“Oh, of course," Jane said. "They all think we're nuts, don't they?"
“Wouldn't you? Come on, be honest, Jane. If I'd gone up there by myself and come back claiming somebody was dead and a little while later the 'body' walked into the lodge, grinning like an idiot, wouldn't you consider having me put away somewhere with nice soft walls?"
“But it wasn't just one of us. It was two intelligent, sober women with good eyes and no known history of insanity."
“Maybe that's it," Shelley said. "Maybe we weren't sober. We just thought we were.”
“Uh-huh," Jane said. "Somebody siphoned a quart of whiskey into us while we weren't looking?”
“You don't need to be sarcastic."
“But I do need to. It's the only way I can cope with this. We aren't both crazy, Shelley, are we?”
Shelley considered this. "We could both go crazy, but it's unlikely it would be at the same exact time."
“That's reassuring."
“We didn't have any rye bread with dinner, did we?" Shelley asked.
“Rye bread? No. Why?"
“Because I've heard of whole medieval villages going crazy because their rye bread got moldy."
“Shelley, let's just pack up and leave. I can't bear to face those people again. After the big hoopla of Sam's appearance, they started darting glances at us as if they were considering turning into a lynch mob.
As if we'd made up the whole story of the body as a tasteless joke."
“They'll get over it," Shelley said. "After all, even if the man wasn't dead, he was sure a mess. Something happened to him. He was a muddy wreck and smiling like an idiot. No, we're not going home yet."
“Aw, c'mon, Shelley! We've made asses of ourselves. And we've seen the place and done our job.”
“Jane, most of these people are part of our community anyway. We can't get away from them by going home. What if you have to talk to Liz in her principal role about your daughter? You want her thinking you're too batty to believe? Or if you need a new car, which you assuredly do, and the best deal is at Claypool Motors? Or if—"
“Yeah, yeah. I get it."
“And even if we didn't care what they think of us, we have to sort it out anyway because otherwise we'll go through life never knowing the truth and wondering if we had simultaneous nervous breakdowns."
“Or rye-bread seizures. Okay, I know you're right, but still—"
“We should have stuck around longer last night," Shelley said.
“Why? To give the sheriff the chance to arrest us for malicious mischief?"
“No, to find out what Sam's version was of where he'd been and what happened to him."
“Hmmm. That's right. He must have had to account for himself after half the county froze themselves looking for him.”
Shelley took their cups to the bathroom sink, washed them out, and poured fresh coffee.
“Okay," Jane said, "let's remain calm and rational. First, when we go to the lodge for breakfast, I think we should be very agreeable. Almost, but not quite, apologetic about our 'mistake.' "
“We were not mistaken," Shelley said.
“You and I know that — or at least believe it — but nobody else does. We're not going to get any information if we insist on riding a high horse and saying we saw Sam's dead body."
“I guess so. They'd either be angry or feel sorry for us for being so stupid or misguided or whatever. But apologize. .? I don't think so."
“I know. Apologizing doesn't come easily to you."
“I just haven't had much experience. I'm so seldom wrong," Shelley said with a grin.
“Secondly," Jane went on, "we need to formulate a few logical, reasonable theories to account for a dead Sam Claypool turning into a live Sam Claypool."
“A miracle?" Shelley asked. She was cheering up. "Logical, reasonable, etcetera," Jane said.
“Like what? If there were a logical explanation, we'd have thought of it already."
“Not necessarily. We've been too shocked at the apparent conflict of perceptions to study it dispassionately."
“You sound like a professor."
“I watch The Learning Channel, which is probably where you got that rye-bread theory. Now, seriously, there must be circumstances that could account for this."
“Give me an example," Shelley said.
Jane paced the room, thinking. "Okay — here's one. What if what we saw was identical twins.”
Shelley's laugh was more of a yelp. "Oh, Jane. If you're going to be ridiculous, apply your Learning Channel experience. Be more modern. How about if Marge has been saving Sam's toenail clippings and selling them to a syndicate of mad scientists who are cloning people?"
“I like it," Jane said with a smile. "Okay, what if the body was somebody else wearing a really, really realistic mask. One of those latex things."
“That's not quite silly enough," Shelley said. "But it is theoretically possible."
“Unfortunately, it brings us back to the same questions: why would anybody need to do that, and how could they have counted on us — or anyone-else-coming back to be witnesses?"
“Okay — let me think this out. How about if somebody else was supposed to come back and be the witness?"
“What do you mean?"
“Well, suppose I was playing this trick for some reason. I might have gotten someone else to wear the mask, lie in the leaves, and all that. Then I'd come back here to the cabin, pretend I'd lost my watch, but was also sick at my stomach and asked you, as a good friend, to go look for it. I'd say I thought it might be on the ground at the far end of the campsite, and voila, you'd find the body."
“And before that could happen, somebody else ac- cidentally stumbled on it for another reason entirely?" Jane considered it. "Possible, I guess. So we weren't supposed to find it, somebody else was. But why?"
“Why is a different matter entirely. Right now we're concentrating on how."
“Okay, but if we imagine this realistic mask, doesn't it mean Sam himself has to be involved in the deception? Don't you need to model it on a real face?"