Almost Paradise Page 8

  Hands placed on her hips, the youngster surveyed the room, her eyes zeroing in on her peers. “All right, which one of you crooks kidnapped Ken-Richie?”

  “Wendy!”

  “I refuse to live in a den of thieves!”

  “No one stole your doll,” Sherry said for the tenth time. “I’m sure you misplaced him.”

  Wendy gave her a look of utter disgust. “No one in their right mind would misplace the one and only love of Barbie-Brenda’s life.”

  “Oh brother,” Sherry muttered under her breath.

  “I think Longfellow might have done it,” Pamela inserted cautiously. “It’s just the kind of thing a ghost would do.”

  “Longfellow?”

  “Right,” Jan and Jill chimed in eagerly. “Longfellow.”

  Wendy considered that for a moment, then agreed with an abrupt nod of her head and appeared to relax somewhat. “You know, I bet that’s exactly what did happen.”

  —

  Over the next two days the standard response to any problem was that Longfellow was responsible. Soon the entire camp was buzzing with tales of the make-believe ghost Sherry had invented.

  “My mattress has more bumps than a camel,” Gretchen claimed one morning.

  Six preteens glanced at the chronic complainer and shouted in unison, “Longfellow did it!”

  Ralph’s cage door was left open, to Pamela’s dismay. “Longfellow,” the girls informed her.

  At breakfast, the Cream of Wheat had lumps. The girls looked at one another across the table, nodded once, and cried, “Longfellow.”

  Every time Sherry heard Longfellow’s name, she cringed inwardly. That Roarke hadn’t heard about the friendly ghost was a miracle in itself. Sherry had already decided that when he did, she would give an Academy Award performance of innocence. By now, news of the spirit had infiltrated most of the cabins, although Sherry couldn’t be certain which counselors had heard about him and which hadn’t. She did notice, however, that the boys from Fred Spencer’s cabin were unusually quiet about the ghost.

  Since the night she’d met Roarke at the pay phone, their relationship had gone from a rocky, rut-filled road to a smooth-surfaced freeway. He’d shocked her by ordering coffee served at their early-morning meetings. Although he hadn’t specifically said it was for her benefit, Sherry realized it was.

  “I don’t think I ever thanked you,” she told him one morning early in the week, when the staff had been dismissed from their dawn session.

  “Thanked me?” He looked up from reading over his notes.

  “For the coffee.” She gestured with the foam cup, her gaze holding his.

  Roarke grinned, and his smile alone had the power to set sail to her heart.

  “If you’ll notice, I haven’t been late for a single meeting since the coffee arrived. Fact is, I don’t even need to open my eyes. The alarm goes off; I dress in the dark and follow my nose to the staff room.”

  “I thought that would induce you to get here on time,” he said, his gaze holding hers.

  Actually, the coffee hadn’t a single thing to do with it. She came because it was the only time of day she could count on seeing Roarke. Generally, they didn’t have much cause to spend time with each other, because Roarke was busy with the running of the camp and Sherry had her hands full with her seven charges. That he’d become so important to her was something of a quandary for Sherry. The minute he discovered she’d falsified her references, she’d be discharged from Camp Gitche Gumee. More than once Lynn had specifically told her that Mr. Roarke could forgive anything but dishonesty. Sherry had trouble being truthful with herself about her feelings for Roarke for fear of what she’d discover.

  “I’m pleased the coffee helped.” Dragging his eyes away from her, Roarke closed his notebook and walked out of the building with her. “Have you spent much time stargazing lately?”

  She shook her head and yawned. “Too tired.”

  “Pity,” he mumbled softly.

  It would have been so easy for Sherry to forget where they were and who they were. She hadn’t ever felt so strongly attracted to a man. It was crazy! Sometimes she wasn’t completely sure she even liked him. Yet at all hours of the day and night, she found herself fantasizing about him. She imagined him taking her in his arms and kissing her, and how firm and warm his mouth would feel over her own. She dreamed about how good it would be to press her head against his shoulder and lean on him, letting his strength support her. She entertained fleeting fantasies even while she was doing everything in her power to battle the unreasonable desires.

