Dean thought a moment before responding. "I can't answer that for sure, but don't you think their sudden interest in the property and the discovery of the bones is quite a coincidence?"

Jennifer pondered this point. Then she asked, "Why do you say the bones are forty years old? Couldn't they be much older-or younger?"

"We don't really know for sure. We based the age on when the ownership of the mine changed hands and when it was last worked. We assumed the skeleton would have been discovered if there was activity in there. The Lucky Pup has apparently been sealed up for the last forty years until someone-kids, we think-broke into the mine this spring."

As much as Dean wanted to press his guest on the possibility that the bones were those of her father, he realized such a question was tasteless and inappropriate. He knew Cynthia would not look kindly on any direct line of questioning in the personal area of parentage. Dean's only hope for an answer was if the woman volunteered it, but that didn't happen.

Jennifer said nothing more for the remainder of the trip down the mountain until the Jeep finally rolled onto pavement and they entered the still busy town. Her bright spirits returned with effusive thanks; she offered to take the Deans to dinner in gratitude for her afternoon adventure, but they declined.

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"We'd love to but we've been away from Bird Song far too long already today," Cynthia said. Jennifer would remain in Ouray for at least another week, so she elicited a promise for a later dinner date.

Fred O'Connor was in the living room, hosting three of the four Dawkins, with Ginger missing, when the Deans returned to their bed and breakfast. The old man excused himself and followed Dean to the kitchen. Cynthia began grilling cheese sandwiches for a quick supper.

"I finally got a hold of that auctioneer fellow," Fred said. "He's been up in Fort Collins doing an estate auction. Waste of time. The first time he laid eyes on all that stuff, the trunks included, was the morning of the auction. They were covered with dust in the storage rooms."

"Thanks for running it down," Dean answered. "It doesn't look like the auctioneer had anything to do with switching the bones." He filled Fred in on meeting Jennifer Radisson, their afternoon trip to the mine, and the discovery of a back entrance.

"Then someone took a shot at us," Cynthia said as she set out the plates on the kitchen table. It was Dean's turn to give his wife a look of caution. No need to taint Fred's jury-pure mind.




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