Fear of Frying jj-9

by Jill Churchill

  “All right. So I want a detailed account of everyone's movements from noon until now," Taylor said. The man was in control, but obviously furious. "Everybody at separate tables, please. No consulting with each other.”

  Liz opened her mouth, glanced at Al, and snapped it back shut.

  They sat obediently at their separate tables, writing, thinking, crossing out items, inserting others. John was idly scratching his shin. Al was tapping a pencil against his teeth. Edna was doodling around the margins of the page. Liz asked for a second sheet of paper for her opus.

  It took around twenty minutes for everyone to finish the assignment. Taylor collected the papers, then addressed the group again. "We have people trying to get a temporary bridge in place so that police vehicles can get in and out. But nobody is leaving until I give permission. If you need to let anyone know why you are delayed, you may call from the front desk. Make yourselves comfortable here, because this is where you're staying for a while. The more cooperative and helpful everyone is, the shorter that timewill be. I have my people posted at all the exits from this building.”

  Taylor took his pile of papers and left the room.

  For a long moment everyone was silent, then several people rose from their isolated positions. Liz rejoined Al, Shelley came back to Jane's table, and Eileen rushed to comfort Marge, who looked like she was on the verge of a complete breakdown. Marge was so pale, Jane feared she was going to pass out. Allison was looking bad, too. She, Edna, and Benson were talking quietly. Benson patted her shoulder, then came to the middle of the room.

  “Although my family isn't responsible for what's happened here, I'd like to express our most sincere regrets to all of you," he said. "This has turned into the Weekend from Hell for all of us. I just want you to know that I feel certain of what your decision will be about sending your students here for summer camp and that we don't blame you a bit.”

  He glanced at his wife, who smiled wanly and nodded.

  “That's all, I guess. I'm sorry," he added, and sat down.

  Jane went back to eating her now cold dinner.

  The sheriff started calling people out of the room, one at a time. First Marge, who stumbled out like a disoriented ghost, then Eileen. John Claypool was next.

  “At this rate, we're really going to be here all night," Jane said. "I've never been so homesick. If I start whimpering out loud, slap me out of it, will you?"

  “Gladly," Shelley said. "Shouldn't we say something polite to Marge?"

  “Like what? 'Sorry your husband died — again and by the way, did you kill him'?"

  “That might be a little tactless. But if she didn't do it, we're sure going to feel bad later.”

  Jane let herself be dragged over to the table where Marge and Eileen were sitting. "Marge, we're awfully sorry," Shelley said ambiguously.

  “I've been widowed twice in one day," Marge said in a shaky voice.

  They were spared having to respond by Eileen saying, "When this is sorted out, I'm going to make sure that damned sheriff is taken apart. This is horrible, making Marge sit here this way. She should be in bed. She should be under a doctor's care. The man is a savage.”

  She sputtered along in this vein for some minutes. Jane tuned her out. Eileen was right, of course, but Taylor had a bunch of strangers on his patch who were murdering each other. Because he hadn't believed her and Shelley the first time (not that he could be blamed for that), he was naturally determined to get all the facts he could now without any possible conspirators having the opportunity to consult with each other. She could sympathize with him for being angry — probably with himself, certainly with all of the guests.

  Bored, and not wanting to talk to anyone else, Jane and Shelley went into the lobby where Benson had mentioned that there was a small library. They selected a couple of illustrated nature books and pretended great interest in them for the next hour.

  Everybody was nervous and irritable. There was a lot of aimless pacing, very little conversation, and when a door slammed somewhere in the building, everybody jumped as if it had been a gunshot.

  Jane and Shelley were the last ones to be called for their interview — and the only ones to be called in together. Taylor was in a small office near the kitchen that they hadn't seen on their tour. It was apparently where Benson did his bookkeeping and kept office supplies and guest ledgers. The desk was covered with the yellow legal-pad sheets they'd filled out earlier.

  “Ladies, I'm going to make a leap of faith with you," Taylor said. "I got a call from a" — he rummaged through his notes—"a Detective Mel Van-Dyne, who is apparently a friend of yours you told about finding the first body. He was checking on your welfare, being unable to reach you by phone, and assures me that neither of you could be involved in this. I'm going to have to take his word for that."

  “Thank you — I think," Jane said.

  “Sorry, but I'm past good manners," Taylor said. "Now I'd like for you ladies to look over these other accounts and see if there are errors that you know of. Somebody who said they were somewhere you don't believe they were.”

  Most of the accounts were brief and vague. Apparently during questioning, Taylor had pinned a few of them down on times a little better because there were notations in the margins.

  Not surprisingly, Al Flowers's was the skimpiest. Fie was a man of few words. He'd eaten lunch early, taken a nap, gone for a walk and, true to Liz's con- stant predictions, gotten thoroughly lost, but finally found himself at the far side of the Conference Center. He'd seen his wife walking hard on her heels toward the lodge and deliberately dawdled so he wouldn't catch up with her. He didn't wear a watch and had no idea what time it was then. Maybe two or three. Maybe later. Didn't see or hear anyone else.

