Fear of Frying

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 asked for Taylor. 'We need to talk to you,' she said.