CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sotheara’s revelation stunned Aubrey. Why would someone want to hurt her? Possibly kill her? Maybe Candace had seen Aubrey crawl through her window, or Jack had spotted her under Nel and Stewart’s bed. Playing amateur detective had to end now. If it wasn’t already too late. Which seemed likely. If she was close to solving Stewart’s murder, a few more questions couldn’t hurt.

“Dale, have there been an unusual number of accidents at this camp?”

“You’ve kept me busy. But no, nothing out of the ordinary. Other than Mr. Neamly dying the first day.” Dale turned from the supply cabinet, an epinephrine injector in his hand. “Ironic, huh? A man dies just yards away from the medicine that could have saved his life. Maybe if I had been here—” He shrugged. “It’s a shame. Mr. Neamly’s death could have been prevented.”

“Not if someone stole his epinephrine injector,” Aubrey said.

“Stole?” Dale shook his head. “If you’re implying someone deliberately caused Mr. Neamly’s death, I’d have to disagree. A bee is an unreliable murder weapon.”

“How often do people die of bee stings?” Aubrey asked.

“More often than you’d think. Well, I guess I understand your concern. I heard Mr. Neamly was kind of fanatical about keeping his injector nearby. This is going to sting.”

Dale swabbed Aubrey’s right palm with an antiseptic cleanser. She sucked in her breath through gritted teeth. Then he went to work cleaning the cut on her arm. Finally, he treated and rewrapped the rope burn on her left hand.

Aubrey wondered if the injector that fell out of the blankets and onto the floor had been the one that could have saved Stewart’s life.

“Have other people gotten stung in this camp?” she asked.

“That’s another thing.” Dale applied ointment to Aubrey’s palm. “I haven’t seen anything but sugar bees here. Some people call them sweat bees. They’re docile.”

The bee that had hovered around Aubrey’s sweet roll had seemed slow to anger, even after she swatted at it. She thought of her son Cody capturing bugs in glass jars. Some didn’t seem to notice, but others struggled mightily to free themselves from their glass confinement.

Better to sound ridiculous than bear the burden of guilt if another camper died. Especially if it was herself. The sun would set soon on the third day of camp. Only four days remained to find Stewart’s killer. Aubrey took a steadying breath, then plunged in.

“I cut my hand on a broken canning jar. It was under Stewart and Nel’s bed. It could have contained bees.”

She waited for Dale to question why she was in the Neamly’s room, much less under their bed. He didn’t ask.

“I’m surprised the police didn’t notice the jar,” Dale said.

“The police didn’t think it was a crime scene,” Aubrey said. “The jar is still there. I found it before the ATV challenge.”

Jeremiah casually followed Rowdy Hunter as he escorted the Lodgepole police officer through camp. They went to the infirmary, then continued to Brown Bear cabin accompanied by Aubrey Sommers and the EMT. Humans were unobservant creatures. The few campers who noticed dutifully minded their own business.

Maybe Grant’s wife had stolen something from one of the rooms, other than the blankets she had tossed out the window. If so, her entire team was in on it.

Jeremiah strolled behind Brown Bear cabin until he heard voices. There was no need to conceal himself, as Aubrey Sommers had done earlier. The side of the cabin was in deep shadow as the sun dropped behind the mountains.

“Is Mr. Dudley in this cabin?” the police officer asked.

“Who?” came from Aubrey.

“Wilson Dudley.”

“His ex-wife called my office,” Rowdy said. “He was on the roster, but he didn’t show up. Probably changed his mind about coming, and just didn’t tell anyone.”

The police officer mumbled something Jeremiah couldn’t hear. He didn’t know anyone at Bender Clips by the name Dudley, but if the guy was a carpet walker, Jeremiah and he might never have crossed paths.

“Under here,” Aubrey said.

A shuffling noise.

“I don’t see anything,” the police officer said.

“There were dust bunnies and broken glass,” Aubrey said.

“Looks like the floor has been swept and mopped,” the officer said. “Was your cleaning crew in here recently?”

“The wranglers clean the bathrooms daily,” Rowdy said. “Bedding’s changed every three days. A little tidying up as needed. But the deep cleaning’s done after a guest leaves.”

“Why would the wranglers clean under the bed,” Aubrey asked, “and not pick up the rest of the room?”

“Doesn’t make sense,” Rowdy said. “I’ll ask if anyone knows who did this.”

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Jack Bender’s voice.

“Who are you?” the officer asked.

Introductions were made. Nothing in particular seemed to be accomplished, except making Jack Bender cranky.

A random memory popped into Jeremiah’s head. Naw, couldn’t be related. Still, he wondered whether this Wilson Dudley guy had lost a shoe in the bushes.

When Aubrey returned to the tent, she pointed at the blanket room divider.

“Is Rankin home?” she whispered.

Berdie tugged the curtain aside. “Nope. He’s off somewhere with his head stuck up Jack’s keister.”

Aubrey motioned for Berdie and Madison to huddle around her cot. She repeated what Sotheara told her about the cable in the mud pit.

“Did you tell the police officer?” Berdie asked.

“What police officer?” Madison asked.

“The one who just left camp,” Berdie said.

Aubrey wondered how much she needed to tell Berdie. The camo-clad receptionist seemed to see all and know all.

“That was Police Chief Darryl Boyd,” Aubrey said. “He checked under the bed for the broken canning jar, but it had been swept and mopped. The rest of the room was still a mess.”

“Someone destroyed the evidence,” Berdie said.

Madison scrunched her face into a doubtful expression. “I still can’t see how that would work. Stewart wouldn’t have gone near a jar full of bees.”

