“You shoulda seen their house. The one before the Connecticut mansion. Looked like ours.”
Mom turned back to the tapes and we rifled through them in silence until she pulled one out and squealed. “Goldie, come here.”
She wiped dust off an old tape and shoved it into the mouth of a small, square TV set with a VHS player attached.
“This thing still works?” I asked.
Mom smiled. “It’s barely used.”
But then we both shut up because grainy footage of a much younger version of Mom and Dad took over the screen, their faces fresh and free from wrinkles or worry lines. They wore matchingAlpine Lake shirts and jean shorts, and were dancing in a much older, grimier version of the Lodge.
“Say hi, Willa!” Stu’s voice said from behind the camera.
“Hi, Willa!” Mom said on-screen. Dad grabbed her waist and twirled her around until they broke into a fit of laughter, kissing each other on the mouth, arms wrapped around each other’s curves.
“Wow,” I said, in spite of myself. “You guys were kind of cute.”
“We were,” Mom said, her eyes glazed over with tears. “We definitely were.”
CHAPTER 51
Now
“There’s another camera.” I’m breathless when I get back to Ava and Imogen, who are nibbling at their own greasy corn. “Over by the dumpster. It’s an old one, so it’s not connected to the main feed, but it must have caughtsomethingif it was still recording.”
Ava drops her corn in the sand.
“How can we see what’s on it?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know, but it’s gotta be hooked up somewhere.” I rack my brain trying to figure out where the hell it might be. “The office?” I ask. “With Pat or something?”
Ava nods, thinking it over. “I mean, that’d be great. She’d let us in there in a heartbeat.”
But then I remember that metal cart with so much old gear, the one that’s shoved up against the wall in the winter cabin. “I have a hunch.”
Imogen and Ava look at me with expectant eyes.
“The winter cabin,” I say, quiet.
“We gotta find out,” Imo says.
I shake my head. “It’s too risky.”
We all know it’s one of Stu and Mellie’s big no-nos. Going in with their permission during the off-season isfine, but hunting for contraband footage of a murder during the summer is not.
“We won’t be allowed back,” Imogen says.
“Kicked out of camp immediately,” Ava says.
“Exactly,” I say. They look at each other as if they’re deciding what to tell me. “What?”
“It’s time, Imo,” Ava says.
“You guys are freaking me out,” I say, my voice frantic. “What?”
“We didn’t know how you’d react.” Imogen rests a hand on my shoulder.
“What?” I ask again, urgent.
