"If Fred's apprehension over his finger prints has any basis in fact, it may be too late."
"Do you think we should really be worried?"
"No. Not really. I did run the prints and there was no hit. It doesn't make sense that that would change. But Fred's concern tends to be contagious."
Cynthia sighed. "I don't know if I can wait until you beat Fitzgerald in the election." Dean couldn't agree more.
Their conversation was interrupted by a tapping at the back door. After it was repeated, Dean answered it to find Lydia Larkin. She had changed into a halter and shorts and brushed past him without a word. There was a pack of cigarettes and matches in her cleavage. Looking around, she spotted his office and went in, uninvited. Dean and his wife followed as he introduced the women. Lydia did all but ignore Cynthia who in turn was equally cool to the visitor.
"I don't have much time. Fitzgerald's giving a deposition in his office, but that won't take long."
"Lydia, I don't like this sneaking around business," Dean said.
She ignored him. "He'll let the old guy out tomorrow morning. He's just busting you over it-showing he's in control-of all of us." She pulled up a chair and the Deans took seats across from her.
"Fred ought to sue him for false arrest," Cynthia said. Lydia just glanced at her blankly and turned her attention to Dean.
"Give me another hour and go see Fitzgerald, in his cruiser. By then he'll be finishing a late lunch at the Timberline-the deli on Main Street."
"Why?"
"I want to try something-I need him to be occupied."
"Look, Lydia. Let's cut out this spy stuff and talk about the real world. Fitzgerald-"
"Go along with me. This is important." She popped open her halter, nearly spilling the contents, and took out her cigarettes, but didn't light one. "God, I need a cigarette! Look at me-two months ago I ran a half-marathon and now I'm smoking!"
Dean looked at Cynthia but she remained silent. He took a deep breath. "I'll go to the deli when he's having lunch. I want to talk to him anyway."
"No!" She said it sharply. "In his vehicle. It has to be in his vehicle."
"Why?" he asked again.
Lydia put her hand on his knee, as if Cynthia were not in the room. "Trust me," she said, reminiscent of her demeanor when they'd been alone.
Cynthia had had enough and rose, a familiar blazing look in her eyes. Before she could say a word, Lydia too stood up and looked down on Cynthia, who was ten inches shorter. "How would you like working with a slug who couldn't keep his hands off your boobs every time no one was looking and grabbed your ass whenever he damned well pleased? That's what I'm putting up with! I'm going to put a stop to it." She continued to stare at Cynthia, but her conversation was directed at Dean. "Now all I want from you is a little favor-keep the bastard busy for ten or fifteen minutes. That's all." She looked at her watch. "At two o'clock." She turned and left before either Dean could respond, lighting her cigarette as she went.