“In the rain?" Jane asked. "How miserable!”
“That's what your friend Mrs. Nowack said," he replied. "But if you're a serious jogger, you have to get your miles in whether it's convenient or not. I've gotten so dependent on it that I can't get to sleep at night unless I've done a couple miles first."
“Did you see anyone?" Jane asked.
“Nope. Not really. The Flowerses' car was running, though. No lights on, but the engine was running. I wondered why, but it was none of my business. Mr. Flowers told me he was listening to a tape."
“Have you told the sheriff's people that?"
“No, nobody's talked to me. They're all busy trying to find the — Mr. Claypool.”
Jane felt a sudden and irrational flash of irritation. What was all this Mr. This and Mrs. That with him? Was he trying to make them feel old and frumpy or did he really think of everybody that way? Get a grip, she told herself harshly. He is young and very polite. That's all.
“I wonder how long they'll keep us all here," she asked.
“I overheard some talk between Mr. Titus and one of the sheriff's men about possibly setting up cots for us here in the lodge," Bob said. He said this cheerfully, as if he really thought an adult sleep-over would be great fun. Jane wanted to smack him silly.
Shelley put her head down on the table melodramatically and said, "Oh, no! I want to go to bed in a real bed! I'm so tired!”
Jane patted her friend's outstretched arm. "Well, if we have to sleep here, we're bagging spots next to the fireplace. Come on. Let's stake out our territory before someone else thinks of it."
“Good thought," Bob said.
They went back out into the lobby, which seemed like Grand Central Station after the quiet of the deserted dining room. John Claypool was pacing. Benson was messing about with the coffee urn. Allison had joined the group, and Edna was fussing at her to go back to bed, that there was nothing Allison could do to help and needed her rest. Liz Flowers was compulsively tidying the magazines set out around the room, putting all the National Geographics in one pile and wildlife magazines in another. Al Flowers was reading an old newspaper Liz had apparently unearthed. Jane had grown so irritable that the rustling of it made her want to snatch it away, wad it up, and throw it in the fire.
“I'm losing it," she muttered to herself.
She and Shelley fought their way through the barricade of drying ponchos John had constructed and discovered the two ambulance attendants hogging the fire.
“Do you mind?" Shelley said in her haughtiest voice. They fled like frightened children.
They sunk into the sofas. A moment later, they heard the front door open and Eileen's loud, excited voice exclaiming, "They've found him!”
Jane and Shelley got to their feet and were peering over the curtain of ponchos as Eileen, grinning, flung the door wide open, and made a gesture like an emcee introducing a guest. Marge and one of the sheriff's men came in the door with Sam Claypool between them. He was soaking wet and covered with mud, but standing upright, and smiling tentatively, as if confused by all the hubbub.
He showed no signs of any injury whatsoever.
Ten
Jane and Shelley walked back to their cabin in stunned silence. It was raining bucket-sized drops and they didn't even notice. Nobody accompanied them. Everyone had pretended to ignore them when they left the lodge. Jane unlocked the cabin door and they poured themselves inside, dripping rivers. Still in silence, they undressed and got into their beds.
Shelley flipped the light off, made a huffing noise, and thrashed around in her covers. Finally Jane said, "Shelley?"
“I can't talk about this, Jane. I can't even think about it. We're both very tired. It's all a figment of our imaginations because of sleep deprivation. Or maybe we are asleep and this is all a dream."
“Yours or mine," Jane said wryly.
“Both, Jane. It could happen. It is happening.”
“He was dead," Jane said.
“Of course he was dead," Shelley said angrily. "Absolutely, positively dead. Then a few hours later he was absolutely, positively alive. And in a rational world, which I still steadfastly believe this is, that's impossible. Therefore, we are dreaming. I'm going to sleep now. More asleep than I already am. And in the morning, this won't have really happened."
“But, Shelley—”
Shelley faked a loud, vulgar snore.
“Did you notice how nobody would look at us?" Shelley snored again. Jane gave up.
Jane woke to the sound of the shower running and the smell of coffee. At first she didn't remember the evening before, then it all hit her. Shelley came out of the bathroom, scowling. She was still mad, but not hysterically mad. When Jane had showered and dressed, Shelley was almost calm.
“I've decided it was a trick," Shelley said. "A trick? On us?"
“No, we were just the patsies who went along with it and helped it work."
“So who was being tricked?" Jane asked.
“I don't know. Somebody in the Claypool family, probably. Maybe Sam wanted to see what Marge would do or say if she thought he were dead. Or maybe it was aimed at his brother. Possibly they were in it together. I don't know. But I'm sure as hell going to find out. I don't like being made a fool of."
“Then maybe you better keep this theory to yourself," Jane said, smiling in an attempt to keep the sting out of the remark.
“Why?"
“Because it's got more holes than a drawerful of my panty hose. For one thing, if it were a trick, it absolutely depended on someone seeing the body lying in the rain. That happened to be us, but only because I lost my watch. Nobody stole it, Shelley. It just has a clasp that comes undone every once in a while, and not even you knew that. Sam Claypool couldn't have known I'd come back to look for it. Nobody could have known that."
“You said John Claypool admitted going back."
“Yes, but he didn't see the body, he says. He was looking for his brother to be upright, alive, and sitting by the fire. He wasn't scouring every inch of the ground with a flashlight like we were. And nobody could have been expected to do that. Besides—"
“Besides what?" Shelley snapped, working up a temper again.
“He was dead, that's what.”
Shelley made a whooshing sound like a balloon deflating. "I know."
“He really was, wasn't he? Is there any way in the world we could have been wrong about that? We — didn't take his pulse or anything."
“Jane, you know the answer to that. He was dead. His lips were blue. His eyes were wide open. Nobody could fake that with rain falling in their face."
“Maybe he was unconscious. Can you have your eyes stay open then?"
“I don't think so. Anyway, his head was caved in at the temple. And there was blood everywhere. Although it's all washed away by now."
“There might still be traces of blood in the ground. Or underneath leaves," Jane said. "Forensic people can tell stuff like that."
“But why would they bother?" Shelley asked.