The Red Slippers (Nancy Drew Diaries #11)(30)

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READ WHAT HAPPENS IN THE NEXT MYSTERY IN THE NANCY DREW DIARIES,


The Sign in the Smoke


Dear Diary,



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NO ONE LOVES WARM WEATHER more than me! But since trouble seems to find me even when the sun’s glaring down, my summers usually aren’t so relaxing. I decided that this year, however, all that would change. I was going to take a much-needed self-imposed summer break from sleuthing!

So when Bess suggested that she, George, and I sign up as counselors at Camp Cedarbark, I thought it was a great idea. I figured I’d spend time with the kids, make a few new friends, maybe even pick up a hobby. Of course, I should have known that escaping mystery-fueled drama is never as easy as it seems. . . .



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A Summer Retirement


BESS PEERED DOWN INTO HER cup and then thrust it back at the girl who’d handed it to her. “Could I get just a smidge more marshmallow?”

“More marshmallow?” her cousin George asked, swirling her plastic spoon through her own pile of Strawberry Cheesecake Explosion. “If you get any more marshmallow, Bess, all of your organs are going to stick together.”

My boyfriend, Ned, cleared his throat. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how the human digestive system works,” he said, watching as the ice cream scooper handed the cup back to Bess, “but you are going to have the mother of sugar highs.”

Bess tilted her head at him. “After eating an ice cream sundae? You don’t say.” She smiled at the ice cream scooper, plunged her spoon into a fluffy cloud of marshmallow, and shoveled it into her mouth, closing her eyes in pleasure. “Ohhhh, yeah. That’s the stuff. Besides”—she opened her eyes—“we’re celebrating here. At least, Nancy, George and I are. Aren’t we?”

“We sure are,” I agreed, stepping up to the counter. “Can I get a strawberry sundae with Oreo chip and whipped cream?”

Ned smiled at me. “Good combination.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I spent all winter planning the ultimate sundae combo.”

Bess took another bite of her sundae and moaned. “And we can spend all day eating ice cream now, guys,” she said happily. “Because as of midnight last night, it’s officially summer!”

“For twelve beautiful, short weeks,” Ned put in.

Bess glared at him. “Buzzkill.”

“And then comes fall,” Ned said, taking a lick of his own rocky-road-with-sprinkles cone. “Then winter. It’ll be snowing before we know it!”

“My point is,” Bess said, raising her spoon in the air, “that we girls have three months of gorgeous weather stretching ahead of us. Three months. What are we going to do with it all?”

I took my sundae from the ice cream scooper and handed over my money. “Um, if I were to guess? I’ll probably end up solving a mystery or something.”

“You’re so predictable, Nance,” George scoffed, rolling her eyes.

I took a bite of my sundae. Ooh, it was perfect. I’d done it. I’d created the ultimate sundae. “I dunno,” I said, shrugging at George. “Maybe I’ll take the summer off from solving mysteries. Take up knitting or something.”

Now it was Bess’s turn to roll her eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“I’ll believe that when I see it, is all,” she explained. “How are you going to manage it? Mysteries tend to find you, you know. I think the only way you could pull that off is to stop talking to people at all.”

George nodded, chewing on a nugget of cheesecake. “Or go on a really long trip,” she added.

“Where you don’t speak the language,” Ned put in, pausing from licking his cone.

“You guys!” I said, getting frustrated. “I’m serious. I mean, kind of.”

“You want to stop solving mysteries?” Bess asked, looking incredulous. She slapped a hand over my forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

I dodged out from under her. “Not permanently,” I said. “But it might be nice to just relax this summer. Enjoy nature. Maybe play some sports.”

I expected Bess to laugh again, but instead she looked thoughtful. “I think George might be right,” she said slowly. “I think to do that, you might have to leave town. And I have an idea!” She put her sundae down on a nearby table and then swung her purse off her shoulder so she could start digging in it. Normally this was a twenty-minute process, minimum, so George and I looked at each other and sat down to continue eating our ice cream. But just as I had the perfect mouthful of strawberries, ice cream, and whipped cream, Bess pulled out a glossy brochure and waved it at me.

“Um,” I said, struggling to swallow what I had in my mouth, “okay.”

I took the brochure. The cover showed a beautiful lake surrounded by woods and cabins, and blocky text spelled out CAMP CEDARBARK.

I raised an eyebrow at Bess. “I think we’re a little old for summer camp, don’t you think?”