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“Okay, but those burned chunks still look bad. Cindy is good with scissors. Maybe she can whack it off.”
“Yeah.” Beatrice closed her eyes. Her long, natural-blond hair had always been a source of pride for her. Pride before the fall, she couldn’t help thinking. “I figure six inches will need to come off.”
“And that would just make it even.”
Beatrice gasped. “And it would be shoulder-length.”
“An improvement.” Maisie grinned, touching her chin-length cut. “Cindy cuts mine. Saves me lots of money compared to what I paid my stylist in Chicago.”
“I’ll ask her to do it this morning.”
“Good,” Maisie replied. “So, look, the kids are at breakfast. I’ll meet you over there.” Maisie started running backward, then twirled and took off toward the dining hall.
Beatrice was nowhere near close to being able to twirl. She was still navigating her new life with the awkward contraption on her foot. She’d come home with a pair of crutches, which were a hindrance inside her little cabin. She’d knocked books off her small, rickety bookshelf and nearly tripped on the rag rug next to her bed when the crutch caught on an edge. That was when she tossed the crutches down and decided to wing it without them. Fortunately, she’d been told she only needed the crutches for this first week. Then she would start rehabilitation. Exercises. Writing the alphabet with her toes.
The very idea made her wince.
Right now, she needed ice water for the interior of the boot to keep the swelling down. She grabbed the crutches and slowly made her way down the three steps of her porch and onto the gravel path that led to the kitchen.
In the kitchen she greeted the cook, Amanda Reynolds, who was turning Mickey Mouse–shaped pancakes on the griddle. Amanda was sixty-five years old, and had recently been forced to retire as a paralegal from a large law firm in Chicago. Amanda had been nowhere near ready to retire. She had enough energy to run rings around both Maisie and Cindy, from what Beatrice had observed. A widow whose only daughter lived in London, Amanda had always loved to cook. Though she preferred gourmet fare for herself and her guests, what she served for the kids was pure home-style family food at its all-American best. The kids loved it and, better still, they ate it.
“Pancakes? It’s not Sunday,” Beatrice said as she entered the kitchen by the screen door.
Amanda jumped. “Good heavenly days! You scared me to death! Don’t do that!” She flipped a mouse head. “I thought you’d take the day to rest.” Amanda walked over and gave Beatrice a big hug. Amanda was tall and slender, and wore very tight jeans, expensive running shoes and a camp T-shirt. Her dyed chestnut hair was clipped up on her head, and her makeup was immaculate, all of which confirmed her stylish Chicago career days. There was nothing “down home” about Amanda.
“After that ordeal last night, I thought the kids and the counselors needed something happy. I’ve got blueberries for the eyes, cherries for the nose and whipped cream smiles.”
Beatrice gave Amanda a smile of her own, the first one that had creased her face since she’d whiffed smoke. “You’re an angel.”
“No. I’m a cook, honey. You’re the angel for going in after those boys.”
Beatrice drained the warm water from the boot, went to the freezer and scooped ice cubes from the bin. She filled the boot resevoir. “Ah. Better already.”
Amanda scooped the pancakes off the griddle, placed them on plates and started decorating.
Cindy came through the swinging kitchen door. “Beatrice! You’re up!”
“Wobbling, but upright, yes.”
“Good. I could use you out here.”
“How so?”
“Would you talk to the kids? They’re upset, and Bruce and I are at our wits’ end. They need—”
“Leadership,” Amanda interjected. “Like the kind most of them don’t get from their parents.”
Beatrice stared at Amanda, who always spoke the truth sans varnish. And didn’t care when she said it or to whom. Sometimes, Beatrice wondered if that was the real reason she’d been pushed into retirement.
Cindy glanced at Beatrice’s air boot. “That’s just so intimidating. To a kid, I mean. Possibly scary. But hey, if anyone can pull this off, you can.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Beatrice replied and hobbled past Cindy and out the kitchen door into the large, vaulted-and-beamed dining hall. The long wall of windows at one end overlooked the little man-made lake at the back of the property, and the morning sun glinted off its surface. The opposite wall of windows looked out over the burned trees. Cindy was right. The atmosphere was already daunting to her camp kids.
She gazed around the room at the fear-filled wide eyes. No one said a word. No one was eating, pinching their neighbor, arguing or joking. They weren’t camp kids now; they were children floating through insecurity’s seas. The Kettering sisters held hands as Beatrice walked into the hall. Little Ricky stared blankly at his full glass of orange juice, though Beatrice perceived the tiny movements in his shoulders to be quiet sobs.
