Fear of Frying by Jill Churchill Read Free Book Online Page A

heard that little jest before,“ Jane grumbled.
    Marge still had her hand over her mouth. She lowered it and said, “I’m so sorry. You just seemed to... appear out of nowhere!”
    He nodded at her and turned to Benson. “I got your message this morning about your prowler, and Allison said you were out here. Since it was on my way home, I thought I’d just stop by. Whoever it was, it wasn’t Lucky Smith. I had him in the lockup on a drunk-and-disorderly. Who was it who saw the prowler?”
    Benson introduced Marge. Sheriff Taylor took this in an even more world-weary manner. He was obviously thinking, Of course it was the screamer. But he merely said, “Oh, well. Okay, ma’am, what did this person you saw look like?“
    “Just li—just a face. It was only for a second.”
    “White? Black? Young? Old?“
    “White. I couldn’t guess the age.“
    “A man?“
    “Oh, yes. Look—I’m sorry for causing you trouble. It’s nothing. Really,“ Marge said, wilting under his eyebrow-hooded glare.
    Her husband, Sam, was merely observing, as if he had no connection with her. Jane thought how pleasant it would be to slap him.
    “Just everybody use caution, will you?“ Sheriff Taylor said it as if he were speaking to a group of slow-witted kindergartners. He gave Benson a half wave, half salute and disappeared as silently as he’d arrived. He hadn’t actually used the words “hysterical“ or “menopausal,“ but they seemed to hover in the air like gnats.
    Benson said, with awesome good cheer, “Okay, we’ve done the basic tour.“ He glanced at his watch. “There will be soup and sandwiches served in about an hour. You’re free to do whatever you want for now. And after lunch, we’ll begin our programs. As I think I told you last night, I put a notice up at the courthouse and in the county paper for the local people who want to attend, too. Free entertainment is pretty sparse around these parts, and a long winter is looming. Oh, and my wife has literature for you at the lodge. More detailed maps, some suggestions we’re making for classes and activities for your school, and such. Stop by and pick them up at your convenience.”
    Jane caught up with Marge, who was leaving as quickly as she could. “Don’t pay any attention. That’s a lout of a man,“ she told the other woman, who looked perilously near tears. Jane prided herself on not saying, And so’s your husband.
    “ I know. Thanks. It’s just that there have been strange things lately.“
    “What kind of strange things?“ Jane asked.
    Marge reclasped her barrette to capture a fine piece of fair hair. “Oh, nothing. Sam says it’s my imagination. It probably is. I wonder what we’ll have for dinner,“ she inquired, changing the subject so brutally that even Jane couldn’t twist it back.

    They had the dubious honor of meeting Lucky Smith when they got back to the lodge. He was sitting on the porch as if he belonged there. He was a stringy, weasely old man—or maybe he wasn’t so old, but had just lived too hard. His hair was thinning, dyed, and greasy, his eyes small and red. And in the center of his rather pinched face was a nose big and red enough to belong to a much larger man. Shelley started giggling when she saw him.
    “Imagine what he looked like as a baby,“ she said. “What a cute new nose—er, baby you have Mrs. Smith.”
    But her smile faded as Lucky Smith staggered to his feet, pointed at Benson Titus, and said in what he no doubt thought was the Voice of Doom, “Hear you been makin’ false accusations against me, Titus.“
    “Oh, Lucky, give it a rest. I’m busy,“ Benson said. “Go home and finish sobering up. Now, Mrs. Flowers, I’ll get those files you wanted to see,“ he added, trying to steer Liz and the rest of the group away from Lucky.
    “Busy with the Devil’s work!“ Lucky shouted. “Ruining God’s world. The Devil’s man, that’s what you are, Titus. You have to meet your Maker at the Pearly Gates,