Dean was in front of Bird Song, trying to mow the lawn, still blanketed with the moisture of the now-ended drizzle when he remembered his promise to pick up Pumpkin Green and whoever else needed chauffeuring from the pool. As he was about to leave, Brandon Westlake returned with Cynthia and, being sympathetic to his labors, volunteered to ferry the returning swimmers back to Bird Song. As he motored away in his ancient Scout, Cynthia enthusiastically described her outing as she followed her husband and his man-powered mower. She couldn't wait to further test her newfound skills, especially when the sunshine presented the wild flowers in their most colorful costumes. The two mused over capturing a free half-day to hike the alpine meadows. Dean felt satisfaction that his wife's dark mood had improved, but Martha's departure remained on her mind. She stopped to catch her breath and placed her hand on his arm.

"I keep looking up, expecting to see her standing there. She didn't call, did she?"

Dean shook his head no. They had given Martha a telephone card and asked she contact them as soon and as often as she could. "She's hardly had time to reach Denver," he answered, glancing at his watch. "It's a good six hours away and that's only as long as she's been gone."

"It seems more like days than hours."

Dinner was a quiet affair, cooked by the returning Fred O'Connor-hamburgers, a tad over-broiled, but the Deans appreciated the effort as they were busy with Bird Song's other chores. Dean brought Fred and Cynthia up to date on his strained meeting with the new acting sheriff and Fitzgerald's reluctant agreement to check out the skeleton-Martha's bones, as the mine-hidden discovery was now named. Fred displayed a tad more interest in the mysterious find than the prior evening. He even produced a notebook, a sure sign of expanding curiosity. However, Dean sensed there remained concern about his upcoming jury duties.

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When the meal ended and the dishes were put to bed, the three withdrew to the parlor, now empty of guests who were either dining uptown or waiting in line to do so. Dean grabbed a bottle of inexpensive merlot and three glasses. He stopped Fred when the old man began to excuse himself.

"Sit. Have a drink," Dean said as he filled Fred's glass to the top and handed it to him. Cynthia gave her husband a cautious glance.

"What, are you trying to get me drunk?" Fred asked.

Mind reader, Dean thought, remembering his conversation with Cynthia. "Naw," he answered. "Just trying to get you mellow enough to tell me why you've got a bug up your behind. What's the problem with this jury business?"




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