Fear of Frying (6 page)

“Sheriff Taylor, ma'am," he said.

“Not Sheriff Andy Taylor by chance," Jane asked with a chuckle.

He looked at her wearily. "No, ma'am. And I don't have a deputy named Barney Fife, if you were going to ask."

“Nothing like pissing off the law," Shelley murmured.

“Guess he's heard that little jest before," Jane grumbled.

Marge still had her hand over her mouth. She lowered it and said, "I'm so sorry. You just seemed to. . appear out of nowhere!”

He nodded at her and turned to Benson. "I got your message this morning about your prowler, and Allison said you were out here. Since it was on my way home, I thought I'd just stop by. Whoever it was, it wasn't Lucky Smith. I had him in the lockup on a drunk-and-disorderly. Who was it who saw the prowler?”

Benson introduced Marge. Sheriff Taylor took this in an even more world-weary manner. He was obviously thinking,
Of course it was the screamer.
But he merely said, "Oh, well. Okay, ma'am, what did this person you saw look like?"

“Just li — just a face. It was only for a second.”

“White? Black? Young? Old?"

“White. I couldn't guess the age."

“A man?"

“Oh, yes. Look — I'm sorry for causing you trouble. It's nothing. Really," Marge said, wilting under his eyebrow-hooded glare.

Her husband, Sam, was merely observing, as if he had no connection with her. Jane thought how pleasant it would be to slap him.

“Just everybody use caution, will you?" Sheriff Taylor said it as if he were speaking to a group of slow-witted kindergartners. He gave Benson a half wave, half salute and disappeared as silently as he'd arrived. He hadn't actually used the words "hysterical" or "menopausal," but they seemed to hover in the air like gnats.

Benson said, with awesome good cheer, "Okay, we've done the basic tour." He glanced at his watch. "There will be soup and sandwiches served in about an hour. You're free to do whatever you want for now. And after lunch, we'll begin our programs. As I think I told you last night, I put a notice up at the courthouse and in the county paper for the local people who want to attend, too. Free entertainment is pretty sparse around these parts, and a long winter is looming. Oh, and my wife has literature for you at the lodge. More detailed maps, some suggestions we're making for classes and activities for your school, and such. Stop by and pick them up at your convenience.”

Jane caught up with Marge, who was leaving as quickly as she could. "Don't pay any attention. That's a lout of a man," she told the other woman, who looked perilously near tears. Jane prided herself on
not
saying,
And so's your husband.

“
I know. Thanks. It's just that there have been strange things lately."

“What kind of strange things?" Jane asked.

Marge reclasped her barrette to capture a fine piece of fair hair. "Oh, nothing. Sam says it's my imagination. It probably is. I wonder what we'll have for dinner," she inquired, changing the subject so brutally that even Jane couldn't twist it back.

They had the dubious honor of meeting Lucky Smith when they got back to the lodge. He was sitting on the porch as if he belonged there. He was a stringy, weaselly old man — or maybe he wasn't so old, but had just lived too hard. His hair was thinning, dyed, and greasy, his eyes small and red. And in the center of his rather pinched face was a nose big and red enough to belong to a much larger man. Shelley started giggling when she saw him.

“Imagine what he looked like as a baby," she said. "What a cute new nose — er, baby you have Mrs. Smith.”

But her smile faded as Lucky Smith staggered tc his feet, pointed at Benson Titus, and said in what he no doubt thought was the Voice of Doom, "Hear you been makin' false accusations against me, Titus."

“Oh, Lucky, give it a rest. I'm busy," Benson said. "Go home and finish sobering up. Now, Mrs. Flowers, I'll get those files you wanted to see," he added, trying to steer Liz and the rest of the group away from Lucky.

“Busy with the Devil's work!" Lucky shouted. "Ruining God's world. The Devil's man, that's what you are, Titus. You have to meet your Maker at the Pearly Gates, and God himself is gonna say, 'Why'd you cut down my trees to build that big ol' building just to line your pockets with gold? Those were My trees, Titus.' That's what God's gonna say to you. And then what good is all your gold gonna do you?”

