I pretty much got that Lindsay, Darcy, and Ava had not put the snake in the kayak. I looked at Bess and George, who both gave me a nod. Darcy, Lindsay, and Ava might have been mean—but they were also clean.
“You can go,” I said. “Don’t even think of going out that gate or we’ll tell Amy.”
“As if she’d care,” Lindsay scoffed.
“Buh-bye!” Darcy said with a fake-friendly wave. “Make sure you watch out for the monster man of Camp Athena!”
“The monster man?” Bess said as the girls walked toward the bunks. “Don’t tell me they believe that stupid story too.”
When we returned to the tree, we found the arrow still lodged in the trunk. George was reaching to pull it out when—
“Look at the way the arrow is stuck in the tree,” Bess said. “Whoever shot at us shot from the woods.”
I gulped as I turned toward the dark, foreboding forest. “In that case . . . we’d better get out of here before someone tries again,” I said.
“Nancy, look!” Bess said. She pointed to what looked like a piece of paper taped around the shaft of the arrow.
Carefully I pulled the arrow from the tree, then unwrapped what looked like a note.
“What does it say?” George asked.
“‘You’re getting warmer,’” I read aloud.
“That’s the kind of stuff you say when you’re playing hide-and-seek,” Bess said. “Maybe somebody knows we’re seeking the sisters.”
“While they’re hiding them somewhere in this camp!” George added.
“The camp grounds are pretty big,” I said. “If somebody kidnapped the sisters, they could be keeping them anywhere.”
“With so many campers and counselors around?” George said. “Don’t you think someone would eventually hear or see something?”
I cast my eyes back to the woods. Was someone lurking somewhere among the trees? What else was in the woods beside trees and maybe bears?
“Well, the bunks from the old camp are in the woods where the arrow came from,” I said.
“So?” George said.
“So an old bunk in the woods could be the ideal place to hide a missing person,” I said. “Or three.”
DARK DISCOVERY
As much as the thought of the dark, desolate woods scared me, I knew we had to search for the Casabians.
“We’ll need this in there,” Bess said, handing me the flashlight. “My hand will be shaking too much to hold it.”
I shone the light between thick trees as we crunched over twigs, acorns, and dead leaves. We stopped when we noticed several paths leading in different directions.
“Great,” George said. “Which way do we go now?”
“How about out?” Bess said.
As I turned with the flashlight, I spotted an old sign nailed to a tree. The paint was faded with age, but I was able to make out the words CABINS 1–4 and the drawing of a finger pointed toward one of the paths.
“This way,” I said.
We walked fifteen feet or so when we reached a clearing. I hardly needed the flashlight, as the moon cast a glow on four bunks with sagging porches and cracked windows.
“Which one do we check out first?” I asked.
“That one,” George said, pointing to the last bunk in the row. “There’s a light inside that one.”
I saw it too—a low, flickering light.
“It could be Mandy, Mallory, and Mia!” Bess said hopefully.
“Or the creep who shot the arrow,” George said.
I took a deep breath and said, “We’ll never know unless we see for ourselves. Come on.”
We headed quietly toward the bunk to a side window, which was cobwebby and cracked. Slowly and carefully we raised our heads to peek inside. There was a candle burning on a small wooden table in the middle of the room.
“I can’t see much,” George complained. “Too many spiderwebs on the window—inside and out.”
“I think I see bunk beds against the wall,” Bess said. “The sisters could be lying on them.”
I moved closer to the window and saw the bunk beds too. Were Mandy, Mallory, and Mia lying on them? Were they tied up? Or drugged?
“We have to go inside,” I said.
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Bess sighed.
“We need a lookout,” George said. “Bess, since you don’t want to go inside, why don’t you stay out here on the porch?”
Bess looked out at the dark woods. “On the other hand,” she blurted, “it’s getting chilly out here. Why don’t I go inside with Nancy?”
