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Authors: Gordon Korman

The Second Adventure (4 page)

BOOK: The Second Adventure
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During break time, Logan and Melissa walked along Ta-da!'s “Main Street,” which featured the mess hall, pool, and camp offices.

“The Klingon gave me my part for the Charlie Brown skit,” Logan said savagely. “I'm Snoopy.”

“What's wrong with that?” asked Melissa. “Snoopy's one of the main characters.”

“No lines!” Logan complained. “I don't even bark. I just crawl around on my hands and knees wearing aviator's goggles. First the warthog and now this. What's next?
Mary Poppins
? I can play the umbrella.”

So wrapped up was he in his complaints that he failed to notice the bearded man chatting with Wendy Demerest.

“Look!” Melissa took Logan's wrist and pulled him around the corner of the wash station. “It's that guy — the one we saw in the woods! Swindle's spy.”

Logan peered around the building, frowning. “If he's a spy, how come he knows Wendy?”

Melissa was not fooled. “Remember what Griffin told us about Malachi Moore? The first thing he did was make friends with all the counselors at Ebony Lake.”

“Did he have a beard?” Logan whispered.

“There are a dozen fake beards in the wardrobe cabin,” she pointed out. “But I don't think this is the same person. Griffin said Malachi was young. This guy's older than my dad.”

Another counselor joined Wendy and the stranger, and soon the group was laughing over a joke the two campers could not make out.

“What can we do?” asked Logan. “Walk up and accuse him of being a dognapper? What if somebody asks us how we know? The last thing we want is for the counselors to find out about Luthor.”

“Good point.” Melissa frowned. What would Griffin do?
There's always a plan,
he was fond of saying.
If you look hard enough, you'll see it.

“Well, if we can't prove he's working for Swindle,” she mused, “maybe we can put him off Luthor's scent.”

“How are we supposed to do that?”

“It's not going to be easy,” she admitted. “It'll take skill —
acting
skill.”

Logan was instantly on board.

T
he fish came from out of nowhere, catching the man full in the face across his short-clipped beard.

“What the — ?” He staggered back, stunned, staring at the boy in the Camp Ta-da! T-shirt who stood like a sentry, a ten-inch perch dangling from the end of his rod and reel.

“Sorry, mister.” Logan was in character, the picture of apology. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

The victim rubbed his jaw. “What's with the fish around here? Are they made of cement?”

The blush in Logan's cheeks was not acting. He and Melissa could not have ensured that they'd catch a fish from the camp pond. So they had borrowed one from the freezer in the kitchen. It wasn't Logan's fault that there had been insufficient time to thaw it out before it had to be used. Some things in theatre couldn't be scripted in advance. “The northern perch is known for being solid.”

The man didn't seem too angry. “I thought this camp was for actors, not anglers.”

“We're all actors, but they let us do other things in our spare time,” Logan explained, launching into the character he had carefully prepared. “I like to fish because my father's a fish and game expert for the federal government. My name is Ferris Atwater, Jr.” It was Logan's favorite alias. “I'm not really a camper here. I just come during the day while my dad's working in the area. He has to catch a feral dog.”

“A what?”

“A feral dog is a pet dog that gets lost and starts to live in the wild,” Logan supplied. “Dad suspects this one used to be a guard dog, because he's a big Doberman, and kind of mean. The fish and game department thinks he might be dangerous to other wildlife, and even people.”

The plan was to convince Swindle's spy that Luthor wasn't being hidden in the camp somewhere, but was out in the woods, running free.

The man must have been almost as good an actor as Logan, because he appeared completely disinterested. “Yeah, well, watch where you're waving that fishing rod, Ferris. The hook could take someone's eye out.”

“I'll be careful, Mr. — uh — I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

“Smith,” the man said quickly. “E. J. Smith.”

Logan held out his hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Smith. Do you live around here?”

“I have a summer place up on the mountain.” Mr. Smith pulled back from Logan's grip. “Your hand is like ice!”

Uh-oh. “It's the bait,” Logan exclaimed glibly. “My worms were in the fridge.” That was a close one! “Anyway, good meeting you.” He pulled a phone from the pocket of his shorts and snapped a picture.

The bearded man was suddenly angry. “What did you do that for?”

“In case the feral dog gets you,” Logan explained reasonably. “My dad needs to know everyone who's in harm's way.”

“I can look after myself!” growled E. J. Smith. “You delete that!”

“Okay, sure.” Following Melissa's instructions, Logan carefully saved the photograph before erasing it from the screen.

“I don't like pictures,” the man said gruffly. “I come up here for privacy, not to end up on some fish and game website!” He stormed off, giving the swinging perch a wide berth.

A smile found its way to Logan's lips. Maybe Mary Catherine didn't appreciate his talent, but there was more than one way for an actor to practice his craft.

This had been another successful performance.

* * *

Griffin's face filled the small screen of Melissa's phone as he examined the photograph of E. J. Smith. “No, it's definitely not Malachi,” he concluded. “But Swindle could've hired another goon.”

It was after midnight, and Melissa and Logan were in the attic of the performance center, bringing Luthor his dinner. Across the hayloft, the Doberman was diving into seven feet of link sausages filched from the freezer on the same raid as the one that had netted the northern perch. It was a special treat for the dog, who had been surviving on table scraps and whatever could be smuggled to him in pockets and under hoodies.