Shelley was no longer laughing. "That's a real loony," she said once they were inside the lodge with the door firmly shut behind them.

Benson heard her. "He's only this bad when he's coming off a drunk." He was trying to be reassuring, but it was obvious he was very upset. He went straight to the phone. Jane and Shelley went to sit by the fireplace and could hear Benson saying furiously, "Tell Taylor to send somebody out here right now to get this maniac off my property. He's harassing my guests. I won't have any more of this. If he turns up here again, I'm going to file a lawsuit against the county that'll knock your socks off. I have the right to be protected from this lunatic!"

“Can't say I blame him," Shelley said quietly.

Jane inched closer to the fire. She hadn't realized how chilly she really was until she felt the warmth. "Imagine having to cope with someone like that!”

A few minutes later, a patrol car arrived. Through the front windows they could see a man in uniform approach Lucky and start talking to him. Lucky kept gesturing and shouting, but the officer kept his cool, nodding and continuing to talk. Finally Lucky calmed down and was led away to the car and off the property.

Jane and Shelley settled in to watch others who were coming in. A dozen or so people who seemed to be acquainted passed through to the dining room. Jane supposed they were local people who had decided to make a little mini vacation by staying overnight before the next day's activities. Several young people, presumably students, headed for the kitchen, and one professorial-looking older gentleman arrived with a slide projector, screen, and briefcase. Edna Titus came down the stairs behind the front desk and greeted him.

“Who's that?" Shelley asked.

“Benson's mother. I had a chat and a smoke with her out here last night.”

Edna approached them and was introduced. "You haven't seen my sweater, have you, Jane?"

“I have. Where? Oh, on one of the rockers on the porch.”

Edna went off to fetch her sweater, and Jane and Shelley went into the dining room. Their idea of a

“light lunch" was an apple and a piece of cheese. Benson's was a selection of four different kinds of sandwiches, three soups, an assortment of chips, dips, nuts, cheeses, soft drinks, coffee, fancy tea bags, another platter of melon — in balls this time instead of slices — and two salads.

“I'm going to go home weighing four hundred pounds," Shelley said. "I'll have to wrap up in a tent because my clothes won't fit."

“Nonsense. We're burning off every single calorie just by walking around in the cold," Jane said. "Now, dig in.”

Jane felt so stupefied by lunch that she couldn't face a lecture. If she were to sit quietly, she knew it would be only moments before she was sound asleep and snoring repulsively.

“I know I should be taking my responsibilities more seriously," she told Shelley, "but I'm going to go take a nap.”

Shelley flapped a hand dismissively. "Go ahead. We don't actually need to know about the wildlife in order to make an intelligent recommendation on sending the kids here. Unless, of course, they're going to tell us about something huge and vicious that eats teenagers."

“If so, ask if they're for sale," Jane said.

As Jane sluggishly made her way back to their cabin, she realized it was misting and there, was a faint, faraway rumble of thunder. A perfect afternoon for a nap. She made a quick E-mail run on the computer, picking up a delightfully personal note from Mel, a plea from her daughter, Katie, that Jane authorize Grandma to advance funds for a shopping trip — funds Jane would reimburse, of course — and a note from her son Mike asking her opinion of his joining the college band, which would require the purchase of a tux.

She replied to all of the notes briefly.

“Me, too," to Mel.

“No," to Katie.

And "Let me think about it," to Mike.

She sent the notes off, removed her shoes, and snuggled into bed for a nice, cozy snooze.

When Jane woke, she thought she'd overslept and it was night. But it was merely overcast and had apparently rained quite hard while she was napping. Not nice for a camp-out. She was still stumbling around trying to get her bearings when Shelley came in wearing an oversized khaki poncho with a hood.

“Ah, the tent wardrobe already!" Jane said.

