Fear of Frying (2 page)

They pulled in and hopped out of the van. The surprisingly modern lock on the door worked easily. The interior was extremely "cabinish" with knotty pine walls and a wood floor scattered with braided rugs in soothing, muted colors. The furniture — two single beds, a couple of tables, and a pair of deeply cushioned chairs with afghans tossed over the backs — was primitive. So was the stone hearth around the fireplace. But to Jane's surprise, the entire far wall was all glass, floor-to-ceiling windows, with French doors leading to a back porch the width of the cabin. Three more rocking chairs like the one at the main building sat glowing in the late afternoon sun. There was fireplace wood stacked at the end of the porch, just waiting to become a cozy fire.

Jane went out on the porch, which hung out over a steep incline. Below, a small creek burbled past, and above her, birds warbled. A squirrel leaped from one tree to another, swinging wildly on the branch. "Shelley, this is really heaven— Shelley?”

Jane went inside, just as Shelley came in the other door laden with her belongings. "Which bed do you want?" she asked.

“The one nearest the porch, if that's okay. What is all that stuff?"

“The necessities of life," Shelley said, unloading a hair dryer, lighted makeup mirror, hot rollers, and coffeemaker.

“Uh-huh," Jane said. "There might be a small problem, Shelley." She pointed at the small kerosene lamp sitting on the table between the beds, and the other one on the table on the far wall. "There don't seem to be any electrical outlets.”

Shelley stared at Jane blankly, then stared at the kerosene lamps, looked at the ceiling, hoping in vain to see an overhead light. Then she sat down on the bed, among her appliances. "Oh, Jane. I'll
die
without electricity! What have I done to us?”

Shelley ran outside, looked around, and
came
back in, saying accusingly, "There are wires coming into the cabin, so there must be electricity."

“Probably just phone lines," Jane said, pointing to a telephone sitting on a tiny table. Shelley was so seldom rattled about anything that it was a pleasure to see her scrambling around looking for electricity. But Jane was a little concerned, too. She'd planned on using her laptop to keep in touch with the kids and with her "significant other" (a phrase she hated, but her teenage daughter was mortified by the concept of her mother having a "boyfriend," and Jane had reluctantly adopted Katie's preferred modern terminology), Mel VanDyne, via modem. But while the laptop had a battery, it probably didn't have enough juice to last for several days. Still, there would certainly be power in the main lodge where she could recharge it, while Shelley would look pretty silly using the lodge to dry and curl her hair and put on her makeup.

While Shelley got progressively more frantic in her search, Jane explored the rest of the cabin. It was rectangular with a large section taken out on the north wall. The first door into this section revealed a tiny storage room with extra blankets and pillows and a lot of fishing gear. Minnow buckets, life preservers, a selection of elderly fishing poles, and a tackle box. She closed that door and tried the other, which was the bathroom.

And what a bathroom! "Shelley!" Jane exclaimed. "Get a look at this!”

There was a large, deep tub with water-jet hardware, a double sink, and a separate area that had a very modern toilet and glass-enclosed shower. Jane stared for a moment before realizing she had reflexively flipped on the light switch when she entered the room.

“Lights! Electricity!" Shelley exclaimed. Then she started laughing. "Talk about selective renovations! What an absolutely fabulous bathroom!”

It was a strange juxtaposition — the knotty-pine, rocking-chair, kerosene-lamp, handmade-afghan main room and the luxury-hotel-suite bathroom — a weird combination Jane heartily approved of. In the back of her mind there had been a dark fear that outhouses might figure in this trip.

They got busy unpacking. This was a brief, casual activity for Jane, but more like a well-planned military maneuver for Shelley. There were outlets enough in the bathroom for all of Shelley's various appliances and Jane's laptop, which she plugged in to recharge. Their clothes, however, had to be hung in a tiny alcove of the storeroom, with a burlap curtain in place of a closet door."It smells fishy in here," Shelley complained.

“It's supposed to," Jane said. "If it didn't, they'd have to buy aerosol fish smell. It's a cabin in the woods. Back to nature and all that." She laughed. "Shelley, I have this vision of it being somebody's job to go around with plastic deer hooves on the end of a pole, making tracks outside the cabins when people are sleeping.”

