“Well, now. Aren’t you a pretty little thing.”
Mrs. Stovall—she insists I call her Pearl—has blue eyes and a big smile. Her blunt-cut gray hair is lopsided, a sign she’s her own barber. She’s wearing knee-length shorts, a man’s plaid shirt and roll-top socks stuffed in ankle-high walking boots. Her husband—I’m supposed to call him Charlie—is dressed pretty much the same except he wears suspenders to keep his shorts from falling down. His white hair looks home-cut, too, but shorter. When Dad introduced them, he said they were the campground hosts. They live in the camper closest to his. Their little white poodle is named Okie-Dokie and wears a red bandana around his neck.
“Interestin’ hair,” Charlie says, studying the back of my head. “Must’ve inherited it from your mom. Funny, idn’t it, the genes we get stuck with?”
Dad hides a grin. I roll my eyes at him.
Charlie supervises my dad, who scrubbed the grill with a wire brush before grilling the burgers. While I set the table, Pearl puts out other foods. She brought a picnic basket stocked with all kinds of things.
Pearl and Charlie do the talking during supper. Mostly about people who have come in or will be leaving. I don’t pay much attention. I’m more interested in what’s happening at a campfire across the way, the one where X and the other kids hang out. Firelight flickers across their faces, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. Just the sound of soda cans popping, and giggling. I wonder if they’re still talking about me.
“We shoveled that down pretty good, didn’t we,” Charlie says as Pearl brings out dessert. A Dutch-oven peach cobbler, cooked on their fire pit, with whipped cream in a can for topping.
“I could’ve eaten a steer walking,” Dad says. “Fresh air sure gives you an appetite.”
“More cobbler, Cassie?” Pearl says.
“Maybe a little.”
She fills my bowl to the top.
“What about the spinach salad?” Dad looks at the uneaten salad on my plate. “You hardly touched it.”
“She’s a growing girl, Lucas,” Charlie says. “Needs stick-to-the-ribs food, not rabbit fodder.”
I feel a little guilty, thinking of Mom. Then I think how it’s only for one night and squirt more whipped cream on my second helping of dessert.
As Dad and the Stovalls start talking again, I look around the Mesquite. Fire pits and lanterns glow like giant fireflies. Smoke hangs over the ground like a mist, smelling of mesquite wood and charcoal. Stars come out above canyon walls that are now pitch-black. Suddenly an eerie howling echoes across the canyon, and dogs at other campsites start to bark.
I look at Dad. “What was that?”
“Nothing to worry about. Just coyotes after small game.”
“Dogs and cats, too.” Pearl calls Okie-Dokie, who’s been exploring the rock ledges around the campsite, and ties his leash to a post.
“Before we turn in,” Charlie says, “we’ll walk around and tell newcomers to keep their pets inside. Those yappy things have been on the prowl a lot lately. Don’t know what’s got ’em so upset.” He looks at Dad. “You hear about the pilfering?”
“Catch me up.” Dad pours Charlie another cup of coffee. “Saw Winnie searching a car when we came in.”
Winnie. The burly park ranger who carries a gun . . .
“Don’t know much. Guess artifacts at one of the Indian dig sites disappeared. Sure got Winnie on the warpath.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Dad asks.
“Came in over the two-way,” Pearl says.
“What’s a two-way?” I ask.
“Radio,” she tells me. “Cell phone reception’s rotten down here in the gulch. To communicate with headquarters, we use a two-way radio. We’re only supposed to use it in an emergency, though.”
“Catch who did it?” Dad asks.
“Not yet,” Charlie says. “Winnie’s been searchin’ cars at the front gate all day. They must’ve left the canyon before the theft was discovered.”
“All kinds of ways to get in and out of this canyon besides the front gate,” Dad says.
Charlie raises shaggy white eyebrows. “You think they came and went from the rim?”
Dad shrugs.
“Maybe they didn’t leave yet.” I glance toward the shadowy figures across the campground, thinking how gangs break the law. Vandalism. Robbery. Looking for X, I see him feeding wood to the fire, sending sparks shooting into the air like sparklers.
“Well, now,” Charlie says, nodding slowly. “There’s an interestin’ thought.”
“Lord help, let’s get this table cleared.” Pearl scratches her arms. “Bugs are ’bout to carry me away. Don’t know why they’re so bad tonight.”
Dad looks at me.
I feel my face redden, heat rising in my cheeks.
“Might be a sign of rain,” Charlie says, looking at the sky. “Insects and animals can predict the weather, you know.”
“It is time to wrap this up,” Dad says, looking my way. “I have paperwork to catch up on and Cassie needs to unpack—and shower before she goes to bed.”
Now my face blazes.
“You need anything while you’re here, honey,” Pearl says, giving me a bear hug, “we’re right close. Come over anytime, I’ll show you how to cook over a campfire.”
“Thanks,” I wheeze through squeezed lungs. I feel deceitful, not telling her I’ll be leaving tomorrow.
The darkness outside the campground is the blackest black I’ve ever seen. No streetlights. No porch lights. No . . . anything. Except millions of stars. I want to stay outside to look at them, but the bugs won’t leave me alone.
Back inside, Dad washes the dishes and I dry.
“I don’t want you going hiking alone, Cassie,” he says, peering through the window over the sink.
If he’s thinking about the pilfered sites, he has nothing to worry about. A gang of thieves operating in the canyon is just the fuel I need for an airplane ticket back to Austin. I catch my breath as another thought hits me.
Mom is bound to send me to a ticket to stay with her parents—or maybe one of her friends in Austin. Austin would be great because then I could still see Mandy and Beth. But anywhere she says is okay with me. As long as it’s not here.
“Set your suitcase on the front step when it’s empty,” Dad says after we’ve cleaned up. “I’ll store it tomorrow.” He walks toward his bedroom. “TV works most of the time. It doesn’t, there are plenty of books.” He looks at me, the hint of a smile showing. “Some of them even have words in them.”
“Read?” I moan. “That’s all I’ve been doing!”
“Lights out at ten. Need to be ready to leave by seven thirty sharp.”
That’s just what he told X. . . .
“Good,” I call out as his bedroom door closes. “That means we can call Mom early.”
“And if you don’t want to be bug bait tomorrow,” he calls through the folding door, “use my shampoo and skip the conditioner.”
The TV screen is a white blizzard and crackles with static. I unzip my suitcase to get out my pajamas and toothbrush, which I packed last so they’d be on top.
“Wha—what? Where did this stuff come from?”
My bag is stuffed with khaki walking shorts, camp shirts and a waterproof Windbreaker. Ankle-high hiking boots and thick socks are jammed into one corner. A floppy hiker’s hat into another.
Tears show up out of nowhere.
Spotting the journal, which Ti is lying on, I jerk it from under him and turn to the first page, which says, This journal belongs to . . .