"Let's all sign it," Cynthia said when she'd finished, and each added a signature.
The young college-aged waitress inserted the tack, placed a quarter beneath it for weight and sounded a horn to call attention. With a swift motion, she sent the combination skyward where tack and bill joined the hundreds of others while she deftly caught the falling quarter to the cheers of the dinners. At year's end, the bills, totaling a substantial amount, would be culled and donated to charity. But the brief exercise failed to dispel the glumness for more than a few moments.
Dean chalked it up to the obvious-Martha's leaving-but even Fred, who could cheer up a wake in normal times, was not his usual self. Cynthia tried, but she was so incredibly honest in every aspect of life it was nearly impossible for her to act anything but as miserable as she felt. While the Deans were pleased that Martha had confided in them about her gruesome discovery, her pending exit remained an ever-present pall that hung over the remainder of the evening like a chilly fog. It wasn't a topic anyone wanted to broach-after all, this was supposed to be a cheery farewell dinner.
In a last ditch effort to get a rise out of sullen Fred, Dean related Martha's story about the mine and her discovery of the skeleton. He had delayed mentioning the subject, knowing the old man, who devoured crime in the printed form and imagined it everywhere else, would stomp all over this real dilemma like a peasant in a wine vat. Dean was hoping to at least finish his salsa before having to stop Fred from dashing up the mountain to single-handedly solve the caper. But the old man surprised him with a subdued reaction. Fred, who could find a mystery in a grilled cheese sandwich, hardly stirred. He politely applauded Martha's bravery and pontificated a bit about the dangers of investigating abandoned mines, but the expected sparkle wasn't there. He didn't even prattle on about some alleged personal experiences in a diamond mine in Africa, a search for gold or other such nonsense he was expected to resurrect or invent.
Martha smiled at Fred's compliments but added, "I know I shouldn't have gone in there. I figured everybody would be really mad and I'd get a beating for sure."
"Just don't even think of doing anything like that again, young lady," Cynthia said, giving Martha's hand a pat.
"I sure would have gotten it when I was your age," Fred said. "My old man beat me like a tom-tom at an Indian dance and he didn't need that much of an excuse." He added, "Especially on Saturdays. That was two for one night at McGinchy's tavern."