“You see how I’m doing it?” Pearl asks.
I watch her use a stick to move large pieces of burning wood to the side of their fire pit.
“I started these pieces of charcoal earlier, see how they’ve turned gray? All you do now is level them out so your pot will sit even.” She uses the stick to scoot the coals around. “Then you make a hole the size of your Dutch oven. Soon as we set the pot in it, we’ll pull some of the coals around it so it cooks through.”
“Wow, that fire’s really hot.” I pull back from the campfire, cheeks scorched.
“Pot holders keep your hands from getting burned. You’ll learn quick enough not to lean too close. Now . . .” She walks me toward her camper door. “Let’s get the stew going.”
I open two cans of white beans and two cans of chickpeas while Pearl chops vegetables.
“Use that colander to rinse and drain the beans,” Pearl says. She’s slicing Italian sausages into chunks. “Dump them into the pot with these sausages. I use cooked sausage. If you use uncooked sausage, you’ll need to fry it first. Now we’ll add some olive oil, these chopped bell peppers . . .” Red and green chunks of pepper go into the pot with the beans and sausages. “And some herbs and spices. Chopped rosemary, a few cloves of chopped garlic and a poblano chili—take out the seeds if you don’t like your food hot. I like to spice up things a little. Life gets too dull, you don’t kick it up a little.”
The lid makes a metallic clank when Pearl puts it on the Dutch oven.
I lift the lid and replace it, listening to the sound.
“Something wrong?” Pearl asks, watching me.
“No, just making sure the lid’s on good and tight.”
“Okay then, that’s it,” she says, picking up the pot. “Just need to take it outside.”
I hold the door open for her and watch as she nestles the pot into its bed of hot coals.
“Takes about forty-five minutes. Best to take the lid off every fifteen minutes or so to see how it’s doing. You have some fresh oregano on hand, toss in about a quarter cup near the end.”
“Oregano?”
“It’s an herb.” She studies me closely. “Think you can handle it?”
“Well, it is kind of hard.” I look toward the Winnebago. “And I don’t think Dad has all those things.”
“Recipes don’t need to be exact, Cassie,” she says. “That’s what makes cooking fun. Just scrounge through your pantry and use what you have on hand. Kind of like life, you know.”
I let the others talk during supper. I learn that Dad’s work is going well and he should finish on schedule. Charlie helped some new campers with their awning, which got stuck halfway down. And Pearl broke up a squabble between five-year-old twins that started because one thought the other’s cookie was bigger. To questions about my blisters, which Dad brings up, I say, “They’re healing fine.”
For dessert, Pearl brings out oatmeal-raisin cookies.
Refilling coffee cups, Dad asks, “Any more on the pilfering, Charlie?”
I glance his way, thinking about the secret he’s keeping. Trying to stop the question that nags me.
He wouldn’t break the law . . . would he? He did climb down the rim illegally, but that isn’t as bad as stealing. . . .
“I heard nothin’ new,” Charlie says.
“Me, either.” Stirring milk into her cup, Pearl looks at me. “You’ve hardly said a word all evening, Cassie. Something troubling you?”
Everyone looks at me, waiting.
“What’s up, Cassie?” Dad says, frowning. “Something on your mind?”
“No, nothing. . . .”
All at once, I start wondering if I could make someone let something slip. If I could pick up another clue.
“Well, see, I was just wondering what someone would do with old arrowheads. I mean, are Plano points worth a lot of money? Who would buy something like that?”
“Plano points?” Charlie raises his eyebrows. “So that’s what the thieves took? Probably some collectors would be mighty happy to get their hands on Plano points.”
“How many they take?” Pearl asks.
“Three. They disappeared from a dig site. One of the archaeologists discovered them missing.”
“How’d you know that, Cassie?” Dad looks at me, his frown deeper.
“Ranger Burns told us. She said they were five thousand years old.”
“My . . . my,” Pearl says. “Those could be worth a pretty penny, if you could find the right buyer.”
“Five thousand years old, huh?” Dad says, rubbing his chin.
“Well now,” Pearl says, patting my hand. “That’s the best chatter I heard all day.”
“Time to turn in, Cassie,” Dad says. “You’ve got an early hike.”
“But—”
Dad points his chin toward our camper.
Great detective work, I think as I walk to the Winnebago. All I’ve learned is that the stolen points are valuable—which is a solid motive.
More clues. I need more clues.
