Jill Churchill - Fear of Frying

It was a nicely mowed area encircling a large campfire site. A low wall of fieldstone defined the fire area, which was already stacked with logs and ready to be lighted. There were a few well-tended chrysanthemums blooming around the nearer side of the grassy verge.

“Oh, Jane!" Shelley said, grabbing her arm. "Look at that view!”

Turning around, Jane realized the woods had been skillfully cleared to offer a view out over the cabins and the lake beyond. She also couldn't help noticing that the sky was clouding up and there was a chilly wind. "Eating dinner here might be a nippy proposition," she said.

“I don't suppose you brought long underwear?" Shelley asked.

“I don't own long underwear, Shelley. I live in a house, not a tent."

“Never mind. I brought extra," Shelley said.

“Of course you did," Jane said. "You're always prepared for anything. But Liz has a tape measure along. That puts her a point ahead of you.”

Shelley looked at her, slitty-eyed. "Wanna bet?”

Liz was asking Benson about medical services.

“The closest fire station," he said, "was just beyond the road where you came in. Before you crossed the bridge. They have an ambulance. The county hospital is five miles from here. We'll have a nurse on duty who can treat minor injuries."

“Poor Benson," Jane said. "I'll bet he didn't expect to be grilled quite so thoroughly."

“But he's got all the answers," Shelley pointed out. "He's obviously done his homework."

“He does seem awfully eager to impress us, doesn't he?" Jane said.

“For all his scruffy looks, he's a businessman, and that Conference Center must have cost a fortune," Shelley replied. "He might have overestimated the number of people who would want to use it. This school thing would bring in a lot of m—”

Just then Marge screamed again.

Six

“Sorry, ma'am, didn't mean to scare you," the newcomer said.

He was a tall, dark man in his fifties with alarmingly heavy eyebrows. He'd come, silently, by some other route than the rest of the group and had taken them all by surprise, though only Marge had such a violent reaction. He was dressed all in khaki, including his Smoky the Bear hat.

“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.