Shelley grinned. "On stilts!”

Once they'd made themselves at home, Jane said, "It's getting dark and I'm starving. Where do we eat?”

Shelley consulted the contents of the envelope she'd picked up at the main lodge. "Dinner tonight-uh-ho — in about fifteen minutes. We better get moving." She stepped out on the deck overlooking the woods. "It's getting cold, too. Bundle up and let's walk."

“Okay, but how will we find our way back? By Braille?"

“I've got flashlights," Shelley said complacently.

Jane rolled her eyes. "Of course you do." Even after years and years of being neighbors and best friends, Jane was still surprised frequently at Shelley's organizational skills. She was always prepared for almost anything. She probably had a first aid kit concealed somewhere on her person.

And a ham radio.

They put on their heavy coats and headed for the lodge. Jane was surprised at how brisk it was. The day had been unusually warm for fall, but as soon as the sun started going down, the thick forest seemed to extinguish the heat. And the sun went down very quickly indeed. In the five minutes it took them to reach the main lodge, it became almost entirely dark. As they approached the building, a creature scuttled across the road in front of them. "Oh, look! A raccoon!" Jane exclaimed, turning to Shelley, who had gone as pale as vanilla pudding.

“I don't like wild animals," Shelley said in a very small voice.

“Ah! A chink in the armor," Jane said with a laugh. "Just imagine them as school principals or bank managers or any of the people you regularly terrorize."

“Can't," Shelley said. "They have fur."

“Then imagine them bald," Jane said briskly.

Shelley shuddered. "A bald raccoon? Yuck!”

As they stepped onto the porch, Jane said, "Actually, that grocery store manager who didn't want to let you use expired coupons looked a bit raccoonish, and you didn't have a bit of trouble bullying him.”

Jane pushed open the front door and they were enveloped in warmth, light, and the delicious odors of dinner. A fire crackled in a big central fireplace in the lobby, adding a hint of woodsmoke to the mix.

“Ah! You must be Mrs. Jeffry and Mrs. Nowack," a voice boomed. "I'm sorry we weren't here to greet you.”

The speaker was a tall, lanky man who looked to be in his mid-fifties. He was wearing a red-andblack-checked flannel shirt, jeans, and suspenders with Santa Claus faces. He looked a bit Santaish himself, in spite of being thin. He had long, thick gray hair and a fluffy beard. "I'm Benson Titus. My wife, Allison, and I own the resort."

“Glad to meet you, Benson. I'm Jane and this is Shelley. This is a wonderful place," Jane said. "We were a bit surprised by the bathroom in our cabin.”

He laughed, showing a spectacular mouthful of capped teeth, all of which were a bit too white. "We like our own comforts, Allison and I do, so we figured the guests would, too. Studied up on it and discovered that in most families, the wife picks the place to stay, and women tend to place a high value on good bathrooms. Cost the earth for all that fancy plumbing, but it did wonders for business."

“But isn't it going to be. . well, sort of wasted on a bunch of high-school kids?" Shelley asked, mindful of their purpose in being there.

“Oh, the kids won't stay in those cabins. There are only ten of them and they're too remote to keep a close eye on. The kids will stay in the dorms. The cabins will be for the staff. I'll show you around the whole place in the morning. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes, right through there," he added, pointing to large double French doors across the lobby. "Look around, make yourselves at home.”

The dining room was enormous, with a high, wood-beamed ceiling and long, sturdy wooden picnic-type tables, laid with crisp blue-and-white-checkered oilcloths. There were wooden benches with low backs rather than chairs. Another big fireplace was on the left wall, and the right and back walls, like the far wall in their cabin, were solid windows, with, they later discovered, a view over the lake and woods.

Only one table was set and occupied, that nearest the fireplace. A burly man with blond hair going to gray and in clothing that might have made him look like a lumberjack, had it not been so obviously newly purchased, was sitting at one end. The woman at the table was sitting as far from him as she could. She'd even turned away and had her legs stretched out to the fire. She was reading a battered paperback book, holding it very close to her face.

The man stood up as Jane and Shelley approached. "Well, I thought Marge and I were going to have to eat by ourselves. I'm John Claypool — Claypool Motors — and this is my brother Sam's wife, Marge. I usually call her Midge, 'cause she's such a cute little thing.”