“That's what we figured,” Melissa agreed in a low voice. “I googled him, and it turns out E. J. Smith was the captain of the
Titanic
. So this guy's definitely using an alias.”

“Never mind that.” Savannah bumped Griffin out of the frame. “How close do you think he is to finding Luthor?”

“He hasn't got a clue,” Logan assured her. “My performance was legendary. He's probably out in the woods right now, searching for a feral dog by flashlight.”

“My poor sweetie.” Savannah sighed in relief.

It was the one word that could have dislodged Luthor from the sausages. Up perked his ears, and he scrambled over to Savannah's image on the phone.

“Oh, Luthor, I miss you so much! Are you being a good boy?”

In answer, a mammoth tongue came out and slurped across the small screen.

Melissa was horrified. “Moisture is not good for electronics!” She wiped the device on her pajama bottoms.

Griffin brought them back to the original point of the call. “Well, it isn't Malachi, but the new goon's definitely dirty. He even looks kind of familiar, but I can't place him.”

“I thought so, too,” put in Melissa. “Could he be from Cedarville?”

“I doubt it,” Griffin replied. “Swindle would never hire someone we might recognize. Anyway, it seems like you've got this guy under control — for now. But be careful. If he keeps nosing around, you're going to have to find out more about him.”

T
he union soldiers stood on the stage — a line of blue uniforms behind the grave markers of Gettysburg National Cemetery. They saw the tall stovepipe hat first, followed by the famous beard. And then he was before them — Abraham Lincoln, sixteenth president of the United States.

The president glanced at his notes on the back of an envelope, and launched into Lincoln's famous speech. “Four score and seven years ago . . .”

A soldier broke ranks and pointed a finger at the president. “This isn't right at all!”

Lincoln — played by Bobby Delancey — looked first at his accuser and then at Mary Catherine. “That's not in the script!”

Logan threw off his hat, nearly removing his nose with the chinstrap. “When Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg address, he was coming down with smallpox! Where's your rash?”

Bobby was bewildered. “Nobody said I had to have a rash!”

“A real actor doesn't just learn lines!” Logan couldn't hide his disgust at Bobby's amateurism. “We have to be able to feel the heat from your fever. And your nausea — you haven't even gagged! If we're going to beat Camp Spotlight, we have to go all out!”

Mary Catherine stormed onto the stage. “Logan, get back to your mark. You're a soldier. You have no lines in this scene.”

Logan bristled. “That's the whole problem, isn't it? I have no lines in
any
scene. I can do Lincoln like nobody's business. Or Hamlet. Have you ever seen my
Crucible
? Nobody gets burned at the stake better than me! But you've got me playing four-legged creatures and a soldier with a plastic rifle!”

Wendy stepped onto the stage. “There are no stars here; we're actors in a troupe. And all roles, big and small, are equally important. If we fight among ourselves, we're giving Camp Spotlight an advantage over us.” When Logan looked stubborn, she added, “It's up to you, Logan. If you can't be satisfied with the parts you've been given, I'm going to have to drop you from the cast.”

Her words finally penetrated Logan's resentment. His roles might be insignificant and insulting. But nothing would be worse than being out of the Showdown. That was the reason he'd come to Ta-da! in the first place.

After rehearsal, as he and Melissa headed for the mess hall for lunch, Logan's bitterness spilled over. “This is all Savannah's fault! It's thanks to her that we're saddled with Luthor in the attic of the performance center — which is the only reason
I
didn't get picked to be captain!”

“It's not just about Luthor,” Melissa reminded him. “Once Swindle's done with the dog, he's going to come after the rest of us. It's his revenge for the baseball card heist.”

They stepped into the wood-framed building and froze in the doorway. There in the lunch line, helping himself to chicken pot pie, was none other than E. J. Smith.

“What's he doing here?” Logan hissed in consternation. “Why isn't he out in the woods looking for the feral dog?”

“Maybe he didn't believe you,” Melissa whispered back.

“Are you kidding? I
killed
!”

“You know, Griffin's right,” she commented. “He really does look familiar. We've got to find out who he is.”

“Well, he definitely isn't who he says he is,” added Logan. “E. J. Smith is at the bottom of the Atlantic.”

“If only I could get to his computer,” Melissa mused. “Then I'd know more about him than his own mother.”

“How are you going to that?” asked Logan. “He doesn't carry a laptop with him.”

At that moment, Melissa caught her reflection in the glass sneeze-guard that covered the salad bar. Her expression matched one that she'd often seen on the face of The Man With The Plan. “Remember what he told you: His house is up on the hill somewhere. We can follow him, figure out where he lives. That's where the computer is going to be.”

Logan was wide-eyed. “And break in?”

She nodded grimly. “You heard Griffin. We have to find out more about this guy.”

From: Melissa

To: Griffin

Followed E. J. Smith yesterday. He lives in cabin not far from camp. Hoping to get on his computer to learn true identity.

From: Griffin

To: Melissa

We'll make a planner of you yet! Good luck!

BOOK: The Second Adventure
6.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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