On our own, at last!  I opened the door to the bunkhouse, stepped inside, and breathed its wonderful vanilla fragrance.  So did my friends. 

“You are so lucky to have this place,” declared Jordan.  “What a paradise!”

“Pure nirvana,”  added Brooke.  “Fantabulous!” 

“Yeah,” Jordan remarked, cutting her eyes at me, “flaming  fantabulous.” 

Brooke paid no attention and headed for her favorite bunk.  “I brought sugar cookies,” she told Jordan.  From her backpack she withdrew a familiar bag, beige background covered with small dark-blue dancing cookies.  Dad had been right.  The cookies weren’t homemade.  “Fresh from Carol’s Bakery,” Brooke informed us unnecessarily. 

I wondered if Jeanie James knew her daughter had bought the cookies.  I doubted it.  As with everything else in her life, Jeanie expected Brooke to be perfect.  Indulging in cookies and other favorite foods, like pizza, hamburgers and fries, chili dogs, or real ice cream, was not on the Be Perfect list.  I made a mental note to give my mom a hug next time I saw her.

Jordan had also brought goodies.  Shaking a clear plastic jar full of cheese straws, she explained, “Kara and Sam made these yesterday.”

I finished lighting the vanilla candle and looked up in genuine surprise.  “I’m sorry.  For a moment, I thought I heard you say Sam had been cooking.”

“Hey, I thought I heard that too.”  Brooke feigned shock by slapping her hands to both sides of her face. 

Jordan nodded and rolled her eyes.  “You should have seen the kitchen.  Mom almost had a hissey fit.  But yes, Sam was cooking.”  Jordan placed a hand over her heart and added, “I am as bum-fuggled as you, but here’s the proof.”  She tossed me the jar.   

I unscrewed the red plastic lid and took a mighty sniff.  “Hey, these smell pretty good.”

Jordan nodded.  “They’re great!  She made a million of them.” 

We shook our heads at the mystery, but not for long.  My friends spied the Chapman Murder scrapbook.