“Are you sure?” he asked as they reached the elevator.

“Seriously,” she said. “I have a broken arm. I’m fine.”

The elevator arrived and she stepped inside, so he followed. No one paid them any attention as they wandered out the front door of the hospital to the old Nissan. David opened the door for her, and Stevie lowered herself into the passenger seat, choosing to ignore the aches through her body. She leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment against the sun. David got into the driver’s side. She could feel him looking at her, but he had the good sense to start the engine and not ask her again if she was sure.

“Some good news for you,” he said. “The head of the camp was freaked out when you two went off on bikes to town and never came back. Carson and Nate came up with some kind of cover story where you were riding in town, and a car pulled out fast in front of you, and you both swerved and fell.”

“It’s good to have an irresponsible adult on our side. It’s the only way to get anything done.”

“Camp?” he said. “Carson’s house?”

“Camp,” she said. “Not the Sunny Pines side. Your side.”

“You want to tell me why you walked out of the hospital without waiting an hour or two for the doctor? I’ll bet there’s a reason.”

“Someone shot at us last night,” she said, opening her eyes and looking out the window. The bright light stunned her for a moment, but she acclimated.

“Someone . . .”

“Shot at us,” she said.

“Who?”

Stevie’s mind was going too fast to explain. All the threads, the wires, the tangled mess of stuff—it was connecting in her head in a way that she could not articulate.

“I’ll know soon,” she said.

When they reached the camping area, Stevie staggered out of the car and immediately walked to the wooded path that looped the lake. “We have to walk around,” she said.

“Where are we going?”

“Over there,” she said, indicating Point 23.

They began the long tramp around the lake, Stevie’s body aching the entire way. The force at which she had hit the water had strained all her muscles, and her lungs and throat still burned. Her sneakers were still waterlogged and squelched with every step. Every once in a while, Stevie would dip off the path to get a clear view of the water.

“I’m looking for my backpack,” she said. “I had to take it off in the water. Either it sank or someone recovered it.”

“Does it matter? It’s just a backpack.”

“I had Sabrina Abbott’s diary,” she said. “I found it. I didn’t have a chance to read it, but I found it.”

“You found it? Where?”

“Inside a turtle at Allison’s house. I would have read it already, but someone tried to kill us.”

“So you were right about Allison.”

“Looks that way,” she replied.

The backpack was nowhere to be seen.