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ПРИЯТНОГО ЧТЕНИЯ!

Carolyn Keene

Nancy Drew Girl Detective: Volume Thirty-Nine

Green-Eyed Monster

George, Bess, and I were so excited when we won an amazing vacation at an eco-resort in Costa Rica. Fun, sun, surf — all in the name of ecology and helping to keep our planet clean. But, as always, dirty business seems to follow me wherever I go, and this resort isn't as spic 'n' span as we originally thought.

After a string of increasingly dangerous "accidents," it seems that there is a jealous predator staying at the resort, making trouble for the management and the guests. Against the urging of my friends, I know that I need to take this case and get to the bottom of it before our entire week at Casa Verde is ruined — or worse. Can I uncover who is sabotaging the press tour before it's too late? Or will our vacation come to an unhappy end?

I THE EARTH

So what exactly is a green fair?” I asked my friends Bess and George as we walked across the River Heights High School parking lot to the gymnasium entrance. “I’ve heard of a state fair. A science fair. Even a health fair. What’s a green fair?”

Bess chuckled. “Well, it’s basically like a health fair or a science fair, but with exhibits about how you can live more greenly.”

George, Bess’s cousin, wrinkled her nose. “Is that a word? Greenly?”

Bess sighed. “It is now. And you know what I mean.” We reached the gymnasium doors, and Bess pulled them open and waited for us to go in. “Ecologically responsible? Environmentally friendly? However you want to say it.”

Inside, I gasped at the sheer size of the fair. The entire gymnasium was filled to the brim with exhibits — from companies advertising green products, departments from the River Heights government, even kids from the local school district. Huge posters encouraged us to live green. But I could see that we were looking at only a tiny fraction of what the fair had to offer. The exhibits stretched all the way to the far end of the gymnasium, and then even farther, down the hallway.

Bess grabbed a sheet from a table to our right. “This says there are sixty more exhibitors in the cafeteria!” she cried. “Oh! And there’s a cooking class for locally grown food going on right now! And you can learn how to greenify your cleaning routine! And how to convert your car to run on old cooking grease!”

George made a face. “Yeeecch.”

I nodded. “That sounds like a good idea,” I allowed, “but wouldn’t you always be craving french fries?”

Bess kept reading the program. “Oh, it looks like you can only do it to a car that runs on diesel,” she murmured, sounding seriously disappointed. “I guess you’ll just have to stick with your hybrid, Nance.”

I sighed dramatically. “Bummer.”

George looked around impatiently. “Well, let’s get started,” she suggested, gesturing to the first aisle. “At this rate, it will take us three hours to see everything, and I wanted to get some things done this afternoon.”

Bess scoffed. “Get things done? What could be more important than saving the planet?”

George shrugged. “Cleaning up my room?” she suggested. “It’s becoming a biohazard.”

We paused in front of the first exhibit, where a pungent smell hit my nose.

“Ugh. What’s that smell?” Bess asked quietly, suddenly looking less than enchanted by the green way of life.

“It smells like… garbage,” complained George, placing her hand over her nose. I shook my head. “No, it’s more like… a farm?” I suggested, taking another sniff. I couldn’t say it was pleasant, but it wasn’t totally gross, either.

Suddenly the woman staffing the exhibit finished her conversation with an older couple and turned to the three of us. “Hello there,” she said cheerfully. “Are you here to learn about composting in your backyard?”

Bess laughed. “Oh, composting!” she cried, seeming to place the smell. “We’re old pros at composting, right, girls? Remember in third grade?”

Back when we were all in third grade, our teacher had taught a section on the environment and we all learned how to compost. George laughed. “Oh, yeah. See, I’ve supported the environmental cause before!”

The woman, whose name tag read SANDY, smiled patiently, then opened a tall ceramic pot to show us the compost she was collecting inside. “You just save all your natural waste — vegetable peels, coffee grounds, even eggshells. Get yourself a nice composting box or pail for the winter, and let it break down naturally. Com- posting takes natural waste out of landfills and provides a powerful fertilizer. Do you garden?”

I nodded my head. “We do keep a small garden in the backyard.”

Sandy smiled. “Great, then! Let me show you a few of the basics.”

“All right, guys,” George said with a sigh, glancing at her watch. “Let’s keep it moving. We only have about six hundred more exhibits to check out.”

“Okay, okay,” I agreed, thanking the woman again and tucking the pamphlets she’d given me into my pocket. I must not have been paying much attention to where I was going, because the next thing I knew I slammed into a girl who was trying to get past the compost exhibit. As I began to stammer an apology, she sighed loudly.

“I’m sorry, I must not have been paying attention,” I apologized.

“Nancy?” A familiar, not-entirely-welcome voice hit my ears, and I glanced up to see, sure enough: Deirdre.

“Deirdre,” I greeted her, forcing a warm smile onto my face. “I’m surprised to see you here!” Deirdre Shannon has her good points, but I never would have pegged her as a girl who would care about saving the earth — especially if it meant she couldn’t buy her favorite brand of mascara.

Deirdre glared at me as though I had slapped her. “I could say the same about you, Nancy.”

I tried to soften my tone. “Have you been in the cafeteria yet? I hear there are tons more exhibits there.”

Deirdre shook her head. “I just got here. I just had to get away from that stanky compost exhibit. I mean really, who wants garbage rotting in their kitchen?”

Bess, who seemed to have noticed I’d been held up, suddenly swept over. “You know, composting reduces the waste going into landfills and creates a great natural fertilizer that makes it easier for you to grow your own food,” she told Deirdre. I was pretty sure she was quoting verbatim the front of one of the brochures the woman had given me, but I didn’t say anything.

“Hello, Bess,” Deirdre said coolly, looking about as happy to see Bess as I’d been to see Deirdre.

“Hello,” George added, joining our circle. “Deirdre, I didn’t know you were a budding environmentalist.”

Bess giggled. “That’s cute!” she said. “Get it? Budding environmentalist?”

George groaned, but I couldn’t help but chuckle. Deirdre looked at us like we were speaking Chinese.

“Everybody who’s anybody is embracing environmentalism these days,” she told us, standing up a little straighter. “Did you know Julia Roberts built an entirely green home in Malibu, complete with solar panels on the roof and sustainable lowmaintenance landscaping?”

“I did not know that,” George replied simply.

“I did,” Bess admitted with a little grin.

“It’s all here in Stylish Living magazine: The Green Issue!”

George groaned.

“I have that,” Bess said.

“Isn’t it great?” asked Deirdre. “I mean, with so many prominent people getting involved, I figured I would be crazy not to jump on the bandwagon. Especially when you can get so many cute green products these days.” She held up her bag. “Like this!”

I got a good look at Deirdre’s tote bag for the first time: it was huge, made out of some kind of shiny, plasticky substance, with a fuzzy, smiling koala bear stitched onto the front. I THE EARTH! was printed across the front.

