“How is that?" Shelley asked.
“My daughter-in-law is much sicker than she'd have anyone know. I do, by the way, trust that you'll keep that to yourselves. She has a serious heart condition, and I'm determined to keep her alive as long as I can. She must live near a good medical facility."
“Isn't that really up to her and her husband?" Shelley said.
“Yes, it should be. But they're so — so good, so naive. So blind to the hard facts."
“They're also very happy here," Jane pointed out.
“Allison isn't going to be happy when she's dead, and neither is Benson," Edna said harshly. "And she will be dead if she has a serious heart attack here in the woods."
“So you tried to sabotage our visit," Jane said, sensing that the moral position Edna had taken was probably wrong and certainly unalterable.
“Yes. I thought if I made things unpleasant and difficult, I might persuade your committee to vote no.”
Jane and Shelley looked at each other, but said nothing.
“It was stupid and petty, but I have to save Allison," Edna said.
“How could this save Allison?" Jane asked. "Suppose you'd succeeded. This school thing wouldn't make or break the resort."
“Oh, it could," Edna said. "You see, the convention business isn't going well."
“Why not?" Shelley asked. "It's a wonderful facility for conventions."
“And it's hard as hell to get to," Edna responded. "Convention attendees have gotten spoiled over the years. They want open spaces, attractive settings, all of that, but they want to just get off a plane and be there. Or at least not be much more than a cab ride away from an airport. Nobody wants to land in Chicago, rent a car, drive for hours, and run a risk of getting lost. People will do that for a family vacation, but not for a convention. There's only one crummy bus a day to the nearest town, and purchasing and operating shuttles would be prohibitively expensive.""Aren't there enough vacationers to till the place?" Jane asked.
“Not since Benson built the Convention Center building. Vacationers don't want a dormitory atmosphere. They want privacy — the cabins in the woods.”
She had lowered her voice. People were starting to wander into the dining room. The staff had apparently seen off the last of the local people and were now bringing out the metal containers and candles that would keep the food hot.
“Frankly, I can't agree with your motives," Jane said. "But you're right to tell the sheriff."
“I know. It'll be humiliating, but he needs to sort the wheat from the chaff now that he's got a murder to solve."
“Who do you think killed Sam Claypool?" Jane asked impulsively.
“I have no idea," Edna said. "And to be honest, I don't care. I just wish it hadn't happened here."
“I'm surprised you'd say that," Shelley said. "What's more discouraging than a murder?”
Edna sat up very straight and glared at her. "I think that's a very tasteless remark."
“I think murder is pretty tasteless," Shelley replied blandly.
Edna rose majestically and left the table without another word.
“That's a pissed-off lady," Jane said.
“Yes? Well, so is this," she said, pointing at her chest. "How dare she set herself up as the goddess of Benson and Allison's marriage! She hasn't any right to run their lives that way."
“It's out of love for them," Jane suggested halfheartedly.
“That's not the point. Lots of people have done extremely damaging things out of love. It's wrong of her to decide what's right for her son and his wife. They've obviously made a hard decision, and it's up to them to make it and live — or die — with it.”
Jane glanced up and noticed Sheriff Taylor entering the room. He was looking for them, but Edna caught him first. Holding on to his arm to keep him from escaping, she led him to the stairway. He made a quick stay there gesture at Jane and Shelley.
John Claypool and Bob Rycraft came into the dining room behind Taylor. They were obviously making polite discussion, and it was apparently agony for both of them under the circumstances. John looked haggard and tired and kept scratching his ankle. Bob was trying to strike a tactful balance between sympathy and his usual optimism — and failing badly.
The two men headed for the table where Jane and Shelley were sitting as if it were an oasis.
“We're so sorry about your brother," Jane said. "It's a terribly shocking thing."
“And I owe you ladies an apology," John Claypool said. He seemed to have aged a good ten years in one day. "I — we — should have believed you. If we had, the local law enforcement people could have gotten a much better lead on solving this horrible crime."
“It's perfectly understandable why nobody believed us," Jane said. "After all, it looked to everyone like Sam was alive and well."
“Marge must be insane," he muttered.
“Did you know Sam had a twin brother?" Shelley asked.
“God, no! Biggest surprise of my life. I guess our parents must have known, but they never said a word. Not a word. And Sam never mentioned it either. I can't figure why not. Jesus! How on earth am I going to break this to them?"
“Marge said Sam never mentioned his brother because he'd had a miserable life before your parents adopted him and he didn't want any connection with it, no reason to remember it," Shelley said.
“She told you that?" John asked.
“No, she told the sheriff. Has Henry turned up yet?"
“Henry?" John asked.
“Sam's twin," Jane explained. "His name is Henry Something."
