THREE

Days later, Peggy was still confused. She knew she should be doing something to unmask the perverted creature lurking somewhere in the cabins, ready to pounce on her and perhaps on others. But no clue had developed—no one had made advances, there had been no hint or implication of anything out of the ordinary. Camp activity proceeded normally. Counselors had become accustomed to duties, and campers had become accustomed to counselors.

Maybe she had somehow misconstrued the conversation in the bathhouse. Maybe it had been a couple of girls playing a trick on Peggy. Maybe she had just dreamed the whole thing. These were the doubts assailing Peggy one afternoon during rest period, as she lay pondering the situation once more. Could be she ought to give up suspecting everyone who talked to her, stop her silent accusations.

As she weighed and worried, a bugle echoed through the hills, signaling the end of the rest interval. Peggy managed her usual, “Okay, kids!” But the girls were already off their cots and scrambling into shoes.

“Hi, Miss Mike,” a number of voices chorused as a rap sounded at the screen door and the husky counselor stepped inside.

Mike gave the youngsters a wink and a wave, then joined Peggy. “Talk to you a minute?”

“Sure.”

Peggy swung her lovely bare legs over the edge of the cot, pulled the tangled rubber band from her snarled ponytail.

When the last camper had departed from the cabin, she said, “What’s up?”

“Grocery day, you know, and Duncan had to make an emergency trip to the hospital with Beth. So—”

“God! What happened, Mike?”

Mike shrugged. “Some kid tried to shinny up the tetherball pole and didn’t quite make it. They think she broke her arm in two places.”

“Oh, great.”

“Yeah. Now some damn fool parent is going to come bitching about our lack of supervision or something.” Mike sighed. “Anyway, with Duncan gone, Pam is in charge so she can’t leave the grounds. She told me to run into town and take someone with me.”

“And I’m elected.”

“Right.” Mike hesitated. “Look, you don’t have to go if—”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” Peggy flared, but immediately wondered why she was the one chosen to accompany Mike.

Was this part of Mike’s psychological warfare?

Common sense warned Peggy not to jump to conclusions, either way, about Counselor Karen Michaels, commonly known as Mike.

The fact that Peggy had no good excuse not to go also crossed her mind. If this trip were engineered by Pam then it was like orders from headquarters.

Peggy stood up. “When do we leave?”

“Soon as you’re ready.”

Peggy snapped a fresh rubber band around her ponytail. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Both girls were silent as they sped along the highway in the camp station wagon. Mike concentrated on the sunlit concrete. Peggy’s attention was focused on Mike.

As the redhead expertly maneuvered the spacious wagon around the curves, Peggy watched intently, noting particularly the hands on the steering wheel—not exactly dainty hands, but soft and surprisingly white. Were those the hands that had quelled Beth’s fervent spirit that night in the bathhouse, Peggy wondered, all her old suspicions revived.

Abruptly, aversion overwhelmed her.

The realization that she was alone with Mike midway between camp and town, in territory completely unknown to her yet familiar to the redhead, chilled Peggy to the core. Suppose this trip had been planned, as she had first suspected, simply to get her alone with Mike? What if Mike suddenly pulled into a side road—and parked?

Then, more sensibly, Peggy asked herself—so what if she does? Just what can one girl do to another? Certainly nothing that could harm either one, she reasoned, consigning some of her fear to the warm summer breeze.

But as she began to relax once more, her eyes grazing the interior of the car, stopping once more on Mike’s milky hands, another thought struck. Exactly how would it feel to be touched intimately by another woman? Peggy shivered. How awful. How disgusting it must be!

Being enclosed within the confines of a car with Mike now revolted Peggy. How had she let herself get trapped into this thing? She wished she had stayed at camp....

“Are you always so quiet?” Mike asked.

Peggy flushed.

“I was doing a little thinking, Mike.”

“Nothing serious, I hope. By that,” the redhead hastened to explain, “I mean I hope there’s nothing wrong.”

“Nothing at all,” Peggy assured her. Then, in an attempt at conversation, she asked, “How many summers have you spent up here?”

“Every one of my life, almost.” Mike grinned. “I started out as a camper—I was nine years old—and have been here every season since. I began way back before the days of Duncan, even.”

“You must hold some kind of record.”

Mike grinned. “I guess I do. Pam missed out on a couple of seasons, going to summer school. But there’s one other girl—Marsha Hendricks. She’s the one that was supposed to work in campcraft with you.”