“Cute,” observed Bess, glancing at the two of us with an unsure expression.

“Yeah, cute,” I agreed, although something about Deirdre’s budding environmentalism was rubbing me the wrong way.

George sighed. “Um, Deirdre,” she began, as though she knew this was going to be a tough argument, “did you notice your bag is made out of polyurethane, which is not biodegradable?”

Deirdre made a face. “Polyurawhat?”

“It’s also,” George went on, reaching out to grab a tag from the inside of the bag and squinting at it, “made in Bangladesh. Do you know how far away that is, and how much fuel was probably consumed getting this bag to a store where you could buy it?”

Deirdre looked annoyed. “But look at it,” she insisted. “It’s got a koala on it. Everyone knows koalas care about the earth!”

“First of all,” said George, “I don’t think we can really know what koalas think. Second, I think your bag is the result of some bad designer figuring out that environmentalism is trendy and slapping a cute slogan on a totally ungreen product.”

Deirdre pushed out her lower lip. “You’re saying that my cute bag isn’t green?”

George drew closer. “It’s so not green, it’s practically orange,” she replied.

Deirdre looked shocked. She shoved her Stylish Living back into her bag, then pulled the bag close to her, protectively stroking the fuzzy koala bear. “Your problem, George,” she whispered fiercely, “is that you just don’t understand the environmental spirit.”

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked away from us — keeping a good distance from the compost exhibit.

“Well, that was interesting,” I said, pulling out my map of the fair.

“That,” said George, shaking her head, “is exactly what’s wrong with environmentalism being trendy.”

Bess sighed. “Okay, I see your point.” She glanced over my shoulder. “But let’s hurry! There’s a lecture on the hottest organic cosmetics in fifteen minutes.”

Two hours later I felt thoroughly educated on everything I could do to help save the planet — but also exhausted! We’d seen almost all of the exhibits, gotten estimates of our “carbon footprints,” and taken applications for a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) program that would supply us with fresh produce from a local farm every week during growing season.

“Ooh, look, they have honey,” Bess cried happily, reading the CSA pamphlet.

“And it looks like honey is going to become harder and harder to get!” I added, thinking of an exhibit we’d just visited about the mysterious disappearance of America’s honeybees. We’d reached the entrance to the gym, and I started fishing in my pocket for my car keys. “All right, kiddos,” I said, “I feel green enough to head home.”

“Oh, no!” Bess protested, at the same time George moaned, “Not yet!”

I turned to my friends, a puzzled look on my face. “What?”

Bess gave me a beseeching look. “We can’t go yet,” she coaxed. “In five minutes they’re announcing the raffle winners!”

“Raffle winners?” I asked. I’d bought a couple of raffle tickets to support the high school’s Environmental Club, but I really didn’t care whether I won or not. I wasn’t even sure what the prizes were — baskets of organic vegetables? A low-flow showerhead?

George nodded. “And I’m dying to win one of those laptops,” she said. “You know — the Xo laptop. It’s a tiny, awesome little device that was created for kids to use. It’s the centerpiece of the One Laptop Per Child program — a program that aims to get every child in the world a laptop!”

Bess nodded. “That sounds pretty cool,” she agreed.

“Best of all,” George added, “the computers cost only a hundred ninety-nine dollars each, so people can easily sponsor a child in a developing country. But if I win the raffle…” She smiled. “Then I get one for the twenty dollars I spent on tickets. And the program gets a ton of money from everyone who bought raffle tickets.”

“Okay,” I said. “That sounds worth sticking around for.”

Just then a voice came over the intercom: “Raffle winners are about to be announced. Anyone holding raffle tickets, please make your way to the auditorium!”

“That’s us,” said George quickly, grabbing Bess’s arm and mine and herding us toward the gymnasium doors.

“We’re coming, we’re coming!” Bess said with an exasperated sigh. “No need to rip our arms off!”

“Sorry,” George said, biting her lip. “But — um — could you move a little faster?”

With George prodding us the whole way, we made our way into the crowd heading for the auditorium. There we took a seat in the third row, “nice and close to the stage for when I win my laptop,” George explained.

Looking around at all the filled seats, I was impressed. It looked like the town of River Heights really had come out en masse to the fair today. Hundreds of people fished out their raffle tickets, eagerly looking up at the stage.

After a few minutes, a blond, middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Julie, the owner of River Heights’s organic food co-op, stepped up to begin announcing the prize winners and the prizes — everything from organic cosmetics to bamboo sheets to dinner for two at a local vegan restaurant. But as the announcements wore on, the prizes seemed to get bigger. And George, sitting next to me, began to positively bounce with excitement.

“Ooh, Nance, I haven’t won anything yet!” she cried excitedly. “You know what that means! It means my name is still in there!”

Just then the woman at the podium called out, “And now, the winner of the Xo laptop, from the One Laptop Per Child program…”

George squeezed my hand and Bess’s at the same time.

Bess shot her a stunned look. “George,” she observed, “I’ve never seen you like this! You’re acting like me.”

“I know,” George whispered, unable to take her eyes off the stage, “and believe me, I’m just as worried about it as you are.”

“Kendra Jung!” the woman announced, and polite applause filled the auditorium as a young girl moved forward to accept her prize.

Immediately George’s hands went slack, and she leaned back in the chair, looking exhausted. “Ugh,” she muttered.

“Sorry, George,” Bess said encouragingly, squeezing her cousin’s shoulder. “You’ll get one some other way.”

I nodded, patting George’s other shoulder. “And just think — your twenty dollars will go to help save the planet.”

George closed her eyes and sat up, rubbing her temples. “I know,” she admitted. “I know, I know. It’s all good.”

“And now!” the announcer continued, pulling my attention back to the stage. “The winners of our two grand prize packages!”

“What’s the grand prize?” I whispered to George.

She shrugged. “I dunno. A trip to some spa or something? I was only interested in the laptop.”

The announcer went on, “An all-expenses-paid eco-tour of Costa Rica!”

“Oh, wow!” Bess whispered, poking her cousin’s arm. “That would be amazing, wouldn’t it? Costa Rica is supposed to be so beautiful. I think Charlize Theron went there last year!”

George shrugged. “Well, Charlize would know,” she deadpanned. “I’m sure it would be beautiful, if I were having any luck today.”

The announcer plucked a raffle ticket out of the huge basket she’d been using and announced cheerfully, “GEORGE FAYNE!”

Bess’s mouth dropped open. We both turned to George, who was frozen, her head still in her hands.

“Did she just say… me?” she asked.

I nodded. “George, get up there! You just won a trip to Costa Rica!”

George shook her head as if to clear it, and a slow smile appeared across her face. “I just won a trip to Costa Rica!” she gasped.

“That’s right!” cried Bess, trying to prod her out of her seat. “And when you’re deciding who to bring, just remember who made you come to this green fair in the first place!”

