Ten Million Fireflies (Band of Sisters) Page 10

  “Sorry. Psychological thriller,” she mocked, using air quotes. “Okay, you’re looking for something more twisted. Messed up. Not your run-of-the-mill good-guy, bad-guy cop story.”

  “More or less.” He loosened his grip on her arm and ushered her to a boulder that was perfect for sitting and taking in the view. “Banana?” He peeled it halfway and offered it to her.

  “Sure.”

  They ate in silence and he took in the moment's tranquility and the fresh breeze whispering across his neck to meditate. It was a juxtaposition, but when he cleared his mind was when the twisted story ideas usually came to him.

  “I’ve got it.” Brooke turned and crossed one leg under her, her face full of excitement. “You’re familiar with Gone Girl? I loved that book. The movie, not so much. Maybe because I already knew the plot twist.”

  “I don’t like to watch the movies to the books I’ve read.”

  “Really? What if they make a movie from one of your books?”

  Carl had sent in some proposals and had high hopes his novel Deception would be the next blockbuster.

  “Possibly.”

  “I’d make you go. Anyway, your books all have a male protagonist. Make your female readers happy by having it be a woman. A successful, kick-ass woman. She’s a suburban wife, mother. An... author.” Brooke wiggled her eyebrows. “She lives an exciting but normal life with publicity appearances, taking care of the family, Pilates, girls’ night out... when suddenly, one by one, it all starts to fall apart.”

  “What does?” He was intrigued. The light in her eyes was captivating, her excitement contagious. He wanted to know where this was going.

  “People accuse her of acting crazy. It’s not her, she claims, it’s them. Yet, she’s in the minority, as it seems the entire town believes she’s nuts. If she denies it, the town has proof.”

  “Proof of what?”

  Brooke jumped to her feet and paced the small landing. “People say things about her. Like she steals. They pin local petty crimes on her. It’s all a lie, but she’s the only one who believes it. Believes in her. Even her husband and kids question her sanity. Scenes from her books become reality.”

  “One of her girlfriends is framing her?”

  “No, too predictable.”

  Great. Now he’d really lost it if he couldn’t figure that one out. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know.” Brooke tapped a finger against her mouth, and he had the sudden urge to run his tongue across her lips.

  Not the place his mind should go when she was laying out the perfect hook and synopsis out for him. Drew jumped to his feet as well and paced in the opposite direction as Brooke.

  “She takes it upon herself to fight each accusation to make sure she’s right. I could devote a book to each accusation. In each book she loses and gains a different ally. Maybe loses all allies in the first.” Yeah, he could do this.

  “Who’s the villain? Is it her all along?”

  “I don’t know yet.” But he had an idea. He needed to get back to his laptop and sticky notes. There would be multiple villains, each revealed in the next book. He still had a lot of mapping out to do. “Let’s go.” He picked up the banana peels and tossed them in his backpack and scooted to his butt as he slid carefully down the edge.

  Not caring if it offended her, he held out his hand above his head to help her down the steep embankment.

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  “No.” He needed quiet time now more than ever. His legs were on a will of their own as he practically raced down the hill and finally turned down his driveway.

  “Okay then. I guess I’ll see you around?” Brooke called from behind him.

  Drew turned around and glanced about his driveway for her car.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I walked. You didn’t pick up on that a few hours ago?”

  No, he hadn’t picked up on anything other than her fresh vanilla scent. “I’ll drive you home.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know.” Without waiting for her to comply, he jogged to his Land Rover and opened the passenger side door for her. When she was in, he closed the door and rushed over to his side.

  He flung his backpack in the back seat and then started the car. It didn’t take long to reach her rental, which was a good thing. The ideas were rolling about in his mind and he needed to jot them down before they blew away in the wind.

  “Thanks for the lift. I hope this book thing works out for you.” Brooke got out of the car and slammed the door behind her.

  She’d been amazing helping him jumpstart the book idea. A female protagonist who wasn’t a detective or therapist? Genius. So simple but so altering to his typical storylines. And he’d offended her by blowing her off.

  Drew shoved his door open and jogged up the short path to her front door.

  “Brooke.”

  She unlocked her front door and tilted her head back slightly. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. Really. Thank you.”

  Slowly, she turned around. “You’re welcome.”

  “You’ve helped more than you know. I needed that. The walk. The inspiration. The M&Ms,” he joked.

  “Sure.”

  “You’re upset?”

  “A little.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t say much on the way down. The ideas were flowing, and I didn’t want to lose them.”

  “Opposed to how much you talked on the way up?” Drew opened his mouth to apologize, but she held up her hand and continued, “Sorry. That’s not why I’m upset. I’m mad at myself.”

  “For what?”

  Brooke stared at him for a beat before speaking. “Nothing. I’m glad I could help. Go write your book. I have work to do.” She patted him on the cheek before slipping into her house and gently closing the door in his face.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Brooke couldn’t decide if yesterday’s hike with Drew was a success or failure. She’d gone to his house intending to make peace and talk with him about his experience at Camp Sunrise. Whether he wanted to talk about it or not, he needed to.