“What happened to her?”

“Mono. The kissing disease, you know?” Mike laughed. “There’s only one thing—Marsha hardly ever dates. When we started razzing her about it at school she got so upset we finally had to stop and convince her that we were only kidding. She’s the sensitive type.”

“Is she very sick?”

Mike shook her head. “She’s better now. But the doctor wants her to get a lot of rest before the fall term. I’m glad. We’re going to room together this year, and we’d probably get on each other’s nerves if we spent most of the summer together, then were stuck with each other in the fall. You know that cliché about familiarity. Besides—” Mike smiled at Peggy—“now there’s no one around to beat that record of mine.”

Peggy forced a smile, but her mind was elsewhere. “Why doesn’t Marsha date much?” she asked cautiously.

“Well—” Mike was thoughtful. “She’s one of those shy, quiet gals. Very reserved. She gets flustered whenever there’s a guy in the same room as she is. Hell, she gets flustered when there are more than two girls in the room. But she’s a great kid. I hope to get through to her this year. Teach her some things about life and love.” Mike winked, but added solemnly, “Maybe, though, I should just leave her alone. She gets involved in her studies—loves her books. She might be some kind of genius who can’t be bothered with a lot of romantic crap.”

Peggy decided not to pursue the question further. “Why was Lilian chosen to take her place?” she asked.

“You mean in campcraft?” Mike said. “Doesn’t seem the sort, does she? Actually, it was all last-minute. Someone else was lined up, but backed out. I don’t know what happened exactly, but maybe Lilian volunteered. I’ll say this—at least she’s had some experience at camping out. That’s more than most of the counselors can say, believe it or not. Besides, she’s got more time than anyone else. I mean just how much extra work is involved in helping a few kids put on skits?” Mike paused. She cast a sidelong glance at Peggy. “How do you like working with her?”

“Lilian?” Remembering the hostility between the two girls, Peggy answered noncommittally. “She’s okay. We haven’t been seeing too much of each other. She seems nice enough.”

Mike quickly changed the subject. “Have your kids short-sheeted you yet?”

Peggy sighed. “I’m still waiting.”

“You’re lucky. Practically everyone else has had the treatment.” The car slowed as Mike guffawed. “Did you hear about Margie?”

When Peggy shook her head, Mike told the story:

“Well, the other night about nine o’clock Margie decided she’d better leave the lounge. Figured her kids would be raising holy hell. At the cabin, she found all the girls apparently sound asleep. So Margie stripped down to panties and reached under her pillow. She felt around, then flipped the pillow—no pj’s. So she looked in the closet and on her shelf, under the bed, everywhere she might have put them. Finally she threw back the blankets. And there was a note—Would you like to play tetherball? Margie was pretty mad by this time and just threw the damn thing away. But then she got to thinking. So she pulled on all her clothes and went out. Sure enough—her pajamas were tied to the top of the pole. How the hell those little kids got up there, no one knows. Anyway, she had to climb the darned thing to rescue the pj’s.”

Peggy had dissolved into peals of laughter.

“And that’s not all,” Mike said. “Margie went back to the cabin, got ready for bed. She started to fluff up her pillow. It was now just a pillowcase full of rocks. By that time she was really furious. She swept her flashlight around the cabin but all the kids were sound asleep—and looking like angels, she told me. Anyway, she went outside to dump the rocks, came back, found her pillow hidden under the bed, fixed it, then crawled into the sack. But she couldn’t get her legs down. The kids had short-sheeted her while she’d been out.”

When Peggy stopped sputtering, she said, “If my kids try anything like that, I’ll—” She paused, scowling. “What did Margie do?”

The question threw Mike into another fit of guffawing. “That’s the best part of the whole story. The next night she got one of the other counselors to go with her during the evening program and short-sheet all her kids. But while they were in the cabin, Duncan went on one of her impromptu tours of inspection and caught them red-handed. Honey, I ask you, can you imagine that scene?”

Both girls giggled wildly.

Peggy felt her icy misgivings melting with Mike’s easy patter. As the redhead kept on telling stories of other counselors and other years, Peggy’s enchantment drowned any reservations she had had about the girl.

In town, when the supplies had been loaded in the station wagon, she eagerly accepted Mike’s suggestion that they stop for a snack.