Bess and I both chuckled as George made her shell-shocked way up onto the stage. The announcer reached into the basket again and plucked out another ticket, then moved toward the microphone to announce, “And the other winner is… Deirdre Shannon!”

“AAHHHHHHHHH!” A sharp-pitched scream rose from the back of the auditorium, and I could see Deirdre leaping out of her seat and trampling over the people in her row to get to the aisle, which she promptly ran down. “Oh my gosh! AAAAH! I WON!”

George, who had just taken a folder from the announcer that contained all her trip details, looked back at us with an uh-oh expression. A vacation to Costa Rica with Deirdre? Probably not what she had in mind.

“Oh, no,” breathed Bess, clearly thinking the same thing.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Just think, Bess,” I said encouragingly. “Vacationing with Deirdre will make the trip seem even longer!”

CASA VERDE

As it turned out, I was going to be able to see up close and personal just how Deirdre reacted to Costa Rican wildlife. Bess and George insisted that I come with them. “We’re the three musketeers!” Bess had cried, and George had agreed, “It’s true, Nance — it won’t be the same without you.” So three weeks later I found myself in seat 16B on Flight 171 to San José, trying to keep George’s sleeping head from falling into my lap and listening to Bess squeal about the items available in the SkyMall catalog.

“Oh my gosh, did you see this, Nance?” she asked, shoving the worn catalog under my nose. “You can grow an entire vegetable garden in your kitchen! With no soil!”

“You know, Bess, you can grow an entire vegetable garden in your backyard,” I pointed out. “And that doesn’t require a two-hundred-dollar piece of techno-junk.”

Bess yanked her catalog back. “You sound like George,” she accused. “Why don’t you wake her up, by the way? We’re going to land in about half an hour.”

“Why don’t you wake her up?” I volleyed back. We both knew that George was not exactly Mary Sunshine when she first got up.

Bess glanced up from the catalog, then quickly away. “Well, never mind,” she muttered, energetically flipping a few pages. “She’ll wake up when we land, anyway.”

Just then the pilot made the announcement that we would be starting our descent into the San José area, and everyone should make their way back to their seats. Behind us, Deirdre had been chatting with her cousin, Kat, whom she’d brought along as her guest, but after the announcement, Kat squealed, “Ooh — I think I’d better make my way back to first class.” As we’d learned before the plane boarded, Kat had paid to upgrade herself to a first-class seat.

Now she shimmied by us in the aisle, pausing when she met my eye. “Oh, look at you three!” she cried in a delighted voice. “Aren’t you cozy.”

Pushing George’s head back up to my shoulder from my chest, I forced a smile. “Well, it’s no first class,” I admitted.

Kat chuckled. “Right. You know, personally, I don’t mind flying coach, but my dog, you know, Pretty Boy? He gets claustrophobic.”

I nodded, not sure what to say to that. At the airport we’d learned that Kat was from Los Angeles and made a nice salary working as an extra in movies and TV shows. She claimed to know hundreds of celebrities, though the best story she’d shared with us so far was about standing behind Howie Mandel in the line at Starbucks. And she’d completed “a ton” of paperwork and gone through lots of effort to bring her toy Chihuahua, Pretty Boy, to Costa Rica with her. “We’re totally codependent,” she’d explained to us as Pretty Boy, wearing a light blue sequined tuxedo, gnawed on her hair. “Without me around, he just spins in circles and cries all day. He doesn’t even get dressed.”

“Oh, well.” Kat shrugged now, adjusting her T-shirt. “I’d better get back to him. I left him with a stewardess, but he was acting a little grumpy, so…”

I thought I heard a growl from the front of the plane, and Kat took off.

Bess, who’d kept her focus on her catalog that whole time, put it down and watched Kat slip through the curtain to first class. “That dog bit me twice just walking down the jetway to board the plane,” she recalled.

I nodded. “Kat says his doggie therapist has been working on his aggression issues.”

Bess pursed her lips. “I am not dogsitting that dog,” she said, slipping her catalog into the pocket on the seat in front of her. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Forty minutes later Bess, a very grumpy George, Deirdre, Kat, and I stumbled out of the secure part of the San José airport.

“Do we have any idea what this guy looks like?” George asked, rubbing her eyes.

“They told me he’d have a sign,” Deirdre replied, and we all craned our necks, searching the crowd.

“Oh! There he is,” squealed Kat, running over to a tall, dark-haired man who stood over by the currency exchange stall. He was holding a sign that said GEORGE FAYNE, DEIRDRE SHANNON, and he seemed to be searching for us just as energetically as we were searching for him.

We all followed Kat over to the man. “Are you… Christopher?” she was asking. “No, wait, that’s not right. Christmas? Chris —”

“Cristobal?” said the man smoothly. “Yes, that’s me! And I take it you are the lovely ladies I will be hosting at Casa Verde this week?”

“We are,” said George sleepily, looking surprised. “Are you Cristobal Arrojo? Owner of Casa Verde?”

Cristobal nodded proudly. “Co-owner, with my brother,” he explained. “Perhaps you are surprised that I’m here, at the airport, but it’s very important to Enrique and me that Casa Verde maintain that personal touch.” As he spoke, he led us over to the baggage claim area, where suitcases were already whirring by on a conveyor belt. “When you stay with us,” he added, sweeping past Kat to grab a pink suitcase that she’d been reaching for, “you are like family, sí? Here you are, bonita.”

He handed Kat her suitcase, and she practically swooned.

“Oh!” Cristobal cried, moving closer to the blue satin carrier that held a super-cranky Pretty Boy. “And who is this, may I ask?”

“That’s my dog, Pretty Boy,” Kat explained with a smile. “He travels with me everywhere.” As she spoke, Pretty Boy let out a deep growl that seemed far too loud to be coming from such a tiny animal.

“Ah, yes,” Cristobal replied, looking a little surprised. “I guess — I guess we can accept pets this one time.”

Kat tossed her long, platinum blond hair. “He’s really not so much a pet as a companion.”

“Of course,” agreed Cristobal, turning to retrieve another suitcase, which belonged to Bess. “Well, let me tell you a little bit about Casa Verde, where you’ll be staying, okay?”

“Great!” Bess cried, clearly excited. Over the last couple of weeks, we’d pored over the brochures and websites for the new family-style green resort, eager to see what it looked like in person. Even George had been impressed by Casa Verde’s green credentials — they really were a state-of-the-art ecoresort.

“Casa Verde,” Cristobal explained, “was once, and is once again, a working coffee plantation. For decades plantation workers harvested coffee beans there, selling them to roasters and distributors all around the world.”

Deirdre nodded. “I love Costa Rican coffee,” she broke in. “It’s one of your largest exports, right?”

