Angie held up a plastic tub. “You’ll need water, so fill your tub three-quarters full. Be sure the water is cool, not hot. Hot water isn’t good on your brushes.” She pointed to the side of the room where a wide shelf ran underneath the windows. “Speaking of water, remember to stay hydrated. It helps prevent altitude sickness. Those carafes hold decaf, coffee, and hot water for tea. Cold drinking water is in the pitcher.”

Everyone lined up at either the sink to fill buckets or the ledge to get refreshments. I poured a glass of water and started to take a drink.

The water smelled of boggy plant life.

I moved the glass away from my face and sniffed the room. A hint of turpentine mixed with a pine cleaner. I smelled the drinking water again. It reeked of the pond, filled with the parasite giardia.

“Stop!” I shouted.

Angie sloshed the bucket of water she’d been carrying to her table. “What is it, Darby? You scared me to death!”

“Don’t drink the water in the pitcher. I think it’s from the beaver pond.”

Grace dropped her glass, shattering it on the floor. Dee Dee raced to the sink and vomited. Angie dashed to the pitcher and sniffed. Color drained from her face.

I wasn’t crazy. This was deliberate. Again.

*  *  *

Bram took his place with the other passengers awaiting the chartered helicopter. The chuff, chuff, chuff of the whirling blades drowned out any conversation with Mr. Rinaldi or Mrs. Eason. Bram turned his head to keep the flying debris out of his eyes. When the copter-driven wind slowed, he looked back at his ride. The pilot nodded at him and the copilot gave a salute.

Darby burst from the lodge, waving her arms frantically.

He ran toward her. Conversation was impossible over the noise. He pointed to the lodge. Once inside, he asked, “Change your mind?”

“No. I think someone tried to poison the guests.”

Bram’s chest tightened. “What happened?”

“Come with me.” She led him to the art room. Angie was rubbing Dee Dee’s back as she bent dry heaving over the sink. Grace was frozen over a mess of shattered glass. The remaining two members of the class, Peter and Stacy, were seated at their table holding hands. Darby pointed. “Someone put water from the beaver pond into the drinking pitcher.”

The clatter of the copter blades increased.

I need to ask them to wait. Bram bolted from the room but was too late to catch the pilot’s attention. He returned shortly.

“I’m sorry,” Darby said. “I made you miss your ride, but I thought this was important.”

“I’ll catch the supply wagon. What makes you think it’s not fresh drinking water?”

“Smell it.”