Free The Chocolate Pirate Plot by JoAnna Carl Page A

out into the lake. Camp Sail-Along had the potential to be a very nice spot.
    â€œThere’s a lot of potential here,” I said. “You have a lovely view. And the cabins look as if they’d be comfortable.”
    â€œThey could be.”
    â€œWhat activities do you plan to offer?”
    â€œWe’re not quite sure yet. And I’m afraid we’re not ready to join the local chamber.”
    â€œWe’ll be here when you are ready. Let me give you one of our brochures.”
    I gave him a brochure and a membership application, talking all the time about the wonderfulness of Warner Pier and the chamber of commerce. I really am on the board, so that was easy.
    Jack McGrath took the brochure and continued to look at me with an expression that was becoming a leer. When he offered to continue our tour, I accepted with pleasure, since I wanted a chance to ask him about Jeremy Mattox, but his insinuating smile was making me feel as if I should take my tire iron with me in case I needed to discourage him emphatically.
    McGrath kept smiling excessively as he showed me around. The central building, as I’d guessed, had a kitchen designed to serve up sloppy joes and hot dogs. It was shabby and out of date. TenHuis Chocolade has to deal with the health department, so I’m familiar with their requirements, and I spotted four things they wouldn’t approve. The dining room was filled with ramshackle chairs and tables. The building had been swept—sometime that summer—but it wasn’t clean.
    Only one room, one that might have been designed as an office, was in use. McGrath opened the door and leered at me. “My humble abode,” he said.
    I could see a couple of cots inside, both with sleeping bags on them. One bag was neatly rolled; the other was scrambled as if Jack McGrath had just gotten out of it. The only storage was two footlockers. One was closed, and the other was open, with its contents spewing out.
    I didn’t go inside the room. “If you’re having trouble finding contractors, Mr. McGrath, the chamber of commerce might be able to help you.”
    â€œOh?” His answer was noncommittal.
    â€œWe have a list of members with an explanation of the services they offer.”
    Still no response. I headed for the porch, and McGrath followed me outside. He pointed out the badminton court—no net—and the swimming beach—no nothing. The big storage building, he said, held a dozen small boats.
    â€œWhat kind of boats do you have?”
    McGrath gave an expansive wave, taking in all of Lake o’ the Winds. “For the advanced sailors, we have access to the Warner River,” he said. “And, of course, that leads to the big lake.”
    He hadn’t answered my question about the small boats. Hmm.
    McGrath unlocked the padlock on one of the small cabins and showed me the inside. It was a shambles of rusty springs and mouse-nibbled bedding. The only light came from the door he had opened. If the cabins had electricity, it wasn’t turned on. The sides were screened, so the cabins could be opened to the outside air when they were in use, but at that moment shutters completely covered the screens. The cabin was dark and musty. I looked in the door and backed away.
    McGrath offered to continue the tour, but I declined. I certainly didn’t want to see eight more dirty, ramshackle cabins, and I even passed up a peek at the shower house. There was only one. Apparently the camp had been planned for single-sex sessions.
    So as McGrath relocked the cabin’s padlock, I turned and strolled toward the van. “I certainly appreciate your taking the time to show me around.”
    â€œIt’s been a pleasure, Lee.” He twisted his lip once more, making his mustache wriggle.
    It was time for the question I’d come to ask. I tried to sound innocent. “Was this the camp where Jeremy Mattox worked?”
    McGrath frowned.