“Right.” Cristobal reached to grab George’s suitcase. “The rain forest climate is excellent for growing coffee. But years ago the Via Verde coffee plantation fell on hard times and closed its doors. And just last July, my brother Enrique and I stumbled on the site.”

He turned to us and smiled. “Wait till you see it. Up on a hillside, with beautiful views of the surrounding hills and rain forest. It is a little piece of heaven, right here on earth.”

I glanced at Bess and grinned, even more eager to see the resort.

“Enrique and I purchased the land and renovated the old plantation house into a comfortable, luxurious, and completely ecologically friendly guest house with ten rooms,” he went on. “We then consulted with some environmental scientists and veterinarians to create beautiful gardens and a nature preserve right on our land. We take in wild animals in need of a new home and give them an ideal environment to thrive in. We have a full-time veterinary staff of two. You can all explore the preserve when we get back — there are three hiking trails that take you on nice tours of the land.”

“Wow,” murmured Kat. I noticed that she’d removed Pretty Boy from his carrier and was now nestling him in the crook of her arm. “I can’t wait to see it!”

Cristobal smiled, grabbing our last suitcase. “I can’t wait for you to see it,” he replied. “You girls must know, we are just opening this weekend, and you will be our first guests.”

George nodded. “We’re honored,” she told the resort owner, seeming to shake off the last vestiges of sleepiness.

“But first,” Cristobal announced, checking his watch, “we must wait for a few more guests.”

Kat scrunched up her eyebrows. “A few more guests?” she asked, clearly disappointed. “How many? And how long do we have to wait?”

Cristobal looked apologetic. “As I said, we are just opening this weekend,” he went on. “And along with donating your vacations to help environmental causes, we invited just a few journalists to experience our resort.”

“A press tour?” Bess asked. “You mean we’re part of a press tour?”

“What’s that?” Deirdre asked Bess, looking nonplussed.

Bess shrugged lightly. “It’s when a local resort or tour company or whatever gives free vacations to a bunch of journalists,” she replied. “In return, those journalists will write about the resort for their newspaper or magazine, and hopefully drive some tourists to check it out themselves.”

Cristobal nodded. “Right,” he agreed. “We build — how do you say it — buss?”

Bess chuckled. “Buzz, I think,” she corrected.

“What time are the journalists arriving?” George asked.

Cristobal smiled. “There is a flight from New York arriving right now,” he replied. “All our writers are on that. They should come down any minute.”

Five minutes later the first journalist arrived. A tall, slim, angular woman of about twenty-five stepped off the escalator and, after looking around for a few seconds, made a beeline to Cristobal and his sign. She had short, light red hair tied back in a green and white scarf, and she wore a neat green sweater with pressed white pants. She was trailed by an equally tall, but slightly curvier woman about the same age, with long, wavy dark hair, wearing a long navy sundress.

“I’m Frankie Gundersen,” the first woman said coolly to Cristobal. “From the New York Globe? And this is my guest, Sarene Neuman.”

Sarene flashed a brief smile and shook Cristobal’s hand. “Charmed,” she said shortly.

“You work for the New York Globe?” Bess asked Frankie, smiling warmly. “That must be so exciting.”

“It is,” Frankie said curtly, looking Bess up and down. “You are?”

Bess held out her hand. “Oh, I’m Bess Marvin. My cousin George Fayne won this free eco-tour at a green fair at our hometown high school.” She gestured at Deirdre. “Deirdre won one too, and she brought along her cousin Kat. George and I brought along our best friend, Nancy Drew.”

Frankie followed Bess’s introductions, taking in George, Deirdre, Kat, and finally me. She didn’t look terribly impressed by any of us. “Well,” she said with a little sigh, as though Bess’s introduction had tired her out. “What are you, around thirteen?”

Bess frowned, and I could tell she was about to correct Frankie, but suddenly George seemed to wake up and turned to Frankie’s friend with a curious expression.

“Sarene Neuman,” she said, looking thoughtful. “Why do I know that name? Do you write for the Globe too?”

“Oh, no,” Sarene replied with a little chuckle. “I don’t know how Frankie does it. I write books, actually.”

“Do you?” asked Deirdre, moving closer. “What kind of thing do you write? Romance? Mystery?”

Sarene shook her head distastefully. “Nonfiction,” she said simply.

“That’s it!” cried George, grinning. “You wrote Up the River and Down, right? The book about the life cycle of salmon that won that big award? I read that!”

Sarene’s gaze flickered back to George, surprise coloring her pretty features. “You read my book?”

George nodded. “I think it’s really interesting,” she replied, “how you talked about how global warming is really impacting the salmon industry. I never thought about it that way.”

Sarene still looked mystified. “Did you have to read it for school or something?”

George shook her head, looking a little annoyed. “I just borrowed it from the library and read it,” she replied. “I like biology and environmental science.”

Sarene still looked a little surprised, but she just sniffed and fished out a PDA from her pocket, turning it on. “If you liked it so much, you should buy a copy,” she advised, then held the phone to her ear. “Oh, I have three voice mails!” She walked away.

George turned slowly back to Bess and me. I could tell from her expression that she was rethinking her Sarene Neuman fandom. “Did you see that?” she hissed.

I nodded. “Maybe she’s just really jet-lagged?”

Bess snickered. “Maybe she’s just really mean,” she whispered.

I sighed. “I hope not,” I said, “because like it or not, we’re stuck on a tour with these people for another seven days.”

George shrugged. “Maybe they’ll warm up.”

Just then a middle-aged woman ran over to Cristobal, pulling a sweet-faced, pigtail-wearing girl of about eight years old behind her. “Are you Cristobal?” she asked. “Have I found you?”

“Indeed you have,” Cristobal said with a warm smile. “You are?”

“Hildy Kent,” the woman replied, noticing the rest of us behind Cristobal and flashing us all a smile. “Freelance travel writer. And this is my daughter, Robin.”

Robin was apparently a little shy, because her mom’s introduction led her to try to hide behind Hildy’s huge purse. Still, she flashed a mischievous smile at me when I caught her eye. At least she was nicer than Frankie or Sarene!

“Qué bonita!” Cristobal enthused, winking at the little girl. “This is your daughter? I thought perhaps you were sisters.”

Robin let out a high-pitched giggle, as a tall, slim, dark-haired woman approached with a well-toned guy wearing a crew cut.

“You’re Cristobal?” she asked, sliding a pair of huge sunglasses back on her head and smiling nervously.

“I am,” he replied, glancing down at his list. “And are you… Poppy LeVeau, from Stylish Living magazine?”

Ouch. I frowned at Bess, who’d just elbowed me in the side, really hard. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

I nodded. “Yeah, your favorite magazine.”

Bess grinned dreamily. “I wonder if she’s ever met Angelina Jolie.”

Next to us, George sighed. “This is going to be a long trip.”

