away, hoping to muffle the sounds, but it was too late. I heard Commander call Mason by name and comment on his marshmallow roasting technique. Barry heard it, too.
Barry had a basic animosity toward Mason Fields based on their work. In Barry’s mind, lawyers like Mason helped criminals run free. Barry didn’t like it that Mason and I were friends, either. I suppose his guy radar saw a threat. I could see his point.
“What’s Mason doing there?” Barry demanded. I could picture him suddenly sitting upright and then standing and pacing, probably running his hand through his short, dark hair. And his usual hooded expression was probably blown.
The giggles finally went away. “Mason is one of the presenters,” I began, and then carefully explained that Mrs. Shedd had merely told me she got a replacement tai chi teacher, but not who. “I didn’t know he was coming when I told you to stay home,” I said, wincing. I hoped Barry would leave it at that, but Mr. Detective had picked up on the fact that there was some kind of fun going on. He wanted details. It was useless to try to gloss over it. Barry is very good at interrogation.
“I promise this was just accidental fun,” I said, hoping to pacify him.
“Okay, then,” he said at last. “So, you’ll be too busy with your rhinestone clipboard to spend any more time with him this weekend, right?”
I uh-huhed in answer, and he said there was another reason for the call. “Were you expecting any deliveries?” When I said I wasn’t, he mentioned some sealed boxes on my front porch. “Are you involved in something you haven’t told me about?” he asked in his interrogation voice. I knew he was referring to a special delivery I’d gotten in the past-a dead mackerel with a marzipan apple in its mouth, meant as a warning.
“My life is an open book. No murders. No dead bodies. No warnings,” I said, pleased that it was true. Barry still wasn’t sold on the idea of putting the boxes in the house and wanted to open them, but I convinced him to leave them shut and put them in the garage until I got back. Just before he signed off, his voice softened. “Miss you, babe.”
“Me, too,” I said, and meant it.
The phone call put a damper on things for me. I felt guilty about having a good time and uncomfortable that I’d been caught. I didn’t want to ruin the rest of our little group’s picnic, so I said I wanted to get back to my room and go over the schedule again. Both Mason and Dinah offered to go with me, but I told them to stay and enjoy the fire. It was hard to shake my feeling of responsibility for everything and everyone. It didn’t seem right that I should be giggling around a campfire.
After I had gone only a few steps, the fire pit area slipped into oblivion thanks to the cloud sitting on the ground. All my worry over being in charge had already come back with a vengeance, and I almost walked into the figure ahead of me on the path.
“Bennett,” I said with surprise. “Nora is looking for you.”
I couldn’t see his expression, but it seemed like he was rolling his eyes and shrugging. I took it as a so-what- else-is-new kind of gesture.
“I was playing a solo game of pool.” He gestured in the direction of the administration building.
“Then everything is okay,” I said, putting on my leader-of-the-pack voice.
“Was she giving you a hard time?” he asked.
Why not clear things up? I mentioned her talking about leaving in the morning and being less than thrilled with everything.
“Don’t worry, we’re not leaving in the morning. You have to understand: Nora’s a great manager. She’s always looking out for my best interest and wants me to be treated like a star.” He let out a chuckle. “I, however, know I’m just an actor.” His self-deprecating manner won me over, and we walked the rest of the way to Lodge together. I started to go in, and he continued on the path toward their accommodations. Yes, Bennett was pleasant and reassuring, but I couldn’t help thinking of what Mason had said about actor clients he’d had. They played the nice guy and let their spouse be the hammer.
CHAPTER 6
THE LOUD, INSISTENT KNOCK AT MY DOOR MADE me sit up suddenly. The rhinestone clipboard fell off the bed, hitting the floor with a loud clatter. Had I really slept with it? I looked around, trying to orient myself. After a moment I recognized the dark wood-paneled walls and ceiling of my Asilomar room. I’d left the curtains open, and the dim light filtering in implied that it was very early morning. The window was open a crack, and the room had filled with chilly, damp air. More noise came from the door. This time it was closer to pounding. My stomach did a flip-flop. It sounded like trouble.
The floor was icy on my bare feet as I got out of bed. Maybe icy was a bit of a stretch, but it was certainly very cold. The red readout on the clock radio said six thirty. I regretted not having brought a robe and slippers, and pulled the dusty rose shawl I’d crocheted over my nightgown. My shoulders felt warm, but it didn’t do much for the rest of me as I crossed to the door.
Adele was tapping her foot when I opened the door. “It’s about time,” she said, shaking her head. My groggy feeling was instantly gone with one glance at Adele’s outfit. The fuchsia of her sweat outfit hit my eyes with a jolt-and who knew they made chartreuse sneakers? She completed the look with a backward baseball cap and a scarf of coaster-size doilies strung together and wrapped around her neck. “Pink, you’ve got a problem. No, it’s more than a problem. It’s a disaster.” She took in my outfit. “You better put on some clothes. You’re going to have to do something. You’re in charge, remember? The big cheese with the rhinestone clipboard. The buck stops with you.”
Adele’s rant was interrupted by a door opening. Dinah stuck her head out. “What’s all the commotion about?”
I pulled Adele into my room, and Dinah followed. No need to alert the whole floor that something bad had happened before I had the details.
“So, what is it?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you. I have to show you. Downstairs.”
Adele tends toward drama, but I couldn’t take a chance. I threw on yesterday’s clothes and shoved my sleep- shaped hair under a beige beanie I’d crocheted recently, figuring I’d deal with the disaster and come back for a shower before breakfast.
Okay, there are some things that can’t be fixed. And for once Adele hadn’t gone for hyperbole. As soon as we stepped outside, I got it. It was like stepping inside a marshmallow. All I could see was white. Even though we’d gone only a few steps from the entrance to Lodge, the building was already disappearing in the white air swirling around it.
Dinah came down the steps a few minutes later, glanced around, and rushed to join us. She’d pulled on some red sweats and covered the wilted spikes of her hair with a black baseball cap.
“Wait for me,” a voice called from behind us. When I turned back, I saw that Sheila had just tumbled out the door. She screeched to a stop, reacting to the opaque air. I couldn’t make out her expression, but I could hear her breath become shallow and ragged. I got it right away. She was feeling panicky, and I could relate. There was something claustrophobic about a fog this thick.
She took a tentative step toward us, eyeing the sky nervously.
“It’s okay, honey,” Dinah said, putting her arm around Sheila when she finally reached us. We all urged Sheila to take some deep breaths, and gradually her features lost their frantic expression. Adele started to reel off information about how bad it was as she dragged us all to the administration building, where the lone TV was tuned to a live report.
A newscaster was standing at a police roadblock. Behind her it looked as if a white curtain had been pulled across the road. “It’s a complete whiteout and has been named the Pacific Grove Fogout,” she said, gesturing to the road behind her.
The redheaded guy at the registration desk began to talk. “It’s a complete whiteout. All the roads are closed around here. You can’t see past the hood of your car.” He shook his head. “We get fog all the time around here, but never like this. I bet it’s because of global warming.”
