"What would lead them to suspect that? We don't know what Bird Song was at the turn of the century, just that there was a building or some sort on this site. You said so yourself when you checked the old records. The deeds tell you who owned the place, but not what use they made of the property."
"Son, Annie Quincy lived in a boarding house. This here was a boarding house, at least at one time in the past. Miss Worthington said she remembers it from when she was a girl."
"Miss Worthington was a girl in the nineteen-forties! In the eighteen-nineties Ouray had three thousand people living in town, three or four times as many as today. Even if Bird Song was a boarding house, there must have been scores of lodging places just like it."
"I never told the ladies for sure the gal lived here. They just got all excited and had me hold a couple of rooms. I wasn't about to talk them out of it. You were just belly-aching, crying poor-mouth that we were knee deep in a slow period."
"Not next week! We've practically got a full house of ice climbers starting in a couple of days," Dean answered.
"Well, now we're even closer to having a full house." Fred wiped his mouth and rose. "And I've got some research to do down at the library. I've got to bone up on the Reverend Martin and his little woman."
"I just hope these Boston ladies don't think this box of yours has some truly valuable items in it," Cynthia said. "At least let me see if I can clean up some of the things. Perhaps I can get the smell out of that old dress."
While Cynthia was off with Fred sorting his treasure box, Dean remained in the kitchen washing up the dishes. Just as he was finishing, the doorbell chimed. A red haired woman he guessed to be somewhere between thirty and sixty stood between two gigantic suitcases. Her brilliant hair topped a freckled face and mile-wide smile. Fred O'Connor's gifted powers of telephone telepathy remained intact. Gladys Turnbull wasn't just fat, she was immense.
"Hi," she said in a high pitched voice just as a loud ringing sound came from her luggage. "Damn!" she exclaimed. "It did that in the airport, too." She sat on one suitcase, nearly bending it in two while unlatching the other until it exploded open, scattering contents about the porch. The woman rummaged through the colorful attire in a frenzy until she retrieved and turned off a large old fashioned alarm clock. Dean's offer to help was dismissed as he looked up and down the street hoping no neighbors were witnessing the growing pile of ample sized clothes. When garb and miscellany were re-packed, sort of, the two struggled indoors amid greetings and apologies just as Fred and Cynthia entered the hall.