"I'm at Thistle Farm. You know where that is?" She answered her own question before he had a chance. "Up at the end of the Dexter Creek road-left at the fork, at the very end."
"If you want to talk later, come on by Bird Song-"
"Now! And don't come near here if you see Fitzgerald! He can't see us talking together." A dial tone followed.
Cynthia was scraping sugar off her knees when he told her about the phone call. She was concerned.
"I don't trust anything that has the name Fitzgerald attached to it," she said as she pulled up a chair. "You don't think it's some sort of set up, do you? Something between this Lydia and Fitzgerald?"
"I honestly don't know, but by the sound of her voice, she's very upset."
"This 'meet me on the QT out in the woods' bothers me. It could get you in hot water."
Both had driven up the Dexter Creek Road and knew the location. The road was rough but not limited to four-wheel drive vehicles like the mountain Jeep roads to the south. It terminated in a forest meadow. A hundred years ago, there had been a homestead known as Thistle Farm there, but no remnants remained. The meadow was a tranquil site, far removed from main roads of present day habitation.
Cynthia thought a moment. "You don't suppose she's learned something about Martha and her mother, do you? You said she knows Patsy from being a guard at Cañon City."
"I don't think it's that. It sounds more like information on Fitzgerald. She was emphatic that he not see us together. I'm going to take a chance and go." He reached for his keys.
"Do you want me to come along? There's less chance of some sort of set up if we're both there."
Dean shook his head. "I think she'd be a lot less candid with you along. Remember, she doesn't know anyone else is aware of her behavior the night Billy was killed." Cynthia reluctantly agreed and after the now-customary caution to be careful, Dean rose to leave.
Brandon Westlake met him in the hall. "I heard the phone ringing. Is there news about the girl Martha?" he asked. Dean told him she hadn't been located. When the old man tried to engage him in further conversation-this time about Pumpkin Green and the general irresponsibility of today's youth-he excused himself on an important errand and left Westlake standing in the hall.
Dean scampered out the door, tripping over a dozen "Dean for Sheriff" placards, delivered overnight by one of Fred's legion. They were awaiting distribution by tiny Tonya the entrepreneur.