We walked to the front of the bunk, and George planted herself at the edge of the porch. The door creaked as I opened it. Bess and I walked in, and the first thing we did was check out the bunk beds—empty. No Casabians.
“The sisters may not be in here,” Bess said, looking around. “But somebody’s made himself at home.”
Bess was right. Clothes were draped over chairs and papers were scattered on top of a cubby shelf. A stack of paper cups, a squeezed tube of toothpaste, and a brush stood on the sink in the bathroom. On the floor next to the sink was a plastic gallon jug of water.
“I wonder who’s here,” I said.
Bess pointed to a bunch of arrows leaning against the wall and joked, “It’s either our shooter—or Robin Hood.”
We walked throughout the bunk, looking for any clues on the mysterious inhabitant. I came up with an empty blue duffel bag, but it had no ID tag. Underneath the clothing on the chair I found a small plastic bag with first aid supplies—a roll of bandages, a tube of antibacterial ointment, cotton balls, and a plastic bottle of alcohol.
The receipt I found inside the bag told me the supplies had been bought at Hanson’s Drugs a few days ago.
“It looks like whoever’s staying here was hurt,” I said.
“I think I found something too,” Bess said.
I walked over to Bess at the cubby shelf. She pulled a folder with faded newspaper clippings from the pile of papers and opened it up.
“It looks like an old article,” she said. “Go get the candle so we can see what it says.”
I grabbed what was left of the candle and held it over the article.
“It looks like a wedding announcement,” I said. “From about ten years ago.”
“Who’s the happy couple?” Bess asked.
“Good question.” I moved the candle over the faded photograph of the bride and groom, and Bess grabbed my arm.
I stared at the photograph of the beaming couple. Grinning in a dark tuxedo and bow tie was the crazy cult leader and bane of our existence.
“It’s Roland!” I said.
And there, gazing lovingly at him in a fluffy white veil, was someone we also recognized.
“Amy Paloma!” Bess gasped.
The caption underneath the photo read, “Marty Malone weds Amy Porter.”
“We know Marty Malone was Roland’s name before he changed it,” I said. “Amy must have changed her name too.”
“Nancy,” Bess hissed. “Do you know what this means?”
I nodded as I remembered the sunburst tattoo on Amy’s ankle. “Amy was more than just one of Roland’s followers,” I said. “She was his wife!”
The door slammed open, and Bess and I jumped.
“George, you scared the daylights out of me,” I said. “Is someone coming?”
“No,” George said. “But I found something on the porch you ought to see.”
“We found something too,” Bess said, nodding at the article. “Amy Paloma is—or was—Roland’s wife.”
“His wife?” George exclaimed. She held up an amber medication bottle. “Wait till you see this. An empty bottle of painkillers.”
“Painkillers?” I said, taking the bottle.
“Yeah, now read on the label. Look who the prescribing doctor is,” George said, her expression grim.
Bess and I both read the label. The prescribing doctor was Dr. Raymond!
“Dr. Raym
ond was the plastic surgeon who altered Roland’s appearance,” Bess said. “So he could hide from the police.”
“Now read who the medication is for,” George said.
I turned the bottle until I found another name. My hand began to shake as I read it out loud: “Marty Malone.”
“Roland!” Bess declared, and covered her mouth. “He’s alive, and he must be hiding out in this bunk.”
“And in River Heights,” I said, feeling sick.
“What do you think all those painkillers are for?” George asked.
My eyes darted around while I put the pieces of the puzzle together. Dr. Raymond had performed a lot more than a nip and tuck on Roland—he’d transformed his whole face and hairline—and fast. Maybe too fast.
“Maybe the painkillers are for Roland’s plastic surgery gone bad,” I said. “No wonder the campers kept seeing a guy with a disfigured face.”
“I bet the noises Maggie heard were probably Roland moaning from the pain,” Bess said. “She was telling the truth about the monster man.”
