Fear of Frying

Besides—“
    “Besides what?“ Shelley snapped, working up a temper again.
    “He was dead, that’s what.”
    Shelley made a whooshing sound like a balloon deflating. “I know.“
    “He really was, wasn’t he? Is there any way in the world we could have been wrong about that? We — didn’t take his pulse or anything.“
    “Jane, you know the answer to that. He was dead. His lips were blue. His eyes were wide open. Nobody could fake that with rain falling in their face.“
    “Maybe he was unconscious. Can you have your eyes stay open then?“
    “I don’t think so. Anyway, his head was caved in at the temple. And there was blood everywhere. Although it’s all washed away by now.“
    “There might still be traces of blood in the ground. Or underneath leaves,“ Jane said. “Forensic people can tell stuff like that.“
    “But why would they bother?“ Shelley asked.
    “Nobody but the two of us believes there was a body.“
    “Oh, of course,“ Jane said. “They all think we’re nuts, don’t they?“
    “Wouldn’t you? Come on, be honest, Jane. If I’d gone up there by myself and come back claiming somebody was dead and a little while later the ‘body’ walked into the lodge, grinning like an idiot, wouldn’t you consider having me put away somewhere with nice soft walls?“
    “But it wasn’t just one of us. It was two intelligent, sober women with good eyes and no known history of insanity.“
    “Maybe that’s it,“ Shelley said. “Maybe we weren’t sober. We just thought we were.”
    “Uh-huh,“ Jane said. “Somebody siphoned a quart of whiskey into us while we weren’t looking?”
    “You don’t need to be sarcastic.“
    “But I do need to. It’s the only way I can cope with this. We aren’t both crazy, Shelley, are we?”
    Shelley considered this. “We could both go crazy, but it’s unlikely it would be at the same exact time.“
    “That’s reassuring.“
    “We didn’t have any rye bread with dinner, did we?“ Shelley asked.
    “Rye bread? No. Why?“
    “Because I’ve heard of whole medieval villages going crazy because their rye bread got moldy.“
    “Shelley, let’s just pack up and leave. I can’t bear to face those people again. After the big hoopla of Sam’s appearance, they started darting glances at us as if they were considering turning into a lynch mob.
    As if we’d made up the whole story of the body as a tasteless joke.“
    “They’ll get over it,“ Shelley said. “After all, even if the man wasn’t dead, he was sure a mess. Something happened to him. He was a muddy wreck and smiling like an idiot. No, we’re not going home yet.“
    “Aw, c’mon, Shelley! We’ve made asses of ourselves. And we’ve seen the place and done our job.”
    “Jane, most of these people are part of our community anyway. We can’t get away from them by going home. What if you have to talk to Liz in her principal role about your daughter? You want her thinking you’re too batty to believe? Or if you need a new car, which you assuredly do, and the best deal is at Claypool Motors? Or if—“
    “Yeah, yeah. I get it.“
    “And even if we didn’t care what they think of us, we have to sort it out anyway because otherwise we’ll go through life never knowing the truth and wondering if we had simultaneous nervous breakdowns.“
    “Or rye-bread seizures. Okay, I know you’re right, but still—“
    “We should have stuck around longer last night,“ Shelley said.
    “Why? To give the sheriff the chance to arrest us for malicious mischief?“
    “No, to find out what Sam’s version was of where he’d been and what happened to him.“
    “Hmmm. That’s right. He must have had to account for himself after half the county froze themselves looking for him.”
    Shelley took their cups to the bathroom sink, washed them out, and poured fresh coffee.
    “Okay,“ Jane said, “let’s remain calm and rational. First, when we go to the lodge for breakfast, I think we should be very agreeable. Almost, but not quite, apologetic about our ‘mistake.’ “
    “We were not mistaken,“ Shelley said.
    “You and I know that—or at least believe it—but nobody else does. We’re not going to get any information if we insist on riding a high horse and saying we saw Sam’s dead body.“
    “I guess so. They’d either be angry or feel sorry for us for being so stupid or misguided or whatever. But apologize...? I don’t think so.“
    “I know. Apologizing doesn’t come