  “By the way,” Roarke said, clearing his throat, “one of the references you gave me came back marked ‘no such address.’ ”

  “It did?” Sherry’s heart pounded, stone cold. She’d prayed he wouldn’t check, but knowing how thorough Roarke was made that wish nothing short of stupid. She was going to have to think of something, and quick.

  “You must have listed the wrong address.”

  “Yes…I must have.”

  “When you’ve got a minute, stop off at the office and you can check it over. I’ll mail it out later.”

  “Okay.”

  They parted at the pay phone, Sherry heading toward her cabin and Roarke toward the mess hall.

  The cabin was buzzing with activity when Sherry stepped inside, but when the girls spied their counselor, the noise level dropped to a fading hum and the seven returned to their tasks much too smoothly.

  Suspicious, Sherry paused and looked around, not knowing exactly what she expected to find. The girls maintained a look of innocence until Sherry demanded, “What’s going on here?”

  “Nothing,” Sally said, but she was smiling gleefully.

  Sherry didn’t believe it for a moment. “I don’t trust you girls. What are you up to?” Her gaze swept the room. Never in her life had she seen more innocent-looking faces. “Ginny?” Sherry turned her questions to her..

  “Don’t look at me.” The teenager slapped her sides, looking as blameless as the girls.

  “Something’s going on.” Sherry didn’t need to be a psychic to feel the vibrations in the air. The seven wizards were up to something, and whatever it was seemed to have drawn them together. All through breakfast they were congenial and friendly, leaning over to whisper secrets to one another. Not a single girl found fault with another. Not even Gretchen! Their eyes fairly sparkled with mischief.

  Sherry studied them as they left the mess hall for their classes. Her group stayed together, looking at one another and giggling with impish delight without provocation.

  “Hi.” Lynn pulled out a bench and sat across the table from Sherry.

  Sherry pulled her gaze away from her wizards. “How’s it going?”

  Lynn shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “Have you been seeing Peter?”

  “Are you kidding?” Lynn asked and snorted softly. “We know better. Oh, we see each other all the time, but never alone.”

  “That’s wise.”

  “Maybe, but it sure is boring.” Lynn lifted her mug to her lips and downed her hot chocolate. “It’s getting so bad, the eighth-grade boys are beginning to look good to me.”

  Despite the seriousness of her friend’s expression, Sherry chuckled. “Now that’s desperate.”

  “Peter and I know the minute we sneak off, we’ll get caught—besides, we aren’t that stupid.” She sagged against the back of her chair. “I don’t know what it is, but Mr. Roarke has this sixth sense about these things. He always seems to know what’s happening. Peter’s convinced that Mr. Roarke is aware of everything that goes on between us.”

  “How could he be?”

  Lynn shrugged. “Who knows? I swear that man is clairvoyant.”

  “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.” Sherry’s stomach reacted with dread. She was living with a time bomb ticking away—she’d been a fool to have tried to slip something as important as references past Roarke.

  “Since Peter and I haven’t seen
a lot of each other,” Lynn continued, “we’ve been writing notes. It’s not the same as being alone with each other, but it’s been…I don’t know…kind of neat to have his thoughts there to read over and over again.”

  Sherry’s nod was absent.

  “Well, I suppose I’d best get to work.” Lynn swung her leg over the bench and stood.

  “Right,” Sherry returned, “work.”

  “By the way, I think the signs are cute.”

  Sherry’s head shot up. “Signs? What signs?”

