“Why's that?” Jake asked. I knew he didn't care about the medallion hunt but he didn't take too kindly to being told what to do. Or, in this case, what not to do.

Hackerman raised his chin and thrust out his chest. “I've won the medallion hunt six years running now. And there's no second place.”

“We,” Rhonda corrected. She patted at her hair. “We've won it six years in a row.”

“Right, sure, whatever,” Hackerman said. I couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses but I'm sure he was rolling them. “We.”

“Six years in a row?” I asked.

Hackerman nodded. “Most people have just given up on trying because I'm so good at it.” He tapped his temple. “I can figure out those clues pretty fast and the kids know this place like the back of their hands. Rhonda, here—she maps it all out for us.”

“Sounds like it really is a group effort,” I commented. “And not just you...”

His face darkened. “Ain't nowhere we can't find that thing.”

“Well, maybe your run will come to an end this year,” Jake said.

“Yeah,” I added. “Streaks are made to be broken.” I gave him a sweet smile.

Hackerman froze, then slowly pushed his glasses up so they sat on top of his head. His eyes were a pale, almost colorless blue. “You think you can take us down?”

“Take you down?” I chuckled. “It's a medallion hunt, not WWE.”

Jake shrugged. “I think it's certainly possible.”

“I'll take you down,” Rhonda murmured, her beer can poised below her lips as she stared at Jake.

I felt like I was in some sort of alternate universe. A man we'd just met was challenging us to a throw down over a campground medallion hunt and his wife was staring at my husband like she wanted to lick every inch of him. I was not going to get involved.

Hackerman stared at Jake, his mouth set in a thin line. “You and the little woman?” He gave me a pitying look, then turned back to Jake. “Really? Good luck with that.” He lowered his glasses again.

Screw not getting involved. “I think it's a certainty,” I said. I inched the golf cart forward, closer to where Jake and the Hackermans were standing. “Jake, let's go.”

Hackerman turned to me and gave me a long, hard stare. Maybe he thought I could see his eyes through his sunglasses or maybe he thought the mirrored lenses would paralyze me with fear. I managed to somehow withstand his optical assault.

Rhonda continued to undress Jake with her eyes. He ignored her and climbed back into the golf cart. I considered accidentally letting my foot slip off the brake and onto the accelerator and slamming the cart into her. Maybe the golf cart could inflict some damage, even if it was just deflating the balloon-like breasts stuffed inside of her tube top.

Wayne finally turned back to Jake. He finished his beer and crushed the can in his fist.

He dropped it to the ground and it clattered against the pavement. His voice was a growl. “Then let's get it on.”

FIVE

“We will stay here all summer if that's what it takes to beat that fat pig,” I said as we drove away from Hackerman and his black beauty. “And if that woman looks at you like that one more time, I'll shove the medallion down her throat.”

“Looks at me like what?” Jake asked.

“Oh, give me a break,” I said, my hands clutching at the steering wheel. “'The beds are amazing.' She practically asked you to have sex with her right there on the road.”

“You're exaggerating,” he said. “You have jealous tendencies.”

I did have jealous tendencies. I'd never denied that. With Thornton, my ex-husband, I could've cared less if anyone had showed interest in him. But Jake was mine and I didn't want anyone ogling him the way Rhonda had.

“I'm not exaggerating,” I said. “Her boobs were two inches from your face!”

“Well, you are speeding,” Jake said, ignoring my comment and staring pointedly at the golf cart's speedometer. “Slow down before we get a ticket from the campground police or something.”

“Fifteen minutes ago, you told me I wasn't driving fast enough! I think you just like to complain.”

“And I think you're rattled.” He tried stretching out his lanky frame.

“I'm going to get the clue list,” I said, ignoring him. “We're going to beat those people.”

“How about if we just stay away from them?”

“Or how about if we find the medallion and rub it in their faces?” I countered.

Jake sighed and shook his head.

We zoomed down the hill and I ignored the waves of the friendly campground dwellers, focusing purely on sticking it to Hackerman. We reached the bottom of the hill and made a sort of U-turn toward the clubhouse and the swimming pool.

We lurched to a stop and Jake slid forward on the seat. “I'm having flashbacks to the airport shuttle,” he said. “Wonder if it's PTSD or something.”

I ignored his jibe and slid off my seat. “The clues are in the clubhouse.”

“I gathered,” Jake said as he climbed out of the cart.

I pulled open the screen door to the clubhouse. It groaned in protest and slammed immediately behind us, the spring on the door either broken or nonexistent. The room looked like it had been lifted from a 70's movie shoot. The wood-paneled walls were chipped and peeling and the low-pile carpet was a cross between rust and orange. A wobbly ping pong table was parked in the middle of the room, the net stretched across the table sporting several holes. A pool table with a balding surface sat next to it. There were mismatched shelving units, all wood laminate, filled with games and well-read paperback books. A few card tables were set up near the windows that looked down the hill toward the entrance to the campground.

Jake's face lit up when he saw the ping pong table. “Ping pong!” He immediately began searching for paddles and a ball.

But I didn't care about any of that. I scanned the walls, looking for a bulletin board. And found it. I read all of the announcements tacked to the cork board—there were sheets offering campers and boats for sale, a note about the American Legion pancake breakfast and a reminder of campground rules. There was a bright pink flyer that listed upcoming activities, including Water Aerobics with Wendy (on Wednesdays) and Thirsty Thursdays, a sort of BYOB happy hour the resort hosted. And right next to that, there was a single sheet of paper labeled Medallion Hunt with a list of clues.

I peered at it. Actually, it was't a list, because only one clue was typed on the sheet of paper.

I snatched the sheet off the board and scanned the sheet. One clue. We had to solve this one in order to find the next clue.

“Don't scoff, this is where you'd go to cool off,” I read aloud.

“What are you talking about?” Jake asked, He'd found a ping pong ball and was bouncing it on the table top.

“That's the clue,” I said, shaking the sheet at him. “Don't scoff, this is where you'd go to cool off.”

“A bar?”

I made a face at him. “No. Here on the campground.”

“Oh,” he said, still bouncing the ball. “Right. Hey, you wanna play ping pong?”

“No, I want to find the medallion,” I said, already running short on patience. “So we need to go check out the pool.”

“I didn't put my trunks on. And it's not Wednesday.” He nodded his head at the Water Aerobics announcement.

“Not to swim,” I said. I tacked the sheet back on to the bulletin board. “And not to do aerobics. To find the next clue. Because that's where you'd go to cool off.”

He caught the ball and reluctantly placed it on the table. “Of course, Sherlock. Brilliant deduction.”

“I know,” I said. I pushed open the screen door. “And that makes you Watson.”

“I think I'd rather be Sherlock.”

He followed me over to the pool, a clean rectangle of blue water. Even though it was closed to swimmers—a faded sheet of paper announced it would absolutely be open in the morning—the gate was still unlocked. I unlatched it and walked on to the pool deck. There were a few tables with umbrellas and several reclining chairs stacked in the corner. A Lost and Found bin sat next to the gate, overflowing with towels and goggles and a couple of lone flip flops. The aroma of chlorine hung heavy in the air and dragonflies buzzed the surface of the water, pleased to have the aquatic oasis to themselves. It took two minutes for us to find the next clue, pinned to the fence, near the deep end.