Eli wore a gauze patch over half of his left cheek, but he was the only child who ventured to smile at her. To his right was Chris, whose eyes were focused on the wall above Beatrice’s head. Eli reached for Chris’s hand, but Chris brushed him away and leaned back against his chair, folding his arms defensively over his chest.
Joshua Langsford was the only one who spoke, as he asked, “Does it hurt, Miss Beatrice?”
“A little bit, but nothing like what you’ve had to go through, Joshua.” She smiled. He didn’t smile back.
Every one of the kids clamped their eyes on Beatrice’s air boot. “So, here’s the scoop, guys. I broke a bone in my foot. I’m going to be fine. But for now, I have to wear this boot and use crutches when I’m outside or going up stairs to my cabin. I’m hoping the doctor lets me toss the crutches in a week.”
“Yeah, crutches help, but they’re a pain after a while,” Joshua said.
Beatrice’s cell rang. She looked at the caller ID and didn’t recognize the number, but it was local. She hit the decline button. “I’ll get it later. So, this is what I want you all to know. Last night was an accident and luckily no one was seriously hurt. What we need to focus on is the loss of trees.”
“The trees?” the kids said in unison.
“That’s right. Those trees were here when I was your age. I loved those trees. They were my friends when I didn’t have friends.”
Amazement and incredulity hung in the air as the kids leaned a bit closer, propped a chin on a palm or cocked their heads.
An adult revelation was rare to them, which made this moment all the more precious. Their hearts and heads were open to her and she hoped they felt her sincere caring.
“The Indian Lake Nursery has agreed to deliver over a hundred baby trees to us tomorrow. We’re all going to work together and plant these new trees to rebuild the forest.”
“But the ground is burned,” Ricky said.
“That’s the interesting thing. Did you know that ancient tribes used to purposefully burn the land in order to start new growth? The trees have cones filled with seeds that start new trees, but the cones only open with great heat. In one month, we may see little trees peeking up through the ground. It’s new life. A new beginning.” She paused to let the children absorb what she was saying. “We aren’t required to plant new trees, but I wanted you all to be part of helping to rebuild the forest. It’s sort of our way to put the past behind us, and to learn that out of every sorrow, every pain, there is something good and wonderful to be found. But you have to look for it. Work for it.”
The errant tear that rolled down Beatrice’s cheek didn’t let its presence be known until it hit the edge of her jaw. Only then, when she stopped talking, did she lift her fingertips to whisk it away. She’d never cried in front of camp children before. This was a first.
Then again, she’d never run headlong into a blazing fire to save one of her kids, either.
“For all of you who went to St. Mark’s last night, Father Michael phoned me early this morning and told me that you were the best group of kids he’s ever seen. You made me proud. Bruce and Cindy didn’t have to worry about any of you. You took an emergency situation and dealt with it calmly and respected those in authority. I couldn’t ask for more. Thank you to the older kids who helped the younger ones. Everybody pitched in. You’re all—” she looked directly at Chris and Eli “—the best group of campers who’ve come to stay with me. I hope you all come back next year and stay for a whole month!”
The room erupted in cheers and clapping. Beatrice’s heart swelled and she breathed in their affection.
They were so young, and though the night had been fraught with terror, they’d all grown from the experience.
“So, listen up, guys. Amanda has made a special breakfast for you all. Pancakes, bacon and baked cinnamon apples with oatmeal crunch. We have lots of homemade syrup from the Indian Lake Boy Scouts and plenty of butter. After breakfast, Cindy is taking those who signed up for kayak lessons to the lake. Bruce and Maisie are heading up baseball practice. Joshua? How’s the leg? You think you want to try some batting practice?”
“You bet, Miss Beatrice,” Joshua replied happily.
“Great!”
Amanda, Bruce, Maisie and Cindy entered the dining hall with trays filled with special breakfast plates. While the kids cheered, Beatrice’s cell phone rang again.
This time, she turned away from the dining tables and headed toward the door. Walking in her boot slowed her down enough that she could read the caller ID.
It was the same number that had tried to reach her previously.
Still looking down at her phone, she reached for the screen door to the outside porch. “Who in the heck is calling me?”
Then she ran smack-dab into a broad, rock-hard human chest. Beatrice wondered if she’d suffered a concussion. Not another trip to the ER! And what would that cost? “What?”
“I called,” Rand said. “You didn’t pick up.”
“I didn’t know it was you.”
“I gave you my card.”
“When?”
“Last night. Er, this morning. In the hospital.”
“Sorry. I was drugged. I mean, medicated.”
“I see that. We’re here about the investigation.”
Beatrice’s skin iced over as if the contents of her boot had thrown over her whole body.