Three hours later the eleven of us guests and all our luggage (all twenty-three pieces!) pulled into the driveway to Casa Verde, which was located outside the city in the town of San Isidro. We were traveling in a small, comfortable bus that Cristobal explained ran on electric power. I was sitting in my own seat, with Bess and George behind me, and I had opened my window to let in the balmy tropical breeze. Already I was warming up to Costa Rica. Even the air smelled amazing — a fragrant blend of tropical flowers, fruits, and earth.

The driveway snaked up a hill through a lush, deep green tropical forest.

“Nancy! Look!” George cried, poking me, but by the time I’d looked where her finger had been pointing, nothing was there.

“It was a monkey,” George explained in an amazed voice. “I saw a monkey. Just hanging around in the trees by our hotel.”

I grinned. “Welcome to Costa Rica,” I said.

She laughed, looking really excited. “I guess so.”

After a few minutes, the rain forest parted and we could see a large, low, whitewashed mansion trimmed with dark wood. Bright yellow canopies shaded a small set of steps that led to an open-air lobby. Inside, I spotted a dark wood reception desk and a small sitting area with comfy-looking chairs.

“This is it, ladies… and gentleman!” Cristobal laughed, glancing back at Poppy’s beau, who we’d learned was named Adam. “Welcome to Casa Verde!”

We all roused ourselves out of the bus and stumbled into the lobby as though we were entering a dream. I could see that the windows on the opposite side of the house had a truly amazing view: Deep blue sky gave way to cool, cloud-topped violet hills, which gradually led down to a huge, overflowing tropical garden. I could see hiking trails leading far into the garden, and probably to the nature preserve beyond.

George stepped next to me, then reached out, took my lower jaw, and closed my mouth. I realized that I’d just been standing there staring with my mouth wide open. “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?” she asked.

I shook my head, unable to put what I was seeing into words. “It’s like… planet Earth is welcoming us,” I murmured, unable to tear my eyes off the window. “I don’t know whether I’ve ever seen a place so beautiful.”

Cristobal entered the lobby, holding out his arms. “Welcome, welcome, everybody!” he said again. “In about an hour, we will meet through that doorway, in the dining room, for a fresh, organic, locally grown dinner made by my amazing chef of a brother, Enrique.” He smiled. “For now, everyone, please, explore the grounds a bit and try to rest from your long journeys. At the desk I have the list of room assignments, and I’ll be happy to tell you each where you’ll be staying.”

Bess walked up to George and me, gawking at the view from the window. “Wow,” she breathed. “Guys, this is amazing. I don’t think I could relax in the room right now. I’m too excited!”

“Me too,” I agreed. “Want to go for a walk?”

Quickly George got our room assignment and keys from Cristobal, and we shoved them in our pockets and headed out the back door to the gardens. There we were even further amazed by the beauty of the resort.

“It’s like a dream garden,” Bess observed, leaning close to a trumpet-shaped white flower and taking a whiff. “I can hardly believe it’s real!”

The three of us strolled along what a sign indicated was the shortest hiking path, at 2.3 kilometers. Slowly we left the cultivated garden and entered a more wild- looking area of rain forest.

“We must be getting to the preserve,” said George.

Just then there was a rustling in the trees above, and Bess gasped and pointed. “Did you see that?”

“A monkey!” I cried happily, amazed to be in the company of such exotic wildlife.

“A squirrel monkey,” a high, accented voice piped up behind us, and we all jumped a little at the intrusion.

I turned to face a young, friendly-looking woman in a blue polo shirt and pressed khakis. She was smiling and holding a bucket of water, clearly on her way somewhere. “Are you the new guests?” she asked.

“We are,” said Bess cheerfully. “Do you work at the resort?”

The woman nodded, her ponytail bobbing behind her. “My name is Sara,” she greeted us. “I’m the veterinary assistant here — I work with Alicia, the veterinarian.” She looked at us a little closer. “Are you writers? This is a press tour, no?”

“No,” replied George. “I mean, yes, it is a press tour, but we’re not reporters. I actually won this vacation at an environmental fair in my town.”

“Oh,” Sara said, looking a little disappointed. “I had hoped that the American journalists would write about our resort for their newspapers.”

“Oh, they will,” I assured her, thinking that Sara must be concerned about her new employer’s future. “There are lots of writers on the trip. We just don’t happen to be part of them.”

Sara nodded, looking happier. “Good.” She looked down at the bucket she was carrying. “Well, I have to get this medicine down to the veterinary office. If you have any questions about the animals you see, please let me know.”

We thanked Sara and moved aside to let her pass us. After another half hour or so, we had walked the entire hiking path and seen lizards, frogs, and colorful birds, in addition to a few more monkeys. We walked back up the hill toward the resort, suddenly feeling tired.

“I think it just hit me,” Bess murmured. “Getting up early for the flight, plus jet lag.”

“I’m ready for dinner, for sure,” I agreed. “And this might be an early night for me, too.”

George smirked. “You mean we can’t party all night with the monkeys?” she asked. “What kind of fun are you guys?”

Inside, most of our tour had already gathered in the dining room. They stood around in groups, chatting. A pretty teenage girl came out of the kitchen and approached one group of guests.

“Oh, look.” Deirdre smirked as we walked into the room. “The little wanderers have returned!”

I smiled. “Have you guys explored the grounds at all?” I asked, looking from Deirdre to Kat, who still had Pretty Boy cradled in her arms.

“We explored the pool,” Kat replied enthusiastically. “Have you seen it? It’s on the way to the coffee plants, and totally amazing! Fresh water, with a little waterfall…”

“And totally environmentally friendly,” Deirdre added, as if suddenly remembering the resort’s focus.

“That’s great,” Bess said. “How do you get there?”

Kat gestured off to the side of the inn. “When you go out the front door, follow the path to your left.”

The pretty teenager had been going from group to group, scribbling something down on a pad of paper, and now she left Poppy and Adam to come over to the five of us. “Good evening!” she said, a warm smile on her face.

“Boo-ay-nas tar-days,” Kat replied, overenunciating each syllable.

The girl nodded. “I’m Juliana,” she introduced herself. “I am the daughter of Enrique, the chef.”

“Oh, right,” George replied, smiling at the girl. “So you’re Cristobal’s niece?”

“Yes,” Juliana said cheerfully. “After school, I help out my father in the kitchen, and I’ll be serving you tonight. Welcome to Casa Verde!”

“Oh, thank you,” said Bess.

“Are you journalists?” Juliana asked us eagerly, looking at each of us in turn. “You all look so young!”

“Oh, no, we’re not writers.” I chuckled. “We snuck onto the press tour by winning these vacations. We’re probably closer to your age.”

Juliana nodded. “Well, welcome!” she repeated. “I am so excited for the opening of Casa Verde. My father and Uncle Cristobal have worked so hard. And I think the resort is beautiful.”

Bess grinned. “Well, I think we all totally agree.”

