Siren (13 page)

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two hours ahead of schedule--and looking around the room instead of out the window. That was what had obviously caught Paige's interest.

And it seemed to stop when I saw Simon standing in the lobby, also looking around the room.

"Is that Simon Carmichael?" Paige said when he waved to me.

"Yes." I was glad Grandma Betty's supersensory powers weren't hereditary so Paige couldn't hear my sudden arrhythmia.

"Wow. And they say college is good for the mind. He looks totally different."

"Would you mind helping Oliver?" I asked. "I'll just be a second."

"Take your time." She took a pad and pen from her apron and smiled. "The day Jonathan shows up here for me will probably be the last day you see me for a week."

I made a mental note to ask about Jonathan later. My list of questions for Paige was growing long, and included others, like, What had happened to Paige's grandfather? What did Paige's dad think of all this? What was with all the Chione Cliffs arts and crafts? How did Grandma Betty know my name? and Why did Justine seem to want me to meet her?

The answers would have to wait.

"What's wrong?" I asked when I reached Simon. He'd smiled when he first saw me, but now he looked serious.

"Hey," he said. "Sorry to just show up, but I couldn't wait to see you."

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It was obvious by his expression that he didn't mean that in the romantic, sitting-at-home-pining-for-me sense, and I was surprised when the words still made my arms tingle, like someone lightly trailed a feather across my skin. "It's okay. What's going on?"

He glanced around, as if someone might actually hear us over the hundred other people in the room, and stepped toward me. He stood so close I could see the smudges on his glasses and the tiny bristles of hair along his jaw. "Caleb called."

The buzz around us seemed to grow softer. "Where is he? Is he okay?"

"I don't know--he didn't say anything. I didn't recognize the number, and when I answered, there were a few seconds of light, bumpy breathing, like he was moving around. And then just as it sounded like he was going to speak, there was another voice. A female voice. She said Caleb's name, and then the line went dead."

A family of five entered the restaurant, gently pushing us backward. As we moved, my eyes fell on the mirror behind the hostess stand. I held my breath, sure I would see Justine looking back at me, surrounded by a sparkling spray of silver.

"I checked the number online."

I looked away from the empty mirror.

"There was no listing, so I tried calling. No one answered the first few times, but a park ranger finally picked up."

"A park ranger? Where?"

His eyes held mine. "Camp Heroine."

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I could no longer hear the customers talking and laughing in the dining room. It was as if Simon and I were the only people in the entire restaurant.

"I wouldn't think of going under any other circumstances," he said. "And he might be long gone by now. But this is the first lead we've gotten. I can't just let it go."

I managed to nod. He stood so close now I could smell the spearmint toothpaste on his breath.

"Will you come with me?" he asked quietly.

My pulse quickened. Besides Chione Cliffs, Camp Heroine was the last place I wanted to go. But if it meant possibly finding Caleb--and spending the day with Simon--then there was nowhere else I should be. "Be right back," I said, untying my apron.

I flew from the lobby and headed for the bar. Paige was gone; a quick scan of the dining room showed her talking to Oliver. I couldn't disappear without telling her, but I also couldn't go over and endure another strange senior moment. I waited for her to turn away from him before waving.

"Is everything okay?" she asked when she reached me.

"Yes," I said. "Or it will be, as long as you don't hate me."

"Impossible."

"Even if I leave now? For the day?"

She looked over her shoulder, toward the lobby. When she turned back to me, her eyes glittered. "You're leaving with Simon?"

I paused, then nodded.

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"Lucky girl." She grabbed my arms and squeezed. "If only the Lighthouse ever gave Jonathan the time to think of such romantic gestures."

"You're sure you don't mind?" I asked, noting the Jonathan-Lighthouse connection for my ever-growing list of questions.

"I'd mind if you
didn't
go. Of course, there is one person who might care a bit more...."

I peered behind her to see Oliver staring at us.

"He almost pulled his signature Zara move on me when he saw that I wasn't you."

That made no sense. I'd said all of ten words to him, and he'd seemed to grow crankier with every one.

"But if you don't go now, I'll fire you."

I smiled. "I'll back as soon as I can."

"We've been here fifty years," she said lightly, hurrying toward the kitchen. "We'll be here when you get back."

I kept my eyes lowered as I crossed the room and headed for the lobby, and was only a few feet away from Simon when I had to stop. I grabbed the edge of the closest table and closed my eyes. The pain had hit so sharply, so intensely, it was like someone had doused my hair in kerosene before dropping a match to it.

"Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?"

I opened one eye enough to see a young father in a blue baseball hat looking at me. His eyebrows were wrinkled with worry--which was quite nice of him, I thought, considering that my thumb had missed his plate of blueberry pancakes by an inch.

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"She's fine."

I let go of the table to grab my head with both hands.

"Aren't you, Vanessa?"

To everyone else within hearing distance, Zara's voice probably sounded perfectly normal--even sweet. Like we were the kind of friends who knew each other so well she knew my headaches were fleeting and didn't warrant concern. But to me, it sounded like long metal nails being drilled through my ears and into the center of my skull.

"Hey," Simon said gently. I could feel his warm breath on my face as he put one arm around my waist. "I've got you."

My head throbbed less with every step we took. By the time we reached the front door, I could open my eyes all the way, and I turned to see Zara watching us. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her eyes were narrowed into long silver slits.

"Do you know her?" I asked Simon. He'd never mentioned her, but they'd both grown up in Winter Harbor--they'd probably even gone to school together.

He glanced behind us and sighed. "It's kind of hard
not
to know Zara Marchand."

