“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.
“Nobody but the two of us believes there
was
a body."
“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?"
“Oh, I don't think so. They have them made up to look like famous people at Halloween. I'm sure the President doesn't let some toy manufacturer come into the Oval Office and make a mold of his face."
“I guess this mask thing is a possibility, but we can't get hung up on it and miss something else. Shouldn't we go to the lodge and see if we can find out where Sam says he was?"
“Right. But we have another stop to make first. We need to go look at the place where we found him," Shelley said.
“For clues?"
“For our own peace of mind.”
Jane opened the drapes before they left the cabin. "Wow! Look at that! You can see the creek now, it's risen so much. But at least the sun's trying to struggle out and it's not raining."
“Come on, Jane. I'm getting hungry and it's time for breakfast. We need to look over the campsite before all the good food is gone.”
There were no clues in evidence.
In daylight, they weren't sure precisely where they'd seen the body. The whole site looked different. Rain had washed gullies and created weird little dams out of leaves here and there. The fire had not only gone out, but was a pool of nasty gray water.
But there was a spot just beyond the clearing that looked as if the wet leaves were a little bit more squashed down.
“He either got up and walked away or somebody picked him up," Jane said.
“How do you figure that?"
“Because there are no drag marks. Look." Jane put her foot on the leaves and pulled it back. It left a groove in the leaves and a muddy streak on the ground.
Shelley nodded. "But it rained all night, I think. Other leaves could have gotten washed out over such marks.”
They examined the area thoroughly, even turning over leaves to see if there were any objects or signs of blood, but discovered nothing.
“What now, Sherlock?" Jane asked.
“Breakfast. We could move around a lot, sitting by different people, and see if anybody smells of latex.”
Jane looked at her sharply. "You are kidding, right?”
Shelley drew herself up. "The rest of them might think we're crazy, Jane, but I expected you to know better.”
Eleven
Jane and Shelley felt awkward and embarrassed, and the others seemed to be feeling the same. Benson welcomed them with a vague smile, not quite able to look right straight at them. Edna, who was tidying up the magazines in the lobby, undoing Liz's arrangements, suddenly had to rush away on another errand after saying a quick "Good morning, ladies."
“I feel like we forgot to get dressed and nobody wants to notice or mention that we're in our underwear," Jane whispered to Shelley.
“Remember that time the PTA board had the meeting at your house and it wasn't until the meeting was over that we noticed one of your cats had horked up a hairball under the coffee table?" Shelley said.
“Oh, God! I'll never live it down. Yes, that's the exact same feeling. We should have thought this out a little better before we got here. How about pretending last night never happened?"
“Nope. You're the one who said we're taking the line that we were mistaken and are vaguely sorry.”
Breakfast today was a little more modest. Cereals, fruits, scrambled eggs, and toast were the primary choices. The room was also a good deal more crowded. Several more strangers had been added to the mix — young, athletic-looking people for the most part. Jane noticed that three of them at one table were talking quietly and looking at her and Shelley. Word must have gotten around about the batty pair who imagined dead bodies in the woods.
Everyone else ignored them. Nobody signaled them to join a table.
“Let's sit with Liz," Shelley said, fixing herself a bowl of cereal. "She'll either defend us or tear us into little scraps. Either way, we'll be done with the best or worst.”
Liz and Al were sitting with Eileen Claypool and one of the new people. Jane and Shelley took their plates over and sat down.
“Good morning, everybody," Shelley said with shrill cheerfulness.
There was a mumble of greeting and the young man at the table was introduced as the boating instructor. Liz had been grilling him and went back to it. "What I'm getting at," she said to him, "is why lessons in driving around in a boat is educational? I'll grant that it may be fun, but the school district isn't in the business of providing fun.”
Eileen saved the young man by responding, "But aren't school plays and concerts mainly for fun? And you offer driver's education, don't you?”
Liz wasn't impressed by the reasoning, though she wasn't quite as curt and accusatory toward Eileen as she'd been with the young man. "Plays and concerts,like most sports, emphasize team play, taking a specific role in society, and doing your best for the group. Although, to be honest, I believe far too much effort and budget are spent on both. As for driver's ed, almost everyone these days must learn to drive a car skillfully and lawfully."
“But aren't all those things also fun for the students?" Eileen asked.
“Yes, but the emphasis should be on 'also.' Learning valuable life skills can be fun," Liz said. "What I'm questioning is whether lessons in boating aren't just for fun. Very few of our young people are going to become professionals in boating.”
Eileen was digging her heels in, whether out of genuine philosophy or irritation with Liz, it was impossible to tell. "How many are going to become professional actors, or singers, or sports players?”
Liz backed off a little. "I'm sorry. I'm making you angry and I didn't mean to. But I am here as a representative of the school district and I have to look at the camp in that light. Are the activities primarily educational?"