The Sign in the Smoke (Nancy Drew Diaries #12)(43)

And back.

“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to sound tougher than I felt. “Are you going to attack me? Because I may look small, but I’m scrappy! I could take you!”

Sam snorted. “Could you?” she asked.

I looked her in the eye. “I’ve taken on worse than you,” I said. And that was true.

Sam laughed that same hollow laugh again. “The thing is, I won’t even have to do the work,” she said, nudging her chin toward something behind me. “The fall would kill you. You’ll probably hit your head on one of those big rocks, and then . . . splash.”

My blood chilled. I looked behind me and inhaled a silent scream: Sam had backed me up just inches away from the rocky drop that led down to the lake. She was right: the fall was steep enough, and rocky enough, that I probably wouldn’t survive it.

Even in the dim moonlight, I could see that.

I closed my eyes. Please, Bess, I prayed silently. Please, anyone . . .





CHAPTER FIFTEEN





A Sad End


“NO!” I CRIED, AND MY voice shook a little. “How does killing one random counselor punish Deborah? It punishes my family! My dad—” My voice broke at the thought of Dad. Or Hannah. Or Ned. Might I really never see them again? I forced their images out of my mind and thought, Keep her talking.

“I don’t care about your family,” Sam said simply, moving closer, “just like Deborah didn’t care about mine.”

The girls were advancing behind Sam, watching the action with wide, terrified eyes. I realized this was their chance to escape. “Girls! Get help!” I cried. “Run back to camp. Tell someone—anyone!”

The girls moved forward, and Harper looked at me regretfully, the moonlight shining off her glasses, like she couldn’t decide whether to leave.

“I mean it,” I whispered fiercely. “Go.”

With one final look in my direction, the three girls scampered down the path.

Sam moved even closer as the girls disappeared. “I hope you really enjoyed your time as a counselor, Nancy,” she said, her lips parting in a terrifying smile. “I hope it was a great final act.”

I listened as hard as I could, hoping against hope to hear Bess, Deborah, and Miles. But all I heard was a dull clink—probably one of the girls kicking a rock on their way back to camp.

I took one more step back and felt my heel hit a rock. I was at the end. I closed my eyes, trying to squelch my fear. Stay alert. Stay in the game. I knew it was my only chance of surviving.

I felt rather than heard Sam advance one more time.

And then, suddenly, the night air was cut by her scream. “AAAAAAUUUUGH!”

I opened my eyes to see a shadowy shape grab Sam’s legs and plunge something sharp into her calf. Dark blood oozed up from the wound, and Sam fell backward.

“AAUUUGH! What are you doing?” she shouted.

I felt frozen but forced my legs into motion and scampered around Sam and my savior so I was no longer backed against the edge of the drop. As I stared at the tangle around Sam’s legs, I recognized Harper—minus her signature glasses!

The sharp thing she’d stuck into Sam’s leg was still in her hand, covered with blood. It was a broken lens from her glasses.

“Harper, thank you!” I cried.

Then, before I could say more, I heard voices coming up the path.

“. . . think I heard them up here,” Bess’s voice came from the trees, and then she, Deborah, and Miles burst into the clearing.

I stared at them, overwhelmed with relief.

“I’m so sorry,” Bess blurted as soon as she spotted me. “We took a wrong turn right out of the clearing and got totally turned around . . .”

“What happened here?” Deborah asked, taking in the scene with a stunned expression.

I leaned down and pulled Harper toward me, away from Sam, who was crumpled on the ground hugging her leg. “Ouuuuuch!”

“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you,” I said, “but I think we’ve found Camp Cedarbark’s ghost.”



“What a story,” George breathed the next morning, as we lounged on benches in the clearing that separated our cabins. “I have to admit, I figured something shady was going on at the camp . . . but I never could have put that together.”

“I’m just relieved it’s not a real ghost,” Bess murmured, scratching a bug bite on her arm. When George and I both turned to her with surprised looks, she shrugged. “What!” she cried. “I’m not saying I always believe . . . but that thing in the water was pretty creepy.”

“It sounds like Sam has real problems,” George said, looking thoughtful.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “I heard Deborah and Miles turned her over to the police, but they recommended counseling. She was nearly catatonic when they brought her back to camp.”

“Maybe medication would help,” Bess said.

“I hope so,” I admitted. I wasn’t about to forgive Sam for trying to kill me any time soon . . . but I wanted her to get better. I realized she wasn’t in her right mind.

It seemed like Bella had been telling the truth, after all. . . . She really hadn’t done anything wrong, except burn some sage. I still wasn’t sure why she was so interested in the “haunting,” but then I didn’t understand why Bess watched that Kardashian show either. And I was sure Bess didn’t understand why I loved solving mysteries. I guessed we all had weird interests, when it came down to it.