Juliana took our drink orders, and a few minutes later all eleven of us sat down at a big table for dinner. Then a short, portly gentleman with a small mustache came out of the kitchen with a big plate of roasted chicken and a smaller bowl of black beans. He looked around our table nervously, as though uncomfortable being the center of so much attention.

“Welcome to Casa Verde!” he said a little awkwardly, looking down at the food he’d prepared. “I am Enrique Arrojo, Cristobal’s brother. I hope… ah… I hope…”

Juliana took the bowl of beans from her father and smoothly placed it on the table, smiling. “We hope you’re as excited by this meal as we were to prepare it for you,” she finished.

Enrique smiled at her. “Sí,” he agreed, then glanced at all of us. “We are very happy to have our first guests. Please, enjoy.” With that, he went back into the kitchen.

Dinner was delicious, and it was a lot of fun to talk casually with our fellow travelers, the journalists and their guests. Sarene and Frankie still seemed a little standoffish, but even they had to smile at some of young Robin’s observations, or Poppy’s amazing stories about interviewing celebrities and attending Hollywood parties.

“Maybe we know some of the same people,” Kat suggested, leaning over the table toward Poppy and squishing Pretty Boy, who was still in her lap, in the process. He squealed, and she leaped back. “Oh, baby!” she cooed, stroking his back. “Anyway — I know a few celebrities myself. I make my living as an extra.”

“Oh,” Poppy replied, looking mildly interested. “So you’re an aspiring actress? Do you have your SAG card?”

“No,” Kat sniffed, as though this were a sore point for her. “I’m not part of the Screen Actors Guild because I’ve never had my own lines. But I’ve worked with lots of amazing people.”

Poppy nodded encouragingly. “Like?”

Kat grinned. “I was just on this horror movie — Attack of the Moldy Jell-O?” She paused to wait for recognition, but nobody spoke up. “Anyway, remember that guy Juan, the one who was the runner-up on America’s Next Top Celebrity Assistant? He was the one who brought a two-percent latte instead of skim?”

Poppy looked lost. “Well, I didn’t really watch that show.”

Kat nodded. “Well, he’s in it. He’s huge right now. And we, like, got into this whole conversation by craft services about how hot it was.”

Poppy nodded, smiling a friendly smile. “Well, we did a feature on the new Real Life house.”

That sparked a long discussion of that show: how long people had watched it, whether anybody watched it anymore, and what people thought of the most recent cast. By the time Enrique brought out a tray of flan, I felt like I was sitting at a table with my closest friends — aside from Frankie and Sarene, maybe.

Just after we’d dug into the flan, I spotted Cristobal dashing through the dining room and into the kitchen. I could vaguely hear upset voices back there, but it was hard to hear over the ongoing chatter at the table. I caught George’s eye, and she glanced back at the kitchen and shrugged. I shrugged back. Important brother business? I mouthed to her.

After a few minutes, Cristobal emerged from the kitchen. He turned immediately to all of us at the table, and I could tell from his expression that something was wrong. He looked angry, a little uncomfortable, and more than anything, frustrated — that kind of frustrated expression you get when you really don’t understand something that just happened.

“Um, ladies,” he called, then sheepishly glanced at Adam, “and gentleman! I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

We all glanced at one another, no doubt wondering what could go wrong in this little piece of heaven. “What is it?” asked Hildy. “You can tell us. We’re tougher than we look.”

Cristobal sighed. “Of this, I am sure. But the problem is… your luggage.”

Frankie suddenly piped up, looking worried, “What about our luggage?”

Cristobal glanced back at the kitchen again, and then to the lobby. “It seems to be…” He paused, and we looked expectantly at him. What could possibly have happened?

“Missing.”

LOOK DEEPER

The next morning Bess and George and I changed out of the oversize T-shirts we’d been given to sleep in (Cristobal hadn’t specified, but from the sizes and degree of wear, we were pretty sure they belonged to him or Enrique) and back into the clothes we’d worn on the plane.

“Ugh,” Bess complained. “I can’t wait until they find our luggage! It feels so yucky to be stuck in these same clothes.”

I nodded, “brushing” my teeth with my finger in the bathroom. “Well, Cristobal said that if they don’t find it by this afternoon, Casa Verde will give us each a one-hundred-dollar budget to buy some new clothes and toiletries.”

George sighed, reaching around me to grab the hairbrush Poppy had loaned us from her purse. “I’d feel terrible taking money out of their pockets,” she said, “but I can’t imagine what happened to our suitcases! Cristobal said they were all loaded into the lobby, and then they just — disappeared.”

“I know,” Bess said with a nod, looking concerned. “It’s pretty weird.”

I shrugged. “Maybe it was just a misunderstanding, or someone’s idea of a prank,” I suggested.

“Who would be playing a prank on the resort’s first guests?” asked George, looking skeptical.

I sighed. “Do you have any other theories?”

George frowned and shook her head. “Bess is right,” she said. “This is very weird.”

I took the hairbrush from her, pulled it quickly through my own hair, and then pulled my hair back into a ponytail with a holder I’d had in my pocket the day before. “Let’s just try to forget about it and have fun,” I told the other two. “I can’t wait to check out InBioParque today!”

We’d been asked to meet back in the lobby at nine A.M. so we could all have a light breakfast, then get back into the bus so Cristobal could bring us to a popular local attraction. InBioParque was an amusement park that promised to bring its visitors up close and personal with nature. I was eager to check it out with the group — and to learn more about the local flora and fauna.

“Buenos dias, señoritas!” Cristobal greeted us with a big smile as we strolled into the dining room. “Please, have some fruit and fresh-baked pastries, courtesy of Enrique. There is also fresh coffee, grown right here at Casa Verde!”

“Wow,” I replied, looking over at the very popular coffee station. “I don’t usually drink coffee, but I might have to make an exception for that.”

Cristobal beamed. “Please, enjoy,” he said coaxingly. “I am so sorry about your luggage. The least we can do is provide you with a delicious breakfast.”

And delicious it was. The coffee was amazingly smooth and rich, and the pastries, filled with mild cheese and a fruity paste that Cristobal told us was guava, were amazing. After we finished, we all climbed back onto the bus, where Cristobal introduced us to a young guy named Pedro, Casa Verde’s driver.

“Pedro will be safely transporting us all over Costa Rica,” Cristobal explained to us, “leaving me free to answer questions and talk about the sights.”

A couple hours of driving later — and driving seemed like a challenge in Costa Rica, with lots of narrow country roads — we arrived at InBioParque.

“Here you will be able to see much of Costa Rica’s amazing biodiversity,” Cristobal explained as we entered the park. “With our unique climate and topography, Costa Rica has always been blessed with a rich array of plants and animals. But in 1948, after our most recent civil war, President José Figueres Ferrer decided to make us the first nation to abolish our military. The military budget was then invested in security, culture, and education. As a nation, we also made natural conservation a top priority.” He paused. “Today, twenty-seven percent of our country is protected land. As a result, we have protected countless species and encouraged an unparalleled level of biodiversity. And we have also expanded our tourism industry, pioneering the concept of ecotourism.”

