"I'm not sure I do, but I saw you leave The Beaumont Hotel with Dickinson Faust."

She laughed. "Oh, yes. The Dawkinses' lawyer. He was trying to put a move on me, the silly man." She cocked an eye. "Is that what you're doing, too-putting a move on me? I'm sure you're not here to make an election speech."

"No-on both counts." She continued to gaze at him, awaiting an explanation. "Fred O'Connor-the old gentleman-he's my stepfather."

"He was charming the high heels off one of the women jurors. I got a kick out of watching him operate. He fascinates me. My lawyer wanted to toss him from the panel but I insisted he stay."

"I guess if I'm going to go under cover and snoop, I'd better get an old nondescript Chevy or Ford. You're Jennifer Radisson? "

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"May I assume you're not a serial killer stalking me and this spying business has something to do with my pending litigation? What else could it be, Mr. Dean? I'm not a citizen of the county, so I can't vote for you."

"It's all pretty complicated, but bottom line-yes to the litigation question, no to the serial killer. The Dawkinses are staying at my bed and breakfast." He held out his hand. "I'm David Dean- but I guess you already know that."

Jennifer Radisson continued to intimidate. She stood too near, perfumed and ram-rod straight, fixing him with a level and unfaltering gaze with those arresting eyes.

She took his hand but didn't introduce herself. "You own Bird Song. I wanted to stay there but I assumed my presence might make the Dawkins boys a tad uncomfortable. On second thought, maybe that would have been fun! Are you working on their behalf?"

"Lord, no!"

"Then let's have a seat and watch the puppy dog parade."

"I have to tell you, Mrs. Dawkins. You're the most charming," he hooked his fingers in quotation marks, "'gold-digger bitch' I've ever met."

She laughed loudly enough to turn the heads of a half dozen spectators. "I see you've had in-depth conversations with my stepsons, Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dee-and their lovely wives!" She held out her hand again. "I am Jennifer Radisson. What can I do for you?"

"A little girl-a sort-of ward of ours-had an interest in the Lucky Pup Mine. My wife and I promised we'd research the matter for her."

"God, that sounds awful! You're going to have to do much better than that, Mr. Dean. If you were a novel, I wouldn't read you beyond the first page."

"Honestly," he said but she continued to wait. "The girl- Martha-found some bones. Human bones. But no one else seems to believe her."




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