Overall, Jane found it terribly bland and depressing, especially in contrast to the cozy cabin she and Shelley were sharing. But the kids wouldn't care. They'd be outdoors most of the time and more interested in each other than the building. If kids cared about their surroundings, she reasoned, their own bedrooms at home wouldn't look quite so much like the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust.
Benson led them downstairs, where there were locked storage bins that looked like little jails and a very large room with a whole fleet of room dividers on wheels. Benson explained that the dividers were specially designed to provide soundproofing, so many small meeting rooms could be constructed by just sliding them around.
Next they went from a center staircase to the second-floor dormitory area. A long, single hallway stretched both ways. He opened a couple doors along it to let them look at the rooms, which were sparse but neat. Each had a single bathroom with a shower stall, a big window that looked out over the woods, either two or three single beds in various arrangements, a functional, indestructible desk, and several chairs. It looked like one of the dormitories of Jane's youth, and she found herself wondering how any adult could survive staying in someplace so essentially "institutional" without going screaming mad.
Shelley was watching her reaction. "Bad vibes?" she asked.
“Very bad," Jane admitted. "And I don't know why. I think I must have been in a mental institute that looked just like this in a previous life.”
Shelley nodded. "Or a sanatorium where frail Victorian ladies went to die of tuberculosis. Still, I don't think the kids would care. And when they get their own 'stuff' in here, it'll look more cluttered, if not better.”
When they came back out into the hallway, the rest of the group was milling around, seemingly as anxious to get away as Shelley and Jane were — all, that is, except Liz, armed with clipboard and asking Benson about heating and cooling, elevator-inspection schedules, handicapped access and fire regulations and all the practical considerations Jane never would have thought of.
Al Flowers was standing next to them, leaning against the wall and watching his wife. "Isn't she a wonder?" he said admiringly.
He was just what Jane needed at that moment. A big, gooey jolt of contentment. A man who was proud of his wife. "You're a good man, Al Flowers!" she said with a smile.
They gathered up Bob Rycraft, who seemed determined to enthusiastically examine every room, and left the building. "Now we're in for a bit of a walk," Benson warned them cheerfully, "but it'll be worth it."
“I'll bet," Eileen Claypool muttered. She had developed a serious limp.
The group returned to the main lodge, circled it, and continued south along the road that ran past their cabins. Benson took it slow and easy, allowing them to stop in their cabins and get cameras (Liz and Shelley), binoculars (Marge), Band-Aids (Eileen), and take bathroom breaks (Jane). Just beyond the cabins, the road turned into more of a path and rose slightly.
“Look at Marge," Shelley whispered.
Jane glanced back. Marge was walking extremely close to Sam, surveying the woods around them with quick glances. "She doesn't like nature much, does she?" Jane whispered back. "I guess the outdoors just isn't for everyone."
“She's been jumpy the whole time we've been around her," Shelley said. "It's odd. I don't know her well, but I've been on lots of committees with her. She's always seemed shy and retiring, but more placid than nervous."
“Well, there was that face she saw at the window.”
Shelley shook her head. "No, I noticed it before she had her screaming fit. It's like she was already scared of something. Or somebody.”
Jane looked at Shelley sharply for a moment, then laughed. "You've let the dreary atmosphere of the Conference Center get to you. Next thing you'll be wanting to stay up late with the lights off and tell ghost stories. And maybe drop aspirin in your soft drink to get drunk.”
The next stop in the tour of the grounds was much more pleasant. It was one of three campfire sites.
“We believe that preparing and eating food outdoors can be enjoyable," Benson said as they came up the last small rise. "It doesn't have to be hot dogs and hamburgers and potato chips. It's possible to cook a really fine meal over a campfire. This is where we'll be eating dinner tonight, and I'll be demonstrating some outdoor cooking techniques you might enjoy.”
It was a nicely mowed area encircling a large campfire site. A low wall of fieldstone defined the fire area, which was already stacked with logs and ready to be lighted. There were a few well-tended chrysanthemums blooming around the nearer side of the grassy verge.
“Oh, Jane!" Shelley said, grabbing her arm. "Look at that view!”
Turning around, Jane realized the woods had been skillfully cleared to offer a view out over the cabins and the lake beyond. She also couldn't help noticing that the sky was clouding up and there was a chilly wind. "Eating dinner here might be a nippy proposition," she said.
“I don't suppose you brought long underwear?" Shelley asked.
“I don't own long underwear, Shelley. I live in a house, not a tent."
“Never mind. I brought extra," Shelley said.
“Of course you did," Jane said. "You're always prepared for anything. But Liz has a tape measure along. That puts her a point ahead of you.”
Shelley looked at her, slitty-eyed. "Wanna bet?”
Liz was asking Benson about medical services.
“The closest fire station," he said, "was just beyond the road where you came in. Before you crossed the bridge. They have an ambulance. The county hospital is five miles from here. We'll have a nurse on duty who can treat minor injuries."
“Poor Benson," Jane said. "I'll bet he didn't expect to be grilled quite so thoroughly."
“But he's got all the answers," Shelley pointed out. "He's obviously done his homework."
“He does seem awfully eager to impress us, doesn't he?" Jane said.
“For all his scruffy looks, he's a businessman, and that Conference Center must have cost a fortune," Shelley replied. "He might have overestimated the number of people who would want to use it. This school thing would bring in a lot of m—”
Just then Marge screamed again.
Six
“Sorry, ma'am, didn't mean to scare you," the newcomer said.
He was a tall, dark man in his fifties with alarmingly heavy eyebrows. He'd come, silently, by some other route than the rest of the group and had taken them all by surprise, though only Marge had such a violent reaction. He was dressed all in khaki, including his Smoky the Bear hat.
“Sheriff Taylor, ma'am," he said.
“Not Sheriff Andy Taylor by chance," Jane asked with a chuckle.