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As he stood stroking Toni’s hair, two Maine police squad cars pulled into the graveled area in front of the Camp Williams lobby. Three men emerged, two in uniform, one in a dark suit and wing-collared shirt. Mrs. Kramer bustled out to greet them, a grim look on her wizened, old woman’s face.
Pulling Toni closer, Billy caught a waft of her scent. A surge of animal longing pulsed through him. He whispered in her ear.
“They’re going to separate us. Compare our stories. Just stick to what you told Mrs. Kramer. It was an accident. And whatever you do, don’t mention drugs.”
Toni nodded miserably. She felt as if she might throw up at any minute. Mrs. Kramer was already leading the police toward them.
“Don’t worry,” said Billy. “You’re going to be just fine. Trust me.”
A couple of hours later, once the little boys were safely in their beds, the rest of the Camp Williams counselors sat around a large cafeteria-style table, comforting one another. They’d all seen the ambulance arrive and drive away with little Nicholas Handemeyer’s body. Some of the girls cried.
Mary Lou Parker asked, “What do you think will happen to Toni and Billy?”
Don Choate pushed a cold hot dog around his plate. “Nothing’ll happen. It was an accident.”
For a few moments they were all silent. Then someone said what everyone was thinking.
“Even so. One of them should have seen Nicholas leave the group. Someone should’ve been watching.”
“It was an accident!” Don shouted, slamming his fist down on the table so hard it shook. “It could have happened to any one of us.”
Don had helped carry Nicholas’s body back to camp. He was still only twenty, and obviously traumatized by the whole episode.
“We shouldn’t be throwing accusations around.”
“I’m not throwing accusations. I’m just saying—”
“Well, don’t! Don’t say anything! What the hell do you know, man? You weren’t there.”
Sensing that the boys were about to come to blows, Charles Braemar Murphy put an arm around his friend and led him away. “It’s all right, Don. Come on. Let’s get some air.”
Once they’d gone, Anne Fielding, one of the quieter Wellesley girls, spoke up.
“It’s not all right, though, is it. The boy’s dead. He couldn’t have drowned in such shallow, calm water unless someone took their eye off the ball. For a long, long time.”
“I can see how Billy might have been distracted,” said one of the boys. “That bikini Toni was wearing was kind of an invitation.”
“This is Toni Gilletti we’re talking about,” Mary Lou Parker drawled bitchily. “You don’t need an invitation. It’s first come, first served.”
Everybody laughed.
“Shhh.” Anne Fielding interjected, her face pressed to the window. “They’re coming out.”
The door to the administrative offices opened. Inside, Toni and Billy had both spent the last three hours straight being interviewed by the police. Toni emerged first, leaning on one of the uniformed officers for support. Even from this distance, you could see how smitten the young cop was with her, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist and smiling comfortingly as he escorted her back to her cabin.
“Well, she doesn’t look like she’s in too much trouble,” Mary Lou Parker said caustically.
Moments later, Billy Hamlin came through the same door. Flanked by the plain-clothed detective on one side and the uniformed patrol officer on the other, he had his head down as he was marched toward the squad car. As he climbed into the backseat, the group in the cafeteria caught a glint of silver behind his back.
“They’ve cuffed him!” Anne Fielding gasped. “Oh my goodness. Do you think he’s under arrest?”
“Well, I don’t think they’re taking him to an S-and-M club,” one of the boys said drily.
The truth was, none of the boys at Camp Williams much liked Billy Hamlin. The carpenter’s son was too popular with the ladies for their liking. As for the girls, although they humored him because of his charm and good looks, they too regarded Billy as an outsider, a curiosity to be played with and enjoyed, but hardly an equal. For those with a keen ear for such things, the sound of ranks closing in the Camp Williams dining hall was deafening.
“What do you think you’re doing, gawking at the window like a gaggle of geese?” Martha Kramer’s authoritative voice rang out through the room like an air-raid siren. Everybody jumped.
“If I’m not mistaken, you all have to be at work tomorrow.”
