Fear of Frying

screamed.

Four

    “There was a face at the window!”
    Marge was white with fear and embarrassment at having made a scene.
    “Must have been Lucky Smith,“ Benson said angrily. “I’m going 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