Trails of Treachery by Carolyn Keene

Author:Carolyn Keene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

“Can you believe it? We’re actually at the top of a volcano,” Bess said, late the next morning. “This part of Costa Rica is amazing!”

That was for sure. Here at the peak of Irazú, we stood among the bare craggy rocks surrounding the crater. Lush green coffee farms spread out over the hillside below us. Through a hazy mist of volcanic ash, we saw a blanket of clouds nestled against the hills.

“It is beautiful,” I agreed, watching Bess snap photos with the camera Paul had lent her. “I just hope George has enough layers to keep warm. I mean, I knew the temperature would drop here on top of the volcano. But this feels like February back home, not like the tropics.”

I wasn’t sure when I had started to shiver. Stage Two of the race had already been under way for hours. During our drive up the volcano we’d seen sloths, iguanas, and even a couple of crocodiles. Derek, George, and Sharine had all come through the first checkpoint in good form. Derek had been at the front of the lead pack of riders, and George and Sharine had reached the checkpoint well before the cutoff.

But conditions started getting tougher after that. As we’d climbed higher, the wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped. George and Sharine had both stopped to pull on sweatshirts. Then the race path had turned off into a single, washed-out muddy track that rose up into the cloud forest. Bess and I hadn’t seen George or Sharine since. Now we hovered alongside journalists and other support crews next to the La Ruta truck that marked the second checkpoint.

“Well, moving around taking pictures is helping me not to freeze,” Bess said. She swung her camera around to get a shot of two boys leading some cows along the dirt track.

“I see you’ve discovered one of the secret benefits of photography,” Paul Maynard said, turning away from the crowd of reporters. He snapped a few shots of us, then grinned at Bess over the top of his camera. “Being in constant motion definitely keeps the blood flowing so you stay warm.”

His cheeks were flushed, but I thought that was probably from being around Bess, not from taking photos.

“Thanks again for lending me your camera,” Bess said, smiling back at him. “I’ve been having a blast with it.”

As Paul stepped over to us, I realized that he had on cycling clothes instead of his usual Hawaiian shirt and baggy shorts. When I asked him why, he grinned and said, “I decided it’s time to get some inside shots of this race. I hired someone to drive my car to the next checkpoint, so I can be in the thick of the pack while they head down Irazú,” he said, speaking above the wind that whistled around us.

Paul nodded toward his muddy car. I saw that a rack had been strapped to the trunk and a mountain bike hung from it. A young man with dark, spiked hair leaned against the side door with his arms crossed over his chest.

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