They were all gathered, either in Edith's room or nearby in the hall-Corday, Fitzgerald and a number of uniforms who seemed to come and go. Even Sheriff Jake Weller was there, and the city police chief and, in various costumes of night-wear, Fred, the Quincy sisters and Gladys Turnbull who'd let out a banshee scream that woke everyone but poor Edith Shipton, who'd never wake again. Her body had been cut free and moved to the downstairs to await a hearse from Montrose. Sheet-covered, her remains lay in Dean's office, only feet from where she had lain naked against him so short a time before.
Only Ryland and Franny were missing from the scene. Together they had hurried to Janet O'Brien's trailer in hopes of catching Donnie before he wandered unexpectedly into the macabre turmoil his mother had caused in her violent exit from life. Franny had been first on the scene behind Dean, dressed only in panties, her arms covering her tiny breasts, shivering as much at the sight as the chill of the early winter morning. The others followed quickly. Dean had a memory of Fred draping a flannel shirt over Franny's bare shoulders, though no recollection of the order of arrival or any real details of what followed.
Dean was a wreck. He still wore only pajama bottoms and couldn't even remember who'd dialed 911 to summon the troops. All he knew now was his bare feet were cold, standing on the hard wood floor at the perimeter of the carpet in the death room. He moved closer to the center, where Edith had died. The suspended cord brushed his shoulder and he could close his eyes and still see the protruding tongue, the open, frightened eyes, a body stiff and absent of life. Others had tried to administer to her but he knew it was pointless and turned away. He could no longer look at the two crumpled bills on the bed, the stark reminder of her fury when he'd sent her away.
Corday stared at Dean as if he were something on his shoe, utter disgust written on his unshaven face. For a long time he didn't say a word. Then he turned to the assembled spectators. "Scat," he ordered, and the Bird Song occupants all slowly complied-all but Fred O'Connor who defiantly sat on the bed, taking notes.
It was Fitzgerald who spoke. "Maybe we should check the body for semen," he said, smirking at Dean.
Dean spoke for the first time since the investigators arrived. "Go ahead," he muttered.
Corday turned away, steaming. "You know what I think, Dean? I think your wife caught you two together and took off. That's why you don't want us contacting her. Then you ditched your new honey and she's stupid enough to think that's a big loss and goes and hangs herself."