“What’s that?” I asked, heading over.
“Don’t know.” George knocked on the side of one of the crates. “Should we see if we can open it?”
I’d just noticed the Oro Beach Resort logo stamped on the side. “Better not,” I said. “We must still be on resort property. I doubt these boxes have anything to do with our case.”
Bess was shading her eyes, peering off into the jungle near the crates. “Look, guys,” she called. “I think we took the scenic route getting here. That looks like a real trail, doesn’t it?”
She was right. Leading off the far side of the cove was a well-worn dirt track, easily wide enough for the truck or ATV that must have carried the crates out there from the main part of the resort.
“Maybe they run diving expeditions out of here or something,” I said. “The gear could be in those crates.”
“Why would they bring people way out here?” George sounded skeptical.
“Who knows?” Bess shrugged. “But unless you think the Oro Beach Resort is somehow involved in sabotaging Syd’s life, I don’t think we should let ourselves get too distracted by worrying about stuff like that.”
“You’re probably right,” I agreed. “The real question is, could someone have shot out our pontoons from here?”
Bess squinted out across the sparkling waters of the lagoon. “I think so,” she said, pointing straight out across the water. “I’m pretty sure our boat was right about there when we got hit.”
“I think you’re right,” I agreed. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we’re going to find any useful footprints here. The tide would’ve washed them away since yesterday.”
“There are some back here,” George was still back near the crates, though she’d taken a few steps away to peer at the muddy ground just beyond the edge of the sand. “A bunch, actually.”
“Anything that looks like a Louboutin sandal?” Bess asked, hurrying over.
George rolled her eyes. “If you mean something with a heel, then no. I don’t see anything like that.”
“The shooter wouldn’t have been hanging around back there by those crates,” I said. “He or she would have been out closer to the water. Although now that I think about it, I’m not sure he or she would’ve been in a spot like this at all. It would make much more sense to hide in the jungle to stay out of view from the water.”
Bess let out a pained sigh. “So you want us to go searching for footprints in the jungle?”
I sighed too. “No. We could search all day and not find anything in there. We might as well just head back.” I shot a look at the dirt trail, relieved that at least the walk home would be a little easier than the trek out here.
“I can’t believe it,” George joked as she smacked at another mosquito on her leg. “Nancy Drew isn’t cowed by the most hardened and nasty of criminals. But the tropical jungle might just have her beat!”
I grinned weakly, not about to deny it. “Come on,” I said. “I’m ready for a nice, hot shower. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed that this thing really does lead back to the resort.”
As it turned out, it did. The dirt road was rutted and rough in spots, but it still made for a much, much easier time than fighting our way through the jungle. The trip that had taken us more than forty-five minutes on the way out was more like fifteen or twenty on the return trip.
“Here we are,” Bess said as we caught our first glimpse of civilization up ahead. “Home again.”
We hurried forward. When we emerged from the tree line, George looked around in surprise. “Hey,” she said. “Are we in the right place?”
For a second I felt disoriented too. We had stepped out into a sort of grassy clearing dotted with about a dozen rustic wooden cabins. Then I caught a glimpse of the thatched roof of the main building over the top of a hedge.
“This must be another section we haven’t seen yet—maybe less expensive rooms than the ones over the water, or staff housing or something.” At that moment, I heard the slam of a door at the far edge of the cabin area. Glancing that way, I was just in time to catch the back of a familiar strawberry blond head hurrying off toward the beach.
“Hey, that looked like Lainie,” Bess said at the same moment. “I’d recognize her amazing head of hair anywhere. And I love that cool French braid she has it in right now! I wonder if she’d show me how to do that.”
“Forget your hair,” George said, stepping forward. “Now that we know where Lainie’s staying, maybe we should check it out.” She shot me a look. “Like you said, everyone’s a suspect, right?”
