Fear of Frying

Liz cocked an eyebrow in disapproval. 'Not exactly a 'preparation for life' class,' she said.

“But I'm already prepared and have lived half of my life,' Shelley said firmly. 'And I wanted to know about leatherwork.”

Liz knew another strong-minded, outspoken woman when she met up with one. She turned questioningly to Jane.

“Computers,' Jane said promptly, glad she'd put away her game disks before running into Liz.

“That's odd. I dropped in on the computer class and didn't see you there,' Liz said.

“Must have been while I'd stepped out to the bathroom,' Jane said, smiling innocently.

Liz apparently accepted this and went on to enumerate the classes she'd dropped in on. She'd hit all the 'worthwhile' ones. History, nature, wildlife of the area. But she'd also taken a glance at the outdoor, physical- exercise offerings — boating, swimming, gymnastics. Anything that had a hint of arts or crafts, she'd ignored.

Jane couldn't help but point that out. 'Don't you like singing or dancing or making things?'

“I love them. Al and I and our kids all sing in the church choir, and he and I used to compete in ballroom dancing contests — until we started stiffening up,' she added with a rare smile. She was stunning when she smiled. 'I make a good many of my own clothes, and so does my daughter. But these are my pleasurable, leisure-time activities. I don't think they need to be taught in school. But I do try to keep in mind that this is only my opinion.”

Jane smiled. Not very successfully, she thought.

“But this isn't really what I wanted to talk to you two about,' Liz said. 'I want to know about this body you found last night.'

“We were mistaken,' Shelley said. 'Trick of the light, no doubt.'

“That's right,' Jane said.

Liz looked at them for a long moment. 'Forgive me, ladies, but I don't believe that. What's the real story?”

Fourteen

'Okay,' Shelley said. 'we did find a dead body. But 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