The Sign in the Smoke (Nancy Drew Diaries #12)(4)

A stout, bearded man wearing an orange Camp Cedarbark shirt walked out from the corner and waved. We all clapped politely.

Deborah went on, “After dinner, we’re going to spend a couple of hours learning child CPR with our resident nurse, Cathy. Then you’ll get a chance to relax and unwind at the campfire. But don’t stay up too late—breakfast is promptly at seven thirty every morning.”

Next to me, George groaned.

Deborah waved. “All right, enjoy your dinner!”

The next two hours went by in a blur. We finished our spaghetti and bused our tables, then helped fold up the tables and roll them to the side of the room. Then we sat down with Cathy, a kind-eyed lady with short, curly gray hair, who brought out two child-size dummies and taught us the basics of child CPR. We practiced with partners—mine was Sam, the baseball-cap-wearing girl who’d greeted us in the driveway, who seemed super nice. Then, as we were all getting worn out, Cathy finally collected the dummies and said that was enough for now—we’d practice again tomorrow. She told us to leave the mess hall and walk toward the lake, where Deborah and Miles would have started the campfire.

We stumbled out of the mess hall and, in the moonlight, found our way past a row of cabins, down a small, steep path, and to a big campfire area that was right on the bank of the lake. Eight big logs surrounded a fire that was ringed by rocks. It was huge and crackly, and behind it, Deborah and Miles sat on one of the logs, smiling.

“We’re so happy you’re all here,” Miles said. “Make yourselves comfortable, please. Your work is done for tonight.”

Once we were all settled around the campfire, Miles pulled out an acoustic guitar and began playing. He asked whether there were any Camp Larksong alums there, and Bess eagerly raised her hand. Looking around the campfire, I counted two others.

“That’s great,” said Miles. “Deborah is an alum too.”

“Five years in a row,” Deborah confirmed. “First as a camper, then a CIT, then a counselor. That’s why we bought and restored this place. I just love it so much.”

Miles fingered a few notes on the guitar, and the alums all made little noises of recognition.

“Who remembers the camp song?” Deborah asked. She began singing in a clear voice:

Friends and nature, sports and fun,

Camp Larksong glitters in the sun,

We come together every year,

Some come from far, some come from near. . . .

Bess began singing along beside me, and soon the others who’d raised their hands to say they were alums joined in. The song was folksy and pretty, and it made me a little sleepy, but I could also see how happy the alums were to sing it.

From the Camp Larksong song, Miles moved on to “Kumbaya,” and then “On Top of Spaghetti,” and then I lost track. We all chimed in singing song after song, as the moon rose high over the lake and the sky got darker and darker.

After the seventh or eighth song, Miles lifted his guitar and stood. “I think that’ll do it for Deborah and me!” he said.

Deborah smiled and stood up too. “We were up at five today getting the camp all ready for you,” she said, a little apologetically. “As long as you keep the noise down, feel free to stay out here for a while and get to know one another. Until the CITs arrive, you’ll all be sleeping in Pine Cabin, which is the long, low one over by the mess hall. You passed it on your way here.”

Everyone said good night, and Deborah and Miles disappeared into the woods.

“So who is everybody again?” asked the dark-haired girl who’d spoken up at dinner. “The last few hours have been such a blur.”

We all reintroduced ourselves. There were eight of us: me; George; Bess; Sam, who was going to be the sports counselor; Bella, the dark-haired girl; Maddie, a willowy redhead; Taylor, a soft-spoken, round girl who said she was the arts and crafts counselor; and Charla, a cheery dark-eyed girl with tiny braids.

We all talked about where we were from, and what had inspired us to come here. Most of the other girls were from closer to the camp. Bella even lived in the same town. “I get to go really far away for my summer vacation,” she said, rolling her eyes. But she explained that she was a Camp Larksong alum (she’d started coming after Bess stopped), and she’d always wanted to come back.

When all the introductions were over, Bella made a big show of checking to make sure she couldn’t see Deborah and Miles, and then turned back to us. “So,” she said in a mischievous voice, “is anyone scared to be here?”

“Why would we be?” I blurted.

Charla looked confused too. “Away from home, you mean?” she asked. “Or out in the woods? I am kind of scared of bears.”

“No,” Bella said, sounding a little impatient, “I mean here. On this site. You know, the old Camp Larksong.”

There was silence for a minute, and then George looked at her skeptically. “Is this about the ‘tragedy’?” she asked. “I heard something happened here, but I couldn’t find out much more than that.”

“Yeah, ‘tragedy,’ that’s one way to put it,” Bella said.

I felt a shiver run up my spine. “What’s another way?” I asked, wishing she’d get to the point.

“Well.” Bella’s eyes widened and her face seemed to come alive. “Five years ago, the last year Camp Larksong was open, they had the Best of All Worlds camp—just like the one we’re here for.”