Kat giggled. “Well, we know that, silly,” she told Cristobal, stroking Pretty Boy, who rested in the crook of her arm. “After all, we’re your first ecotourists!”

Cristobal smiled. He then took us to the Butterfly Garden, where we gawked at the beauty of fifteen different species of butterflies. Bright orange, black, blue, and red wings fluttered all over the area, getting nearly close enough for us to touch.

“Oh, my goodness,” said Deirdre. “They’re so gorgeous, I want to take them home with me!”

Cristobal shook his head. “That would be a very bad idea,” he replied. “Even touching these delicate creatures’ wings can cause them to wither and die. It’s best to admire them from a distance.”

When we were finished at the Butterfly Garden, Cristobal announced that he was leading us on a hike through the park’s trails. “Keep your eyes open,” he advised us. “We’ll likely be joined by lots of animal companions. We might see sloths, turtles, white-tailed deer, iguanas, or caimans. And that’s not to mention the five hundred eighty-three species of plants!”

Bess, George, and I followed along eagerly, everyone in our group excitedly pointing out different birds and animals they spotted along the way.

“This is incredible,” George breathed as we watched a white-tailed deer take a long drink from a tiny stream. “I mean, I know I was skeptical about the whole ecotourism thing, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

Bess smirked. “Well, you know I’m not the type to say, ‘I told you so.’”

“You’re not?” I asked, laughing.

Bess giggled. “Oh, okay,” she replied, turning to face George. “I told you so.”

But George looked too happy to be even a little bothered by this. “I know,” she said simply. “And I’m glad you were right. This is going to be an amazing trip.”

In addition to the trails and Butterfly Garden, InBioParque also had a working farm and a lagoon with an underground aquarium that allowed us to see the creatures that lived in the lagoon up close. When lunchtime rolled around, Cristobal treated us to a quick snack at the park’s café. Then he looked at his watch and frowned.

“Oh, my guests,” he said with a sigh, “I know we are having fun here. But while you were eating, I called Enrique to check up on your luggage.”

We all pricked up our ears, eager to hear whether we’d have clean clothes to change into when we got back to the resort. But Cristobal didn’t look happy.

“It is still missing,” he went on. “And I simply cannot let you go on feeling uncomfortable in our care. I think I must give you each one hundred dollars to spend on new clothes, and we must take the rest of the afternoon to go shopping.”

I knew Bess was a champion shopper, but even she looked concerned about this. “But I don’t understand,” she spoke up. “What could have happened to all our luggage?”

“Yeah,” Frankie piped up, looking terribly annoyed. “Twenty-three suitcases don’t just get up and walk away.”

Cristobal looked uneasy. “It is odd, I know,” he replied, looking down at his hands. “But all I can say is that I hope to make this right. We take full responsibility. And we will help you get some new belongings to replace the old.”

Hildy smiled and reached out to pat Cristobal’s hand. “After what you’ve shown us today,” she told him, “you’ve made it very hard to be upset with you. Robin and I trust you, Cristobal.”

Cristobal looked grateful. “Thank you,” he replied. “I appreciate that.”

Robin suddenly spoke up, her high-pitched voice immediately lightening the mood. “I saw a turtle,” she announced proudly, referring to a beautiful green sea turtle we’d seen in the lagoon.

Hildy chuckled. “Yes, you did,” she said, patting her daughter on the head. “And once we get some new clothes to change into, Cristobal is going to show us much more.”

Later that evening, Bess and I unpacked our new jeans and T-shirts and then slipped out to explore the grounds some more while George took, as she called it, “a quick siesta.” The air was warm and balmy, with a comfortable breeze blowing through the trees. We checked out the freshwater pool Kat had mentioned — which was just as gorgeous as she’d told us, and crowded with Kat, Deirdre, Frankie, and Sarene — and then looped around back to the trails we’d started to explore the day before.

“Let’s choose another one,” Bess suggested, looking down at the map that was posted at the head of the trails. “We have ninety minutes before dinner. I bet we could make the loop around on the Coco Trail, here.” She pointed.

I shrugged. “Sure, let’s give it a try.” I figured that as long as we kept our eyes on our watches and started to head back when it was getting late, we’d be fine.

As we walked farther down the trail, the lush gardens gave way to more wild-looking forest. We spotted another squirrel monkey and were able to identify some of the birds and lizards we saw, using the names we’d learned at the park earlier.

After a few minutes, Bess suddenly paused on a small bridge and stared down the stream.

“Bess,” I prodded, nudging her. “Are you zoning out on me?”

She shook her head, turning to me briefly, and then pointed where she’d been staring. “Do you see that?” she asked.

I followed her gaze. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, so it was hard to make out the object of interest in the pale blue light. But as soon as I saw it, I gasped.

“You see it?” Bess asked, alarm in her voice. “It’s weird, right?”

The sign where the trail maps were posted in the garden had clearly stated PLEASE STAY ON THE TRAIL. And we’d learned earlier today about the importance of “not interfering with nature,” as Cristobal put it. It was fine to enjoy the beautiful plants and exotic animals from a distance. But get too close, and you might be putting them in danger and not even know it.

Still, now, what I was seeing was important enough for me to back off the bridge and step off the trail. I walked a few yards in the spongy, leaf-covered earth, over to a large stone and picked up the object Bess had seen, which was draped over the back.

My yellow-and-white-striped T-shirt.

Which had been packed securely in my luggage.

“Is it really yours?” Bess called, as I examined the shirt. I checked the tag: yes, right size. And really, what were the chances of someone else — in Costa Rica — having the exact same shirt I’d bought at a small boutique in River Heights two or three years earlier?

“It’s definitely mine,” I replied, looking back at Bess. She looked just as confused as I felt.

I turned to the right, peering into the dense foliage to see if I could spot any other clothes. At first I didn’t see anything unusual, but then it jumped out at me: a light blue piece of fabric, tucked under a huge green plant with large, shiny leaves. I moved closer and grabbed the cloth: It was the top half of Bess’s bikini. And this one actually had Bess’s initials inked onto the tag.

“Oh my gosh!” Bess cried, watching me. “It looks like someone dragged it through the mud!”

And it did. But I had a feeling that — and the dirt that was streaked over my T-shirt — was more the result of spending the night in a rain forest than anything else. Before getting back on the trail, I searched the area some more and found two socks, an unfamiliar pair of shorts, a ruffly blouse, and a bottle of contact lens solution.

“This is definitely all from our group’s luggage,” I told Bess as I got back onto the trail, carrying my shirt and her bikini top. “But how on earth would it get here?”

