He gives no further details. Not that I need them. I already know the rest.

What I don’t know is why.

“That Fourth of July was the night Miss Hawthorne and the others disappeared,” Flynn says.

Ben nods. “I know. I don’t need a reminder.”

“What did you do after it was over?”

“Vivian left before me. I remember she was in a hurry to get out of there. She said people would start to realize she was gone. So she got dressed and left.”

“And was that the last time you saw her?”

“Yes, sir, it was.” Ben pauses to scratch the back of his neck, giving the question more thought. “Sort of.”

“So you did see her again after that?”

“Not her,” Ben clarified. “Something she left behind.”

“I don’t follow,” Flynn says, speaking for all of us.

“I left the latrine not long after Vivian did. On the drive home, I realized my keys were missing. The ones I use for camp.”

“What do they access?”

“Camp buildings,” Ben says. “The Lodge. Mess hall. The toolshed and latrine.”

“The cabins?” Flynn asks.

Ben offers us another partial smirk. “I bet you wish it was that easy, but no. Not the cabins.”

Flynn again looks to Theo for confirmation. He gives a slight nod and says, “He’s telling the truth.”

“I thought they might have fallen out of my pocket in the latrine,” Ben continues. “Or maybe somewhere else. When I got to work the next morning, Vivian and the two others had already disappeared. At the time, no one seemed too worried. They’d only been gone a couple of hours, and everyone assumed they’d come back eventually. So I went looking for the keys. I ended up finding them at the toolshed behind the Lodge. The door was open. The keys were still in the lock.”

“And you think Miss Hawthorne left them there?”

“I do. I think she took them out of my pocket when we were in the latrine.”

“What was kept in the toolshed?” Flynn says.

“Equipment, mostly. The lawn mower. Chains for tires in winter. That kind of thing.”

“Why would she need to go to the toolshed?”

The question elicits a shrug from Ben. “Damned if I know.”

But I do. Vivian went there to retrieve a shovel. The same one she used to dig a hole that would eventually conceal her diary.

“You should have told us,” Theo says. “About all of it. But you didn’t, and now my family can never trust you again.”

Ben gives him a hard stare. In his eyes burns what can only be described as barely concealed disgust.

“Don’t you dare judge me, Theodore,” he says, spitting out the name like something that’s left a bad taste in his mouth. “You think you’re better than me? Just because some rich woman plucked you out of an orphanage? That just means you’re lucky.”

The color drains from Theo’s face. I can’t tell if it’s because of shock or anger. He opens his mouth to reply but is cut off by a noise rising suddenly from outside. Someone shouting. The voice echoes off the water.

“I see something!”

Theo turns to me, panicked. “That’s Chet.”

We rush out of the arts and crafts building, Detective Flynn in the lead, surprisingly quick on his feet. At the mess hall, a bunch of girls are pushing out of the door, clutching one another. Several of them cry out in distress, even though no one knows what’s going on. No one but Chet, who stands at the lake’s edge, pointing to something in the water.

A canoe.

Unmoored. Adrift.

It bobs a hundred yards from shore at a sideways angle, making it clear no one is guiding it.

I race into the lake, marching high-kneed until the water reaches my thighs. I then fall forward, swimming now, taking quick, forceful strokes toward the errant canoe. Behind me, others do the same thing. Theo and Chet. Glimpses of them flash over my shoulder whenever I pause to take a breath.

I’m first to the canoe, followed soon after by Chet, then Theo. We each grip the edge of the boat with one hand and start the swim ashore with the other. It’s an awkward, labored trip. My wet fingers keep slipping from the canoe’s edge and our strokes are out of sync, making the boat jerk from side to side as we swim.

Once in shallow water, the three of us stand and drag the canoe to shore. A crowd has gathered by then. Detective Flynn and Ben Schumacher. Most of the campers, kept at bay by counselors. At the Lodge, Franny, Lottie, and Mindy watch from the back deck. I risk a glance inside the canoe, and my legs grow weak.

The boat is empty.

No oars. No life vests. Certainly no people.

The only thing inside is a pair of glasses, twisted like a wrung-out washcloth, one of the lenses spiderwebbed with cracks.

Flynn uses a handkerchief to lift it from the canoe. “Does anyone recognize these?”

I stare at the red frames, somehow still standing, even though the sight of them should have sent me tumbling again into unconsciousness. I even manage to nod.

“Sasha,” I say, my voice weak. “They belong to Sasha.”

31

Back in Dogwood, I lay in the bottom bunk, trying to keep it together. So far, I’m doing a shitty job. After the canoe was found, I went to the latrine and threw up. I then spent a half hour crying in the shower before changing into dry clothes. Now I hold Krystal’s matted-fur teddy bear as Detective Flynn graces me with another disbelieving stare.