Page 35 of The Chaperones

Sam knows where everyone is staying. It’s his party trick.

“He’s at eleven.”

It’s the most secluded campsite on the lower loop, tucked away from the other sites, along the dry streambed.

“How’s our VIP party?” Sam asks.

The new researcher resumes her conversation with the scientist who’s been here all week. They swap stories about the seabirds he tracks and the kelp she’s here to study, as indifferent as I would be in their place to the famous people on the island.

“They’re harmless. There’s definitely drama there,” I add for Sam’s benefit, a present he can bring back to his wife in place of the shells and rocks that must stay here. “But I’m pretty sure they’re more interested in harming each other than the island.”

“Fair enough.” He stands, stretches exaggeratedly, and grabs his bowl. “Time for my siesta.”

I head inside our common unit and find the clipboard with the list of campsites hanging from the wall. I need to go talk to the man. Otherwise I’ll be fretting over it all day. My finger scrolls down to eleven. Sure enough, it’s reserved for one camper, under the name John Smith. The name sends a gurgling feeling through my gut, not quite anxious but animated. This guy really could be anyone. If that’s even his real name.

I trot down the path that leads from our houses to the bathrooms at the back of the lower loop. A few campers loiter around their campsites, having a midafternoon snack and napping in their hammocks. My UTV is parked at the center of camp, where I left it. At site eleven, along the dry streambed, a modest blue tent sits unassumingly. My heart pounds as I walk over to it. I stretch out my hands, trying to relax.

“Hey there,” I say in my friendliest ranger voice. “Anyone home?”

No one answers, so I knock on the fabric. Nothing. I do a quick scan to make sure no one is watching, then unzip the door.

What I see as I peer inside the tent stops me cold. The reservation clearly said one camper, and there are two sleeping bags. And then I see something that paralyzes me. Resting on one of the sleeping bags is a pair of binoculars. The same binoculars that were trained on me.