Strolling down the street that comprised the entire business section, Peggy noted that Mike, wearing a simple yellow sun dress, did not seem as husky or as tomboyish as she did in her camp clothes. In fact, Peggy decided, the redhead looked quite graceful and attractive. Peggy was sorry she too had not taken the time to change into something more decorative and less revealing. Her red short-shorts exposed so much thigh and flank that stares were bent on her from every direction, and she heard a whistle or two sounding in her wake.

“You ought to hang a curtain over that cute fanny of yours,” Mike remarked.

“That’s quite an overhang you swish around yourself,” Peggy retorted. “You know, a girl can get arrested for disturbing the peace.”

A vigorous blush inundated Mike’s freckles, but she looked distinctly pleased.

Minutes later the two counselors were sitting across from each other in the local ice cream shop, studying menus that boasted such marvels as beatnik sundaes, astronaut floats, Hollywood delights, western marvels, and one concoction promising five flavors plus candied fruits, topping and—if the customer could finish it in one sitting—a prize afterward: “A dish of your favorite ice cream.”

Peggy was about to order an old-fashioned tin roof, but Mike insisted she be more daring. Against her better judgment, she was talked into a two-flavor dish featuring the establishment’s own rich sauce, topped with freshly whipped cream, nuts and a cherry.

* * *

Probably it was the sauce. Possibly it was the sauce plus the frayed nerves Peggy had initially suffered when the trip had begun. Or maybe it was just the smell of some sacks of onions and baskets of cabbage in the station wagon that did the damage. Peggy was not sure. But a few miles out of town she felt queasy. A mile away from the campsite she was sick. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, she wished she were dead.

“Oooh,” she groaned to Mike. “I’m sure if I move I’ll upchuck everything I’ve had to eat in the last three weeks.”

“Try a cigarette,” Mike advised in her husky voice.

“I couldn’t.”

“Can you make it to the Pillbox? Beth would fix you up.”

“I—oooh—I’ll try.”

Mike helped her out of the car, all but carried her to the camp clinic. Beth had not yet returned, so Mike pulled down bedding and told Peggy to flop.

“No, no!” Peggy protested. “I’ll be all right. Just give me a shot of rhubarb and soda, or anything like that. She must keep some around here. I’ll be fine.”

Mike pondered a moment, then said, “You’d better stay here a while, Peggy. I’ll go ask Pam what to do. I don’t want to take any chances.”

Gingerly, Peggy crawled into the bed and lay doubled up, waiting for Mike’s return.

She cursed under her breath as her stomach did a flip.

Just then the screen door banged. Peggy opened her eyes. Lilian was standing inside the room.

“I saw Mike drag you in here. Whatever is wrong, I’m sure a cup of tea will help,” she said without greeting.

Peggy groaned. “No, Lilian. I don’t want anything. I’m afraid even a sip of water would make me—”

“Hush. I’ll fix some tea, and you’ll drink it.” She left the room in which Peggy was lying, walked through the dispensary and on into Beth’s private quarters. Peggy tried to shut her ears to the rattling of dishes.

When finally Lilian reappeared in the curtained doorway, balancing cup and saucer, Peggy was still rolled into a ball. She hoisted herself to one elbow. Just as Lilian was handing her the steaming tea, the screen door squeaked open. Mike walked into the room.

She glared at Lilian. “What the hell are you doing here?” she wanted to know.

“I’m taking care of Beth’s patient.”

“She’s not Beth’s patient—she’s mine!”

There was a creaking of bedsprings as Peggy forgot she was ill and sat up.

“Possessive, aren’t we?” Lilian said to Mike.

Peggy was sure she detected a silent but filthy curse on Mike’s lips. Then: “Look, while Duncan and Beth are away, Pam is in charge. I’m under her orders to take care of Peggy.”

“How convenient!” Lilian sighed. “If only my sister were an assistant camp director, life here would be so—so ideal for me.”

“If you’re finished making with the wise cracks, will you please get the hell out of here? I want to be alone with Peggy.”

“I bet you do.” Lilian’s lip curled.

“God damn it, Lilian, the girl is sick. She—”

“I only intend to settle her a little—soothe her,” Lilian said quietly.

“I told you before, and I’m telling you again—leave Peggy alone. I swear to God, Lilian, if you—”

“Don’t threaten me, Mike. Neither you nor that assistant sister of yours have much to say about what I do around this place, and you know it.”

“Don’t push me, Lilian!”

Lilian calmly eyed the redhead. “What’s your concern with our little blond bombshell, anyway? Or are you just looking out for Pam’s interests?”

Mike clenched her fists. “You bitch—”

Peggy was staring in wide-eyed astonishment at the two.

