Fear of Frying

wheezed as he sat down, and his knee popped when he tried to fold himself into a comfortable position. He read the real estate ad. “This belongs to John and Sam’s parents?“
    “It must. It’s the right town and family name.“
    “And the only child left is John,“ Sheriff Taylor said, struggling to get back up. “I’ll check this out tomorrow.”
    Jane hadn’t expected him to yodel or turn cartwheels, but she was disappointed in his matter-of-fact tone.
    “But this is probably his motive,“ Jane said. “And he certainly had the opportunity. There’s nobody to corroborate his story about taking a nap in the van.”
    Taylor sat down on the edge of Shelley’s bed, massaging his knee. “You could be right. But motive isn’t enough to convict. Any number of other people might have a motive that we either don’t know about or wouldn’t make sense to us. And nearly everybody here had the opportunity. You’ve seen the time schedule.“
    “But—he admitted he’d gone back to the campsite the night we found Sam’s body,“ Shelley said.
    Taylor put his hands out helplessly. “Doesn’t mean anything. Not legally. Ladies, I appreciate this information. It may help. But I’m not making an arrest until I have some kind of proof.”
    Jane shut down the computer. “Do you think we’re right, though?”
    He folded his arms, looked down at the floor, and nodded. “I’ve thought so from the minute we found the first body. Unofficially, I’m positive of it. But this is the first murder—the first and second—in the last twenty years in this county, and I’m not making a move until I’m sure I can get a conviction.“ He stood up and headed for the door. “Lock up carefully.“
    “He’s right, you know,“ Shelley said when he’d gone. “John Claypool could be playing golf with D.J. next year if Taylor doesn’t handle this extremely cautiously.”

    Jane couldn’t get to sleep.
    She was about to drop off once when the smell of the dying embers of the fire took over her subconscious and she started half dreaming, half thinking about the huge wreck of a mansion burning down. Heart pounding, she got up and got a drink of water. Shelley mumbled in her sleep.
    Jane went back to bed and minutes later was having another bad dream. She was walking in the woods around the camp, but everything had moved and changed. The Conference Center had turned into the Claypool mansion, with incongruous Spanish moss hanging from the trees in tatters. She tried to find the lodge. There were shuffling footsteps somewhere behind her. She’d be safe at the lodge, she thought. She could see lights in the distance and struggled through the underbrush, trying to get closer to them.
    Somebody tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and found herself facing a huge falcon. Its eyes lit up like a Halloween pumpkin. She tried to turn and run, but her feet wouldn’t move. The creature reached up with human hands and—horrors!—removed its own head and stuck it in her face.
    Jane came suddenly awake, thrashing and trying to push the itchy, feathered monstrosity out of her face. Her watchband had caught in her hair and she pulled a chunk loose.
    “Shelley!“ she croaked. “Shelley, wake up!“ Shelley sat bolt upright, confused and disoriented. “What is it? What’s wrong?“
    “I know what the proof is!”
    She leaped up and ran around Shelley’s bed to turn on the bathroom light, instantly blinding both of them. “Call the lodge. Get Taylor back here.“
    “Are you really awake?“ Shelley said, squinting. “Do you know what you’re talking about?“
    “Yes, I’m sure. It might be gone by now, but if it’s not, we can hand the proof over to Taylor.”
    He arrived a few minutes later. Jane and Shelley had flung on their clothes while they waited, and Jane had explained to Shelley what her dream had told her. Taylor looked rumpled and irritated, but cheered up considerably as Jane explained what she’d figured out. “I’ll go roust Rycraft out of bed,“ he said.
    “We’re coming too,“ Jane declared.
    They argued over it for a few minutes, but Jane and Shelley prevailed.
    “And be sure you bring along the deputy with the monster flashlight,“ Shelley added.
    The four of them—five, counting the flashlight—had to knock on Bob Rycraft’s door for a few minutes. He finally opened it, blinking and confused. He wore only sweatpants and was scratching his stomach.
    Before anyone else could speak, Jane said