“The jar could have been set on top of a door,” Aubrey said, “so when he entered the room, the jar fell and broke.”

“Or tossed through the window,” Berdie said. “The jar smashes, the liberated bees are angry, and they swarm the first person they see.”

“But how did the jar end up under the bed?” Madison asked.

Footsteps crunched in the gravel outside the tent. Then there was silence. Berdie jerked the tent flap open, startling Grant. He backed up a step.

“What do you want?” Berdie asked.

“My wife. They’re serving dinner,” he said to Aubrey. “If we hurry, you can get vegetarian stew before the meat eaters. Sotheara’s already in line.”

So he had been listening to her complaints about the food. Aubrey grabbed a fleece jacket.

“How’s Harv?” Berdie asked.

“They’re keeping him overnight at the little hospital in town,” Grant said. “His brother’s coming tomorrow.”

“What’s the prognosis?” Berdie asked.

“Regardless of what the doctor might decide, Harv won’t return to camp, or Bender Clips. He’s hoping his brother lets him start the golf pro job in Florida early.” Grant reached for Aubrey’s hand, noticed the bandage, and looped her arm through his instead. “You ready?”

Walking under the moonlit pines gave a touch of romance to the evening.

“What were you gals talking about?” Grant asked.

“Oh, just girl stuff.”

“I heard something about bees.”

Aubrey hadn’t shared much with Grant. Maybe it was best to clue him in. For his own protection. There might be a murderer in the camp. She was reluctant to admit she’d been snooping and spying, but Aubrey could preempt false rumors by giving Grant the facts. Crazy as they might sound.

“When the EMT was bandaging my hand, he said it seemed strange that a bee had stung Stewart. The bees in camp aren’t aggressive. I even swatted one away from my sweet roll at breakfast, and it didn’t get upset.”

“Maybe that’s because it was morning,” Grant said. “I’ve heard bees are sluggish when the temperature is cool.”

“But what if someone trapped aggressive bees, and put them in Stewart’s room?”

Grant stopped, pulling Aubrey to a halt. “Everyone knew Stewart was allergic to bees. Are you suggesting someone intentionally put bees in his room? They killed Stewart?”

Aubrey nodded. “Murder by honeybee. Officer Boyd didn’t find the broken jar. Underneath the bed had been swept and cleaned.”

“What jar? What bed?”

Rowdy rang the triangle. Aubrey’s stomach growled.

“I need food,” she said. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”

The campfire circle was crowded with hungry campers. Aubrey wasn’t first in line, but Millie had set aside meatless stew for the vegetarians. When Aubrey thanked her, the cook’s brief smile resembled that of the rodeo queen portrait hanging on the chuck wagon wall.

Grant accepted a bowl of elk stew and joined Aubrey on the Stockton’s Revenge log. Maybe her talk of murder had made him feel protective. After people had downed second servings of Millie’s delicious stew, Rowdy called Stockton’s Revenge to the scoreboard in front of the chuck wagon. Aubrey noticed Madison tuck the carved wolf Jeremiah had given her into her jacket pocket, then follow. Rowdy held up Aubrey’s bandaged hand.

“Did Rocky Raccoon bite you?” Rowdy asked.

She couldn’t explain that she’d cut it on a potential murder weapon. “No,” Aubrey said, “the raccoon didn’t get me.”

“His mouth was too full of chocolate,” Madison said.

“Sotheara was wounded, too.” Berdie pointed at the girl’s bandaged bare foot. “But we managed to evict the pest with no casualties.”

“It was teamwork,” Sotheara said. “The spirit of cooperation.”

“Then you cowgirls win treasure chest keys.”

Bender jumped up from his camp chair, making the ice in his drink clink. “Why do they get a key?”

“Raccoons carry rabies,” Rowdy said. “If it bit one of these gals, this could have been a life or death situation, and they survived, so they get the treasure chest key.”

“But the raccoon wasn’t part of the game,” Bender said. “It doesn’t count.”

“Lots of unexpected things happen during Survive or Die,” Rowdy said. “The Stockton cowgirls handled the raccoon like a challenge.”

“So if Stewart had gotten to his medicine in time,” Lavelle asked, “he would have won a treasure chest key?”

“Lavelle,” Ellen scolded, “the man’s barely even cold.”

“I was just curious.” Lavelle folded her arms over her #1 Grandmother sweatshirt.

“That’s a similar situation, ma’am,” Rowdy said. “Mr. Neamly would have earned a key.” Rowdy pulled his Stetson off and covered his heart. “May he rest in peace.”

Silence fell on the campfire circle, broken only by popping pine sap. Bender looked like he wanted to say more, but Candace tugged him back to his seat. Madison met Aubrey’s eyes. She understood. The key was a reward for keeping quiet about Rowdy and Candace.

“What about Harv?” Ellen asked. “Does he get a key?”

“He failed his challenge,” Bender said. “He rolled his ATV. That’s what you get for drinking and driving.”

“That was not very nice, Mr. Bender,” Lavelle said. “We all know Harv had a drinking problem, but he was going to his AA meetings. He was sober.”

And he’d only had an accident because he rolled the ATV over a trip wire. A booby trap that had been intended for Aubrey. She didn’t speak up. Neither did Sotheara.

Aubrey’s phone buzzed as she received a text from her daughter Junie. If their middle child deigned to acknowledge her mother’s existence, it must be important. The last Aubrey had heard, they were going target shooting with Grant’s father. She hoped no one had gotten shot. Aubrey ducked to some pines at the edge of the fire circle and checked the message.

Shane is going 2 the recruiting station 2morrow with g-pa Sommers, but dont worry mom they dont accept couch potatoes in the navy seals