8th Day Read online

  Just when I thought I was finally going to get out of there, Ida spent another half-hour going over my teaching schedule and class rosters and loaded me down with a pile of books to peruse before the next day's lessons. So much for getting to see Gracie. If I was going to pull off my role as substitute teacher, I was going to have to hit those books and make some lesson plans. Besides, I'd seen Ida put my newly created file in an unlocked metal filing cabinet marked Personnel. I knew that before I did another thing, I needed to find out what else I could about Annie Sisson, and where better to start than her personnel file? Which meant I'd need to come back as soon as Ida Evans was gone. Watching the way she'd scarfed down her lunch, I had little doubt that she'd be on time for dinner.

  Ida walked me to the door and opened it for me, asking if I'd like a lift in one of the camp ATVs. I pictured the poor fat boy being carted off like a wounded animal to the showers, pathetically relieved to have avoided Isolation. I started to ask her just exactly where Isolation was, but thought better of it. She'd likely launch into another lecture, and I really wasn't up to it.

  I declined the ride and was halfway up the path toward the staff cabins when a noise startled me. I stopped in my tracks and listened, straining to hear what had sounded like someone humming. Then I heard it again, coming from the woods to my right. Someone was definitely humming under their breath. Had some of the students managed to ditch class? What were they doing in the woods? Carefully, I set down the pile of books and inched toward the noise, trying not to step on twigs. The humming had stopped again, but I heard the rattle of paper, and, then, in a few seconds, the humming resumed.

  Hoping I wasn't about to stumble on someone relieving themselves in the woods, I crept forward and pushed back a bough of pines, then had to stop myself from laughing aloud. There, sitting on a rock not fifteen feet away, was Nurse Beckett, eating a Hershey's candy bar. Her eyes were nearly glazed over with contentment as she folded the paper down an inch at a time and savored the chocolate. Oblivious to all around her, she seemed a far cry from the uptight woman I'd seen at lunch. Her body seemed more relaxed, her shoulders were slumped forward, and her expression was that of a cat having its belly rubbed.

  As quietly as I could, I backed away, leaving her to hum in private, her secret intact. For some reason I liked Nurse Beckett better now that I knew she was a closet junk-food junkie. And it served to remind me that things weren't always as they seemed.

  It turned out I was right about Ida. As soon as the bell clanged announcing the start of dinner, Ida left the administration building and headed straight for the mess hall. There was already a line of cowboys, Clutch included, standing outside, and Ida joined them. I watched from behind a stand of trees as they filed in, then, making sure no one was watching, set out for the administration building.

  Naturally, the door was locked. I examined it closely before selecting a pick from the set of lock picks my old mentor, Jake, had bestowed upon me during my internship with him. Over the years, I'd become pretty handy with the picks, and it didn't take me long to work the dead bolt free. I slid the picks back in my pocket, and, giving one last glance around to make sure no one was watching, slipped into the building.

  I checked my watch, then hurried to the filing cabinet I'd seen earlier. It only took a minute to locate Annie Sisson's file, and I quickly scanned the pages, noting that the home address and phone number matched those I'd found earlier. But the last entry in her file gave me pause. It was a one word and a date scrawled across the bottom of the page: Departed. May 7, 2000. Strange choice of words, I thought, given the potential situation.

  The file itself was not particularly illuminating as I already knew much of it. Annie had worked at the camp for two years. She had taught in a private school for the blind in Seattle before being hired at Camp Turnaround. She'd been voted Outstanding Teacher of the Year two years in a row by the camp students. Even on a small staff, I figured that was still quite an honor. From what I could tell, she'd elected to stay at the camp right through her vacations, hiring on for extra pay at the ranch instead of traveling or visiting friends and family.

  I closed the file and reached for the phone on Ida's desk, punching in the parents' number one more time, thinking that a second call might be worth the trouble. This time, the phone was answered on the second ring. The man's voice was gravelly, like I'd awakened him from a nap.

  "Harold Sisson," he said.

