Lost in the Everglades Page 2

  screen door. In the distance Nancy could hear the

  musical twanging of tree frogs and the occasional cry of

  a bird. She felt as though she were a million miles from

  River Heights.

  “Let me get the iced teas. I'll be right back,” Susan

  said.

  After she had gone, George turned to Nancy. “What

  was that all about?”

  “I guess you look like some girl or whatever,” Bess

  replied, studying her nails.

  “Yeah, but usually, when someone thinks you look

  like someone else, they say, Hey, you look like

  someone I know!' They don't scream their lungs out,”

  George pointed out.

  “True,” Nancy agreed. “Mrs. Fitzgerald acted as if

  she had just seen a ghost.”

  George nodded. “Susan, too.”

  “Okay, no talk about ghosts, we're on vacation,” Bess

  protested.

  A minute later Susan returned with four glasses of

  iced tea on a tray, which she put down on the coffee

  table. Nancy sat down on the couch between Susan and

  Bess, and George sat in a chair across from them.

  “So how was your trip?” Susan asked. “Was the

  plane ride okay? How was the drive from Miami

  airport?”

  Nancy took a sip of the iced tea. It had sprigs of

  fresh mint in it. “Mmm, yummy. The plane ride was

  great. The drive from the airport was long. The park is

  totally amazing and beautiful.”

  “Isn't it?” Susan said, beaming. “I'm so glad you

  could make it down. It's been so long! I hardly rec-

  ognized you guys.”

  Nancy noticed Susan's glance drifting to George.

  She leaned toward Susan. “Okay, so tell us,” she in-

  sisted. “What's the story with George and this Jade

  person? Why did you and Mrs. Fitzgerald scream like

  that?”

  Susan's smile disappeared. She sighed and leaned

  back on the couch. There was a long silence, filled only

  by the creaking of the ceiling fan and the night noises

  drifting in through the screen door.

  “Jade Romero is a volunteer at the park, like me,”

  Susan began after a moment. “Or she was. People

  think that—it's possible that—well, the bottom line is,

  she may be dead.”

  “What!” Bess gasped. She shivered. “This is totally

  creepy.”

  “No wonder you and Mrs. Fitzgerald screamed,”

  George murmured. “You guys really did think you were

  seeing a ghost.”

  Nancy frowned. “Susan, you said that this Jade

  person may be dead. You're not sure?”

  Susan shook her head. “No, we're not sure. We're

  pretty sure, though. It's a long story.”

  “Tell us!” George said.

  Susan sighed. “Jade disappeared about a month ago.

  She went backcountry camping up along Whitewater

  Bay. Whitewater Bay is just north of here. It's a pretty

  good-size body of water that empties into the Gulf.”

  “The golf? As in, the sport with little white balls and

  sticks?” Bess asked her.

  Susan smiled. “No, not that kind of golf. The Gulf of

  Mexico. Whitewater Bay has lots of little islands. You

  get there via the Wilderness Waterway, which is a big,

  long, ninety-nine-mile canoe trail connecting Flamingo

  to Everglades City up north. Whitewater Bay is

  popular with campers.” Her smile faded. “Anyway,

  Jade went backcountry camping in those parts and

  never came back.”

  “Backcountry camping,” Nancy repeated. “How is

  that different from regular old camping?”

  “It basically means not camping at an official

  campsite,” Susan explained. “You take your tent and

  other equipment and pitch camp wherever you want—

  on the beach, deep in the wilderness, wherever.

  Experienced campers like to do this because it's more

  challenging, plus you get more privacy that way.”

  “Did Jade go with anyone?” Nancy asked Susan.

  “Nope, and that's part of the mystery,” Susan

  replied. “It's really, really stupid to go backcountry

  camping by yourself, especially around here. You know,

  with all the wild animals and so forth. But she did it,

  anyway. I woke up one morning and there was a note

  on my desk.”

  “What did the note say?” George asked her.

  Susan scrunched up her face. “Let me see if I can

  remember the exact wording,” she murmured. “It said

  something like, Heading up to Whitewater Bay to get

  some peace and quiet. See you in a few days.' “ She

  nodded. “Yup, I think that was it.”

  Nancy took another sip of her iced tea. She loved

  solving mysteries, and this one was especially in-

  triguing. Why would Jade, who must have been savvy

  about the dangers of the Everglades, go back-country

  camping by herself? Was it a moment of bad

  judgment? Or was it something else?

  Nancy turned to Susan. “You and Jade were

  roommates?”

  “Yes,” Susan said. “So when she didn't come back

  after a couple of days, I started to get worried. When

  she didn't come back after a couple more days, I went

  into all-out panic mode. I told Mrs. Fitzgerald, who

  told the park rangers and police. There was a massive

  search for her.”

  “Did the park rangers or police find any clues?”

  George asked Susan.

