"Even longer. That's one of the reasons I like Ouray. Lots of things around here stay the same. Not so in the rest of the world. I saw a sign back in Kansas last month. It just said 'Nails.' Silly me, I thought it was a hardware store, but it turned out to be a beauty shop! No, the water fight goes back years and years. My uncle Blackie did it forever. He and his buddies finished first six or seven times in a row. It's a tradition around here." He turned to Dean. "I'm surprised you're not on a team. It would get you a few votes for sheriff, I bet." He slapped Pumpkin on the shoulder and winked. "Everybody likes to see a politician knocked on his butt once in a while!"
"I don't even like the word politician," Dean answered. "I'm just looking for a job in law enforcement. It's a pain that I have to ask the voters for it, but I draw the line at the water fight. I watched it last summer and that was enough. That's serious business."
Cynthia returned, a warm smile on her face as she stood in the doorway. "That was Martha on the phone!"
Dean turned toward her. "Is she alright?" he asked.
"Yes. She sounded a bit sad-resigned, I guess, but she said
everything was fine. I could hear other people in the background. She's with her mother in some sort of a group house. I think she misses us. She asked about you, Fred, and Mrs. Lincoln." As Cynthia sat, the cat exchanged Dean's lap for Cynthia's in one effortless leap. "She wanted to make sure her stuffed owl SB was being hugged and Alice watered." Alice was a geranium Cynthia had lovingly rescued from certain death by frost last September when the rest of the couple's first-year garden succumbed to the advancing seasons. One of Martha's Bird Song chores had been keeping the struggling plant hydrated.
"I would have called you in to talk with her but she cut the conversation short. I tried to get a number to call her back but she said no incoming calls were allowed. She telephoned collect. She said her mother or someone took her calling card but she didn't explain." Cynthia bit her lip; the euphoria of speaking with Martha was slipping away. "She was most anxious about the bones." Dean wished Cynthia had waited until they were alone to bring up the subject. He didn't answer. Instead, he rose-a suggestion they go inside-but Cynthia and Mrs. Lincoln were content together, as if oblivious to Pumpkin and Westlake.