There had been a mob at the lodge, wolfing down a quick lunch before the first afternoon sessions. But now it was nearly deserted, and Shelley was still sitting where Jane had left her. She signaled at Jane.
“I've been eavesdropping. Weird things are happening," Shelley said, when Jane was seated.
“You're telling me," Jane said, thinking of her encounter with Lucky Smith.
“Somebody set the boat adrift this morning. They had to call a neighbor across the lake to go out and fetch it back," Shelley said. "And all the straps on the life preservers are missing, as are the tapes for some exercise and dance thing they were planning. The front door of the Conference Center was locked and the key's gone missing."
“Somebody's playing silly games," Jane said. "Yes, but why? Who?"
“The environmentalists?" Jane suggested. "They must have been hanging out in the woods this morning, getting ready for their demonstration."
“I don't know. Doesn't sound like their kind of thing. They're obnoxious, but like to get credit for it. Are you listening? What are you staring at?"
“Sam Claypool," Jane said.
He was across the room, with a cup of coffee and a legal pad, jotting down figures.
“Why?" Shelley asked.
“I don't know," Jane said. "It just seems there's something wrong.”
Shelley gazed at him for a minute. "Doesn't look like it to me. He's just making notes. He looks perfectly content."
“Right, but. . I can't figure out what it is. It's like my subconscious is trying to tell me something about him.""Then tell it to speak up louder," Shelley said. But Jane couldn't dredge up what it was that she found bothersome. As she watched, he picked up his legal pad and left. The dining room was nearly deserted now; only a few of the kitchen staff were left, eating their lunch before cleaning up. "I'm off," Shelley said.
“What class are you going to?" Jane asked. "Just going to drop in on a few of them and stay wherever something takes my fancy," Shelley said. Jane went upstairs and tapped very lightly on Allison's door. It was two o'clock, but Allison might have still been napping. The door opened a moment later. "Come in, come in. Let's look at your laptop." It was soon apparent that while Allison understood the problem, Jane probably never would. "Why don't you go on and let me just fool around with this for a while and see what I can do," Allison said. "You'll be bored watching me, and I'll have the urge to explain things to you that you don't even want to know and wouldn't remember."
“Allison, if this is going to be a lot of trouble, I don't want to bother you with it."
“No, it's a challenge, and I don't have anything pressing to do this afternoon. I'll have it fixed in an hour."
“How'd you learn so much about computers?" Jane asked.
“I took a couple classes, just before we moved up here. Of course, they've changed enormously since then, but I knew just enough to keep up. I subscribe to several magazines and can always find help on the interne.”
"What did Benson do before you bought the resort?”
Allison laughed. "Nearly everything. In fact, he worked for a while for Sam Claypool. He was a mechanic at his car dealership. While he was there, he got an idea for some kind of gadget for car engines. He worked on it in his spare time and patented it, then sold the patent to a car manufacturer. That's how we got the money to buy this place. Now, run along while I still remember what I want to try with your laptop.”
Jane went downstairs slowly. Benson had worked for Sam. What a coincidence. Or was it, really? The car dealership was a huge one. Lots of people must have worked there over the years. She passed through the dining room slowly, deep in thought, and found herself looking again at where she'd seen Sam sitting a short time before. It was, she thought, the same place where he'd sat the night they arrived. He'd been writing on a legal pad that night, too.
Writing..
Jane gasped. Then closed her eyes and tried to bring up the image. Yes, that was what was wrong. Unless her mind was playing tricks on her. She had to be sure. Where was Shelley? She went to the lobby, riffled through some of the paperwork on the long table, and found the list of classes that were currently going on.
Campfire construction and safety. No.. Shelley wouldn't be interested in that.
Hiking gear selection and care. No way. Rappelling. Hah! Beadwork. Maybe. Ditto a wildflower program.
Both were being held in the Conference Center. Jane pulled up her poncho hood and set out. It was pouring down rain again. Her mind was racing as she sloshed through puddles, head down to keep the rain out of her face. She passed a few people who'd apparently given up fighting the weather and were heading home. Though it was only a little after two, it was as dark as twilight. Except when the lightning flashed. She stumbled in the main door of the Conference Center and stood for a moment, dripping rivulets.
She heard a voice in a room opposite the dining room. She opened the door gingerly and the instructor smiled and waved her in. She glanced around at people who were strapping each other into rappelling gear. "Sorry, wrong room," she said, backing out.
She hadn't brought the class list along and had to roam the halls looking in doors. She finally located Shelley in the beading class, being held in one of the small rooms in the basement. "Come with me," she said to her friend. "I think I've figured out something, but it's so bizarre!”
Shelley didn't question her. She got up and excused herself to the instructor, put her poncho on, and followed Jane.
“Back to the lodge," Jane said. They raced through the rain, sending up splashes of muddy water. They stood on the covered porch for a second, letting the worst of the water run off.
Inside, they dumped their ponchos. "What on earth. .?" Shelley asked.
“We're doing an experiment. To see if you re- member what I think I remember," Jane said. "I can't tell you without influencing your thoughts.”
“Jane, are you okay?"
“I'm not sure. Come in the dining room.”
It was deserted now. Lunch had been cleared up and they could hear voices and the sounds of dishes and silverware being put away in the kitchen. "Okay, Shelley, think back to the night we got here. Picture us sitting at that table by the fireplace."
“All right."
“It's after dinner, after Marge had hysterics about the face in the window, after dessert. Liz is trying to talk us into having a planning session. Where is everybody? What are they doing?"
“Jane, can't you just tell me what's on your mind?"
“No, I can't. It has to come from your mind."
“Okay. Liz is pontificating. She's sitting here. Al's next to her, pushing dessert crumbs around his plate and saying, 'Now, Lizzie.' Bob Rycraft is standing with his back to the fireplace, hands behind him."
“Good," Jane said. "Go on."
“Benson wasn't in the room. John Claypool was sitting sideways, staring at the windows in the back wall. Eileen was filing her nails, which I thought an especially odd thing to do at the table. Marge was sort of huddled at the end of the bench, looking miserable. Sam was glancing up at Liz as she spoke and making notes on a legal pad. I thought he was pretending he was taking down what she said, but it was probably something entirely unrelated. He was ignoring Marge entirely, which was really insensitive, considering how upset she was.”
Shelley smiled. "I gave him an extended glare, which usually intimidates people, but I don't think he noticed.”
Jane said. "Go sit where he was and pretend you're Sam."
“Jane, this is starting to get silly. Okay, okay.”
She sat down, using a class listing sheet someone had left behind, pretending it was a legal pad. She gazed at where Liz would have been, jotting down imaginary notes with an imaginary pencil. "Is this what you want?" she asked Jane.
“Right. Exactly. Now, you sit here and let me take your place.”
Shelley got up and watched Jane imitate her imitating Sam.
“Have I got it right?" Jane asked.