  "Yes, Mr. Sisson. This is a friend of Annie's from school. I'm helping organize the class reunion and wondered if you knew where I might find Annie. It's been ages since I've seen her." While I talked, I opened Ida's desk drawers and sifted through her belongings.

  "Same here," he said. He coughed into the receiver and his voice cleared somewhat. "She's probably off doing one of her goody-two-shoe deeds. Repenting is what I call it. First all that college malarkey, then the Peace Corp, then a private school for the blind, and now some reform camp out in Oregon. I imagine she'll try a convent next."

  "So, you haven't heard from her at all?"

  "Oh, her mother gets letters now and then. But, after what she done to us, up and leaving that boy at the altar, embarrassing us in front of the whole town, why her mother don't have much to do with her. Can't say as I blame her. Were you there? At the wedding?"

  "No, sir. I was already off at college. So, the last you heard, she was still at the reform camp in Oregon?" In Ida's top left-hand drawer I found two half-empty prescription bottles. One was for Lithium carbonate. The other for something called fluoxetine. The prescribing physician for both was Dr. Biscane. Interesting, I thought. I wondered what they were for.

  "Last I heard," he said. "Like I said, she moves around every few years. God knows what she'll think up next. But you can forget about the reunion. Don't even waste your time. Annie don't come back to Wheatland. She knows she's not welcome here."

  "Is there another family member she might be visiting?" I asked.

  His laugh was more of a bark. "We're all that's left. She shoulda thought of that before she humiliated us."

  So much for the family emergency theory. I thanked him for his time and hung up, then dialed my own home number and hung up once my answering machine clicked on. If for some reason Ida hit redial, at least she wouldn't get Annie Sisson's number. I knew that the call would eventually turn up on her monthly bill, but by then I planned to be long gone.

  Maybe Annie really had left Camp Turnaround on her own and headed off for another adventure, I thought, checking my watch. I slipped Annie's file back into the cabinet just as the front door opened. The file drawer was still wide open.

  "Cassidy. What are you doing here?" Ida Evans stood with her hand still on the knob, her brow furrowed.

  I wheeled around, my back to the file drawer, blocking her view of it as I leaned against it, slowly easing it shut. "Oh, sorry. I guess I should've asked first. I came to borrow your phone. The door was unlocked and I didn't figure you'd mind. I called collect, so there won't be any charges." My heart was thudding as I inched the metal drawer closed.

  "This door was unlocked?"

  "Yes. That's why I thought you were here. But I called your name, and, when I realized you were gone, I started to leave, but, the thing is, I forgot to leave the key for the guy renting my house while I'm gone, and I thought I better tell him where to find it before he breaks the door down or something."

  "This door was unlocked?" she asked again, examining it like the concept was completely foreign to her. "I remember locking it myself."

  "Honest." While she peered at the door, I pushed the drawer completely in and stepped away from the file cabinet. "I just came in a minute ago and it was unlocked. Sorry if I'm intruding. I just wanted to use the phone."

  "No, that's all right, dear. You can come use the phone any time. I'm just a little addled about leaving this door unlocked. They say the mind's the second thing to go, you know." She gave me a semi-lewd wink and chuckled. "So, did you get everything settled, th
en?"

  "I sure did. And it was a good thing I called when I did. He was just about to head over there, and I know he would've broken a window or something. The guy's not real bright."

  "So many of them aren't," she said.

  I let myself out, feeling Ida's eyes follow me as I walked toward the mess hall. That had been a little too close for comfort, I thought. But it had been worth it. At least I knew it wasn't any family emergency that had sent Annie running, and so far, the only people who didn't seem to like her were her parents. The more I learned about Annie Sisson, the more I found myself hoping that Maddie's cryptic letter was just a hoax.