I had said that. But even as I followed my friends toward the cabin Lainie had just left, I had my doubts. Maybe it was time to face the facts. Other than Butch, who still deserved a spot high on the suspect list, there were exactly two other people who had earned a place there through their recent behavior. Unfortunately, one of them was Sydney’s best friend, and the other was her husband. How was I ever going to face Sydney if it turned out Vic had been behind the trouble all along? More importantly, how was Sydney herself ever going to face her future?
I was so deep in thought that I fell behind as my friends reached Lainie’s cabin and peered in through a window. But Bess’s loud gasp snapped me out of it.
“What?” I hurried forward to join them. At first I didn’t see anything unusual. The view through the window showed a fairly ordinary-looking bedroom, smaller and less luxurious than ours but still quite nice. The bed was neatly made and the floor swept, though it was obvious that someone was staying there thanks to the sweater dropped carelessly on a chair and a pair of flip-flops over near the door. There were also a few personal items on the bedside table—a hairbrush, a paperback book, a framed photo …
“Hey,” I said as I saw the photo, which showed a smiling young woman with dark curly hair hugging a cute dog. “Do we have the wrong room? That’s not Lainie in the picture.”
“Yes it is,” Bess said. “Look at the face. It’s her—but with totally different hair.”
“So what?” George shrugged. “People change their hair all the time. Don’t you remember that curling iron phase you went through back in middle school?”
“Or it could be a picture of a relative,” I put in. “Twin sister, maybe?”
Bess was shaking her head. “No, it’s her,” she insisted. “Can’t you see that mole?”
My eyesight is pretty good, but Bess has to be part eagle or something. When I squinted, I saw that she was right. The girl in the picture had the same distinctive mole on her chin as Lainie.
“Never mind the picture,” Bess said, nudging me with her shoulder. “Do you guys see what else is in there? Check out the bathroom.”
For the first time I noticed that the bathroom door was slightly ajar. Just inside on the counter lay a mop of strawberry blond—a wig!
“Oh, my gosh!” George covered her mouth with one hand. “Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Only if you’re thinking MrSilhouette could be female,” I said grimly. “I suppose we should have thought of that. After all, crazy stalkers come in both genders. Come to think of it, maybe that’s even why she signed the notes and stuff the way she did. It was capital M, small r, capital S all run together, remember?”
Bess nodded. “I get it. MrS. It kind of looks like Mrs. rather than Mr….”
“Hey,” someone said from just behind us. “What are you doing at my cabin?”
DEAD ENDS AND DISCUSSIONS
We whirled around, already stammering out excuses. Lainie stood there looking confused.
“Um, I mean, oh, is this your cabin?” I babbled. “We were just passing by and were wondering what they looked like inside. What a coincidence!”
Lainie crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes. “Come on, you guys,” she said. “Bo already told me you’re, like, detectives or something. But why are you snooping around here?”
Oops! It looked like we were busted. Deciding to take advantage of the chan
ce encounter to try to surprise a confession out of her, I took a deep breath.
“I’ll tell you why,” I said. “But first, I want you to tell us something, Lainie. Are you MrSilhouette?”
Lainie looked more confused than ever. “Mr. Who?” she said. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on,” George put in. “We saw the wig. Have you been stalking Syd all this time? Doing all the bad stuff?”
“Me?” By now, Lainie’s expression had gone from confused to downright astonished. If she was acting, she was awfully good at it. “You mean all the accidents and problems that have been happening during this shoot, like the loose rock at the pool and the wrecked honeymoon bungalow and whatever? Of course I didn’t do any of that! Why would I?”
“Because you’ve been obsessed with Sydney for the past couple of years?” Bess put in. “Because you didn’t want her to marry Vic?”
Lainie held up both hands. “Hang on,” she said. “You’ve totally lost me. Why would I care if Sydney and Vic got married? Hey, their wedding landed me a job, okay?”
“It did?” I said. “So you mean you just got hired on for this special? You didn’t work on Daredevils before that?”
