Chapter 1

When I opened the door in response to the doorbell's urgent summons, I found myself face to face with my 14-year-old niece Candace. She was wearing attire utterly suitable for that hot August evening: a floppy casual sun hat, T-shirt, shorts and sandals. She had a backpack on her back, and hefted a suitcase in her left hand. Behind her, her younger sister Cindy was fetching her luggage from the trunk of my sister's car. Being 8 years old, she idolized her big sister, so it was no surprise to see she was dressed in very similar garb.

"We're going camping with you," Candy informed me gravely.

"What?" This was news to me.

"We're going camping with you," she repeated, without a change in her intonation. She'd reached the stage where any adult she met was an idiot studying to be a moron — and flunking the course. Clearly, she was unimpressed with the prospect of camping with Uncle George.

"Ginny," I called to my sister, who by now had gathered her youngest spawn by the hand and was steering her to my door, "nice to see you. What's all this about?"

"I need some help." Mentally, I ran through a list of psychiatrists in the city. Surely one of them would leap at the chance of trying out some new anti-psychotic medication. "Our head of marketing just landed in the hospital with appendicitis, and I've been asked to take over his turns at the dog-and-pony show. We're going to make presentations to potential investors in 8 cities in 10 days."

"Ooookaaay..."

"And I need someone to look after Candy and Cindy for the next week and a half. And I know you love your nieces."

"No argument there. Um, but what about Mom and Dad?"

"In Arizona?"

"Good point." That was a little far from our New England town. "And you have an ex-husband who adores them almost as much as I do."

"He's an airline pilot flying out of Chicago. What's he going to do, haul them around with him? That makes as much sense as hauling them around with me." Her ex, Malcolm, is a nice guy, but he's no Milquetoast. I predicted their divorce from the moment they got engaged; heck, I predicted they wouldn't survive as a couple until the wedding. They lasted long enough to produce two beautiful daughters with long brunette hair, and then split, their union a testament to their ability to absorb the mental punishment they inflicted on each other. When it came to marriage they had the stamina of a pair of M1 Abrams tanks, but even the M1 runs out of gas after so long. They were still friends, but they were also perfectly aware there was no possible way they could live as a couple any longer.

"So you see," she said, pleading with her eyes, "it HAS to be you. You're on vacation the next two weeks, you're off camping as you told us, you are my last resort."

I hesitated long and hard.

"Please?"

I took a breath. This was not going to be an easy conversation; conversations with Ginny rarely were. "I'd love to, but ... there IS a complication that you should know about."

"What, you don't want them? They'll mess up your plans for a two-week orgy? No chance at red-hot monkey sex as long as two little brats are there?" She was starting to get upset.

I pointed to the individual whose hand she was still holding. Said individual was hanging on every word. "Do you always discuss red-hot monkey sex in front of an eight-year-old?" I enquired mildly.

Ginny blushed furiously. "Go sit with your sister in the living room."

"OK, Ginny, now let's take this inside. No sense entertaining the neighbours, especially when we aren't getting recompensed for doing so."

Inside, Ginny turned to me, and advised me again, "You are taking your nieces camping." She doesn't ask — she assumes you'll instantly think it's the greatest idea since sliced bread, without thinking that some people prefer theirs unsliced. "It'll be a wonderful experience for them, and you won't mind it, and Sheila won't mind it, either." Sheila is my girlfriend — I hoped during this romantic getaway to change that to fiancée.

"As I said, there's something you should know."

"What, you really DON'T like your nieces? Are you going to tell them that," she swept her arm at the two girls, "or shall I?"

"Girls," I announced, "your mother is, once again, jumping to conclusions without a parachute. You may want to call 911, the landing could prove kind of harsh." Candy laughed, and Cindy looked confused. I gestured to Ginny. "Kitchen," I hissed. "Wait here, ladies. Your mother and I will be right back."

In the kitchen, Ginny turned to me, eyes flashing. "What. Is. Your. Problem. Are you going to tell me you're heading off to some nudist colony or something equally ridiculous?"

Bang, right on one. I damned near had heart failure. "We prefer 'resort' to 'colony', actually. People think nasty things go on there when they hear the word 'colony'."

"OK, OK, 'resort', th-" She started. "'We'?"

"'We'." I sighed and took out my membership card in a certain national naturist organization.

She picked it up. "'Member since... ' You've been one for TEN YEARS?" She was whispering as well as she could, lest her daughters hear.

"Yep," I chirped cheerfully, painting the best 'isn't-that-delightful' look on my face.

"And Sheila?"

"Met her at the local non-landed club."

"'Non-landed'?"

"Non-landed clubs don't have property — they rent swimming pools, halls, arrange group trips to resorts, that sort of thing."

"Ah." She quickly reviewed what I'd said over the past few years. "So all that time... ?"

"Your Correspondent was having a grand old time, completely unconstricted by nasty old swimsuits."