Fear of Frying

since we were obviously wrong, there’s no point in talking about it, is there?“
    “What made you so sure?“ Liz asked. “That he was dead, I mean?“
    “You don’t want to know,“ Jane said.
    “I certainly do. That’s why I asked.”
    Jane and Shelley exchanged glances, then took turns enumerating the gory details.
    “Hmm. Pretty convincing,“ Liz said, looking sorry that she’d asked.
    “We thought so,“ Shelley said wryly.
    “Okay,“ Liz said, squinting. “There has to be a logical explanation.”
    Jane felt a brief flare of anger. Did this woman really think they hadn’t even tried to determine what the logical reason might be? Shelley was thinking along the same lines. “Got any ideas?“ she asked frigidly.
    “Not yet,“ Liz said, unaware of their hostility. “Oh, there’s Al!“ She hopped up and went to fetch him from the doorway where he stood blinking amiably.
    “Okay, it’s war,“ Shelley said. “We can figure out anything Liz Flowers can figure out, and we will do so first. How dare she question us as if we were a couple teenagers caught skipping gym class?“
    “I’m going to do something I promised myself I wouldn’t,“ Jane said. “I’m going to E-mail Mel about this and see what he has to say.“
    “Jane, he’ll have a fit. You know he thinks we’re buttinskies. And even if he is a detective, he won’t be able to form any opinions without even having been here, much less seen the body. He’ll think we’re both crazy.“
    “Yes, but he is an expert on crime. He might have some ideas on how a person could look so thoroughly dead, then turn up alive.”
    Shelley shrugged. “He’s your boyfriend, not mine. Go ahead if you think the relationship can take it.”
    Jane finished her lunch and went back to their cabin. The demonstrators had disappeared without any sign of bloodshed or scuffling. She hoped Sheriff Taylor hadn’t planned a nice relaxed weekend at home. If so, it wasn’t panning out for him.
    After a laborious half hour, she’d written up a succinct description of what had happened for Mel and edited out anything that sounded hysterical. The whole story, she realized as she read it for the final time, was just plain bizarre. There was no way around it, no way to rationally explain the impossible. She plugged in the modem and, with a sigh, hit the Send button.
    Then she shut down the laptop, closed its lid, wound up all the various wires, and put it in its case to take to Allison. The rain had picked up again, and she had to resurrect the poncho raincoat, which was, mercifully, quite dry now. She started down the road, head down to keep the rain out of her face.
    That’s why she didn’t see Lucky Smith until she’d literally run into him. She should have been able to smell him coming. He reeked of a mixture of booze, sweat, and industrial-strength body odor. Jane pulled back, tried to get around him. But he grabbed her shoulder.
    “I didn’t do it!“ he said.
    Jane pulled away. She was more repulsed than frightened, but there was an element of fear as well, and bundled as she was in the poncho, carrying the laptop, she had no free hand to fend him off if he attacked her.
    “You didn’t do what?“ she asked.
    “Anything. I didn’t do anything. Nothing bad. They’re saying I did it.“ He suddenly straightened up, whirled around and headed back toward the lodge at a drunken lurch.
    Jane stood in the rain, breathing deeply, waiting for her pulse to slow down. I don’t like this place, she thought. I wouldn’t come back and I wouldn’t let my kids come here. It wasn’t Benson’s fault, but after the last two days, she finally realized that she couldn’t support the plan. Educational philosophy wasn’t at stake, it was safety and peace of mind. This was an area under siege.
    There had been a mob at the lodge, wolfing down a quick lunch before the first afternoon sessions. But now it was nearly deserted, and Shelley was still sitting where Jane had left her. She signaled at Jane.
    “I’ve been eavesdropping. Weird things are happening,“ Shelley said, when Jane was seated.
    “You’re telling me,“ Jane said, thinking of her encounter with Lucky Smith.
    “Somebody set the boat adrift this morning. They had to call a neighbor across the lake to go out and fetch it back,“ Shelley said. “And all the straps on the life preservers are missing, as are the tapes for some exercise and dance thing they were planning. The front door of