Lainie shook her head. “Before this I was doing temp work for a bunch of low-budget plays and stuff.”
“Was that in New York?” Bess asked.
“Nope. L.A.” Lainie shrugged. “Look, I don’t know why you guys suddenly decided I was, like, some criminal mastermind or something. But I can tell you, it wasn’t me. I never met or even heard of Sydney before about two months ago when I got hired for this gig. And the only place I’d ever seen Vic was on TV.”
“But the wig,” George blurted out. “MrSilhouette sent Syd those photos of the back of a bald head….”
At that, Lainie’s face suddenly sort of crumpled and went red. I perked up. Was she about to confess?
“Okay,” she muttered. “Now I get it, sort of. Although I wouldn’t exactly say I’m technically bald. Not anymore.”
With that, she pulled off her strawberry blond braided hair, revealing a head of wispy dark hair barely two inches long. Nope. Definitely not bald, at least not like in that photo….
“I’m a cancer survivor,” Lainie said, her voice shaking a little as she stood there with her wig in one hand and her wisps blowing in the light breeze. “I finished my last round of chemo right before I got this job. That’s why I wear wigs—I lost all my hair during the treatment.”
“Oh!” Bess took a step forward, touching her gently on the arm. “Lainie, we’re so sorry. We didn’t know—and when we saw the wig, and knowing what we know about Sydney’s stalker being someone bald, we just thought—”
“It’s okay,” Lainie broke in, her voice stronger now. “I haven’t told anyone here about it, so there’s no way you could have known. I—I just didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for me or treat me any differently, you know?”
“Like Bo,” I said, suddenly realizing that this explained that odd little scene by the pool. “That’s why you got so upset when he tried to pull you into the water yesterday.”
She looked surprised for a moment. Then she nodded. “Right,” she said. “He’s cool and we’re having fun together and all. But I just wasn’t ready to tell him. Especially not in front of all those people and the cameras and everything.”
I exchanged a look with my friends. “Don’t worry,” I said. “We won’t tell a soul.”
Bess nodded. “Your secret is safe with us.”
“So how do you guys know Lainie was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but?” George said a few minutes later as the three of us made our way along a shelly path leading toward the beach. “Maybe we should double-check her story.”
Bess rolled her eyes. “Come on,” she said. “The wig thing and her weird behavior by the pool were the only reasons to suspect her in the first place. Besides, you saw her—there’s no way she could have taken that bald lagoon photo just a few days ago and already have her hair grow out that much.”
“Bess is right.” I bit my lip. “Still, something’s kind of bugging me about that whole scene. I’m just not sure what it is.”
Bess raised an eyebrow. “You mean you think Lainie might have done it after all?”
“No, I’m pretty sure she’s innocent,” I said. “But still …”
At that moment the sound of Sydney’s voice came drifting toward us from somewhere ahead. We were too far away to hear what she was saying, but she sounded pretty hysterical.
“Uh-oh.” Bess put on a burst of speed. “Sounds like something’s wrong.”
“Again,” George added.
We hurried down the path and emerged onto the strip of sand at the base of the stairs that led up to the bungalow walkways. Sydney was standing at the top of the stairway, tears streaming down her face as she babbled almost incoherently. Donald was there too, ineffectively trying to soothe her as Butch stood by filming it all with a slight smirk on his broad face.
“Syd!” Bess rushed up to her, taking the steps two at a time. “What’s going on?”
Sydney whirled to face us as George and I hurried up the steps as well. “It’s Vic!” she wailed. “He was supposed to meet me back in our bungalow for a nice catered lunch. We were both looking forward to it all day. But I’ve been waiting twenty minutes and he still hasn’t showed!”
George looked relieved. “Oh, is that all?” she said. “Look, Syd, I get why you’re upset. But this is Vic we’re talking about, remember? Mr. ADHD himself? He probably just lost track of the time.”
