Fear of Frying (7 page)

Sam and Marge Claypool were the last to arrive. They were clad in matching blue raincoats with hoods. Sam looked embarrassed, perhaps at being dressed like his wife, and they both looked cold and forlorn. Marge was a bundle of nerves. She immediately joined the group at the table and sat so she was facing the woods, rather than having them at her back. Sam went and stood by the fire with his thin, long-fingered hands outstretched to it.

“I don't think that woman looks well," Eileen said in a surprisingly quiet voice to Jane.

“What woman?"

“Mrs. Titus. The younger one. Benson's wife.”

Jane shifted a bit so she could look at Allison. She'd only seen her once before and hadn't really paid much attention, but Eileen was right. Allison Titus was a small, frail woman and looked very pale and ill. Her movements were slow and vaguely defeated. As Jane stared, Allison, who was dicing up some vegetables, paused for a moment and put her hand to her heart. Then she scooped up the vegetables, put them in a pot, and picked up the pot to carry to the fire. Instantly her mother-in-law, Edna Titus, was at her side, apparently chiding her. Allison sighed, put the pot back down, and Edna took it to the edge of the fire and set it on a metal grill that sat above the embers.

The small scene was over in seconds, but was telling. "How nice it must be," Jane said to Eileen, "to have a mother-in-law so concerned for your welfare."

“You're telling me! Is yours a bitch, too?"

“Not as demanding as yours, but Thelma's a pretty tough cookie. She just didn't think anybody, least of all me, was good enough to marry her oldest son. But then her younger son married someone she considered even more unsuitable, and that took some of the heat off me."

“Must have been nice, married to the favorite son," Eileen groused.

“Okay, folks," Benson said, coming to the table. "We'll be ready to eat in a few minutes. Everything's almost ready."

“What are we having?" John Claypool asked eagerly.

“A feast!" Benson replied. "I buried a big, lean brisket in the coals this afternoon. The boys are digging it out now. While they're slicing it, I'll do some fish in one of the reflector ovens since the fish only takes a few minutes. The vegetable mix is steaming in that pot on the grill right now, and my mother is doing battered apple rings in the big fry pan. If this were summer, we'd be serving a big salad of native greens, but unfortunately it's too late in the season. There are twice-baked potatoes in a couple of pots that are buried in the coals."

“Excuse me while I drool!" Eileen said.

They all listened like obedient students while Benson "introduced" them to the equipment, ingredients, and methods of cooking he'd employed. Different foods were cooked at different temperatures, which meant different distances from the heat source. It was necessary to learn to skillfully manage long-handled forks, spoons, and knives, he said. Jane was astonished that he made it sound like fun. Well, it might be, if you had all the help he had.

When the dinner was finally served up, Jane decided it was probably the very best meal she'd ever eaten in her life. The brisket was so tender, it broke apart with a fork. It had been marinated in a tangy sauce, a couple of homemade, unlabeled bottles of which were set out on the table. There was a spicy cheese sauce over the steamed vegetables, and the baked, crumb-covered fish was thin, crisp outside, moist inside, and utterly delicious. She tried to eat slowly and savor it all, but found herself packing it in like a starving lumberjack and couldn't help won- dering if there was any way to conceal a few more of the fried apple rings somewhere about her person for snacking on later.

Liz even stopped her inquisition to eat. Benson's wife and mother sat down with the guests at the big table while Benson and the young helpers kept bringing more food. Edna had a healthy appetite, but Allison just picked. Jane wished she knew the woman well enough to suggest that she looked like death warmed over and should be home in bed. Instead, she said, "This is a wonderful meal! Surely you don't eat this well here all the time.”

Allison smiled and suddenly looked much younger and healthier. "As a matter of fact, we do, most of the time. The county junior college offers a culinary degree as part of their hotel management course. We usually have an intern here, getting credit hours for practical experience. We don't have to pay them much, but the grocery bills are pretty high sometimes. Every once in a while we get one who would like to specialize in seafood preparation, which can be pretty expensive. I like it best when we have a pastry enthusiast.”

Jane gasped and turned to Shelley. "Do we have a cooking school anywhere near us?”

Allison laughed. "You didn't when we lived there."

“You lived near us?"

“Yes. That's why we thought of contacting your city council and school board instead of someone else. I noticed your address and Mrs. Nowack's when you signed in. Your street backs up to that vacant field, doesn't it? Is it still vacant?"

“Yes. And my cats love it that way. I think they'd buy the land if they had any money."

“We were supposed to have a new house built there," Allison said. "Then the builder got in trouble and went bankrupt, as you know. That's when we decided to move up here. We'd already sold the house we lived in and we'd been visiting this resort for years. On a whim, Benson called the owner and asked if there was any chance he'd sell. To our astonishment, he was not only willing, but eager. So here we are."

“It's a beautiful area," Jane said. "But it's awfully remote. Don't you get lonely?"

“Never," Allison said emphatically. "For one thing, there are guests here about nine months out of the year, and I've met some fascinating people. And the rest of the time, Edna and Benson are the best companions a person could want. I have lots of projects, too. I make quilts and afghans and we've got a satellite dish, so there are always movies to watch on television. And I've got a computer and correspond with quilters and resort owners all over the world.”

This led to a discussion of E-mail, usenets, the World Wide Web, and a promise to get together the next day so that Allison could show Jane some nifty places to visit via computer and modem and check out the irritating error message Jane got on her laptop occasionally. A half hour earlier, Jane had been pitying Allison. Now she was very nearly jealous of her. What a full, satisfying life Allison Titus lived out in the wilds.

