Fear of Frying

Sam?“ Jane asked, hoping the answer would allow her to finish her eggs.
    “Oh, Sam’s been the perfect son.“ Eileen said it flatly, without a hint of sarcasm. “But even he’s gotten a little snappish lately, which is weird because he’s usually so cool and in control of everything. And Marge is a nervous wreck. You saw that last night. The parents are old and feeble and can’t last forever—I hope. I know that sounds cruel, but I’ve never, in all these years, had a kind word from them. Oh, well, I didn’t mean to chew your ear off about this.”
    Jane had managed to finish her breakfast.
    She smiled and said, “No problem.“

Five

    When everyone had finished breakfast, the tour of the camp commenced with the kitchens, which were much larger than Jane would have guessed. Given enough staff, a great many people could be fed at once. And there was plenty of room for staff to live along the corridor leading off the kitchen area. Benson explained that, as with most summer resorts, the bulk of the employees were college students.
    “It’s harder to find a reliable supply of workers during the school year, but we manage,“ he said. “We usually close the Conference Center and just cater to small groups that occupy the cabins.“
    “What about our own teachers we’d bring along?“ Liz Flowers asked briskly.
    “They could stay in the cabins, provided reservations are made well in advance, but you’d probably want them in the Conference Center with the students,“ Benson replied. “And there would be an extra charge, I’m afraid.“
    “Oh, yes. They’d definitely want to be with the kids in the Conference Center!“ Bob Rycraft said enthusiastically.
    Shelley muttered to Jane, “Handsome, but dim. Why would any sane adult want to be locked up with a bunch of teenagers day and night? I had a great-aunt who decided to spend her sunset years as a housemother in a boarding school. She lasted one semester and needed years of psychiatric care to get over it. She tended to drool, and become startled at sudden noises.“
    “I guess there are people like us who manage, sometimes with considerable effort, to love our own teenagers, and then there are those rare and misguided individuals who love all of them,“ Jane said, shaking her head. “He appears to be one of those. Just wait until all those little girls of his hit puberty about the same time.“
    “People like him must have suffered either a great deal more or a lot less of the usual angst when they were teens, I suppose,“ Shelley said. “I can hardly think about those years without shuddering.“
    “Ladies?“ Liz said sharply.
    They hurried along to catch up with the group. They exited from the back door of the staff wing, turned right, and walked down a long, winding incline at the bottom of which was a spectacularly beautiful lake. It was fronted by a beach of sorts—not sand, but shingle. A small dock had a single elderly rowboat tied up, and there was a large swimming dock farther out. A shed contained a great many neon orange life jackets, and an old-fashioned wooden lifeguard tower stood sentry. A list of commonsense rules was posted on the front of the tower.
    It was cool enough that the thought of swimming made Jane shiver, but in the summer it would be a different matter.
    “We’re lucky that there’s a very slow, gentle slope here,“ Benson was saying. “And over there, the roped-off area is only four feet deep. That’s where we give beginner swimming lessons. Oh, I almost forgot to mention poison ivy.“
    “There’s poison ivy here?“ Marge asked.
    “There shouldn’t be,“ Benson said with a smile. “I’ve conducted a war against it ever since we arrived. I don’t think there’s any left, but I have a handout with drawings and photos of it for you. If anybody sees so much as a leaf of it, please let me know.”
    Jane glanced around at the group. Liz, naturally, had a clipboard and was taking notes like mad. She even had a tape measure and marked down the height of the lifeguard tower. Bob Rycraft had gone down to the shoreline and was smiling and nodding, no doubt picturing the lake full of happy kids who would go home and say no to drugs and study like mad, all because of two glorious weeks at camp. Al Flowers had wandered over to the tower and, hands in pockets, was looking up as if contemplating someone other than himself climbing it.
    The Claypool brothers were standing together, talking quietly, probably