Stan the DJ nodded and the opening notes of the Beatles “Hey, Jude” blasted through the speakers. Delilah's drunken squealing came through the speakers, too, except the words were nearly a full beat behind the song and it sounded like she was saying, “Hey, dude.”

There were murmurs and whispers and a couple of campers held up lighters and flashlights as she struggled through the last half of the song.

“Ol' Delilah's having a rough night,” a voice said off to my right.

I turned from my sitting position at the picnic table. The voice belonged to a woman in a wheelchair that was outfitted with tires that looked more appropriate for a BMX bike. I placed her in her eighties, with silvery white hair beneath a purple kerchief and long, bony fingers that rested on the arms of the wheelchair. She wore a white crewneck sweatshirt and denim jeans, along with bright white shoes that looked like they'd just left the rack that evening. Gold hoops hung from droopy ear lobes and my hands immediately flew to mine, wondering if that was a sign of old age I'd never thought of.

I wasn't sure what she was referring to. Did she mean she usually sang better or was she referencing the fact that Delilah had lost her business partner? I decided to stick with the more benign reason. “Singing in front of an audience is hard.”

She waved a hand in the air. “Bah. She can sing pretty well, but she's off tonight. Guess I can't blame her, what with everything that happened today.” She eyed me carefully. “You were the ones that found Harvey?”

I glanced at Jake. He shrugged and went back to watching the DJ.

“We were, yes,” I said reluctantly.

She nodded like she already knew this. “Yes, yes. And you're still here.” She cut her gray eyes to me. “Interesting.”

“Is it?” I asked.

“I'd think something like that might scare you off,” she said.

She had a point. But she also didn't have my experience with dead bodies. Not that I was going to recount that for her.

“We didn't want to give up our vacation,” I said instead.

“Not worried about more bodies in the bushes?” she asked with a smile.

“Not really,” I said. “I have a feeling it might be a one time thing.”

She eyed me again, then pointed a long, gnarled finger in Delilah's direction, who was still slurring her way through the song. “Speaking of one-time things, you know about Delilah, right?”

I frowned. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to know about Delilah. “I've met her, yes. We're staying in her cabin. We won our trip here to Windy Vista.”

She smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Yes, dear. I'm well aware of why you're here and where you're staying. I'm usually aware of everything that goes on here.” She gave me a pitying look. “When you've been coming here as long as I have, not much gets by you.”

“How long is that?”

She took a moment to look around before settling her gaze back on me. “Since this place wasn't much more than a weed patch. My father first brought me up here when I was ten. It was just a patch of land back then, with people parking wherever they wanted. When the land was bought and lots became available for rent, he grabbed the first two.” She smiled. “Been here ever since. Even before Delilah.”

It sounded to me like she had some sort of competition going with Delilah; maybe not one that mattered, but there was some sort of proprietary contest to see who was more Windy Vista than the other. I wondered if Delilah was aware of the competition.

She shifted in her chair and reached her hand toward me. “I'm sorry. I'm Copper Marchand.”

It sounded like a regal name, like something an East Coast gentry family might name their daughter, not the Scandinavian-sounding names I was used to encountering in Central Minnesota.

I shook and, despite its delicate appearance, her hand gripped mine with a fair amount of strength. “Daisy Savage,” I told her. “And this is my husband Jake.”

Jake waved a hand from the other side of the table, his eyes still on Delilah and the DJ table.

Copper nodded like she already knew our names. “Of course. A pleasure.” She paused for a moment. “But did you know about Delilah? And Harvey?”

I thought about our conversation with Delilah when we'd first arrived. “I know they ran Windy Vista together.”

She gave me the pitying look again. I half-expected an Emily-worthy eyeroll. “That's a little charitable, but I suppose it's true enough. Delilah runs this place, but Harvey was the one really keeping it afloat.”

Delilah screeched something and I looked up. She did a spin move and stumbled to the side, her hand still tightly wrapped around the mic.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Copper rotated her wheelchair so she was facing me now. “Delilah's the face of Windy Vista, but Harvey was the body and the guts, to put it rather crudely. He did everything around here. Fixed things. Tossed people out who were misbehaving. Constructed the website. Was working hard to expand it. He had a greater vision for this place.”

I thought of the website and the pictures Jake and I had seen. If those were Harvey's ideas, they were certainly grand in comparison to what we'd experienced so far at the campground resort. It was like comparing a cat to a lion. Windy Vista was the cat and Harvey's dream resort was the lion.

“So Harvey just worked here?” I asked. “He wasn't a co-owner or anything like that?” I'd been under the impression that he and Delilah were co-owners.

She gave me a sly smile. “He was something in between, I guess you could say.”

Delilah finished her drunken caterwauling and there was generous applause. She said something to the DJ guy and he smiled and took the mic from her. Delilah waved at the crowed and shuffled to a picnic table.

Jake stood. “Be right back.”

I wasn't convinced. “You will?”

“Yes.” He gave me a small smile and leaned down so he could whisper in my ear. “I might not want to if more people sing like Delilah, but I'll be back. I promise.” He dropped a kiss on my head.

I turned my attention back to Copper. “What do you mean something in between?”

The sly smile stayed on her cracked lips. “Delilah and Harvey had something...a little extra going on.”

The way she said it, there was no mistaking her meaning. “They were a...couple?”

Copper pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. “I wouldn't say a couple, no. They weren't open about it and to be a couple, I'd think you'd need to publicly acknowledge that you were together. Which they certainly did not.” Something sparked in her eyes. “But they had something going on. For a long time.”

I though about the face I'd seen in the bushes. The young, unwrinkled face I'd seen in the bushes. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Harvey—”

“Younger?” Copper said, chuckling. “Oh my goodness, yes. Delilah wasn't just robbing the cradle. She'd stolen it and was holding it for ransom, dear.”

I wasn't sure that was an exact analogy, but I understood what she was aiming for. Harvey was significantly younger than Delilah. If I'd had to guess, I would've put the age difference at maybe thirty years, based on looking at both of them. Of course, Harvey was already dead when I saw him, but I didn't think he'd aged much in those bushes.

“How long were they together?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the idea.

She held a finger to her lips and thought. “I honestly don't know. But...awhile. I can tell you that for sure.”

I glanced up at the DJ booth. Jake was standing there and, for a split second, I thought maybe he'd downed a few extra beers and was going to do something he'd never done before: sing karaoke. Wayne Hackerman strolled up next to him. Jake glanced at him, then spoke to the DJ, and Hackerman frowned. Maybe he was just as territorial about the music played at the campground as he was the medallion hunt.