  Susan shook her head. “Nope, not a one. They didn't

  even find her campsite.” She paused and swiped at her

  eyes with the back of her hand. “Um, sorry,” she said,

  sniffling. “It still upsets me to think about . . . you

  know. Anyway, Jade's parents flew in from California.

  That's where she's from. They helped with the search

  and even hired private detectives, but they couldn't

  find her, either.”

  Nancy pulled a tissue out of her bag and handed it

  to Susan. “Here. I know this is upsetting for you.”

  Susan took the tissue and wiped her eyes. “Thanks,

  Nancy. Anyway, Jade's parents finally had to give up

  and fly back to California. The official search has been

  canceled. Everyone's decided that she's probably dead

  or that she's run away and doesn't want to be found.”

  Nancy studied Susan's face. Obviously, Susan didn't

  agree a hundred percent with the people who'd given

  up on Jade. “What do you think?” Nancy asked her

  friend. “What's your theory about what happened to

  her? Do you think she's dead? How well did you know

  her?”

  Susan folded the tissue in half, then folded it again.

  She seemed to be considering something. “I think she's

  still alive,” she said after a moment. “Jade was my good

  friend as well as my roommate. I knew her, and I don't

  think she would have gone backcountry camping

  alone.”

  She lowered her voice and added, “I have this crazy

  theory. Like, maybe she was kidnapped. I mean, maybe

  the kidnapper made her write that note to me, I don't

  know.”

&
nbsp; Nancy started. Kidnapping, that's pretty serious

  stuff, she thought. “Why would anyone have wanted to

  kidnap Jade?” she said out loud.

  “I'm not sure,” Susan replied with a shrug. “The

  thing is . . . she'd been acting kind of strange before

  she disappeared.”

  “Strange how?” George asked her.

  “Strange like she had a big secret she was keeping

  from me. From everyone,” Susan said. “It's hard to

  explain. But I'm wondering if maybe Jade had

  something on somebody.”

  She leaned forward and added, almost apologeti-

  cally, “I kind of had an ulterior motive when I asked

  you guys to come down. I want to try to find Jade, or at

  least find out what happened to her. Will you help

  me?”

  So that's why Susan was so eager to get us down

  here, Nancy thought. Her detective's instinct had told

  her something was up.

  Before Nancy had a chance to respond, she was

  distracted by a noise at the screen door. It was a new

  noise, one that wasn't made by mosquitoes or tree frogs

  or birds. She glanced up quickly.

  A shadow fell across the doorway. Footsteps

  crunched the broken seashells as the shadow disap-

  peared.

  Someone's been eavesdropping on us! Nancy

  thought in alarm.

  3. A Chase through the Dark

  The shadow disappeared from the doorway. Nancy

  knew that someone had been listening to the con-

  versation about Jade. She wondered who it was.

  She rose from the wicker couch. “Who's there?” she

  called out.

  “Nancy, what is it?” Susan asked.

  Bess hastily pulled her feet onto the couch and

  wrapped her arms around her knees. “It's not an al-

  ligator, is it?” she demanded.

  There were more footsteps crunching across broken

  seashells. Without wasting another second, Nancy ran

  to the screen door and flung it open. A cloud of

  mosquitoes and tiny no-see-ums rose in the air and

  buzzed noisily around her head and around the small

  overhead lamp that lit the doorway.

  Nancy brushed the bugs away with one hand while

  glancing around. Someone—a man?—was running

  down the seashell path, away from the dorm building.

  It was too dark to see him clearly, or to tell if it even

  was a man. The short hair and broad, muscular

  shoulders seemed to indicate that it was, though.

  George came up behind Nancy. “Who's out there?”

  she whispered.

  “Shhh,” Nancy told her, trying to focus on the

  eavesdropper.

  The man cut a sharp left off the path and disap-

  peared into a grove of palm trees. “You guys stay here!”

  Nancy whispered to George. “If I'm not back in fifteen

  minutes, come looking for me.”

  “But—” George protested.

  Before George could stop her, Nancy took off after

  the man.

  Nancy turned left into the palm tree grove. Pumping

  her arms, she sprinted as fast as she could, which was

  quite fast. She jogged several times a week at home,

  and she was a natural sprinter. At that moment she put

  everything she had into chasing the eavesdropper.

  It wasn't easy, though. The ground felt soft and

  slightly swampy, and her sneakers kept squishing in the

  mud, getting sucked under. Even with the rising moon,

  it was hard to see in the ever-increasing darkness. The

  palm trees were tall and densely packed, creating a

  natural canopy that prevented most of the moonlight

  from shining through.

  The man was getting farther and farther ahead of

  her. He obviously knew the area and terrain better

  than she did.

  A branch whacked her in the face. “Ow!” Nancy

  cried out, but after ducking under the branch, she kept

  on going. Her right cheek stung, but she ignored the

  pain.

  The woods seemed to grow eerier by the minute.