  Liz, in contrast, had detailed every moment. She recounted her mysterious brush with the person in the falcon costume, her return to the lodge, and eventually finding Al sitting in a rocker on the porch. She dragged him along on a hit-and-run investigation of the last session of classes.

  Bob Rycraft said he'd attended a volleyball class right after lunch, then retold his version of losing track of Liz on their walk, getting lost, falling in the creek, returning to his cabin briefly, and coming back to the lodge to find Liz, after which he went back to his cabin and soaked in the bathtub until dinnertime.

  “This person in the falcon costume is important, isn't it?" Jane asked the sheriff.

  “I think so. Keep reading.”

  Eileen had lunch and went to the class session on beadwork, thinking she might learn something valuable to her business. Shelley confirmed this. Then Eileen said she went back to the cabin, thoroughly chilled, took a long, hot bath, visited briefly with Marge (who was in her bathrobe), and went to the lodge looking for John. Didn't find him there, didn't want to roam around the woods, so went back to their cabin, where he was reading the paper. Moments later, a sheriff's deputy arrived to ask John to come identify his brother's body. Eileen and Johnhad gone to comfort Marge, been rebuffed by the police, fretted for half an hour, and returned to Marge's cabin, demanding to see her. She'd spent the rest of the day with Marge.

  John reported that he had a late lunch, felt sleepy and tried to take a nap, but the bathroom faucet had a persistent drip, so he went out to their luxuriously equipped van and fell asleep there. He woke when he heard someone walking by, whistling, and went inside the cabin, where Eileen found him reading the paper.

  Benson had a detailed account and collaboration from the staff, except for a brief period between two and three when he said he went for a walk, just for the sake of peace and quiet.

  Allison said she hadn't left their private quarters all afternoon.

  The kitchen staff all backed each other up for the entire afternoon.

  Edna had apparently been difficult and refused to go into detail on her activities except to say that she had already confessed to her foolish tricks and had nothing to do with anybody getting killed. She also pointed out that she didn't have to talk
to the police without an attorney present.

  “You don't find that suspicious?" Shelley asked. Taylor shook his head. "She'd already embarrassed herself in front of me, and I think she was angry with everyone else about it. I could be wrong, of course, but I've known Edna for a couple years and this is typical of her haughty act she puts on from time to time when things aren't going her way." Jane waited until Shelley had finished reading the last sheet, then said to the sheriff, "I'd have to study this again to be sure, but it looks to me like nobody is very reliable about what went on between two and three.”

  Taylor nodded. "That's true. That's why I was hoping you could substantiate any one of these stories."

  “Only Eileen," Shelley said. "She was in a class with me at two o'clock."

  “But you left not long after it started — when Mrs. Jeffry came to get you, right?" Taylor asked.

  “Yes, and she could have left right afterwards as far as I'd know.”

  Jane flipped back through the pages. "During that time, Liz and Bob are getting lost and having adventures with the falcon person — or people. John Clay-pool's sleeping in his van. Eileen left the class at some point and went to soak in a hot tub. Benson's taking a solitary walk. Allison is fixing my laptop, though it could have taken her only a few minutes. Al's lost in the woods. Edna's not saying where she was.”

  Taylor nodded. "Right. About the only people who weren't 'missing' in some fashion were you and Mrs. Nowack. And the kids working in the kitchen.”

  Twenty-two

  "what What about Marge?" Shelley asked.

  “She didn't write it out, but says she and Henry McCoy went back to their cabin and he went off on a mysterious errand, promising to return in a few minutes. He never came back, she never left. According to her, that is.”

  Jane handed back the papers. "I'm really sorry we're not more help."

  “Not half as sorry as I am for not taking you seriously when you claimed you'd found a body the first time." He rose wearily from his chair and said, "If you're ready to go, I'll have my deputy see you home."

  “Speaking of home — our real home, that is," Jane said, "any chance of us leaving tomorrow like we were supposed to?”

  He nodded. "Possible. Got a National Guard group putting in an AVLB."

  “A what?" Jane asked.

  “An Assault Vehicle Launched Bridge. It's more or less a tank with a folded-up bridge on top. They drive it into the creek bed and unfold the bridge. Two murders are officially considered an emergency. It'll take months to clear up the paperwork on the bridge, and the deaths will generate official forms for years." He put his head in his hands, muttering.

  The deputy led them out of the room and waited while they picked up their belongings, with the rest of the group watching. "They probably think we're being hauled off to jail," Shelley said under her breath.

  “Good. Let them think whatever they want," Jane said. "I think I'd rather be in a nice, safe jail than here. I want Aunt Bea to bring me breakfast on a tray.”

  The deputy tried to hide his smile.

