Fred went back to his notes. "I couldn't find nothing on Josh without a last name, but Ed Plotke was in the phone book for six years between 1956 and 1962. Three different addresses. No separate listing for Edith, but she was in the high school yearbook and graduated in 1960."

"Good work," Dean said. "I'll give you my guess. Josh the cad got sweet young Edith pregnant and skipped. Or, sweet Edith wasn't so sweet and bashed Josh's head in and left him in the mine. Or, papa got an answer to his newspaper ad and saved a shotgun shell by doing the bashing himself."

Cynthia glanced over at her husband, a smile on her face. "It's a little sordid and not undeserved, but I must say, it's plausible. But isn't the sweet-young-girl-with-child usually the bashee, not the basher?"

"Women's lib," Dean answered. "It changed everything."

"I hope it works for Billy Langstrom's girlfriend," Cynthia said.

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"I've got it!" Fred exclaimed. "Fitzgerald is the bastard child of Josh Fitzgerald!"

"You've got the bastard part right," Dean muttered.

"He's the right age," Fred said. "If Edith was pregnant in 1960, her son would be in his forties now!"

"Son? Why does it have to be a boy?" Cynthia asked.

"Just seems more likely," Fred answered.

Dean was content to have Fred speculate in any direction, as long as it was away from the Dawkinses, and possible trouble with the court. The best way to encourage him was to disagree. "Nice story, but that's about all it is. Where's your proof?"

Cynthia patted Fred on the arm. "Give Fred some credit. Look how much information he's developed so far. Maybe by the next time Martha calls, we can tell her we know the identity of Mr. Bones."

Yes, Dean thought, unless someone decides to get more serious about stopping us.




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