  The man was leading Nancy away from the village

  complex, where there were buildings and lights and

  people, and deeper into the darkness, into the

  wilderness of the Everglades.

  She neared a small body of water. Was it a swamp?

  An inlet? Along its shore were big, gnarled trees with

  big, gnarled roots. Mangroves, Nancy thought,

  remembering pictures of them from the guidebooks.

  They were especially creepy looking in the dark. With

  their roots curving and crawling out of the ground, they

  seemed almost able to move. She had to take care not

  to trip over them.

  Abruptly Nancy heard a terrible, piercing scream.

  She stopped in her tracks, feeling the blood drain from

  her face.

  “Hello?” she whispered. “Anyone there?”

  There was no reply. After a minute she decided that

  the scream had come from an animal, not a human.

  She wondered what kind of animal could make a sound

  like that. A panther? she asked herself, and shuddered.

  She knew that there were panthers in the Everglades.

  Come on, Drew, snap out of it, she told herself.

  She took a couple of deep breaths to restore her

  focus and started running again. Her sneakers were

  totally covered with muck, and each step was slippery,

  precarious. Where did the man go? she wondered. She

  didn't see him up ahead.

  Nancy slowed and glanced around, squinting into

  the darkness. She was aware of the cool, humid

  evening air, the symphony of insect and frog noises,

  and the smell of the brackish water from Florida Bay,

  close by.

  There was a rustling in some nearby bushes. Nancy

  bit back a startled cry. Whatever had made the sound

  was small, too small to be the man. Nancy kept

  searching.

  A twig snapped. Nancy spun around, trying to follow

  the direction of the sound. All she could hear were

  insects and frogs.

  After a moment she let out a sigh of frustration. The

  man was gone, and it was useless for her to continue

  searching without a flashlight—and some backup.

  She turned around and headed back toward the

  dorm, hoping she could find it in the dark. She tried to

  feel for broken branches under her feet and use her

  intuitive sense of direction to lead her back toward

  civilization. She didn't like being in the palm tree grove

  alone.

  After a bit, Nancy could make out—through the

  overhead palm fronds—a couple of dimly lit windows

  in the distance. She sped up. Soon she could make out

  more windows, and the outlines of Susan's dorm and

  the surrounding cabins.

  When she got close to the place where the man had

  veered off into the palm grove, Nancy bent down and

  searched for footprints. She could make out several

  different kinds: a sneaker with a striped tread, which

  was probably hers, and another sneaker with a more

  deeply textured tread. That footprint was larger than

  hers and wider, which seemed to indicate that it
>
  belonged to a man.

  Just then something else caught her eye. Lying on

  the ground near the seashell path was a small silver

  object. It glinted dully in a thin sliver of moonlight.

  Nancy picked up the object and wiped the mud off

  it with the hem of her tank top. It was an oddly shaped

  key chain with a single key on it.

  Nancy frowned. Had the eavesdropper dropped it?

  Was this a key to the dorm? She walked over to the

  doorway, swung open the screen door, and jiggled the

  key in the lock of the main door. It didn't work.

  Nancy heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

  “Who's there?” someone asked.

  Nancy recognized Bess's voice. She smiled and

  pushed on the door.

  Bess was just about to scream, until she saw Nancy.

  Bess's hands flew to her hips. “Where have you been?”

  she demanded. “We were worried sick. Where did you

  go?”

  Susan came up behind Bess. “Come in before the

  mosquitoes get you, Nancy,” she said, sounding

  concerned.

  “I think they already did,” Nancy said, rubbing the

  itchy pink welts on her arms.

  She walked inside, and Susan closed both doors after

  her. Nancy glanced around the brightly lit room with

  its cozy wicker furniture and pretty turquoise walls.

  She was glad to be back.

  “Are you okay?” George asked her. “Your feet and

  legs are covered with mud.”

  “I'm fine,” Nancy said. She glanced down at her feet

  and legs. George was right—she was a mess.

  “We almost went after you with flashlights,” Susan

  told Nancy.

  “Well, some of us almost went after you with

  flashlights,” George corrected Susan.

  Nancy sat down on the wicker couch. Susan walked

  over to a large potted plant with thick swordlike leaves

  and snapped off a leaf. Then she went over to where

  Nancy was sitting and began rubbing the leaf across

  her arms.

  The leaf oozed a clear, cool liquid that coated her

  skin. “What are you doing?” Nancy asked Susan. She

  touched her arms. They were sticky. “What is that

  stuff, anyway?”

  “Aloe, for your mosquito bites,” Susan explained.

  “You'll like it, it's very soothing.”

  “Okay, spill,” Bess demanded. “Where did you go?

  Who was that guy? Did you catch him?”

  Nancy took a deep breath and told Bess, George,

  and Susan the entire story. When she had finished, she

  turned to Susan and said, “Do you have any idea who