  She’d seen enough therapists and doctors over the years to know the signs of PTSD. Drew had been carrying the weight of that boy’s death on his shoulders for too long, and it was affecting his writing and his personal life.

  But why should she care? They were hardly friends. And it wasn’t like she had any experience on how to dole out advice on how to cope after experiencing a tragic event.

  Still, there was something in his sad tale that made her want to help him. Maybe it was his connection to the Shermans and the campground, she didn’t know, but she wouldn’t stop until he accepted the camp opening its cabin doors again.

  Even though there had been a couple of hours of light left after she’d returned home last night, she’d decided not to go to the camp and instead, prepped for this morning’s meeting with the bank, insurance company, and attorney.

  Dressed in khakis and a plain white T-shirt, Brooke packed her laptop and her files in her bag and left for a busy morning of meetings.

  It wasn’t until after her one o’clock lunch appointment with her attorney that she finally felt like celebrating. All her ducks were in a row. The money was transferred. The papers were signed. The process was well underway.

  Brooke slid behind the wheel of her car and opened her group chat and texted the good news to her sisters. Her phone rang before she dropped it in the center console.

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  “I’m so excited for you.”

  “For us.” Brooke switched the call to hands-free and started the car.

  “For you. You’ve done all the legwork. The investing. The investigating. It’s your brainchild.”

  “Maybe.” Brooke flicked on her blinker and turned down Alpine Lane. “But I couldn’t have done it without the three of you. You’re investing a huge chunk of your time into being the head cook at the camp. Which still needs a name, by the
way.”

  “I know. I figured we’d brainstorm over a bottle of wine tomorrow night.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Listen, we’re actually busy right now, so I have to cut this short. I just wanted to call to say how proud I am of you.”

  “I wouldn’t have had the courage to do this without your support. And your cooking.”

  “Aw, the feels. We’re like girls with our sweet talk.”

  They were the two tomboys of the group—brass, often unladylike, and definitely not PC.

  “God, I hope not. It’s all I can handle with Fish and Skye’s sweetness and polite talk. Please don’t tell me I’m turning into a girl.”

  “Hate to break it to you, Boss, but you’re a girl. Just not girly. Shoot. Gotta go. See you tomorrow.”

  The phone went dead as Brooke turned down Beaver Dam Road. She still had quite a few hours of sunlight to work with. Her first call to order was installing the new screens on the cabins.

  With only a few days left in her rental contract, she needed to at least get the head cabin decent enough to live in during the summer.

  It wasn’t like she’d be roughing it all summer. She’d lived in far worse conditions while in the army. Her cabin had a solid roof... she hoped. There had been no noticeable leaks after the last rainstorm. And this weekend, she and Charlie would have the rec hall in semi-decent order. The fridge was a casualty, but she’d pick up a mini fridge and microwave from Walmart while she waited for the new kitchen appliances to come.

  First, though, she’d need to get an electrician out there to turn on the power. She’d done all she could with hand tools. Being able to use an electric drill whose battery didn’t die in an hour would save her countless hours.

  She parked her car in front of the rec hall and reached for her bag in the back seat, proud of herself for remembering to bring a change of clothes. She hopped out of the car and took the steps two at a time to the main door. With no lock on the door, she’d been worried about housing the new screens and lumber inside, but there wasn’t much traffic coming down the camp road. Heck, there was no traffic. Brooke closed the door behind her and headed to the kitchen where she’d stored the boxes of screens.

  After she changed, she grabbed a box and carried it under her arm to the director’s cabin. It was the same size as the rest, but only had two bunks instead of ten, and no loft like four of the others. There was a dirty, cracked sink that would need replacing and a sliver of a broken mirror hanging above it.

  There’d been a wobbly table and four chairs in the back corner—the meeting space for the head counselors, Helen had told her. Brooke didn’t feel the need to replace the table. There were plenty in the rec hall, which was where the food would be kept and where she’d eat her meals.

  The cabin was simply a place to rest her head and change in private. It was a good thing she didn’t even have enough clothes and supplies and crap to fill her car. The few boxes she had could easily fit against the back wall.

  She set the box down on the old floorboards, noting which would need replacing, and cut through the packing tape with her pocketknife. Closing the blade, she shoved it back into her pocket and slid out the screen.

  Thankfully, the four windows were standard size, and she didn’t have to wait long for the order to come in. Wrestling out the rusted screen from the window, she gave it a last shove and watched it flutter to the ground outside.

  Dead bugs littered the narrow windowsill, and she blew on them, watching as they fell to the ground as well.

  “I’m surprised the mice didn’t come eat you all.” Did mice eat dead flies and ladybugs? She really didn’t want to know. Spiders and bugs didn’t freak her out, but little rodents who pooped everywhere and chewed through screens and wood were driving her batty.

  Bats. Didn’t they eat mice? She should look into getting some, if that was a thing.

  She wedged the new screen in place and scrunched her nose at the gaping space between the frame and the screen. The rotting wood needed replacing. Someday. For now, she’d caulk the gaps to keep out the mosquitoes and blackflies, which were already biting her skin. Brooke went through a healthy dose of bug spray daily.