“That’s what I thought.” Sydney choked back a sob. “I mean, I spent the whole morning in the spa with Akinyi, so it wouldn’t be that surprising that he’d forget without me around to remind him. But he’s not answering his cell, and Kinnie and I have been searching the whole resort and can’t find him anywhere!”
I couldn’t tell whether she was upset because Vic missed their romantic lunch, or if she was afraid he was late because something had happened to him. Either way, she was pretty freaked out.
“Don’t worry, Syd,” I said. “We’ll track him down. Now, when was the last time you—”
“Hello, hello!” Vic’s breathless voice burst out from the sand below. “Sorry I’m late. Whoa, Syd, you okay, love?” He leaped up the steps three at a time.
“Vic!” Sydney shrieked, flinging herself at him. “Thank goodness! I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Sorry, babe.” Vic’s eyes widened in surprise as he gently stroked her red hair. “Oh, man, I’m really sorry. I totally didn’t mean to upset you. I was playing poker with the guys over at Jamal’s bungalow and I guess we lost track of time.”
Sydney buried her face in his chest. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. “Just don’t do that to me again, all right?”
“I promise.” Vic squeezed her tight and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
Sydney seemed mollified by his apology. Her expression was already clearing, and her sniffles getting further apart. But I wasn’t really buying Vic’s story—especially since I’d just noticed that his shoes were muddy.
“Come on, you two.” Donald started waving his hands around, shooing the couple farther down the walkway. In all the excitement, I’d almost forgotten he was still there. “You don’t want your food getting cold.” He smiled and shrugged. “Well, any colder than it already is, anyway.”
Vic and Sydney chuckled and headed arm in arm down the walkway toward their bungalow. Butch followed, filming the whole time, and Donald trailed along behind him.
That left me alone with my friends at the top of the steps. “Did you guys see Vic’s shoes?” I asked as soon as I was sure the others were out of earshot.
“His shoes? No, why?” George asked.
I quickly explained about the mud. Bess’s eyes widened. She glanced down at the planked walkway and nodded grimly as she spotted one of the muddy prints he’d left.
; “I can tell you one thing,” she said. “He didn’t get them muddy in Jamal’s bungalow! So where was he, and what was he really doing all this time?”
“Good question.” I shrugged. “At least Akinyi doesn’t seem to be involved this time. Syd said they spent the whole morning together, remember?”
“Unless she and Vic are working together,” George pointed out darkly. “Don’t forget it was her cabin we caught Vic leaving last night.”
“That’s true,” I said reluctantly. “I still just hate to think there could be anything—”
I cut myself off as a piercing scream rang out over the entire area, echoing off the lagoon. “That sounded like Syd!” Bess cried, already running down the walkway.
“Hey,” someone called from the direction of the beach. “What’s going on?”
Glancing that way, I saw that Jamal and Bo had just appeared at the edge of the sand carrying tennis rackets. But I didn’t bother stopping to explain anything to them as I took off after my friends.
When we reached the honeymoon hut we found Donald dancing around helplessly on the porch. “Oh, it’s terrible!” he exclaimed. “Why do these things keep happening? It’s like this wedding is cursed….”
Ignoring him, I pushed past and burst into the bungalow. Sydney and Vic were seated at a small table covered in a white linen cloth. A pretty, young waitress stood nearby, her eyes wide and a napkin pressed against her mouth. Butch was there too, his mouth ajar and his camera pointing at the floor. All four of them were staring in horror at the gourmet lunch spread out on the table. Or, to be specific, at Vic’s plate. Vic was holding a knife and fork over a juicy piece of steak, watching in horror as dozens of wriggling maggots came squirming out of the cut in the meat!
UNPLEASANT SURPRISES
“Oh, gross!” George exclaimed, backing away. Bess gulped audibly. Despite her super-feminine appearance, she isn’t easily grossed out. But even she looked a little green around the gills as she stared down at the squirming mass on Vic’s plate. “Wh-what happened?” she asked.