“Oh, I didn't know. No. No sign of him that I know of." John's face was red with anger. "He's long gone by now. The bastard. Came in and killed Sam, wrecked our lives, got poor old Marge thinking she was an oversexed teenager, and then skedaddled the hell away when his crime came to light. Shit!" He caught himself. "Sorry, ladies."
“You're entitled to be upset," Jane said soothingly.
“How am I going to tell the folks? That's what I'd like to know. It's going to destroy them."
“You'll find a way," Shelley said. "Just don't make hasty decisions."
“So you're convinced Henry killed Sam?" Jane asked.
John Claypool's mouth fell open for a second, then he sputtered, "Isn't everybody? Of course he killed Sam. Good God! Here's this bum of a guy, God knows what kind of criminal background, goes looking for his twin and discovers he's a rich, respected man. All he has to do is knock him off and step into his shoes. And his big house, and his business. The deal even comes with a ready-made wife. My God, Marge is nuts. Do you think she could have been stupid enough to fall for it? Did she really think this guy was Sam?"
“You'll have to ask her," Shelley said. "I imagine she's telling your wife all about it now.”
Bob Rycraft had slipped away after Jane and Shelley had let him off the conversational hook. Now Liz joined them. She had Al in tow.
“Mr. Claypool! I'm so terribly sorry to hear about your brother!" Liz exclaimed. "This is too horrible to imagine. What can we do? Do you need any relatives notified? How can we help?”
John was bowled over by her forceful offers of help, and muttered vague thanks.
“I understand there was a twin brother masquerading as Sam? Did you know about him before?”
The conversation was a repetition of the one Jane and Shelley had just had with him. Liz kept shaking her head, looking enormously distressed. "I see they're putting dinner out. I'll take plates to Marge and Eileen. I'm sure they aren't interested in eating, but they might want to just nibble a bit. Al, come along. We'll get some plates and foil from the kitchen and take them some food. Poor Marge."
“Marge is nuts," John repeated.
Liz dashed off on her errand of mercy, and Alhung back for a minute, rumbling his own condolences in a low tone and adding that if there was anything the bank, or he himself, could do to help out, John wasn't to hesitate to call him. Then, at Liz's shrill summons, he ambled off.
&n
bsp; “So the car dealership does business with Al's bank?" Shelley asked.
John shrugged. "I don't know."
“You don't know?" Jane said, thinking he'd misunderstood the question.
John's face, which had grown pale during Liz's forceful expressions of sympathy, turned red again. He scratched at his neck nervously. "No. See, I'm not a partner. I'm just head of sales. Sam owned the dealership lock, stock, and barrel. Now I guess I work for Marge," he added bitterly.
“Oh," Shelley said. "I've always assumed you were partners."
“Most people do. And Sam let them. I'd rather it didn't get around, really. God, I'm going to miss him. He was a tough guy to get to know, I guess. Kinda cold. I was the one always flapping my mouth and making jokes. But he was a good brother.”
A heavy silence fell over the table. What was there to say?
“Let me get you some dinner," Jane suggested.
He waved away the idea. "Naw, I'm not hungry."
“But you should eat," Jane said. "You're going to need all your energy to cope with everything.”
She dashed off to fill a plate for him. Liz and Al were just staggering away from the buffet table under a heavy load of food for his wife and sister-in-law. Sheriff Taylor and Edna reentered the dining room from the Tituses' private quarters. Edna's face was blotchy and her manner stiff and angry. Taylor must have read her the riot act, Jane thought.
“I need to question you ladies about discovering the body," Taylor said.
“Okay, but I don't want to leave John Claypool eating alone. Just a minute," Jane said. She found Bob Rycraft chewing on a chicken wing and trying to look unobtrusive, and ordered him, in the nicest possible way, to take his plate over to the table where John was sitting. She left the two men staring at each other and signaled Shelley to join her. They and the sheriff found a quiet, deserted corner in the lobby.
Taylor sighed wearily as they sat down. "Okay, tell me the whole thing, from the time you arrived at the campsite.”
They told their story, jumbling it a bit and no doubt frustrating him to near frenzy. He kept asking about times, about weather, about where people were sitting. Now that he realized the importance of their information, he wanted every detail. But so much had happened in the interval that Jane and Shelley were no longer sure of their impressions.
“We had no reason to keep track of time," Jane explained, "and I'd lost my watch anyway. As for the weather, it had been drizzly all evening, but we were under a canopy and warmly dressed, so it didn't really matter to us."
“Okay," Taylor said. "Tell me about leaving the site."
“Sam Claypool had been singing — he had a great voice — and there was a big crack of lightning and a sudden downpour," Shelley said. "The young menwho were helping with the dinner put their instruments away and started helping the Tituses pack up. It was frantic. Jane and I offered to help, but they insisted we were guests and shooed us away."
“Were you the first to leave?"