  “The ones posted outside the cabins. How’d you ever get Mr. Roarke to agree to it? Knowing the way he feels about fairy tales, it’s a wonder—”

  Rarely had Sherry moved more quickly. She’d known her girls were up to something. Signs. Oh good heavens! By the time she was outside the mess hall, she was able to view exactly what Lynn had been talking about. In front of each cabin a large picket had been driven into the ground that gave the cabin a name. The older boys’ quarters was dubbed Pinocchio’s Parlor, the younger Captain Hook’s Hangout. Cinderella’s Castle was saved for the older girls. But by far the largest and most ornate sign was in front of her own quarters. It read: The Home of Sherry White and the Seven Wizards.

  The quality of the workmanship amazed Sherry. Each letter was perfectly shaped and printed in bright, bold colors. There wasn’t any question that her girls were responsible, but she hadn’t a clue as to when they’d had the time. It came to her then—they hadn’t painted the markers themselves but ordered them. Gretchen had claimed more than once that her father had given her her own American Express card. She’d flashed it a couple times, wanting to impress the others. Of all the girls, Gretchen had taken hold of the tales of fantasy with rare enthusiasm. She loved them and had devoured all the books Sherry had given her.

  “Miss White,” Roarke’s voice boomed from across the lawn.

  Her blood ran cold, but she did her best not to show her apprehension. “Yes?”

  He pointed in the direction of his headquarters. “In my office. Now!”

  The sharp tone of his voice stiffened Sherry’s spine. If she’d been in a less vulnerable position, she would have clicked her heels, saluted crisply, and marched toward him with her arms stiffly swinging at her sides. Now, however, was not the time to display any signs of resistance. She could recognize hot water when she saw it!

  It seemed the entire camp came to a halt. Several children lingered outside the classrooms, gazing her way anxiously. Teachers found excuses to wander about the grounds, a few were in a cluster, pointing in Sherry’s direction. Fred Spencer, the counselor who had made his opinion of Sherry’s ideas well known, looked on with a sardonic grin. Each group paused to view the unfolding scene with keen interest.

  Before Sherry had a chance to move, Roarke was at her side. Over the past few weeks, she’d provoked the stubborn camp director more times than she could count, but never anything like what he suspected she’d done this time. A muscle worked its way along the side of Roarke’s jaw, tightening his features.

  “M-Maybe it would be best to talk about this after you’ve had the opportunity to cool down and think matters through. I realize it looks bad, but—”

  “We’ll discuss it now.”

  “Roarke, I know you’re going to have trouble believing this, but I honestly didn’t have anything to do with those signs.”

  His lip curled sardonically. “Then who did?”

  Sally and Gretchen hurried up behind the couple. “Don’t be angry with Miss White,” Gretchen called out righteously. “She told you the truth. In fact, the signs are a surprise to her, too.”

  “Then just who is responsible?” Roarke demanded.

  The two youngsters looked at each other, grinned, and shouted their announcement: “Longfellow!”

  “Who?”

  Sherry wished the ground would open so she could dive out of sight and escape before anyone noticed. If Roarke had frowned upon her filling the girls’ heads with fairy tales as “romantic nonsense,” then he was sure to disapprove of her creating a friendly spook.

  “Longfellow’s our ghost,” Sally explained, looking surprised that the camp director didn’t know about him. “Longfellow, you know—he lives here.”

  “Your what? Who lives where?” Roarke managed to keep his voice even, but the look he gave Sherry could have forced the world into another ice age.

  “The ghost who lives at Camp Gitche Gumee,” Sally continued patiently. “You mean no one’s ever told you about Longfellow?”

  “Apparently not,” Roarke returned calmly. “Who told you about him?”

  “Miss White,” the girls answered in unison, sealing Sherry’s fate.

  “I see.”

  Sherry winced at the sharpness in his voice, but the girls appeared undaunted—or else they hadn’t noticed.

  “You aren’t upset with Miss White, are you?” Sally asked, her young voice laced with concern. “She’s the best counselor we ever had.”

  “The signs really were Longfellow’s idea,” Gretchen added dryly.

  Roarke made a show of looking at his watch. “Isn’t it about time for your first class? Miss White and I will discuss this matter in private.”

