The Sign in the Smoke (Nancy Drew Diaries #12)(28)

“. . . then naturally she comes back to haunt the camp where she didn’t die?” George asked, frowning. “If she died of something else, wouldn’t she haunt the thing that actually killed her?”

“Maybe the other thing was really boring,” Bess retorted. “Like an allergy to bee stings or something. Would you want to waste your afterlife haunting a bee?”

“Guys,” I said, “I think we’re getting off topic here. And I have a confession to make. This afternoon, I called Lila’s parents on the pay phone and asked for Lila, pretending to be a telemarketer.”

Bess crinkled her brows. “Did you talk to her?” she asked.

“No,” I admitted, “but I did confirm that Lila is alive and well and still lives here. I also got an earful about the Do Not Call registry. Anyway . . . let’s assume Lila is alive and well, and not haunting the camp. That wouldn’t stop someone who knows about the accident from using it to harass Deborah and Miles . . . would it?”

Bess and George both looked thoughtful.

“Who would do that?” asked Bess after a few seconds.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but that’s what I intend to find out.”

Soon the campfire broke up, and I got to my feet to collect my campers. Before I could make my way over to where they were sitting with Maya, someone grabbed my arm.

“You’re welcome,” Bella said, “for watching your kids earlier.”

I turned around in surprise. Bella wore a scowl, and she looked from me to George and Bess like we were all something stinky she’d stepped in.

“Uh, thanks, Bella,” I said after a brief pause. “I’m sorry, I thought I’d thanked you earlier.”

“It’s just ironic,” Bella said, grabbing a lock of dark hair and twisting it around her finger, “that you guys think I’m the bad one, when you’re sneaking around when you’re supposed to be watching your kids, doing God knows what.”

“I was talking to Deborah,” I explained patiently, “but thanks for the feedback. And I never said you were bad, Bella, I just didn’t think involving a bunch of fifteen-year-olds in some made-up séance was a good idea.”

“It wasn’t made up,” Bella whispered fiercely. “You just don’t want anyone to know the truth about this place.”

“What truth is that?” I asked, curious now.

Bella rolled her eyes at me. “You know what truth,” she replied snarkily. “That this place is mad haunted. Anyway, it’s fine, Nancy. I don’t need you, or your little clique.” She looked past me to Bess and George, who had started collecting their own campers. “I have my own clique.”

With those words, she turned on her heel and strode away.

Why is Bella so interested in this supposed haunting? I wondered again as I watched Bella walk back to her campers and lead them down the path back to the cabins. She says she’s a Camp Larksong alum. . . . Could she possibly have been there that night?

I swallowed hard, letting my mind lead me on. Could she have an ax to grind with Deborah?

I walked over to my campers and greeted them, listening to their cheerful stories about the day, and their banter with one another. I put my arm around Harper, who was bringing up the rear and seemed to be off in her own little world. But in reality, my mind was spinning on its own, a million miles away.

Bella could have dived back into the lake after she went to get her hoodie the day of our swimming tests, I realized. She could have snuck away from the campfire the night the sleeping bags went missing. But how would she have gotten away from her own bunk to come harass mine while we were swimming?

There was the matter of the silvery-blond hair, too. If Bella was at camp the year Lila nearly drowned, she might know her hair color, or she could have seen a picture in the news. But would she go so far as to wear a wig underwater to freak everyone out?

“Nancy,” Harper said suddenly, tugging on my sleeve, “you seem sad.”

I looked down at her, startled. “I do?” I asked. “I’m sorry, Harper. I don’t feel sad. I’m just trying to figure something out in my mind.”

“Oh,” she said, looking away. “Well, I hope you figure it out soon.”

Me too, I thought, patting Harper on the back. Me too, kid.



I was at a campfire, and Bess and George were sitting across the fire on different logs, but I couldn’t get to them. There was a terrible wailing in the woods, like a young girl crying. It went on and on. Then, suddenly, the smoke from the campfire grew tendrils that formed arms and legs and a horrible smoke-bearded face! The smoke creature lunged toward me, snagging me in its long, spindly arms. I screamed, but no sound came out, and nobody noticed. I felt panic welling up in my chest as it lifted me up, carrying me away from the campfire, into the woods, where the wailing was getting louder and louder. Just as I was finally able to get my voice out—and let out a real scream—the smoke monster suddenly tossed me in the air, and I was spinning through the darkness, falling and falling, until with a SPLASH I was submerged in the icy lake. . . .



“Nancy!” Something grabbed my arm and shook it, and I shot straight up in bed, the shock of the icy water still making my heart pound.

“What?” I cried, startled. “What is it? What?”