She tried to remember that he was responsible for saving her, and Eli and Chris. He was handsome. And strong and heroic.
But Rand stood like a colossus in front of her, and at this moment he represented every fear that had festered in her head from the instant she’d smelled smoke. Her earlier resolve to go toe-to-toe with him faltered.
Ultimately, she was responsible for Eli and Chris being in that fire last night. Their safety was her obligation. She’d put them in harm’s way. Would Rand report to his superiors that the camp was unsafe? That she, personally, was at fault for the kids being out by themselves?
If Rand found one fault and declared her camp unsafe, the sheriff could shut her down, send the kids away and force her to make improvements. Not until a city inspector deemed the camp safe again, could she open. If Rand or his superiors declared her negligent, her state license could be revoked. She would lose more money than she could ever recoup.
And Beatrice’s dreams would be lost, too.
The fact that everyone was safe and alive didn’t matter, she realized. Rand was here to find fault. From the dour look on his face, she guessed that he believed she should be toe-tagged with the blame card.
CHAPTER SIX (#u059e642b-8be6-52fd-9d9f-0953725a7dc4)
“YOU’RE READY TO START?” she asked, her mouth suddenly dry. She forced a smile that she was sure would crack her lips. She just hoped she didn’t bleed in front of him.
“Yes. The forensic team is already on the job.”
She tried to peer around him, but his shoulders nearly blocked the entire entrance and all of her view of the outside. “Okay—”
He didn’t let her finish. “Since that—” he tilted his head to indicate the fire site across the street “—is county property, this is just a courtesy to let you know we’re here.”
Her sigh of relief was instantaneous. He wouldn’t be investigating the camp. She was off the hook.
“However...”
She held her breath. She should have known she wouldn’t escape this man’s scrupulous and discerning eye. “Yes?” She lifted her chin defensively. She was ready for him. She had nothing to hide.
That I know about.
She thought of the previous night with Eli and Chris, all their infractions and possible broken laws huddled together like balls inside a pool-table rack, waiting to be broken apart. Dispelled. And sunk.
Beatrice’s best defense was honesty. “I intend to cooperate in any way I can.”
“I should hope so,” he said brusquely. “After all, we’re here to ascertain if a crime has been committed.”
“A crime?” Beatrice nearly lost her balance. She slammed her palm against the wall for support. “Sorry. I’m not used to the air boot.”
His eyes flitted down to her foot and then back up.
Oddly, she didn’t recoil from his glance at her camp shorts and T-shirt. When his eyes met hers, she could have sworn she saw empathy in them.
“I’ll need to interview you, your staff, the two kids...” He lifted a notebook. “Chris and Eli.” He lowered his hand. “I trust they’re all here now?”
“They are. And Officer Nelson, I’d rather you didn’t talk to Chris or Eli in the dining hall. I don’t want to disturb the other kids. You can use my office.”
“That would be good.” He stepped back from the entrance, put the slim notebook in the back pocket of his jeans and smiled at her with a quirk of his lips. “Uh, and Bee. I’m not an officer. My father was a navy officer, an admiral, actually. I’m a firefighter. You can call me Rand.”
Beatrice’s head hitched back as if she’d been doused with a bucketful of water. She wished he wouldn’t call her that. No one had called her “Bee” since she was little. Coming from Rand, she’d never heard it said with so much velvety charm.
And where had that come from? Rand had been stoic and strong and purposeful during the fire, when he’d saved her and the boys. His gruff exterior only a second ago had caused her to believe he was as rough as sandpaper on the inside as well. But this sudden glimpse of something else—someone else—was unexpected.
But was it real?
He stepped outside. “I’ll get my recorder and be right back.”
“Recorder?”
“Yeah. I tape the interviews for the captain’s records. It will go with all the other forensic samples.”
Beatrice wrung her hands as the depth of his investigation hit her. She looked at her hands and shoved them to her sides. She wasn’t the hand-wringing type. She’d just risked her life for her camper kids. She’d do it again. No second thoughts.
But what if Rand’s investigation exposed some nuance of neglect? Just how far would he go to fulfill his duties as a firefighter?
“Maybe you should tell me what exactly you’re looking for?” she challenged, raising her arms to cross over her chest. Armor to deflect the threat he posed.
“Noncompliance with safety regulations.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, it’s all too common. I’ve even seen day-care owners who posed as caretakers but in truth were anything but.”
“And you think I’m capable of such behavior?”
He stared at her.
“Why would I—or anyone—do such a thing? They’re...children, for goodness sake.”
“Money. Government funds. Grants.”