  Adding more cans to her mental shopping list, she slid out another screen and replaced the rest of the windows. She wasn’t worried about curtains just yet. There was no need for privacy in this neck of the woods while the camp was empty, and she didn’t need to block out the morning sun.

  A creature of habit, Brooke woke at five every morning to start her day. She could get by on only a few hours of sleep at night. Now and then she’d need a solid six to keep her energy up, but the military schedule and daily regimen trained her body to function fairly well on only a handful of naps.

  As long as she was eating a few square meals and getting fresh air and exercise, she could be an Energizer Bunny going full force all day long, which was a good thing. She had her work cut out for her with this project.

  No, not a project. Life change. Future goals. Being a middle school gym teacher would pay the bills and fulfill her life during three seasons, and the camp would be her summer life. Her calling.

  She had yet to really work with children, other than the student teaching she did overseas, and much of that was online or at army bases. Being in the classroom and coaching kids gave her a sense of fulfillment. They didn’t treat her like a freak of nature. Parentless, tall, and big-boned, somewhat socially awkward. For whatever reason, they could see past what the kids in her middle school had teased her about.

  Brooke worked alongside her thoughts into the evening, the sounds of birds and squirrels running in the brush as her background noise, and popped out the old, tattered screens in each cabin, replacing them with new ones. Almost all needed new doors. She’d need to hear from the contractor and ask him about rot before getting too deep in that project.

  The Penobscot cabin was in the worst condition. One bunk bed was pulled away from the wall and a small table lay tipped over in the middle of the open space. She pushed the bed back against the wall and righted the table.

  Two legs were broken, so she picked it up and hauled it outside. It looked like another dump run was in her future. Brushing off her hands on the back of her shorts, she went back into the cabin, the creaky screen door slamming hard behind her.

  The springs on the doors on the other cabins had worn with time, but not this one. The Penobscot cabin seemed to be the only one not raided and littered with beer bottles and trash.

  The ladder to the loft was missing, so she had no idea what kind of mess she’d find up there.

  Picking up the last box of screens, she sliced it open and repeated the process she’d done for the other fourteen cabins and fifty-six windows. It had grown dark inside with the tall pines shielding the setting sun from casting any last rays of brightness into the cabin, so she turned on the flashlight on her phone and propped it on one of the top bunks.

  She found comfort, tranquility, and peace in the somber quietness of the land. Lost in her Zen, it startled her when the smell of stale alcohol hit her. She nearly dropped the old screen on a shadowy figure lurking underneath the window. Brooke shrieked and jumped back.

  She wasn’t a screamer and didn’t scare easily, but she could have shot the drunk creeping outside her window had she been carrying.

  “Who the hell are you?” Instead of sticking her head out the window like a brainless victim, she stormed out of the cabin and down the three rickety steps.

  The figure was gone. She knew she hadn’t imagined it. There were shadows among the low hemlocks, but she could feel his presence. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she looked around for a weapon, not really thinking she’d need one but it was better to be prepared.

  Brooke didn’t like to be taken off guard. She picked up a thick stick and made two passes around the cabin, not seeing anyone. Standing in the open, she focused on the sounds of the woods, listening for footsteps on the fallen leaves. Brea
king branches, a pause in the chirping of birds.

  Her elephant ears homed in on the surrounding noises. The birds weren’t as active this close to sunset, but she still tuned in for changes in the sounds around her. The quiet lapping of the water against the shore in the distance was the only constant.

  She wasn’t spooked but didn’t want to end her evening on a manhunt either, so she went back inside the cabin to retrieve her phone. Keeping the flashlight on, she made her way back to the rec hall, her eyes and ears on constant alert.

  Most likely it was some teen pissed that she’d invaded his party space. It would take time to get the word out to the local riffraff that this space was no longer available for late-night parties.

  With Drew as a hawk-eye neighbor who had a thing about anyone stepping foot on the grounds, she was surprised that parties even happened. His house wasn’t too close, but if the noise got too loud and the fire raged high enough, she’d bet he’d pick up on it and come over to end it.

  She scanned the area around the perimeter of the hall before going inside. There wasn’t much she could do to keep intruders out. Once she moved into the head cabin, she’d at least be on the premise and could scare away any troublemakers.

  For now, she’d have to trust all would be fine.

  On her way back to her car, she swore she saw a shadow move in the woods heading toward Drew’s house. It couldn’t have been him. He would’ve made himself known as he had all the other times he’d shown up pissed that she’d been on the land.

  Whoever it was had been on an all-day drinking binge, and she couldn’t picture the refined Drew Beck as an alcoholic. He was too fit, too put together. Although, he was a writer... Weren’t they known for drinking on the job? Doing drugs on the side? Wasn’t that how they got their inspiration? She hadn’t a clue. He wrote some pretty messed-up stuff, though.

  Not one to back down from a fight or cower from her fears, she armed herself with confidence and went on stealth mode, moving as quietly and smoothly as her size tens would allow her. She approached the edge of the woods and scanned the area for the figure. It was silent. Too silent.