Marge turned around, put down her book, and gave a weak smile that seemed to indicate that she'd heard this line several hundred times and never once enjoyed it.

“Marge and I know each other," Shelley said, then introduced herself and Jane. "Are we the only ones here?"

“My husband's on his way," Marge said. "He just had a couple business calls to make first. And two cars passed me on the road as I was walking down here." She had a very soft, sweet voice with the slightest hint of southern accent. She was a very pretty woman in an innocuous way. Blond-going-to gray hair swept back from her face and held with old-fashioned hair clips, perfect, fair skin, very little makeup, and neutral-colored clothing — khaki slacks, white sweater and blouse, pale green scarf. Jane thought the one word that described her best was "clean." Or maybe "tidy." It was a toss-up.

Before anyone could launch a conversational gambit, another man entered the room and Marge went to meet him. "Sam, this is Shelley Nowack and her friend Jane Jeffry.”

Unlike the rest of them, who were dressed for the outdoors, Sam Claypool had on dress slacks, a crisp white shirt, navy blue tie, and a blazer. If Jane hadn't known better, she'd have sworn he was an accountant, not a car dealer. He, too, was tidy — but too much so. His hair was a little too short, the creases in his slacks were perfect, his handshake was cool and impersonal. He needed rumpling, Jane thought. He'd come to dinner with a legal pad and hand-held calculator, which didn't strike Jane as especially sociable, even though she herself, like Marge, always had a paperback book somewhere on her person.

“Where's Eileen?" John asked.

Sam looked around. "I don't know. She was with me a minute ago." He had already sat down at the table and was punching in numbers on his calculator and making notes on the legal pad. Shelley was studying him ominously, as if considering giving a short lecture on social niceties.

Eileen Claypool, John's wife, turned up a moment later. "Sorry, dears, I had to take a potty break. The bathrooms here are amazing!" She was a perfect match for her husband — loud, oversized, and cheerful, like him. She had big blond hair, a huge, toothy smile, and was swathed about with an extraordinary number of accessories. Besides innumerable layers of clothing, she wore three necklaces, rings on every finger, a large purse, and two tote bags. "What a wonderful place this is. I'm Eileen. Who are you?”

Jane and Shelley introduced themselves again. Eileen proved to be a "hand holder," hanging on to them while the cloud of her expensive perfume encircled them. "Oh, you're those friends of Suzie Williams, aren't you?"

“Friends and neighbors," Shelley said, trying in vain to disengage her hand. "How do you know Suzie?"

“I've got a little dress shop. Just a hobby, really. Large sizes. I send a lot of my ladies to Suzie to get fitted for" — she lowered her voice to a muted bellow—"undergarments." Suzie, a big, gorgeous, vulgar platinum blonde whom Shelley and Jane were crazy about, was the head clerk of the lingerie section at the department store located in the neighborhood mall.

“Here, let's sit down. I want to know all about you ladies," Eileen said, dragging them over to the table. "Oh, Marge dear, I didn't even see you there. Got your books, I see. Marge always has her nose in a book," she explained. "Can't see how she does it. Reading puts me straight to sleep. Always has.”

They were spared the full force of Eileen's attention by the arrival of yet another camper. "Oh, good, you haven't started eating yet! Hi, everybody. I'm Bob Rycraft. Mrs. Jeffry. . Mrs. Nowack, how you doin'? I didn't know you'd be here. Mr. Claypool.. Mr. Claypool, good to see you guys. I don't think I've met your wives.”

While yet more introductions were conducted, Jane watched Bob move around the table. She didn't know him well, but had always liked him. He was a big, handsome, tawny man in his late thirties who moved with the lazy grace of a lion and had formerly been an athlete — football, Jane thought. Or maybe it was baseball. He and his wife and four little girls had moved to their suburb five years ago. Bob ran an apparently successful mail-order business that sold specialty paper products to companies all over the world. He was an extremely civic-minded guy, coaching at the YMCA and several schools, serving as Parks and Rec chairman on the city council and generously donating envelopes, packing boxes, and such to practically every good cause in town.