"Boots," muttered the thin girl.
All of us quiet ones turned to see whom the others were eyeing. I figured it was Brian's mother, a.k.a. Army Boots.
From a distance she appeared theatrical, with a wide scarf wrapped around her thick, bleached hair and a big gold chain around her waist, but as she got close, she looked more like a P.E. teacher and mother-with a strong jaw, a determined mouth, but lots of little worry lines around her eyes.
"Ladies," she greeted us, joining us on the porch. "How are you?"
"Fine, okay, good," we mumbled.
"I hope you can speak more clearly than that on stage," she said, then smiled. "I'm Dr. Margaret Rynne. You may call me Maggie."
I thought Brian had said his last name was Jones; perhaps she used her maiden name or had remarried.
"I'm the assistant director, and for the eight of you who have been assigned to Drama House"-she paused, counting to make sure we were eight-"your R.A., or housemother. We'll start promptly. Here are copies of the floor plan. Please find your name and locate your room."
I studied the diagram. Maggie's room, two bedrooms, a multi-bath, and the common room were on the first floor. Four bedrooms and another multi-bath were on the second, and two bedrooms and a bath were nestled under the roof. We were supposed to eat in the cafeteria in the Student Union, but there was a kitchen in the house's basement.
"On each door you'll find a rope necklace with your key attached," Maggie said. "Please remember to-" "Who wants to switch rooms?" Shawna interrupted.
"No room switching," Maggie replied quickly. "Please be attentive to-" "But I have to, Maggie," she insisted, fingering a braid. "I'll never be able to sleep in that room."
"You can sleep with me," Ken said. "I'm in the attic."
I rechecked the floor plan. So was I.
"Each girl will sleep in her own bed," Maggie said. "I would like to remind you all that this is theater camp, not a seven-week slumber party. When the lights go out at eleven, everyone is to be in bed. Our rehearsal schedule is a rigorous one and you must be in top form."
"But I can't be in top form if I have to sleep in that room," Shawna persisted. "My sister goes to college here, and she says the back room is haunted."
"Haunted how?" asked the thin girl, twisting a strand of her light-colored hair.
"There are strange sounds at night," Shawna said, "and cold drafts, and after the bed is made, it gets rumpled again, as if someone's been sleeping in it."
I glanced at Maggie, who shook her head quietly. The other girls gazed at Shawna wide-eyed.
"It's Liza Montgomery," Shawna continued.
Now I stared at her.
"That was her room last year, you know."
"You mean the girl who was murdered?" asked a newcomer. "The one axed by the serial killer?"
"Bludgeoned," Keri corrected with a dispassionate flick of her heavily lined eyes.
Inside I cringed.
"Four weeks into our camp," said the girl with the dark silky hair, "Liza went out alone in the middle of the night."
My stomach tightened. I should have anticipated this, my sister being turned into a piece of campus lore.
"She was found under the bridge, chased under there," the girl added.
In fact, the police didn't know why Liza was beneath the bridge-whether she was chased, lured, or simply happened to be walking there.
"She got it in the back of the head-with a hammer. There was blood like all over the place."
"Thank you for that detail, Lynne," Maggie said.
"Her watch was smashed," Lynne went on.
I struggled to act like the other girls, interested in a story that was making me sick.
"That's how the police knew it was the serial killer. He murders people under bridges and smashes their wristwatches, so you know what time he did it."
"What time did he do it?" asked a new girl.
"Midnight," said Lynne.
Twelve-thirty, I corrected silently, twelve-thirty while I was still trying to reach her.
"Well, I think that's enough for today's storytime," Maggie said, then turned to the four of us who were new. "Ladies, there was a horrible tragedy here last summer. It shook up all of us. But this is a very safe campus and a safe town, and if you follow the camp's curfew rules, there is no reason to be concerned. Keri, Shawna, Lynne, and Denise"-she pointed them out-"were here last year. And camp is camp, no matter how grown-up you get. Those of you who are new, don't be conned by the tales and pranks of the veterans."
"My sister wasn't making up tales," Shawna insisted. "The room is haunted." "I'll take it."
The other girls and Maggie turned around. I thought Maggie was going to remind me that she had prohibited the switching of rooms, but perhaps she reasoned that Shawna's room was next to her own and seven weeks was a long time to live next to someone convinced she was sharing her bed with a ghost. "Fine," she agreed. "And you are?" "Jenny Baird. I was assigned to the third floor." She made a neat correction on her own copy of the floor plan, then glanced at her watch. "We have a camp meeting and cookout at the college pavilion scheduled for five o'clock. I would like you all to deposit your luggage in your rooms and be ready to go in five minutes. Wear your key and lock your door when you leave."
There was general confusion as the eight of us pulled our luggage out of the heap and rushed toward the front door. "Don't dawdle in the bathroom," Maggie called after us.
"She means it," Shawna whispered. "She'll come in and pull you off the toilet."
One of the new girls looked back at Shawna, horrified.
"Just kidding," Shawna said, laughing in a loud, bright way that made me laugh.
The front door opened into a large, square foyer with varnished wood trim and a worn tile floor. The stairs rose against the back wall of the foyer, turned and climbed, then turned and climbed again. A hall ran from the foot of the stairway straight to the back of the house. The common room, where we could all hang out, was to the right of the foyer. Proceeding down the hall, there was a room on either side, Maggie's and Lynne's, then continuing on, my bedroom on one side and the multi-bath on the other.
I knew from Liza's e-mails that she had liked this room, and when I opened the door I remembered why. Its back wall had a deep double window with a built-in bench. I pictured Liza practicing every possible pose a heroine could adopt in the romantic window seat, but there was no time for me to "dawdle" and try it out.
I met up with Lynne in the bathroom, then we headed out to the front porch. When everyone had reported back, Maggie led us down Goose Lane, which ran past the backyard of the fraternity next door toward Oyster Creek.
"How do you like your room?" Keri asked as she strolled beside me, her short black-and-white hair ruffling in the breeze. It 's nice."
"Yes," she said, lowering her voice, "if you like being next to Boots."
I shrugged. I hadn't come here to see how many rules I could break.
"Hey, guy alert," Denise called from behind us.
Everyone turned around but Maggie, who marched on like a mother goose assuming her goslings were right behind. Our group of eight slowed down, or perhaps the guys picked up their pace. However it happened, the two groups soon merged and we did what guys and girls always do, say things too loudly, make comments that seem terribly clever until they come out really dumb, while checking each other out. I saw the heavy-set guy from the Bronx hanging toward the back. Far ahead Maggie stopped and gazed back at us, counting her flock, I guessed.
"So where's Paul? I thought Paul was supposed to be here," Shawna said with a sly look at Keri.
"He's here. Somewhere," a guy replied. "Mike and Brian are looking for him."
Mike? Liza's Michael? I wondered. Would a guy in love with a girl return to the place where she was murdered? No way… and yet I had come here and I loved Liza.