actually sounded sorry. There was something up with him.
“So, how have you been?” he asked me.
Detective Osso was not the friendly, chatty type. Annoyed and short-tempered? You bet. This was weird.
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
He nodded, driving a dirt road that looked as though it hadn’t been driven in far too long. Tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel, he finally said, “Anything new?”
I turned in my seat to stare at him. “What do you know?”
“I don’t know anything I haven’t been told.” He pointed ahead and I turned to see a large wooden gate with a sign reading His Way Camp. The trees and bushes on either side of the road were overgrown to the point of almost obscuring the road at spots along the way.
“It’s not far from here,” he said. “So, nothing new, huh?”
“Declan and I are”—his eyebrows rose at that—“in the process of moving into the flat he built us above his workshop.”
Grumble, grumble.
I decided I’d found my game for the day: almost telling Osso I was pregnant—which he clearly already knew.
All the cop cars and construction vehicles wiped the smile off my face. I hated this part. “How many cops are here?”
“The captain talked to them. They shouldn’t be assholes today.”
Scoffing, I mumbled, “I’ve heard that before.”
He pulled over and parked beside a cruiser. When I opened the door and slid out, my knees buckled and I almost went down. Oh, shit.
Osso was there, with one hand on my arm and one around my back. “What’s the matter?”
I blew out a breath and tried to clear my head. “There are more bodies out here than the one in the vision.”
“I’ll call Declan.” He started to pull out his phone, but I stopped him.
“He’s busy today. Leave him alone and give me a minute.
” I stood up straight, my gloved hands braced against the passenger door.
“If I start to go down, you have to catch me. I hate getting dirty and—” Well, I didn’t want the baby to get jarred, but I wasn’t telling him that. “And I just did my hair.”
He looked at the tangle of curls strangled within an inch of its life by an incredibly strong scrunchie and said, “Okay.”
I moved away from the truck. He thankfully grabbed my backpack for me. With every step I took, the pressure I felt became more painful. It was like being pressed in a medieval torture device.
Holding up a finger, I stepped away from Osso and tipped my head up to the dappled light. I asked the Goddess to help me bear the pressure and to keep the little one safe from it. I felt an ocean breeze, smelled honeysuckle, and knew she’d heard my plea.
When I walked under a tree on my way to the demolished cabin, I felt sudden pain radiating from the back of my head. Pointing down at my feet, I said, “There’s someone here. He was hit in the back of the head.”
Osso barked out orders and a woman in a uniform ran up with a handful of little orange flags on long metal sticks. Osso placed the first one by my feet.
I did my best to shake off the lingering pain and move toward where most of the cops were gathered. They moved aside, forming smaller groups away from me as I walked closer to the area circled in yellow tape.
What I saw didn’t make sense, though. I’d been expecting a body.
I hadn’t anticipated three. Two of them were obscured.
One in a large black trash bag and one in a peeling sheet of plastic.
Maybe a shower curtain. The last—or perhaps first—was lying in the open, his clothes in threadbare patches.
What made my stomach roll was that these remains were small. This was a child.
I looked back at Osso. “You want me to read him?” I was really hoping someone was going to tell me to stay the hell away from the crime scene.
A man I recognized as the police captain stepped forward. “We want you to read all three.” He didn’t like me, but apparently he liked what I could do for them.
I regarded him a moment. “We’ll see. This isn’t easy for me.” When I heard snickering at that, I tipped my head toward the hecklers. “And I want them out of here.”
His jaw clenched. He hated taking orders from me. It was written all over his face, but he also seemed to understand that I was the real deal, so he glared at the group of three men, his hands fisted at his side. The men quickly walked away.
I put a leg over the yellow tape and Osso was there, holding my arm so I didn’t fall on the uneven ground. “Is there someplace I shouldn’t stand?”
He shook his head. “We’ve taken samples of the dirt around them.” He glanced down at my sneakers. “We’re going to have to take your shoes into evidence, though. Sorry.”
“I swear to the Goddess,” I murmured to him. “If you let me pass out on human remains, I will never forgive you.”
“I said I wouldn’t let you hit the ground,” he growled.
Crouching beside the body, I took off a glove and lightly touched my finger to a bone at the ankle.
“Shhh. They’ll hear us. Come on.”
I stare at the arrows in the bigger kid’s hand.
“I don’t think we should do this. My mom’ll kill me if I get kicked out of camp.
” I follow, but I don’t want to. There’s something about the way he stares at me that scares me.
It’s like his eyes are empty or something.
I follow him out of the equipment cabin.
Maybe this is a dream and I’m still asleep in my bunk.
“We should go back to bed now before we get caught.”
“Hurry up,” is all he says, but it’s enough to get me to follow him. I want to turn around but I don’t know how. Feeling stupid and scared, I trail him.
We’re going to the meadow where three bales of hay are stacked. Lightheaded, I scan the field, my eyes darting left and right. How do I get out of this?
On the middle bale, there’s a ripped target. We were practicing archery today and I made the mistake of laughing when he missed the target completely.
It wouldn’t have been funny if he hadn’t been bragging all morning about how good he was at archery, how he had his own bow and arrows at home. The counselor nodded along, but I’d seen him roll his eyes.
My friend Jacob and I watched. We were at this camp last year too. We knew how to use a bow. Even though Jacob’s younger than me, he’s really good at it. He almost always hits the center rings. I’m happy when I hit the paper. Still, I’m doing better this year.
The new kid bragged he always hits the bullseye, so the counselor told him to go first and show everyone how it’s done. When he missed the bale entirely, a bunch of us snickered, but the new kid glared at me.
I trip on a rock in the dark meadow. The moon is behind clouds now.
“You and all the other goddamn little shits need to apologize. That bow he gave me is a piece of crap. That’s why I missed.” He holds up the bow and arrows in his hand. “These are the good ones for hunting. Now you’ll see what I can do.”
My heart races at the swears. We aren’t allowed to curse. The counselors will call home if they hear us taking the Lord’s name in vain and swearing. The rule breaking of being out of our cabin at night leveled up. I’m in so much trouble.
“Go stand against the target,” he whisper-shouts.
I stop in my tracks. “What?”
“You heard me. I’ll show you what I can do. I hit an apple balanced on my friend’s head.”
Shaking, I back away. He lunges forward, grabs my arm, and drags me to the target.
“Should I go get that wimpy little friend of yours? Maybe he’ll be a better target.” His hand is bunched in my t-shirt when he slams me against the bale. Sharp pieces of dry hay stab at my arms and neck.
Sudden tears embarrass me. “Leave Jacob alone.”
“Then shut up and do as you’re told.” He shoves me against the bale again to make his point.
I don’t move. Terrified, I’m glued to the spot.
He moves back to the line where we shoot from. He’s whispering, but his voice carries in the quiet night. “When I hit the target right over your head, you can tell everybody I was telling the truth. That asshole counselor gave me a shitty bow.”
He smiles at me with those empty eyes, and I pee my pants. He takes aim. I’m shaking so hard, my teeth are chattering. I hear the twang of the bow string and then—