“Amy Paloma has been harboring a fugitive. Someone who could harm the campers,” George said furiously.
My heart pounded. The mean girls weren’t trying to get us. Neither was Mr. Safer. All this time it was Roland—the demented cult leader from Malachite Beach!
“Do you think Roland followed us back to River Heights?” Bess asked, her voice panicky. “Do you think he wants to get back at us for blowing the whistle on him and his cult?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “Whatever the reason, we have to tell Chief McGinnis, and we have to do it before Roland comes back and finds us—”
SLAM! The door swung open. Bess shrieked.
We whirled around to see . . . not Roland, but Amy. She shone a flashlight in our faces. “What are you doing here?” she screamed.
“Us?” I shouted back. “I should ask you the same question, Mrs. Malone!”
“What? What are you talking about?” Amy asked.
Bess took the wedding announcement over to Amy, who shone the light on it. She let out a deep sigh.
“What a fool—he would keep that,” said Amy, shaking her head.
“You were once married to Roland?” I asked. “The guy who ran the cult on Malachite Beach?”
“Who almost killed my friends and dozens of other people,” George added.
“Roland and I were married,” Amy said. “After we separated, I tried to forget him and start a new life.”
“Meaning this camp?” Bess asked.
“The camp was part of it,” Amy said. “My ultimate goal was to teach healthy lifestyles to young girls. I wanted them to grow up with good self-esteem and stick up for themselves so they wouldn’t end up like me.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Amy took a deep breath and said, “Years ago, before he started his retreat, Roland was arrested for embezzlement.”
“Yeah, we know all about that,” George said.
“I was part of the crime but managed to escape the law,” Amy said. “Roland did his time, changed his name, and began that sick cult you found out about. As successful as he became, he never forgave me for beating the rap.”
“After all these years, why didn’t you get a divorce? Why are you only separated?” I asked.
“And call attention to myself?” Amy said. She shook her head. “I changed my name too—and my life. I knew Roland would show up someday, but I never expected to see him in River Heights.”
“Neither did we,” Bess said.
“How long has he been here?” I asked.
“Roland turned up in the camp a little more than a week ago,” Amy said, her voice cracking nervously. “At first I thought he came for me.”
“Didn’t he?” I asked.
“No,” Amy said. “He said he came to River Heights to bring down the girls who ruined his life.”
“Us,” I said.
“You,” Amy said with a nod.
“So you went along with him?” George said. “Hiding him in the woods while he stalked and tried to kill us?”
“What else could I do?” Amy asked. “Roland said if I didn’t cooperate, he’d turn me in to the police.”
As sick as Roland was, I could understand why he was after Bess, George, and me. If it wasn’t for us, he’d still be back on Malachite Beach brainwashing his followers and taking their money. But why would he want to hurt Mandy, Mallory, and Mia?
“What did Roland do with the Casabian sisters, Amy?” I asked. “Tell us.”
Amy stared at me. “The Casabian sisters?” she repeated. “What does Roland have to do with them?”
“Come on, Amy,” Bess said with a smile. “Be a good role model and be honest.”
“Some role model I turned out to be,” Amy said miserably. “I haven’t taught my campers anything.”
Her eyes darkened when I pulled out my phone. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Calling the police,” I said. “You’re protecting a dangerous criminal and putting young girls in danger.”
Amy walked toward me, but George held her back. When I tried to call, though, I had no luck. “Darn,” I said. “There’s no connection in the bunk.”
I moved closer to the door to try again, but stopped when I heard someone say, “Going somewhere?”
My blood froze at the familiar, sinister voice. I looked up from my phone to see a hideous face covered with blue blotches and crusted scars.
The palest blue eyes glared at me from under a straw hat, the unmistakable eyes of Roland.
ROLAND’S REVENGE
Roland towered over me as he backed me up into the bunk. He wore the sickeningly familiar white jacket and a sinister grin on his ruined face.