“Is anybody but me an unrepentant smoker?" Al asked the group when they'd finished eating.

Jane and Edna admitted as much and walked down to the road to indulge themselves well away from Bob Rycraft's more-in-pity-than-in-anger gaze. Al brought along a tin can with a half inch of water in it to serve as an ashtray. They found a log to sit on and Edna said, "Al, what do you do for a living?"

“I work for a bank," he said.

“Oh? I used to work at a bank as a teller when I was young. What do you do there?"

“I'm the president," he said with a grin.

Edna and Jane simultaneously yelped with laughter.

Al looked embarrassed. "Well, it's a really small bank.”

They smoked in companionable silence for a few minutes, then returned to the group just as Benson was unveiling a pineapple-upside-down cake that had been cooking in one of the reflector ovens. Almost everyone protested that they were too full to eat any more; well, maybe just a bite or two. The cake disappeared at an alarming rate.

“What a lot of stuff you've got to carry back," Jane said to Benson.

“We'll just take back the food tonight. The boys will come back for all the cooking utensils in the morning. They're too hot to carry around now," he said with a satisfied grin. His party had been a great success.

The young men, who had already packed up most of the leftover food, now dragged out a banjo and a guitar and prepared to entertain them. They played a couple folk-song-sounding numbers that Jane didn't recognize, but liked, and then began to play "Bridge Over Troubled Waters.”

To nearly everyone's astonishment, Sam Claypool started singing with them. He had an amazingly good voice. The young men kept playing and quit singing in honor of the superior performer. When the last note died away, they were all silent for a long moment, then John started clapping. "Still got the talent, haven't you, Sam? Good job!”

Everybody else joined in the applause. Sam actually smiled, and Jane realized he was quite a good-looking man. It was a shame his smile was so infrequent. Everyone urged him into singing some more, and after consultation with the young men with the instruments, he obliged. He sang another folk song and then one of Jane's favorites, "Love Hurts," which always reduced her to tears. Jane was surprised that a man who appeared to have so little personality and social grace could put so much feeling into a song.

The concert was cut short by a crack of thunder and a sudden, short burst of rain. The campfire hissed and steamed. The young men put their instruments back in their protective cases. Edna and Allison started gathering up silverware and linens. Jane and Shelley tried to help, but were shooed away.

“You're our guests. We don't let guests help," Edna said firmly. "Scoot on back to your cabins before you get drenched."

“The rain's already stopping," Jane protested, but to no avail. She and Shelley got their flashlights and picked their way down the short incline to the road. Eileen was somewhere behind them, fretting about her pink slipper getting wet. Liz was advising her on the proper care of blisters.

The cabin was warm and cozy. They got out of their ponchos and the top couple layers of their clothing. Jane went to pull the drapes and realized that it had stopped raining and there was moonlight filtering down through the trees. "What bizarre weather," she said.

“That was one of the best meals and nicest evenings I can remember. Want a cup of coffee?"

“I don't suppose you have tea, do you?" Jane asked. She lighted the fire she'd prepared and abandoned the night before. The kindling crackled, spit, belched smoke, and suddenly burst into tiny flames that licked hungrily at the bark on the logs.

“I have tea bags and one of those little coil heaters," Shelley said.

“I'm surprised you didn't bring a cappuccino machine along.”

They fixed their drinks and sipped them in friendly silence. Jane sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, marveling at what a nice little fire she'd managed to create and feeling hypnotized by the sight, sound, and smell of it.

“I think I may just sleep in my clothes," Jane finally said. "I'm too tired to get up and take them off."

“We might as well go to bed early, I guess," Shelley said. "What time is it?”

Jane glanced at her watch — or rather, her bare wrist. "Shelley, my watch is gone."

“It's probably in your purse. Or on the bathroom counter."

“No, I looked at it when we got to the campsite. Oh, rats! I've lost my watch!"

“We'll go look for it in the morning."

“After it rains all night? Can't you hear the rain starting up again?”

Shelley groaned. "It's not waterproof?"

“I think so, but it could get washed away or covered with mud and I'll never find it." She was donning her sweater. "The kids got it for my birthday. I can't lose it."

“You're not going out alone," Shelley declared. She was shaking the moisture off her poncho.

It was raining in earnest by the time they sloggedtheir way back to the campsite, which was now deserted. The fire was out, the cooking utensils were stacked together, getting a bath in the rain. The formerly festive table was naked, and its tentlike canopy had been dismantled and taken away. Jane and Shelley minced around, shining their flashlights at the ground, hoping to catch a glint of the missing watch.

“I don't think I was anywhere but right here at the table," Jane said. Cold rain had found a way under the hood of her poncho and was trickling down the side of her neck.

“Didn't I see you walk over to the far end to put your scraps in that wastebasket that was over there? It might have fallen off then.”

Jane inched her way carefully, making small sweeps of the ground with her flashlight. "Here is it!" she called. "Thank goodness! I wonder if it still— Oh, my God!”

She'd held the watch up to her ear with her left hand while ignoring where the beam from the flashlight was pointing.

“What's wrong?" Shelley asked.

Jane stood frozen and speechless for a moment, then whispered, "Shelley, there's a body here!”

"A what!" Shelley said, rushing forward and tripping over a rock.

“A body. A dead one," Jane said with a horrified croak.

Shelley got her balance and joined Jane. "Where? Stop thrashing around with that flashlight.”

“I'm shaking. Here. See?"

“Sam Claypool," Shelley said. "Come on, we have to get Benson to call the police."

“I'll stay here," Jane said, trying to sound brave. "It's not right to just leave him here in the rain.”