Jill Churchill - Fear of Frying

“Must have been Lucky Smith," Benson said an- grily. "I'mgoing to call the sheriff right now and see if Lucky can be watched more carefully. This is trespassing at the least and I won't have it!"

“No, no! Don't call the sheriff. Please," Marge said. "I don't want to make trouble for anyone."

“Marge is right," her husband, Sam, said. "It's late and we're all tired and we'd be up half the night if you call and get the sheriff out here.”

Benson unwillingly agreed, but added, "He really is harmless. Obnoxious and distasteful, but harmless. I'm sorry he upset you, but don't let it spoil your dessert. It's my wife, Allison's, special recipe."

“Your wife?" Jane asked.

“Right. Allison's a little under the weather tonight and let the cook make dessert, but she'll be up and around tomorrow.”

The dessert was divine — a shortcake that nearly floated off the plate, crushed raspberries, and real clotted cream. Jane wasn't hungry after her big dinner, but she polished off dessert and barely restrained herself from licking the plate.

A couple of "Now, Lizzie's" from Al kept them from enduring an extra hour of planning sessions, which Lizzie dearly wanted to inflict on them, but it was still nearly ten o'clock when they started back to their cabins. Without anyone mentioning it openly, they agreed to move out in a group. Marge's fright had gotten under everyone's skin and made them all realize how far they were from their usual habitat.

“Benson and Allison," Jane said quietly to Shelley as they walked along the road, all four Claypools in a bunch in front of them, and the Flowerses following with Bob Rycraft. "I once dated a guy named Jan, but I refused to marry him because I didn't want to go through life as half of 'Jane and Jan.' "

“You're making that up," Shelley said.

“How'd you know?"

“Al, will you keep your flashlight pointed at the road?" Liz demanded. "You're going to trip and hurt yourself.”

Jane and Shelley could barely hear the "Now, Lizzie.”

When they were safely and comfortably locked up in their own cabin, Shelley declared first dibs on the fancy bathtub, and Jane bundled up to go sit on the back porch for a while. But she didn't last long. At first all she could hear was the pleasant burble of the now invisible stream running below and behind the cabin. But as her eyes and ears adjusted, she started imagining she could see tiny movements out of the corner of her vision and hear scrabbling sounds in the dried leaves. Probably just mice, she told herself. Then she heard something much larger moving around in the creek. Perhaps a big dog. Perhaps a person.

She dragged a few logs inside and locked the doors. She put them in the fireplace, but decided by the time she got the fire going, they'd probably both be asleep and she'd have to put it out again. Experience had taught her that this was a very smelly process.

Shelley had just come out of the bathroom in her robe with a towel around her head. "What's up? You're not starting a fire this late, are you?"

“No. And what's up is spooky noises. Shelley, does it strike you that the more often somebody says someone else is harmless, the more alarmed you become?"

“ 'The lady doth protest too much'? Yes, I thought if Benson said that one more time, I was going to find the sheriff and throw myself on his manly bosom. I'm sorry to say I'm already having bad feelings about this," Shelley admitted, fluffing her short, dark hair with the towel.

“It got a lot better after the Flowerses arrived. `Now, Lizzie,' " Jane added, doing a bad imitation of Al's deep voice.

“Well, when there's a loony peering through the windows, it's bound to make people nervous."

“Even before that," Jane said, pulling the drapes that covered the glass wall overlooking the stream. "Didn't you sense it? Or am I going a little batty?"

“Of course you're a little batty, but so am I. I prefer to think of it as having 'enhanced sensitivity,' " Shelley said. "Was it the Claypools who annoyed us? John and Eileen are so damned. . hearty. And Sam and Marge — well, she's shy and wimpy, but he's almost antisocial. I'm suspicious of any man who's too well groomed in the wrong circumstances."

“He probably came straight from work," Jane said. "We have to be fair."

“Who says? Aren't we always telling our kids Life Isn't Fair?"

“Kids! Yipes! I need to call and let them know I got here. Otherwise my mother-in-law will be filing the adoption papers in the morning."

“She's staying at your house?"

“To my sorrow," Jane said. "She's probably already rearranged everything in my kitchen and gone through my underwear drawer, sneering."

“Well, call home and I'll start your bath running. I brought along some fabulous bath salts I want you totry.”

Jane looked at her friend warily. "Why didn't you try them?”

Shelley just laughed. Maniacally, Jane thought.

Shelley woke early and puttered around quietly. Jane was semiawake, but dozed off again until the smell of coffee reached her. She staggered to the bathroom, then poured herself some steaming coffee, put her coat on over her robe, and went to sit on the porch with Shelley. "Something tells me that when my skin wakes up, I'm going to think it's cold out here," Jane muttered, curling up in the rocking chair. "That sparkly stuff on the ground is frost, isn't it?"

“Uh-huh, but the sun is warming things up nicely already. You better knock that drink back pretty fast and get dressed or we'll miss breakfast.”

Jane looked at her watch. "If I'm reading this right, it's five minutes until eight, and breakfast is from eight to ten."

“So — what's your point?”

Jane laughed. "Go on without me. I can hear your stomach growling.”

It took Jane another leisurely hour to pull herself together. She got dressed, sent quick E-mails to Mel, her son, and her parents, and decided she wouldn't be using the laptop computer a lot on this trip, being as she had to sit in the bathroom doorway to use it since that was the only spot equidistant from the phone jack and the electrical plugs.

Walking down the road to the lodge, she felt silly about her uneasiness of the night before. How could she have thought there was anything ominous about a place so glorious? The sky was as blue as Paul Newman's eyes, and brilliant sunlight turned the autumn leaves to neon colors. The air was so clean and clear, it nearly shimmered. It was still nippy and she felt silly wearing a car coat, gloves, and a knitted hat, but wasn't about to freeze just to be fashionable.

The lodge was a different place this morning, too.

Busy and much noisier than the night before. There were voices and the sound of dishes being stacked from the kitchen door, a radio playing a classical station at the front desk, the murmur of several conversations.

Marge Claypool, apparently recovered from her fright of the night before, was chatting with Benson's mother in front of the fireplace. Jane added her coat and hat to a pile of others on a sofa by the door and went into the dining room. Shelley and Liz Flowers had taken over a vacant table and had maps, charts, and books spread around. They were talking and both making notes on legal pads. The Planners, Jane thought. Shelley both loved and hated it when she found someone as well organized and bossy as she herself was.

Al Flowers was standing at one of the windows, hands behind his back, rocking back and forth slightly and humming something unidentifiable but cheerful. Bob Rycraft was wolfing down a huge breakfast. He was dressed in ratty gray sweats, and Jane guessed he'd already done some serious jogging.

Sam and John Claypool were eating at the same table. Sam looked slightly less businesslike today; he was wearing jeans, Jane noticed when he walked across the room to the buffet table. The jeans looked brand-new and still had store-bought creases down the legs, but at least he was trying.