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several notes sticking out of each end. Charlie, also, had a journal and a pen out.
    Lil reached for her pocket. She hadn’t even thought to bring a pen to dinner. Or a notebook. Had the packet said they should? She had gotten so wrapped up in the picture and the stained-glass window . . .
    â€œDo either of you have a pen I could borrow? I forgot mine upstairs.”
    Charlie’s face lit up as she produced a cloth roll. She unwound it to reveal many pens held against the cloth by leather loops.
    â€œTake your pick,” Charlie said as Lil examined the variety. One was silver and gold, another was bright blue with a silver seal across the cap and another was slick black with copper bands. Charlie pulled the cap from one and displayed a fountain pen tip that curved into a fine point.
    â€œThey’re all filled with series three because they took my black serpent class away at customs.”
    Lil reached for the black one. “What’s black serpent class?”
    â€œIt’s an ink.” Charlie looked at her as though this were obvious. “Series three is not as good as the black serpent class. It just doesn’t move as well on the paper.”
    Sydney nodded, and then flipped her notebook open to the first tab and busied herself reading.
    Charlie continued. “Margo goes to book expos all over the world, and she gets me a fountain pen and a journal from each country.” She rolled the case back up and put it into her pocket.
    â€œWho’s Margo?” Lil asked.
    â€œShe’s my foster mom,” Charlie said, her eyes falling back to the pen. She twirled it along the top of her paper and then smeared her pointer finger across it.
    â€œWe run an antique-book store. We have a branch at home and a branch in London,” she said. “I-I don’t see her much these days, but the pens . . .” She held her pen up again, hesitated. “I love the pens.”
    Lil smiled, even though she didn’t buy the idea that fountain pens could replace a parent, but maybe it was one of those things a person hangs on to. Something to believe in.
    The bell rang behind them, and a small door near the counselors’ table opened. The counselors walked in. There were four of them, and Lil’s breath caught as she saw the one on the very end. It was Bente. At least she thought it was. She pulled the picture out of her pocket and looked down at it and then back up at the woman who now took her seat in the last chair at the table. Same sinewy build. Same straight hair. It was all silver now, but the way it hung around her face was exactly the same. It had to be her.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Charlie whispered, jutting her chin toward the picture in Lil’s hand. “Is that you?” She glanced back toward the counselors, to Bente. “Do you know her?”
    â€œI’ll explain later,” Lil answered. What could she say about it, anyway? she wondered. That she had found her mother hanging from a ceiling beam, and that she and her dad couldn’t sleep at night and that she had come to find some answers about a random missing necklace that for all she knew could have been something dumb like a charm bracelet? Lil pushed the picture into her pocket. She would have to think of a better way of putting all of it. Or maybe not say anything at all.
    â€œIt’s strange, isn’t it?” Sydney mused, not looking up from her paper.
    â€œWhat is?” Lil said.
    â€œThey all seem much older than I expected,” Sydney said. “For camp counselors.”
    Lil nodded. It
did
seem like all the counselors were older women. At least forty-five or older, but, Lil thought, the packet had said they were at the top of their fields. It took time to climb, didn’t it? The one who now made her way to the podium seemed like she was close to Lil’s dad’s age.
    â€œWelcome, future leaders,” she said, tapping the microphone twice.