  The children scurried off to their class, leaving Sherry to face Roarke alone. Having two of her charges defend her gave her ego a boost. Roarke was so tall and overpowering that she realized, not for the first time, how easily he could intimidate her. Sherry squared her shoulders, thrust out her chin, and faced him head-on. “I have other plans this morning. If you’ll excuse me, I would—”

  “The only place you’re going is my office.”

  “So you can shout at me?”

  “So we can discuss this senselessness,” he said through gritted teeth.

  It wouldn’t do any good to argue. He turned and left her to follow him, and because she had no choice, she did as he requested, dreading the coming confrontation. For the past few days at camp, Sherry had come to hope that things would be better between her and Roarke. The night he’d walked her back from the pay phone had blinded her to the truth. They simply didn’t view these children in the same way. Roarke saw them as miniature adults and preferred to treat them as such. Sherry wanted them to be children. The clash was instinctive and intense.

  Roarke held the office door open for her and motioned with his hand for her to precede him. Sherry remembered what Lynn had said about Roarke firing people in the mornings. Well, here she was, but she wasn’t going down without an argument. Of all the things she had expected to be dismissed over—falsified references, misleading lesson plans, ghost stories—now it looked as if she was going to get the shaft for something she hadn’t even done.

  She spoke first. “I already told you I had nothing to do with the signs.”

  “Directly, that may be true, but indirectly there’s no one more to blame.”

  Sherry couldn’t argue with him there. She was the one who had introduced the subject to her seven wizards.

  “If you recall, I specifically requested that you stop filling the children’s heads with flights of fancy.”

  “I did,” she cried.

  “It’s all too obvious that you didn’t.” His shoulders stiff, he marched around the desk and faced her. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on the desktop and glared in her direction. “You’re one of those people who request an inch and take a mile.”

  “I…”

  “In an effort to compromise, I’ve given you a free hand with the nine- and ten-year-old girls. Against my better judgment, I turned my head and ignored gin rummy taught in place of statistics classes. I looked the other way while you claimed to be studying frozen molecules when in reality you were sampling homemade ice cream.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I appreciate it?”

  “Obviously, you don’t,” he insisted, his voice gaining volume with each word. “Not if you stir up more problems by conjuring up a…a ghost. Of all the insane ideas you’ve c
ome up with, this one takes the cake.”

  “Longfellow’s not that kind of spook.”

  His eyes narrowed with a dark, furious frown. “I suppose you’re going to tell me—”

  “He’s a friendly spirit.”

  Roarke muttered something she couldn’t hear and raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I’m listening to this.”

  “The girls have a hundred complaints a day. Wendy’s Ken-Richie doll is missing—one of the ten she brought to camp.”

  “Ken who?”

  “Her Ken doll that she named Ken-Richie.”

  “What the devil is a Ken doll?”

  “Never mind, that’s not important.”

  “Anything you do is important because it leads to disaster.”

  “All right,” Sherry cried, losing patience. “You want to know. Fine. Ken-Richie is the mate for Barbie-Brenda. Understand that?”

  —

  Roarke was growing more frustrated by the minute. There had been a time when he felt he had a grip on what was happening at camp, but from the minute Sherry had arrived with her loony ideas, everything had slid downhill.

  —

  “Anyway,” Sherry continued, “it’s so much easier to blame Longfellow for stealing Ken-Richie than to have a showdown among the girls.”

  “Who actually took the…doll?”

  “Oh, I don’t know—no one does. That’s the point. But I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner or later.”

  “Do you actually believe this…Longfellow will bring him back?” Roarke taunted.

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s pure nonsense.”

  “To you, maybe, but you’re not a kid and you’re not a counselor.”

  “No, I’m the director of this camp, and I want this stupidity stopped. Now.”

  Sherry clamped her mouth closed.

  “Is that understood, Miss White?”

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t? You have my direct order.”

  She lifted her palms and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s gone too far. Almost everyone in the entire camp knows about Longfellow now. I can’t put a stop to the children talking about him.”