“I think maybe we were," Jane said. "I don't remember anybody in front of us. I do remember hearing Eileen behind us, complaining about getting her slipper wet.”
Taylor refused to be sidetracked with slippers. "And when did you come back to look for your watch?”
Jane thought for a minute. "Not long at all. Maybe ten minutes?"
“More like fifteen, I think," Shelley said.
“Didn't give somebody much time, did it?" Taylor said, more to himself than them. "On the other hand, it didn't require much of an alibi time.
“Now, describe exactly what you saw when you found the— What is it?" he said to the deputy who'd come striding over and was waiting impatiently.
The deputy leaned down, whispering to Taylor.
Taylor walked away with him for a minute.
“Jane, will you stop that scratching?" Shelley said irritably.
“Sorry, it's like yawning. I see someone yawn and it makes me yawn.”
Taylor came back and sat down at the table drumming his fingers for a few seconds, then waved the deputy off, saying, "I'll be right there."
“Something's wrong, isn't it?" Jane said.
“Yes, you could say that," Taylor said mournfully. "They've found Henry McCoy. Dead.”
Twenty-one
Jane and Shelley watched the sheriff leave with the deputy.
“I want to go home right now. This minute," Jane said quietly through gritted teeth.
“Try telling that to the law," Shelley said. "What a mess this is! Who in the world would want to kill this Henry person?"
“Somebody who meant to kill him in the first place?" Jane said. "Shelley, maybe that's it! Maybe Henry McCoy was the intended victim in the first place and somebody mistook Sam for him. Could we have been looking at this backwards?"
“But nobody knew about Henry."
“Nobody admits to knowing about Henry. There's a whopping big difference," Jane said.
“That pretty well leaves us with John Claypool or Marge. And John, who might have had a good financial motive, just destroyed it by admitting he's only an employee of the car dealership," Shelley reminded her. "He didn't stand to gain anything from Sam's death."
“He could have other motives," Jane said halfheartedly.
“Like what?" Shelley said. "I'll admit I've tried to think of some and can't. If John Claypool had a gripe with his brother, I think he'd broadcast it far and wide. But Marge is looking like a better suspect every minute. If she and Henry plotted to bump off Sam, and then she decided the partnership wasn't such a good idea—"
“She's got a good alibi," Jane said. "Having been under police guard most of the day."
“But not all day. Remember when Eileen said she was looking for John and stopped at Marge's cabin and found her in her robe in the middle of the day? She was alone then."
“Had Henry, still masquerading as Sam, gone missing by that time?" Jane asked.
“I have no idea, but I'll bet the sheriff is drawing up a time line.”
Al and Liz had come back from their errand of mercy and were filling their own plates. Bob Rycraft was eating with John Claypool. They'd given up any pretense of conversation. Bob was looking like he might nod off right into his food, and John was staring into space and taking an occasional bite of food. Benson and Edna were talking with one of the kitchen kids, and Allison was "circulating," visiting with the guests. It didn't look like anybody else knew about the latest body, and without even discussing it, Jane and Shelley were in agreement that they weren't going to mention it.
“I wish Sheriff Taylor luck with a time line," Jane said. "I'm glad it's his problem, not ours, and I'm going to eat dinner before some new catastrophe catches up with this place.”
They both tried to force themselves to concentrate on food instead of murder. Tonight's dinner was "home style." Pork chops, meat loaf, fried potatoes, scalloped cauliflower, Boston lettuce with choice of bottled dressings, cucumber sticks, Jell-O salad. Good food, but plain.
As they sat down, the sheriff came back into the dining room with Marge and Eileen in tow. Marge was sobbing; Eileen was trying to comfort her sister-in-law and shooting looks of pure loathing at Sheriff Taylor at the same time. Taylor was ignoring her.
“I'm eating my dinner, no matter what!" Jane said quietly to Shelley.
Taylor came to the middle of the room and rapped sharply on an empty table for attention. This was unnecessary as everyone but Jane and Shelley was already staring at him.
“You should all know," he announced, "that the body of Henry McCoy, who was passing himself off as Sam Claypool, has been found in the woods. He was stabbed to death.”
Somebody gasped.
Marge let out a low, shuddering wail of grief. Eileen said, "This is barbaric!"
“Yes," Taylor said. "It is. And we're going to get to the bottom of it. Nobody is leaving this room until I say so. My deputy is going to give you pencils and paper and you're all going to account for your day. I want times, places,
who was with you, who else you saw, what you did.”
He glared around at the owners, employees, and guests. "When was the last time anybody saw Henry McCoy alive?”
Nobody said anything, and Jane reluctantly raised her hand. "Shelley and I saw him here, after the lunch crowd had left.”
Taylor looked around. "Anybody else see him later? What was that time, Mrs. Jeffry?"
“One-thirty maybe? We didn't know it was going to matter."
Fear of Frying jj-9 Page 15
