LITMIR.BIZ

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to a shut-in.”

      She thought of the difficulty of juggling all those teens and their hormones. “Just three, then.”

      “I know what you’re thinking. That’s fifteen each to keep track of. But the school has had a fall trip since it was founded in 1950. That’s a long tradition. There was a bit of pressure. Established dates for future weekend activities. The kids would have been disappointed.”

      Holly’s idea of camping was to grab a backpack and head into the wilderness with her dog. “So who was in Angie’s tent?”

      Gable took a list out of his jacket pocket. “Just Janice Mercer. She’s very shy. These trips build self-esteem. Students like that I didn’t want to disappoint. Having a successful senior year can make all the difference. Rites of passage. Ninety-five per cent of our students go on to university. Edward Milne can’t compete with that.” He referred to the public secondary school in Sooke.

      Holly glanced at her watch. This was taking too much time. Though in charge, she couldn’t and she shouldn’t do all of the interviews herself. The students might appreciate a younger officer....provided that they held no racial prejudices. And even if they did, Chipper had to face his demons like she’d dealt with Playboy centrefolds on her locker during training.

      Calling Chipper over, she directed him to sort out those with helpful information. She’d take the two teachers, and if his numbers were high, share the students. “I’ll need you to explain the layout,” she said to Gable.

      At the campsite, a few dozen students sat on logs and stumps, on the ground, at picnic tables or milled in the area with pop cans or bags of chips. Gable pointed out a village of tents in various sizes. He, Coach Grove and Kim Bass each had a small pup tent. The students slept in the other eight, two, three, four, depending on tent size. Gable introduced the teachers to Holly. Chipper, in his usual organized fashion, had lined up the students and was talking to each one privately. She was impressed at the way he’d sorted everyone out without a ruffle. Even in the sombre moment, some of the girls seemed entranced with him, heads together in chatter as they watched him.

      Grove, a fit man in his late thirties, hadn’t seen Angie after dinner. Muscles corded on his weightlifter’s body as he fastened an expensive mountain bike with front and rear shocks onto a carrier. Smelling faintly of herbal soap, he wore denim cutoffs, a polo shirt with Notre Dame Saints and a halo logo, and hi-tech sandals on his large feet. He repeated Gable’s praise of the school’s star swimmer and ran a hand over his curly black hair, prematurely thinning at the temples.

      “With her training, I find it strange that she drowned,” Holly said, leaving an implied question.

      He bit his lip and looked at the ground, where a line of ants was reaping the crumbs of campers. “A cramp. Alcohol. Kids make bad decisions. Maybe this was her first and last drink. Nate is going to take this hard. She’s his princess.”

      “Paul Gable mentioned his suspicions that someone brought liquor. Do you know she was drinking? Did you see or smell anything?”

      He bristled at the implied accusation. “If I had, I would have confiscated it. No one on our teams drinks during training, or they’re out. But Angie’s the last—”

      “How about her friends?” At Notre Dame, everyone knew everyone’s business.

      “She was dating Jeff Pasquin. Went to the junior formal with him last year. As for friends, Lindsey Benish.” He paused to think, rubbed his finger pads together. “But they must have had a falling out. These kids and their head games. It’s even worse in a small school. Feelings get hurt.”

      “Point them out to me.” Not much had changed at the home of the Saints. A tapestry with knots behind it. How dense and how deep? What looked perfect on the surface was a tangled mess behind.

      He nodded toward the group, a few elbowing each other to take their turns with Chipper. “Jeff ’s got his head shaved. He’s a swimmer, too. Went all the way to the Nationals. And Lindsey...” He craned his head as a girl with extra pounds only a seventeen-year-old could carry well blew her nose on a tissue. “She’s the one in cargo pants and the polka-dot bikini top. Nothing shy about her. A few more years, and look out.” Then he cleared his throat and smiled, revealing one chipped incisor, which added a touch of vulnerability. “Any other questions? I’m overdue to call my wife. She’s eight months pregnant and keeps me on a short leash.”

      Kim Bass, the English teacher, had an oval face with high cheekbones. About Holly’s age, she wore wheat jeans and a faded plaid shirt. Her sleek black hair was razored at the sides. She wore soft, beaded moccasins that looked more comfortable than Holly’s hot, stiff boots, which had raised a blister on her heel with the prolonged and irregular beach walking. Kim’s voice was husky and low, sweet as lemonade on a July afternoon. “Angie was in my British Lit survey this year. I also had her in tenth grade for Communications. Straight A’s.”

      “When did you see her last night?”

      She shuddered, even though the day was warm, sun streaming through the trees. A sheen of sweat broke out on her brow. Doe eyes and a faintly darker complexion made Holly wonder if she had First Nations connections. “Dinner, of course. There was a volleyball game.” She pointed to an open area, where a net was set up. A lone, deflated ball sat to one side. “We were all playing.

      Angie won nearly every serve. A natural athlete.”

      “And afterwards?”

      “I developed a headache and went to my tent for an early bedtime. Smoke from the campfire maybe. Kills my sinuses.” She gave a small cough into her hand. “Not that I expected to get much sleep with all these teenagers, but I took a sleeping pill.”

      Holly’s eyebrow rose. “I see.”

      “My head was throbbing like a jet engine.” She levelled her gaze at Holly and gave a weary sigh. The sclera were pink and inflamed. “You remember slumber parties. Girls can yak all night. The boys keep it down.”

      “Lucky you brought a supply, then.” Had the woman been unconscious? Was she on a medication with unusual side effects like sleepwalking?

      “Just generic stuff. They were in my personals bag from a trip to England a year ago. I always take a couple on the plane.”

      * * *

      Having been told that Jeff had been Angie’s former boyfriend, Chipper directed the young man to a bench under a massive Sitka spruce with its trademark cracked bark. “Do you carry one of those cool daggers?” Jeff asked, unable to take his eyes from Chipper’s uniform.

      Chipper’s soft smile hid an internal eye roll at the naïve question, but he refused to answer directly. “Actually, it’s called a sword, though the use is purely ceremonial. It’s a very old custom dating back over four hundred years.”

      “Wicked. I’ve seen a few. Way better than crucifixes and rosaries.” Jeff awarded himself a congratulatory snort on the joke.

      Chipper explained the interview process to the young man. “And your relationship to Angie?”

      Jeff straightened his broad shoulders and completed a bullish neck roll. “We were dating. Were. Not this year.”

      “What happened between you, if I may ask?” Chipper made a point of writing neatly. It was one of his trademarks.

      Jeff blew out a contemptuous breath. “That’s no secret. Everyone used to see us arguing.”

      Chipper’s pen poised. The boy seemed more angry than wounded by the death. On instinct alone, he didn’t like the teen. Cocky and immature. Interested in immediate gratification. Disciplined about his sport, but accustomed to the accolades as a birthright. Jeff wouldn’t have had to fight for anything. Chipper found himself listening to his inner voice instead of his subject and gave an internal shake. “Arguing about what?”

      “Hey, man, you know chicks. Teasing you. Gets to be a hassle.” He lowered his voice almost to a whisper.

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