Page 48 of The Last Time I Lied

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It takes me ten minutes to gather all the feathers the crows have left behind. More than a dozen littered the floor, with more scattered along Miranda’s and Sasha’s bunks. At least there were no bird droppings to go along with the feathers. I consider that a win.

While cleaning, I try to think of ways the birds could have gotten inside even though the window was closed. Two possibilities come to mind. The first is that they came in through a hole in the roof, one tucked in a corner where it’s hard to spot. The second, more logical reason is that one of the girls left the door open and the birds flew in. Someone else came along and shut the door, not realizing they were trapping birds inside Dogwood.

But as I carry the handful of feathers behind the cabin, a third possibility enters my head—that someone caught the birds and released them inside on purpose. There were three of them, after all, echoing the number of charms on my bracelet, which are themselves symbols.

I shake my head while scattering the feathers. No, that can’t be the reason. Like the idea of being spied on in the shower, it’s too sinister to think about. Besides, who would do such a thing? And why? Just like that shadow in the shower stall, I tell myself the most innocent explanation is also the most logical.

Yet once I’m back inside the cabin, I can’t shake the idea thatsomething’s not quite right here. Between the camera, the shadow at the shower stall, and the birds, I’ve been on edge all day. So much so that I feel the need to get out of the cabin for a little bit. Maybe go for a hike. A little exercise might be just the thing to sweep away the weird thoughts I’m having.

I throw open my hickory trunk, looking for my hiking boots. The first thing I see is the folded piece of paper Vivian had hidden in her own trunk. My hands tremble when I pick it up. I tell myself it’s residual stress from everything else that’s happened today. But I know the truth.

That page makes me nervous. As does the photograph that once again slides from its fold.

I stare at the woman in the picture, getting another shudder of familiarity when I look into her eyes. It makes me wonder what the woman—this Eleanor Auburn—was thinking when the photograph was taken. Did she fear that she was going insane? Was she seeing something that wasn’t really there?

Setting the picture aside, I make another examination of the map Vivian had drawn. I scan the entire page. The camp. The lake. The crudely drawn forest on the far shore. Yet my gaze lingers on the smallXthat’s left two deep grooves in the paper. Vivian did that for a reason. It means something is located there.

There’s no way to know for certain until I go there myself.

Which is exactly what I intend to do. Heading across the lake will both get me out of the cabin and let me start the search for more information in earnest. Like killing two birds with one stone, which I realize is a bad metaphor when I spot a stray feather peeking out from behind my trunk.

I begin to gather supplies and stuff them into my backpack. Sunblock and hand sanitizer. My phone. A water bottle. The map also goes into the backpack, which I zip shut as I leave the cabin. On my way out, I give the camera a defiant stare, hoping both Theo and Franny will see it later.

Before departing camp, I stop by the mess hall to fill up my water bottle and grab a banana and granola bar in case I get hungry. Two women and a man are outside. Kitchen workers spending the lull between lunch and dinner smoking in the shade of the overhanging roof. One of the women gives a disinterested wave. The man beside her is the same guy with the goatee who briefly checked me out this morning. The tag affixed to his apron strap says his name is Marvin.

Now Marvin stares past me to the lake in the distance. Afternoon swimming lessons are taking place, the shore and water dotted with young women in bathing suits of varying degrees of modesty. He catches me watching him and displays a grin so slimy it makes me want to reach for the hand sanitizer in my backpack.

“It’s not illegal to look,” he says.

With that, Marvin jumps to the top of my list of suspected Peeping Toms. In truth, he’s the only suspect. A weak one at that. Marvin was working in the mess hall before I left for my shower. While there’s a chance he followed me there, I doubt he could have done it without anyone else noticing.

Besides, it’s possible no one was watching me.

Maybe.

“It might not be illegal,Marvin.” I put extra emphasis on his name, making sure he understands that I know it. “But those girls are young enough to be your daughters.”

Marvin drops his cigarette, stubs it out, goes back inside. The women begin to chuckle. One of them nods my way. A silent thank-you.

I continue toward the lake, my backpack slung over my shoulder. I spot Miranda lingering by the lifeguard station in a bikini designed to expose the maximum amount of skin while still being legal.

The lifeguard for the afternoon is Chet, which explains Miranda’s presence there. He’s undeniably handsome up there on his perch, with his Ray-Bans and whistle. Miranda stares up at him,laughing too loudly at something he’s just said, a finger twirling in her hair while she uses her big toe to trace a circle in the sand. Apparently she’s already gotten over the texter who broke her heart. She just better hope Mindy doesn’t see her. I suspect flirting with Chet is definitely not a display of Camp Nightingale spirit.

Nearby, Sasha and Krystal share a large beach blanket. They sprawl across it, still in shorts and camp polos, listlessly flipping through a stack of comic books. I walk over to them, my shadow falling across the blanket.

“Did one of you leave the cabin door open?”

“No,” Sasha says. “It lets in bugs, which cause disease.”

“Not even for a little bit?”

“We didn’t,” Krystal replies. “Why?”

Now that the cabin’s been cleared of feathers, I see no reason to tell them about the birds. It would only make Sasha more worried. I opt for a change of subject. “Why aren’t you swimming?”

“Don’t want to,” Krystal says.

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