Lilian turned to her.

“I’m sorry, Peggy,” she said. “It’s beastly of us to carry on in front of you. I apologize—for both of us,” she added benevolently. “Now drink your tea. I’ll stop by later to see if you need anything.” She squeezed Peggy’s hand, then turned and marched out, poised and cool.

Mike took the tea from Peggy, then uncapped a bottle of syrupy medicine. “This is the stuff,” she said, filling a spoon. “Pam told me it’s a special potion that will cure you or kill you in a hurry.”

Peggy opened her mouth to the oncoming spoon, made a wry face as the medicine trickled down her throat.

Mike smiled. “Think you’ll live?” She extended a hand and rumpled Peggy’s hair. “You’d better get some sleep, kid.”

Then Peggy was alone in the white room.

She could have been in some hospital back home, she thought. There was no sign of camp life in this canvas-walled alcove of the Pillbox. She felt completely removed from the natural surroundings of the camp, from the camp population. Except for its canvas partitions, the room was modernly and sanitarily equipped. So white, Peggy thought. White canvas walls and white curtains on the one big window and white cabinets. There were white sheets on the bed and a white wool blanket. And in the corner a white chair was pushed under a white enamel table.

In the distance young voices echoed across the water. A breeze rustled the pines. As the sounds reached her dimly, they only intensified Peggy’s feeling of isolation.

Then the whiteness closed in on her, surrounding her, engulfing her.

The white changed to black....

* * *

Peggy had been dreaming about Ted. A noise—something from far off, she thought as she stirred restlessly—had awakened her, but immediately she dozed off again, envisioning Ted once more.

Don’t be frightened, Peggy, he was whispering. I want to take care of you. He rested a hand on her forehead. How do you feel?

Peggy did not answer, but in her dreamlike state reached out for the hand and clutched it. The hand was soft and cool, and when he touched his lips to her forehead they, too, were soft and cool against her burning skin.

He was sitting on the bed now, stroking her cheek and hair. For an instant Peggy felt certain she was not dreaming.

She stirred restlessly as the lips touched her forehead once more, then moved to her closed lids, her throat.

Peggy—Peggy, I want you. Over and over he murmured her name, caressing her all the while, stroking her brow, her cheek, her breast.

The bed creaked as he stretched out next to her. Peggy knew she should protest, try to push him away. But his hands were warming her now, and Peggy, in her half-sleep, did not want Ted to stop.

Dreamily, Peggy’s fingers sought his hard, muscular body. She drew his nakedness to her, began to fondle him.

Then realization—and wakefulness.

This was not Ted!

Peggy forced open her eyes. All was hidden by the velvet blackness of deep night. She could see nothing, absolutely nothing. She moved her hands again, and touched a silky-smooth breast.

A woman. Yes, a woman was lying in bed with her.

So what? Beth or somebody had come in, had needed a place to sleep, and so had stretched out next to Peggy. Lots of girls slept naked....

Peggy’s lids dropped shut. That potion she had swallowed was still in effect.

Vaguely, dreamily, she was aware that the body next to her had moved nearer. The hands had started again to touch and caress. God, they were at her breasts.

They were squeezing, stroking. Then Peggy felt moist, tender petals enclose a nipple. It was being kissed. A tongue rasped and teased the delicate surfaces. Peggy’s areolas grew turgid as pangs of sharpest sweetness raced along her nerves.

My God, she thought. She could not be awake. This could not be a girl next to her. Girls could not do such things. My God in heaven, please! I’m in a nightmare. Wake me, God. Man or girl, this is so wrong....

Slipping back and forth on the edge of consciousness, Peggy fought to sit up, to escape. When the smooth hands torturing and enticing her reached her thighs, trickling over the skin like feathers, she managed to raise herself on one elbow.

But then the hands did something. Pure pleasure jolted Peggy like an electric shock.

She did not even sigh. Twitching, she fell back into the dim recesses of semiconsciousness.

Yet she was aware that the hands were working faster now, more urgently, doing things Ted had never dared to try. They kindled her every screaming nerve. She felt about to burst into flame. Passion pulsated and raged through her.

Once more Peggy fought to rouse herself from this wild dream—and yet was afraid to lose it. In the end, she clung hungrily to the heated body wooing her, moving against her, carrying itself and Peggy to dizzying heights.

Bad, Peggy told herself, throbbing, as she plunged back into slumber. So bad. So wicked....