  Chapter Seven

  Madeline

  Four weeks earlier

  Shadow Dancer! she thought, sitting up in bed. Finally! The perfect name! She could hardly wait to tell Clutch. A smile crept across her face, a rare occurrence, though no one was there to appreciate it. It was pitch black in the bunk house, and from the cacophony of snoring, she knew everyone else was sound asleep. She hugged the scratchy wool blankets around her, glad to have them back, and gazed out at the black night. The worst part about her bunk was also the best — she was right next to a window. It was permanently closed to prevent escape attempts, although with a screwdriver, one could make short work of the four screws holding the hinges in place. So far, she hadn't been able to find one, but she was on the lookout. Even if she did find one, it would be quite a jump to the ground below. The dormitory, though single story, like the other buildings in camp, was built on stilts. She supposed this was to prevent flooding during the rainy season when the creeks overflowed, but to her, all it meant was a more difficult escape. She had survived fifteen days in the camp, and she'd spent most of that time thinking up escape plans. Now, snuggled into the blanket, she stared out her window, thinking.

  Despite being sealed, the window was drafty, making Maddie's bed one of the coldest in the bunkhouse, and, thus, the least desirable. But having her own private window was a luxury she relished. At first light, before even the obnoxious clanging of the roll call bell, she could look out through the trees to the meadow where some of the horses were already grazing in the distance. It was too far to tell, really, but she liked to pretend that she could see Shadow Dancer out among them, his beautiful black tail swishing in the breeze. Right now, it was impossible to see anything but shadows in the moonless night, so she lay back down and thought about her plan.

  She'd need fire, which meant matches or at least a lighter, both prohibited items at the camp. But she'd noticed wooden stick matches in the kitchen yesterday and knew she could swipe a couple, maybe two a day, when Pat, the cook, wasn't looking. She'd been assigned as kitchen helper for her first work shift, which gave her plenty of time to scavenge.

  Her biggest brainstorm thus far was taking the zip-lock baggie out of the trash. She'd found a safety pin the week before, which she'd pinned to the inside of her pants, and now she could pin the baggie to that, thus giving her a hidden purse in which to cart her goods. So far, she had two pieces of beef jerky that she'd lifted from an open cellophane package lying on a bench when she'd last visited the stables. She felt bad stealing from Clutch, but she'd been careful not to take too much. Hopefully, he hadn't even noticed.

  She also had a handful of Kleenex tissues, which she'd carefully folded into a flat package. There'd be no toilet paper in the woods. If nothing else, they could help her start a fire. Her most prized possession, though, was a can of tuna. Most of the canned products in the kitchen pantry were jumbo-sized, but she'd found a whole row of regular-sized tuna cans and had helped herself to one right away. Not only would the tuna sustain her, but the can could be used as a cup for water and the top would be sharp enough to use as a knife. On the other hand, she had no can opener yet, so, for the time being, the tuna was useless.

  It had, however, given her an idea, and yesterday she'd liberated the discarded lid from a large can of stewed tomatoes. She'd managed to fold the lid in half so that one side had a safe edge to grasp onto and the other two sharp edges for cutting. Last night, in the darkness, she'd used the lid to slice open the side of her mattress — the side against the wall—just enough to slide her hidden loot, the can lid included, inside. She'd been living dangerously, stashing things under the mattress, but she knew Belinda made spontaneous bed checks and was bound to find her cache sooner or later. Now, with the goods hidden inside the mattress, Maddie stood a much better chance.

  As she lay in bed, silently making her shopping list, she thought about what Dr. Biscane had said during their last therapy session. He asked her if she thought she'd been stealing to get attention. At first, her heart pounded, thinking that somehow he was onto her plan. Had someone seen her? It took her a minute to realize he was talking about before her incarceration in the camp. She'd begun to view her life in terms of whether something happened B.C. (Before Camp) or A.I. (After Incarceration). Doc was dealing with B.C. issues — something she preferred not to think about.

  "Think about it, Maddie. We'll talk about it next time. Why do you think you're trying to get attention? Maybe when we talk next time, you'll have some ideas. Hmm?"

  He tended to end his sentences with that little "hmm?" like he knew she was perfectly aware of the answer and was just being coy with him. This made her feel kind of bad, because it was partly true. But she didn't always feel like being probed. She'd learned a long time ago how to put unpleasant memories in boxes and store them in places she didn't have to look at. She'd heard the term used on a talk show once — selective amnesia. That's how Maddie thought of it, when she allowed herself to think of it at all. And she figured she had every right to forget whatever she wanted.

