“You could go a little faster,” Jake suggested, his hand latched onto the roof.

I pointed to a small wooden sign. “The speed limit says five miles per hour.”

“We're in a golf cart.”

I pulled to a complete stop at the four-way stop. “We're a moving vehicle.”

He sighed deeply.

“What?” I turned to look at him, an innocent expression on my face. “Are you anxious to start looking for the medallion?”

He snorted. “Ha. I'm anxious to get back to relaxing...which means you need to drive faster.”

“We don't need to go fast,” I said. I slowed for a speed bump and eased the cart over it. Jake swayed as each set of wheels lifted up and over the raised asphalt. “Soak up your surroundings.”

He shook his head but I saw a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Maybe he was liking the campground as much as I was and he was just too stubborn to admit it. Or maybe I was driving him slightly insane.

We completed our tour of the outer loop of the campground and I was circling back toward our cabin when a purple soccer ball rolled into the road, followed by a tall, gangly kid in a green T-shirt and camouflage shorts. I slammed on the brakes and Jake braced himself against the dash of the cart.

“Can't believe these things aren't equipped with air bags,” Jake muttered.

I shot him a look.

The kid picked up his ball and frowned at us He was about twelve, with a shaggy bowl cut and a smorgasbord of freckles on his face. “You almost ran over my ball,” he said accusingly.

“Sorry,” I said. “Your ball sort of bounced out in front of us.”

“You could have broken it.” He looked at me with pure contempt and I bristled.

“I'm sorry,” I repeated. “I'm glad I saw it and was able to stop in time.”

The kid's scowl deepened. “Maybe you should slow down.”

“Maybe you should hang on to your ball,” Jake said, trying to keep his tone light. But I heard the thread of annoyance at the kid's attitude.

“Caleb!” a girl's voice yelled. “What are you doing? It's my turn!”

Caleb scowled in her direction, then scowled again at us. He was very good at scowling.

“I'm just saying you noobs need to slow down,” Caleb said. He looked down his nose at us. “If you'd hit my ball, you'd be in trouble. Big trouble. Dorks.”

Jake was out of the golf cart before I could stop him. I knew his trigger-hair temper wasn't an actual threat to anyone but I also knew that he was about to give this kid a good-talking to about politeness and respect.

“Listen, kid,” Jake said, walking toward him. “How about—”

“Caleb!” another voice yelled, a man's this time. “Get your butt over here before your sister melts down completely.”

I turned toward the voice. It was the shirtless guy we'd seen when we'd followed Delilah up to the cabin earlier. He had on the same shorts and the same mirrored sunglasses, but a shirt covered his beer belly this team. It was black with white writing that said “I'm The Boss!” He had a can of beer in his hand, but I assumed that it was a new can and not the one he'd been holding earlier.

Caleb threw one more dirty look in our direction before jogging toward the glittering black motor home.

“Sorry about that,” the man said, striding out into the road. He adjusted his sunglasses. “My girl can kick that ball a mile and Caleb is probably the worst goalie on the planet. Kid has butter fingers.” He offered his own hand to Jake. “Wayne Hackerman.”

Jake shook. “Jake Gardner.” He motioned to me. “This is my wife, Daisy.”

Hackerman doffed an imaginary cap in my direction. “A pleasure.” He took a long pull from the beer. “You will have to watch out for balls and bikes on the roads here, though. The boy is right about that. Gotta obey the speed limit at all times.” He winked at me. “I know how you little ladies like to put the pedal to the metal.”

The irritation flooded back into Jake's expression. “We were,” he said. “I'm just glad we didn't hit your kid.”

“Well, that woulda been a problem, yessir,” Hackerman said, fiddling with his sunglasses again. He glanced up the road, toward the cabin we were staying in. “So, you two are the ones in Delilah's little hideaway?”

Jake's jaw was set and he didn't seem capable of answering.

I spoke up from the driver's seat. “Yes. We are.”

He wrinkled his nose. “How are you liking it?”

I thought about the beautiful landscaping and the charming interior of the camper cabin. “It's lovely.”

He shrugged. “Sure, if that's your thing, I guess. But for me?” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “The black beauty is the only way to travel and camp. There's nothing like it. Cost me a small fortune.” He chuckled to himself. “Good thing I make a lot of money. And good thing my kids already know not to plan on an inheritance.”

“Yes, good thing,” I said, slightly appalled at the type of information he was sharing with virtual strangers.

He lifted his sunglasses and stared at me, as if he was waiting for me to comment on his motor home. I glanced at the black monstrosity. It looked like a tour bus for a rock band, not a mobile home you'd park at a resort for the summer.

“It looks...very nice,” I managed.

“Very nice?” Hackerman repeated. He repositioned his sunglasses. “Ma'am, it's more than very nice. It's about the most stupendous thing on wheels. Here, lemme get my little woman to tell you all about it.”

“Oh, that's—“ I began.

But he didn't let me finish. He turned back toward the big black bus and let loose an ear-splitting whistle. “Rhonda! Get your rear end out here right now!”

Rhonda magically appeared on the steps of the big bus, wearing denim shorts that were two sizes too small for her extra wide hips and a bright yellow tube top that barely contained her boobs. Her dyed black hair was spun up in some elaborate design on top of her head and she, too, was holding a beer can.

She frowned at her husband as she made her way toward us, her wedge flip flops kicking up a spray of gravel as she walked. “What is it? I'm playing Candy Carnival.”

“What?” her husband asked.

“Candy Carnival,” she repeated, as if this was something he should be familiar with. Her face lit up with a satisfied smile. “I finally got to the thirty seventh level on the iPad.”

“Good for you,” he said dismissively. He waved a hand at me and Jake. “These are the folks staying in Delilah's place.”

She gave me the once over, as if she was inspecting a dress on a clearance rack, looking for flaws and imperfections. She turned to Jake and suddenly stood straighter, thrusting her boobs in his direction.

She patted her hair and smiled. “Well, aren't we lucky?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Wayne said. “Tell 'em how awesome the black beauty is. I was trying to explain how it's one of a kind and there's not another one like it anywhere in the world and that it's the best damn thing around.”

“Oh yeah,” Rhonda said, nodding. “It's a beauty.” Then she smiled at Jake. “The beds are...amazing.”

Wayne seemed oblivious to his wife's flirting.

I, however, was not.

“Yeah, our bed is amazing, too,” I told her.

Rhonda looked me up and down, her eyes probably mentally undressing me now to see just what I had to offer my husband in said bed, and my irritation morphed into full-blown annoyance. I didn't want to hear another word about the merits of their house on wheels.

“Glad you both like your big black bus,” I said. I stepped on the brake to release it and it clicked loudly. “We need to get going, though. We're going to find out about the medallion hunt.”

“Oh?” Hackerman's radar went up. He took another long drink from the can of beer and adjusted his sunglasses again. “I'm not sure there's much reason to do that, little miss thing.”

“Yeah, you really shouldn't even bother,” Rhonda added, folding her arms across her chest. Her boobs lifted another inch and I resisted the urge to yank her tube top up to her chin.