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CHAPTER 10

I SPENT TEN MINUTES of the drive to Camp Heroine wondering what it was about Zara that made it hard not to know her. It was hard for
me
not to know her, since she'd seemed to dislike me as soon as she saw me, and my resulting anxiety caused blinding migraines every time she was near. But she clearly didn't have that effect on men--or teenage boys. So what was it? Her looks? The charm she switched on like a light when she wanted to? Or was it some special love potion she slipped in their drinks when they weren't looking? Because there had to be more to it than just her silver eyes and fleeting charisma.

I spent five minutes of the drive wondering why it bothered me so much that her effects weren't lost on Simon.

Thankfully, the drive was only fifteen minutes long. We pulled up to the rusty, crooked gate of Camp Heroine before I could do anything I'd regret later--like ask Simon what exactly he meant by what he'd said before leaving Betty's.

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"Why?" he asked as we sat before the gate. "Why was he here?"

I forced Zara from my mind as we got out of the car. As far as I could tell, there was no reason for Caleb to be there. There was no reason for
anyone
to be there. In the 1940s, Camp Heroine had been a top secret military base disguised as a quaint New England fishing village to fool approaching enemy ships and planes. Over the years it had evolved from a military base to a park to a place for thrill-seeking kids to play truth or dare. In the 1990s, after several bodies were found on the camp's beach and trails, state officials decided the area's elemental conditions--dense fog, heavy surf, rocky outcroppings--were too dangerous for hikers and swimmers, and closed Camp Heroine for good. Now you heard about it only when the latest group of curious young tourists tried to see for themselves if the place was as bad as its reputation suggested, and the
Herald
reported on their illegal antics.

"We'll have to climb it," Simon said after tugging on the gate's padlock and chains. He turned to me. "Unless you want to wait in the car?"

I shook my head. There was no way I was waiting by myself in the Subaru--or letting him wander through Camp Heroine alone.

He hoisted himself up the tall iron gates. When he got to the top and jumped to the ground on the other side, I took the rusty bars in both hands and wedged my sneakers between them. I moved up by pulling with my arms and sliding my feet.

"This isn't like climbing down a ladder," I said when I

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reached the top. The bars ended in sharp points, so unless I wanted to wander Camp Heroine with a punctured abdomen, I couldn't turn around and use the same pull-and-slide method down the other side.

Not helping was that it had started to rain, making the iron slippery in my hands.

"It's not that big a drop," Simon promised. "I'll catch you."

Eight feet seemed like a pretty sizable drop to me, but I didn't really have a choice. Using all my strength to keep my body an inch above the sharp ends, I brought my feet over, and then pushed off.

"You're tough for a city girl," Simon said when I landed on the other side.

I tried to smile but was too aware of his arms under mine, his hands on my waist, our chests pressing together--and the fact that he didn't automatically let go, even though my feet were firmly on the ground.

"There's the pay phone," I said finally.

His hands lingered for another second before he released my waist and turned around. The phone was next to what had once been an information hut during the camp's state park days. It was hard to imagine visitors stopping at the dilapidated, roofless building for brochures and hiking maps. Even harder to imagine was Caleb standing there just hours before.

"It's dead," Simon said after jogging to the hut and picking up the phone. He hung up and tried again. "No dial tone. No buzzing. Nothing."

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"It looks like someone wanted it that way." Joining him, I lifted the jagged ends of the phone's severed cord.

"That's strange. I checked online. The park only had one phone, which the state kept in service just in case the weather messed with radio signals during rangers' monthly visits."

"Apparently whoever Caleb was with wanted his undivided attention."

Simon's lips set in a straight line as he replaced the receiver. He circled the small building and then forced open the door.

I stepped toward him as he disappeared through the doorway. What if whoever had wanted Caleb's undivided attention was still there? Hiding in the hut, waiting for his next victim? Shouldn't we call for backup? Or grab the small medical scissors from Simon's first-aid kit? Or--

"Empty."

I exhaled as he reappeared in the doorway.

"Nothing but leaves and old newspapers."

He hurried down a dirt path, and I jogged to keep up, my eyes darting from one side to the other. Visible reminders of Camp Heroine's divided past were everywhere. Concrete artillery bunkers covered in crawling vines sat a few feet off the path. Sagging picnic tables and metal wastebaskets were scattered throughout the overgrown brush. Black graffiti decorated the sides of long, rectangular buildings. If Caleb was trying to hide, this was a good place to do it.

"The main buildings are on the bluff," Simon called over his shoulder as he veered right, onto another dirt path

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leading up and away from the one we'd been following.

I struggled to hear him over the rain. It was falling faster now, harder. The sky had been clear during our drive but had since grown dark. Peering through the leafy canopy overhead, I could see thick gray clouds rolling in off the ocean. When we reached the path's end at the top of the bluff ten minutes later, the clouds had dropped lower, the rain was falling in a cold, solid sheet, and the first bolts of lightning were shooting at the ground.

"How did we not know this was coming?" I yelled, joining Simon at the edge of the bluff. The rain fell so heavily it was hard to tell where sky ended and ocean began. I couldn't even see the beach below us.

"I checked the weather before we left," Simon yelled back. "It said there was a
chance
of thunderstorms."

I followed him to a building tucked in the woods several yards from the edge of the bluff. From the outside the building looked like a small church, complete with fake stained-glass windows and a fake steeple. Simon took a flashlight from his fleece pocket and shone it around the room. The bright beam illuminated wooden bunk beds attached to the walls, empty except for leaves, branches, and a forgotten sleeping bag.

It was the perfect setting for a horror movie, yet strangely, I found it cozy. Inviting. Like a place two people could camp out in and focus only on each other for days, if they wanted to.

"It's not the Lighthouse Marina Resort," Simon said, looking out at the rain, "but it'll keep us dry."