  She rolled over on her slightly lumpy mattress and turned away from the drafty window, forcing her mind away from Dr. Biscane and everything connected to her life B.C. She pictured the black colt instead, snorting and pawing the ground, a beautiful, untamed beast just waiting for her to join him. She imagined herself on his back, flying across the meadows, the two of them racing off into the forest together.

  Chapter Eight

  Monday morning I was jolted out of bed by the same bell that seemed to announce every change of events at Camp Turnaround. I knew I wasn't expected to attend roll call or morning calisthenics, but I leaped out of bed just the same and jumped into the shower. By the time the water heated up enough to be deemed lukewarm, I was out of the shower and shivering on the postage stamp-sized bath mat, rubbing a stiff white terry cloth towel over my goosebumps. I dressed hurriedly and made a cup of instant coffee, glad for the meager supplies left in Annie's kitchen. There was definitely a spring mountain chill in the air, I decided. I sat at the kitchenette table, my hands wrapped around the steaming mug, and sorted through what I knew about Annie Sisson.

  Now that I knew it wasn't a family emergency that had sent her packing, it changed things. Whether she had left by force or by her own volition, she hadn't gone running home to her mother and father. Why had Ida said it was a family emergency? Is that what Annie had told her? Or had someone else passed that lie on to her? But who would consider Annie Sisson an enemy? No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I chastised myself. Lots of really good, decent people had enemies. It's not just beauty that's in the eye of the beholder. Jealousy, rage, resentment, fear, envy, unrequited love — the list went on and on. It only took one sicko psycho to make a perfectly good person the object of a hate-fantasy. If Annie had fallen victim to someone like that, it would be a lot more difficult than I'd initially thought to sort this out.

  I took a sip of the steaming coffee and concentrated on what I did know. Annie had been on the pill, which presumably meant she was having sex with someone at the camp, and that for some reason she'd wanted to keep it a secret. I also knew that she'd disappeared in the middle of the night. She hadn't taken her pills or her grandmother's blanket, which meant she was either in such a hurry that she'd forgotten them, which I found unlikely, or that someone else had packed her th
ings and hadn't known about the blanket out back or the pills under the drawer. If someone else had packed her things, then it was safe to say that that person knew where she went. Had she left on her own? Or had she been whisked away in the night? Or, as Maddie might be saying, had she been murdered right there at camp? Someone could have killed her, then tried to make it look like she'd left in a hurry. But why would someone murder Annie Sisson? According to both Lacy Godfrey and Ida Evans, Annie was well liked and generous to a fault. Which brought me right back to my sicko-psycho theory. Anything was possible.

  Lacy thought she had an idea about why Annie left in such a hurry, but she seemed reticent to share her hunch. I knew I'd need to get her talking again. Maybe she knew who Annie was sleeping with, if nothing else. But who I really wanted to talk to was Maddie Boone. The problem was, if something untoward was going on at the camp, I couldn't afford to blow my cover just yet. Which meant I couldn't just walk up to Maddie in broad daylight and ask her what she meant by her cryptic e-mail. If someone were watching her, any suspicious behavior could put her or both of us in danger. Until I figured out a way to talk with her in private, I'd just have to reconstruct the events leading up to Annie's disappearance on my own.

  Since my first class didn't start until ten, I had several hours to kill — plenty of time to talk to Gracie, explore the camp on my own, and still catch breakfast, so I rinsed my cup in the sink and headed for the stables.

  The sun was just starting to blaze an orange trail over the eastern mountain, and a breeze rustled the air enough to make me glad I'd brought a jacket. Morning calisthenics were due to end any minute, giving students an hour to shower, dress, and do as they wished — a rare pocket of freedom before breakfast. I knew that sometimes the best way to find out what people were really like was to watch them when they didn't know you were watching. So far, every time I'd seen the kids in camp, their collective guard had been way up. As anxious as I was to talk to Gracie, I wanted to see what these students were like when no one was around. I stepped off the path and concealed myself behind a stand of trees, waiting for the morning workout to end.