It seemed kind of beside the point now.

It was dark when the police cruiser pulled up to the administration building. The only bright spot was that the fog was finally beginning to dissolve. The ride back from the hospital had been at almost normal speed. Dinah was waiting for me, and when I walked in, she jumped up.

“Tell me everything,” she said. She swallowed her words when she saw Sergeant French following me. I crossed to the registration table. Commander Blaine had collected the extra s’mores bags and the container of forks was gone. The folders for the campers were under the table, along with a folder Mrs. Shedd had included for me. I had thumbed through it once before and noticed information sheets for all the presenters and campers. I had wondered why they included emergency contact information. Now I understood.

I pulled out Izabelle’s information sheet and showed it to Sergeant French. Her contact was Zak Landers and included a phone number. He wrote down the information and, to my relief, said he’d make the call. Then he left, and I collapsed into one of the easy chairs in the conversation area.

“First of all, Commander took care of dinner and Mason arranged some kind of walking meditation. I told everyone that Izabelle got sick and you went to the hospital with her. They were all understanding.” Dinah glanced out the window as Sergeant French got into his cruiser. “She isn’t all right, is she?”

I shook my head slowly and then recounted what had happened.

“Did he say how she died?” Dinah asked nervously. I knew she was really asking did they think it was murder. I was embarrassed by the relief in my voice as I explained the doctor said he couldn’t say for sure, but he thought she’d had some kind of allergic reaction.

“He said she might have gone into anaphylactic shock and asked me a bunch of questions. I had to tell him I didn’t know. I hardly knew her.” The word knew stuck in my throat. “I can tell you this because you’re my best friend and you won’t think I’m some kind of cold-hearted monster, but I was really hoping to get through the weekend without anybody dying. There’s no way this isn’t going to be a black mark against my leadership abilities.”

“Yes, but at least it wasn’t murder.”

“Right,” I said, getting up and going back to the registration table. The rhinestone clipboard and my tote bag were still in the corner. “But I still have to call Mrs. Shedd.” Reaching her turned out not to be an easy matter.

“I heard about the fog emergency,” she said when I finally got her on the phone. “CNN is everywhere, even on the ship. Do they know when this fog problem is going to end?” I told her it had thinned considerably.

“Good,” she said. “Well, if that’s all-” She was ready to wind down the call.

“No, there’s something else.”

“I hope it isn’t a dead body,” she said, obviously joking. When I said nothing, I heard her swallow. “Oh no, there is a dead body, isn’t there?” I told her about Izabelle, and she gasped. “How terrible! The poor woman alone on the beach-” Mrs. Shedd clicked her tongue in dismay. “I tried to tell Commander Blaine not to do the s’mores, but he was absolutely insistent about doing them. Then I tried to get him to go the traditional route, but no, he had to make them his gourmet way and stick in peanut butter.”

As the news sank in, Mrs. Shedd realized it presented a problem for the weekend program. “That leaves you with a big spot to fill, doesn’t it?” Her tone changed, and it was clear she wanted to end the call. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. You’re good at improvising. Just make the best of it.” I heard her call to someone that she’d be there in a minute and to save a space in the mambo class. “By now you’ve had some experience dealing with deaths. I’m sure you’ll do a better job than I would.” She started to sign off, but I stopped her long enough to explain that most of the campers hadn’t arrived yet because of the fog.

“You said it was clear now. So, they’ll probably all show up tomorrow. Tell them we’ll do something to make up for the lost day. I have every confidence in you, Molly.”

“Thanks, but-” I started to say. It was already too late. She’d hung up and probably headed off to her dance class.

I considered calling Barry, but I wasn’t up for it. I knew what he’d say as soon as he heard someone had died: “Stay out of it.” But I couldn’t. As the holder of the rhinestone clipboard, I was in the middle of it whether I wanted to be or not. Though at least it wasn’t murder.

I needed time to think, and I wasn’t up for dealing with Adele just then. I saw her march past the window on the driveway side of the building. Any moment she would come through the door and give me the third degree about Izabelle. I just couldn’t tell the story one more time.

“I can’t face Adele right now,” I said, making a beeline for the other door. Dinah followed me out onto the deck. I was still getting used to being able to see beyond the end of my arm. I could actually see the fire circle, where a campfire was giving off a warm glow. I was going to suggest going there since it appeared the benches were empty, but as we crossed the path through the meadow, I saw two people sitting toward the back. The floodlights along the wall illuminated their faces. It was the guy who had made the scene with Izabelle in the kitchen-Spenser somebody-and his niece. I didn’t want to talk to them, either.

“Adele won’t find us at the beach,” I said, pointing toward the entrance to the boardwalk.

“So what was up with the cop?” Dinah asked as we started along the raised walkway. She stopped herself. “Sorry. You said you didn’t want to talk.”

“To Adele,” I said. “I always want to talk to you.” The sand was light even in the dark, and the contrast made the silhouettes of the bushes and plants stand out.

“He came to the hospital to write a report because Izabelle died on the beach. They don’t have much crime up here, and the police are very community-oriented.”

“Which means what?” Dinah zipped her hoodie a little higher.

“I don’t know. I guess you could say he was friendly when he asked questions. He wanted to know what Izabelle was doing on the beach.”

“What did you tell him?” Dinah stepped from the end of the boardwalk onto the sandy sidewalk.

“I told him about the s’mores and how everyone had gone their own way with theirs. He filled in the rest, saying she must have decided to take hers to the beach.”

We reached the street and a white Toyota went by. I watched the red taillights and finally saw the curve of the street. It was like discovering the area for the first time. Seeing the sky and stars was a relief after feeling like I was stuck in a pillow. Once we crossed the street, we started down the opening to the beach. When I looked ahead, even in the dark I could see the waves breaking against the shore. We walked a little farther and the beach seemed empty and peaceful. “I guess they must have finished any investigation. There’s no yellow tape,” I said as we reached the remains of the fire. I kicked one of the hunks of partially burned wood. “It looks like the fire must have gone out. Otherwise, the wood would have just burned to ash.”

“Or maybe someone put it out,” Dinah said.

“I don’t think Izabelle was worried about the fire. I don’t think she had time to be. The doctor said her attack could have come on within minutes after she ate the s’more with the peanut butter.”

“How awful. She comes to the beach to enjoy the goodies and then, blam! she’s sick,” Dinah said.

“It’s kind of odd that she’d be eating the s’more. She seemed so careful about her diet.”

“Maybe she was one of those people who watch themselves so carefully, and then binge,” Dinah said.

“We’ll never know.” I repeated my relief that her death seemed to be from natural causes. It was bad enough that I’d come across murders in Tarzana, but a murder in another place-it would look like I was some kind of murder magnet. I flopped on the cold, soft sand.