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!”
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 a ferocious speed. At the front door she slammed on the brakes. The van skidded, convincing Jane that they were going to crash right inside the building. But Shelley stopped mere inches from the porch.
They flung themselves out of the car and through the front door. Above the pounding of her heart in her ears and the thunder outside, Jane thought she could hear voices in the kitchen and headed for the doorway leading to it from the reception area. Benson and his mother were there, putting away plates. They looked up with obvious alarm.
“Benson, Sam Claypool's been killed," Jane said breathlessly.
“At the campsite," Shelley added.
Benson didn't waste time asking questions. He reached for the kitchen phone extension and dialed the sheriff. Edna said, "You both look like you're about to pass out. Come sit by the fire.”
Jane glanced down. "We look like pigs. We're covered in mud."
“Then sit on the hearth.”
They did so and sat for a long time just trying to get their breath back. Finally, when they were able to talk without gasping and without their teeth chattering, Edna said, "What's this about, then?”
Jane explained about losing her watch and going back to find it and discovering Sam Claypool as well.
“I don't mean to be indelicate," Edna said, "but how did you know he was dead? Did you take his pulse or try to determine whether he was breathing? Maybe he'd just fainted.”
Jane cleared her throat. "His — his eyes were wide open even though it was raining in his face."
“And his head had been hit with that big frying pan. Up high on his forehead. It was a bloody mess and looked sort of—" Shelley took a deep, shaky, breath. "Sort of flattened out."
“Why did he stay there?" Jane asked Edna. "Or did he? Was he there when you left?”
Edna closed her eyes for a minute. "Yes, I think he was. I saw Benson speak to him when all the other guests had left."
“What were they talking about?" Shelley asked.
Edna shrugged. "I couldn't hear and probably wouldn't have paid attention anyway. Where is Benson?"
“Right here," he said from the kitchen door. He'd dressed in waterproof clothing and was heading for the front door.
“Don't you dare go up there by yourself," Edna said.
“Mom, I'm not crazy. I'm going up with the sheriff when he gets here."
“And I'm going to take a shower and go to bed," Shelley said firmly, even though her chin was still trembling with cold and fright.
“But the police will want to talk to you," Edna said.
“Then they'll have to talk to me when I'm in my jammies," Shelley said. "I've never been so cold and uncomfortable in my life. And we left a fire in the fireplace because we thought we'd be right back.”
Edna tried to keep them with offers of hot coffee, dry clothes, and beds in the lodge, but Jane and Shelley were both determined to go "home," to their own cabin and clothes.
“At least wait and let the sheriff see you safely into your cabin, and lock up really well," Edna warned.
Jane liked Edna, but was so miserable she was tempted to say, as Benson had, Do you think we're crazy? But she bit her tongue and followed Shelley out to the van, explaining to Benson that they'd like a little protection.
“I'll have Taylor drop me off with you and see you in safely, then walk the rest of the way.”
It would have been polite to object to this self-sacrificing offer, but they were beyond courtesy. They waited in the van with the engine running and the heater going full blast. When the sheriff appeared, Benson hopped in the car with Taylor, and Shelley drove the van behind them. The sheriff not only took the time to see them inside, he quickly checked thebathroom, closet, and storeroom, made sure the glass doors were locked and drapes drawn, and they locked the door after him.