The fact that Mrs. Worthington's sister was playing tourist on the road for at least the next two weeks made prospects bleak for catching up with Martha's bones, at least in the near future. While Dean could have officially requested Fitzgerald to pursue the matter, his past experience was beginning to teach Dean when to keep his mouth shut. After all, the whole business remained supposition-conclusions jumped to like fourth graders in a schoolyard hopscotch game. Speculation continued to abound at Bird Song. In the eyes of the Deans, it was looking more and more as if person or persons unknown did in fact take the original bones and switch them for the theatrical imitations Fitzgerald dragged out of The Lucky Pup mine. But questions remained-the big three unknowns of who, why, and when.

Cynthia was sure the culprit was Fitzgerald himself, and while Dean didn't doubt the detested acting sheriff was capable, he couldn't picture anyone taking that much risk and going to that much trouble for the questionable benefit of embarrassing candidate Dean. Dean in turn suspected the Dawkins, one or more or all, although he was hard pressed to find a plausible reason for them to do so, or a reasonable scenario of how they might have pulled off the switch. In view of Fred's jury duty, even mentioning the name Dawkins around him was a no-no. Fred, with the help of his cadre of lady friends, was the one person who had the best shot of producing further information on the family and its history. While Dean was impatient over Fred's over reaction to the judge's admonitions, he didn't wish to compromise his stepfather's relation with the court. Fred was frightened enough of the court system already.

Cynthia Dean, in hoping for further confirmation that the bones had been switched, tried to contact the parents of Caleb Jones, Martha's friend who was with her in the mine. The family lived in Chicago and hadn't provided a phone number when they registered at Bird Song. Information had no listing. Dean called the auctioneer but reached only his answering machine. He would not return until after the holiday.

The Deans found themselves alone on the front porch, with only Mrs. Lincoln for company, as Fred was off to the library for more research. The cat declined a lap-offer in favor of the purple rocker, Martha's chair, as if to question the whereabouts of her missing friend. The warmth of the evening chased out Bird Song's guests-all non-dieters probably queuing up for ice cream, or maybe simply promenading the Victorian village streets as alpenglow painted the surrounding peaks in pink. While the town was bursting at its seams for tomorrow's holiday, the side street where the Deans' inn was located was peacefully quiet.




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