“If it isn't Sleeping Beauty," Shelley exclaimed. "And I'll have you know I haven't eaten a bite since lunch." She bent way over and let the poncho slide off over her head. "I brought you one of these, too. They're really toasty. Flannel-lined and everything. Benson loaned us a bunch."

“What can you possibly imagine I'd need it for?" Jane asked.

“Why, to wear to the campfire dinner, of course."

“Shelley, you're kidding! What do I look like? Admiral Byrd? Noah? An idiot?
It's
cold and rainy out there."

“No, it's not so bad. The rain's stopped and it's actually a little warmer now than it was earlier. It'll be fun."

“Compared to what? Having our fingernails ripped out?"

“What a poop you're being," Shelley said. "A
poop,
I say! Come on. You'll see I'm right. If you really, really hate it, you can come back here and starve. This is dinner we're talking about, Jane."

“You mean we don't get to eat unless we go sit in the rain?"

“First, it's not really raining—”

Jane gestured at the glass doors. "Shelley, that silvery wet stuff falling out there is rain."

“No, it's just the residue of rain dripping off the leaves," Shelley said sweetly.

“Oh, of course. That makes a huge difference."

“And secondly, you can stay here and eat if you want. I think there are some of those neon orange crackers with peanut butter in my car. At least, they were there last summer. They might be a little smashed, but they'll taste the same as ever. And I'm pretty sure there's some room-temperature ginger ale somewhere in my luggage. What a feast!"

“How do you get into these tent garments?" Jane asked with a sigh.

Once she had donned the long underwear, extra socks, and the lined poncho, Jane had to admit — not out loud to Shelley, of course — that she was quite comfortable. And the rain had stopped, though there were still flashes of lightning in the western sky and occasional low murmurs of thunder. As she and Shelley headed up the road to the campsite, they could see Liz and Al Flowers's tall forms ahead of them and could hear John and Eileen Clay-pool's loud voices behind them.

The campsite had been transformed. Instead of a bland, green area with a circle of rocks, it was full of people and color. There was a large, rather spread-out, glowing fire inside the ring of rocks, which had burned down to orange embers. Various cooking gadgets surrounded it.

There was a table set up for food preparation to one side of the campfire and a canopy-style tent covering a long table and benches on the other side. Benson was too busy to do much more than call out greetings as they gathered. His mother, his wife, and two young men were acting as helpers. Bob Rycraft must have been the first arrival and was getting in everyone's way. Jane could imagine Bob taking his enthusiasm home and digging a fire pit in his backyard. In his khaki poncho, he looked even more like a sleek, contented lion curiously exploring.

Jane was feeling enthusiastic herself. The smell was divine: a mix of pines, woodsmoke, rain, and food. Better than any perfume.

Jane and Shelley joined Al Flowers at the table. Liz, naturally, had gone to the preparation table and was no doubt driving poor Benson mad with questions. The table was laid with a flowered tablecloth with matching napkins, and while their plates were heavy plastic, the silverware was real. "What a transformation!" Shelley said to Al.

He rumbled amiable agreement.

Eileen and John Claypool joined them. Eileen was so bundled up under her poncho that she waddled. She had on one boot, and on the other foot, a fuzzy pink house slipper with a plastic bag tied around it. "Does this place ever smell great!" she said. "What are those metal boxes around the fire?"

“Reflector ovens," Al said. "There's a cake in one of them." His sparkling white grin against his dark face and the dark background of pines made Jane think of the Cheshire cat.

She turned a little so she could catch some light from the fire on her watch. It was only six o'clock, but it could have been midnight — or four in the morning. If you were out here without a clock and knew nothing of stars, how would you tell what time it was? she wondered. To a city person, the complete darkness was eerie. At home, dark meant no sun, but streetlights, car headlights, and the perpetual glow of Chicago filling the southern sky. Here, on a cloudy night, darkness was complete and primitive and overwhelming. It was both peaceful and frightening — a combination she wouldn't have believed could exist at the same time.