“I wouldn’t bother calling Chief McGinnis,” Roland snarled. “He doesn’t have a very good record of believing you and your friends.”
“He’ll believe us now,” George said angrily. She caught Bess’s and my eyes. “No way is this jerk holding us hostage. Come on.”
George was the first to charge toward the door. Gathering our guts, Bess and I followed. We made it halfway when Roland reached down to pick up an arrow.
“Guard the door, Amy,” he ordered as he brandished the arrow at us. “Now!”
Amy flitted to the door like an obedient puppy. It was plain to see how scared she was of her husband—and staring at the arrow in Roland’s hand, so was I.
“How did you know about Chief McGinnis?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I know more about you than you think,” Roland said with a grin. “For instance, I know you don’t really like snakes, you prefer warm weather to freezing-cold freezers, and you’re an excellent driver until your brakes go out.”
“Since you seem to know so much, Roland,” I said, emphasizing his name, “where are Mandy, Mallory, and Mia?”
Roland waved his free hand with a snort.
“Those ridiculous sisters.” He sighed. “They were just a nuisance, something to get rid of so I could focus on my main objective. You.”
“Get rid of?” I said. “As in poisoning them in their house with carbon monoxide?”
Roland shrugged and said, “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Roland’s words made me queasy. Had he succeeded in getting rid of the Casabians?
“What did you do with them?” George demanded, talking a step toward Roland.
“Get back!” he shouted. “If it weren’t for you, I’d still have my beloved retreat on Malachite Beach, I wouldn’t be looking like a monster, and I wouldn’t be in such pain.”
Roland threw back his head and moaned. As he lowered the arrow, George reached for it—until Roland quickly raised his arm.
“Now I’ve got River Height’s star girl detectives exactly where I want them,” he said with a maniacal grin. “Revenge will be so sweet.”
I held my breath. Roland was holding the pointed arrowhead directly under my eye.
&
nbsp; “As a very wise man once said,” Roland went on, chuckling, “garbage in . . . garbage out.”
I was so weak with fear that my knees began to buckle, and I started to black out.
“Drop that!” Amy shouted.
I looked up to see Amy standing behind Roland, a chair in her raised hands.
“I said drop it!” Amy shook the chair. “Or I’ll smash this on your head!”
Roland stared at Amy but did as she ordered. He didn’t notice George reaching out to pick up the arrow.
“In case you haven’t checked, you’re still my wife, Amy,” Roland said. “So don’t do anything stupid!”
“The only stupid thing I did was marry you!” Amy shouted. “You may have had me under your thumb then—but not anymore.”
She looked past a stunned Roland at me. “Go outside and call the police, Nancy,” she said. “Now.”
I nodded and ran to the door. As I pulled it open, I heard an amplified voice crackle through a bullhorn: “Amy Paloma, Marty Malone—come out with your hands over your head.”
I shaded my eyes, blinded by the beam of a powerful flashlight. Three figures stood before the porch: two police officers and Chief McGinnis.
“Come on out, Nancy,” Chief McGinnis said. “Are Bess and George okay?”
“We’re fine,” George said as she and Bess joined me on the porch.
The officers charged inside the bunk, where I could hear Roland arguing. My heart was still racing, although I knew we were finally safe.
“Thanks, Chief McGinnis,” I said. He helped us down from the creaky porch.
“Don’t thank me,” Chief McGinnis said with a grin. “Thank Maggie Marvin and Alice Bothwell.”
“What do you mean?” Bess asked, surprised.
“Turns out Maggie and Alice had seen the camp monster going into the woods and were worried about you,” the chief explained. “They woke some counselors and convinced them to call the station,” he explained.
“Good for Maggie and Alice!” Amy’s voice said.
We turned to see Amy and Roland being led out of the bunk, their hands cuffed.
Roland was struggling against his cuffs. “Officers, I’ve done nothing wrong. Amy is the fugitive. She’s the real criminal.”