  He checked out their cabin so well, they nearly went mad, looking in closets, under beds, even in drawers, as if he suspected a bomb. He went out on the deck and examined the surroundings with a monster flashlight that could have done duty in a moderate-sized lighthouse.

  “Is he ever leaving?" Shelley hissed.

  Finally, mercifully, the deputy departed. "I never thought I'd wish for a television," Shelley said. "I want something mindless. Trashy, even. Something set in a city with lots of funny people who never heard of Wisconsin."

  “I brought a bunch of books along," Jane said, fetching a backpack from the storage room. "They'll probably smell fishy forever. Take your pick.”

  Jane got herself set up with the laptop on the floor of the bathroom doorway — electrical plug for the modem going one way, telephone cord going theother — while Shelley rummaged through the books.

  She rejected the mysteries and found a beat-up paperback historical novel. She started a new fire in the fireplace and got her coffeemaker going. In other circumstances, it would have seemed like the coziest of evenings.

  And they were both determined to pretend that was the case. "What are you doing with the computer?" she asked Jane.

  “Just checking my E-mail and some internet addresses Allison gave me.”

  A little later, Shelley brought her a cup of coffee and hunkered down to look at the small computer screen. "What's that?"

  “Real estate ads."

  “You're kidding. There are real estate ads on your computer?"

  “Mmm. These are things for sale in England. Look at the gardens on this one.”

  Shelley squinted. "Let's look closer to home.”

  “Planning to move?" Jane asked.

  “I couldn't move. I'd have to clean the closets. I'm leaving that to the kids when I'm gone.”

  Jane punched some buttons, waited for another screen to assemble itself. "Okay, here's Illinois. What do you want to look— Oh, here's a listing for Spring Oak. Isn't that where the Claypool brothers' parents are?”

  Shelley made a cross with her index fingers. "Do not speak that name to me!"

  “Well, I'm curious," Jane said.

  “I'm not. I hope I never hear of them again," Shelley said, wandering off to prod at the fire, which was creating far too much smoke and no warmth at all. "Paul says I should have been a firefighter since I'm so much better at putting them out than starting them.”

  Jane wasn't listening.

  “Uh. . Shelley. Take a look at this.”

  Shelley looked wary and she sat down on the floor next to Jane, who tilted the screen of the laptop. "Wow!" she finally said. "This can't be right.”

  The ad was for "The Claypool Estate: a historic 12-bedroom, 7-bath Tudor-style mansion. Built in the 1920s by the grandfather of the current owner, this gentle old aristocrat of a home was fully updated in the 1960s, but needs renovations. Sited on 30 lush acres of woods, with a year-round stream and extensive gardens. Detached 4-car garage, with living quarters above; 6-stall barn.”

  Jane dragged the cursor down and pictures appeared. The photographer had obviously done his best, but even the soft focus couldn't hide the cracks in the walls, the broken limbs on the trees, the general neglect and dinginess. "Notice what they don't say about it," Shelley said. "No mention of a kitchen, for instance. Real estate agents can wax rhapsodic at the nastiest kitchens. This one couldn't think of a single good thing to say. What's the price on this puppy?”

  Jane cursored down again. Gasped. "Four million dollars."

  “No wonder they can't sell it. It would take that much to clean up the place."

  “Shelley, I think you're missing the point here. These people are probably rich. The house is a mess because they've been too stingy to fix it up."

  “Oh. You're right. The way Eileen described it, I was picturing a run-down two-bedroom bungalow with a green plastic carport.”

  Jane thought for a moment, trying to resurrect Eileen's many gripes. "She didn't say it was small. We made that assumption.”

  Shelley shrugged. "Well, Marge is now half owner of a big, run-down house."

  “No, she isn't," Jane said. "She had every right to inherit from her husband. But he's dead and his parents aren't. That we know of.”

  Shelley opened her eyes very wide. "Sam's death doubled John's inheritance, didn't it?"

  “Unless they're planning to leave the whole bundle to an animal shelter," Jane said wryly.

  “They could be very, very rich," Shelley said after a moment's thought.

  “And they're very, very old and frail," Jane added.

  “Where's that deputy?" Shelley said. "We have to tell Sheriff Taylor about this."

  “Just call the lodge," Jane said.

  “Jane, you're on the phone line."

  “Oh, right. Okay, I'll write down where I found this.”

  She did so and logged off. Then she called the lodge and aske
d for Taylor. "We need to talk to you," she said.

  “First thing in the morning, Mrs. Jeffry," he replied, sounding very tired.

  “I–I think it should be now.”

  There was a moment's silence before he said crisply, "I'll be right there.”

  When he arrived, Shelley explained the background of their discovery while Jane booted up the computer again. "Eileen complained a lot about John and Sam's parents before all this happened. She said they lived in an old, falling-apart house that was for sale. We assumed it was a little house. Not that she actually said so. Then John Claypool told us that he wasn't an owner of the car dealership, only an employee—”