Read Online Fear of Frying by Jill Churchill - Free Book Online Page A

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 slogged their 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!”

Eight

    “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.”
    Shelley grabbed her arm in a painful grip and hissed, “Jane, somebody killed him. Somebody who might still be standing a few feet from us in the dark.“
    “Killed him!“
    “Jane, look at his head. Look at the big, heavy frying pan beside it. The man didn’t smack himself upside the head with it. Come on.”
    They scuttled awkwardly, but as fast as they could, across the campsite and down the rain-slick path. The skies had opened and were pouring down frigid, drenching rain that felt like wet sleet. Jane fell halfway down and ended up on her backside in the mud. Shelley made it to the bottom, turned to look for Jane, lost her balance, and fell to her hands and knees.
    Picking themselves up with considerable difficulty, they ran toward their cabin. “Jane, we’ll take the van to the lodge. Throw some towels over the seats while I find the keys.”
    Like a jerky automaton, Jane did as she was told. Shelley jumped in the car, gunned the engine, shot backward a few feet, reversed, and headed for the lodge at