Bess shrugged. “Well, one thing’s for sure. It was no accident.” She looked at her watch. “It’s taken us forty minutes to walk from the lobby to this point on the trail. Somebody brought our stuff here very deliberately!”

I nodded. “And it would have to be someone familiar with the resort,” I added. “I mean, to even know to hide it here.”

Bess sighed, fingering her bikini top with a sad expression. “I got this sixty per- cent off!” she complained. “It’s a Lucky Ricci, you know.”

I nodded, having no idea what she was talking about, but fairly sure it was some kind of hoitytoity designer. Bess shops like some people train for marathons. And she’s frighteningly good at it.

“We’d better get back,” I said, glancing at my watch. “It’s only half an hour till dinner. And I’m sure everyone will want to know about what we found.”

“Yeah,” Bess said with a sigh. “Though I’m sure they’ll be sad to know most of our luggage is probably gonzo.”

It was a sad, quiet hike back to the main building. It took us a while too — we didn’t pass the sign with the maps until ten minutes after dinner started.

“Gosh, I feel bad,” Bess murmured, looking at the time. “Enrique’s been preparing us such amazing meals, and we’re late.”

“Let’s hurry,” I suggested, catching a whiff of something that smelled like a spicy beef stew. “My stomach just remembered how hungry I am.”

We doubled our pace, speeding through the gardens and hurriedly throwing open the back door of the inn.

Once inside, Bess and I glanced at each other and frowned. Were our watches wrong? Because if they were right, our group should have been midway through dinner, laughing and talking in the dining room. Instead we were met by uncomfortable silence.

Finally Deirdre’s strident voice cut through the quiet. “Well, so far, this vacation is turning out to be anything but!”

I met Bess’s eye, and we both ran into the dining room. Inside, our group was all huddled around a couple of seats at the table, and their dinners were sitting untouched on their plates. Juliana stood off to the side, holding a pitcher of water and looking troubled. I almost didn’t see Cristobal at first, but soon realized that he was standing behind her, a stricken look on his face.

Everyone seemed to be looking at something in Frankie’s hand. In fact, Frankie and Sarene seemed to be at the center of the group, looking down at whatever Frankie held.

“This is no minor annoyance, Deirdre,” Frankie was saying. She waved whatever she was holding in the air — it looked like a piece of notepaper. “This isn’t like when Cristobal lost our luggage. This is a threat!”

I glanced over at Cristobal. He looked horrified — and just as confused as my friends.

“What’s a threat?” Bess asked, and everyone turned to face us.

“Wow, Nance,” said George, suddenly popping up from the rear of the crowd. “You definitely have to see this!”

She grabbed the paper from Frankie, who looked less than thrilled about giving it up. Then George ran over to Bess and me and pressed the note into my hands.

I looked down. It was in fact notepaper, with a piece of tape still attached to the top.

“This was taped on Frankie and Sarene’s door when they went to change for dinner,” George explained.

I looked down. A message was written in huge block letters.

TELL YOUR NEW YORK GLOBE THAT

CASA VERDE IS A SHAM. LOOK DEEPER.

AND WATCH OUT!

“Oh my gosh,” I whispered, turning to look at Cristobal. “What’s going on here?”

FRANKIE AND NORA

Cristobal tried to laugh, but it came out kind of strangled. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was just as thrown by the note as we were. “Well…,” he said finally. “Well.”

I didn’t want to add to his distress, but I knew I had to tell him about what Bess and I had seen. “There’s more,” I spoke up. He met my eyes, looking concerned. “Bess and I just went for a hike on the Coco Trail. After about forty minutes, you cross a bridge over a little stream.”

Cristobal nodded. “I know the bridge,” he said. “Is there a problem?”

Bess broke in. “Well, the problem isn’t with the bridge so much as… what we found near the bridge.”

Cristobal frowned, looking confused now. “Which is?”

Bess held up her muddy bikini top. “This!”

“And this,” I added, pulling my striped T-shirt out of my back pocket, where I’d stuffed the end. Everyone gasped, taking in the muddy clothing.

“Our clothes,” Bess explained.

Cristobal looked from Bess’s top to my shirt, back and forth, like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. “Your clothes?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “But por qué…” He sighed, seeming to remember that the eleven of us were still watching him. “Why on earth would your clothing end up there? This must be unrelated — perhaps these belong to Alicia or Sara, the veterinary staff.”

“We met Sara yesterday,” I said, “but there’s no way these belong to her. I’m telling you, I recognize my shirt. And Bess is sure this is her top. There were other things strewn in the mud too — contact lens solution and a ruffly purple blouse.”

Poppy gasped. “That’s mine!” she cried. “I got it through work, straight from the designer. It’s very expensive!”

Adam sighed, turning to his girlfriend. “I told you not to bring it on this trip,” he said. “In these developing countries, who knows what they do with the luggage?”

Poppy glared at him. “Our luggage was completely safe,” she said, leveling her glare at Cristobal, “until we got here!”

Cristobal was staring blankly out the window, as though his brain was desperately trying — and failing — to make sense of this new information. After a few seconds of silence from the rest of us, he seemed to realize that we were waiting for a response. He jumped a little, pasting a smile on his face as he looked from one un- happy guest to another. “I am so sorry,” he said, his eyes warming sincerely. “I think — perhaps — this is someone’s idea of a prank? Someone’s very, very bad idea.” He laughed nervously, but no one joined him. “My children,” he went on, “are very young — seven and nine. They live with me, here, on the grounds. Perhaps they are feeling jealous of Papá’s attention to the guests, and this is their way of getting some for themselves. In any case, don’t worry. Casa Verde will, of course, pay to replace everything.” He swallowed hard, probably tallying up the costs in his head. Who knew what kind of designer duds Poppy had brought? Not to mention Bess and her super shopping skills.

“Thank goodness I didn’t bring my laptop,” George whispered to me, sidling up on my right.

Frankie, however, was pouting. “What about the things that are irreplaceable?” she asked. “I had a bookmark signed by the late John Updike.”

Sarene nodded. “Or a little packet of my best reviews, that I carry everywhere.”

George sighed, and I glanced her way. “Like that’s a surprise,” she whispered, shaking her head at Sarene.

Cristobal cleared his throat. “Tonight,” he said, “I will enlist Enrique’s help, and we will go down to the stream. We will salvage everything we can and bring it back here, for you to inspect in the morning. Then, later that evening, we will go shopping in San José so that you can replace as much as possible. What cannot be replaced, we will reimburse you for.”

Frankie snorted. “Fat chance of that. Can you bring John Updike back to life?” Frowning, she elbowed Sarene and gestured to the note. “I’ve had enough socializing for today. Let’s bring that up to our room and see if we have any insights.” She glanced briefly in the direction of her fellow guests. “Good night, all.” And just like that, she and Sarene had disappe