Dean had no more than hung up from yet another unsuccessful telephone try when the phone rang.
"Hi," said a subdued voice he nearly didn't recognize. It was Cynthia. "Come get me?"
"Where?" he answered anxiously.
"Montrose."
"I'll be right there!"
"Hurry," Cynthia answered and hung up.
Dean had all he could do to maintain reasonable proximity to the speed limit after letting Fred know where he was going. The usual forty-five minute trip took little more than a half hour. Cynthia stood at the airport curb, her suitcase by her side. They stood there together, holding each other, with her head against his chest, saying nothing, for what seemed like minutes. When she looked up at him, she was crying.
"Welcome back," was all he could say, grossly inappropriate for how strongly he'd felt her absence.
"I missed you too much not to come home."
Cynthia's mother was recovering nicely. The long-term prognosis looked good and arrangements made for a friend to stay with her during her convalescence. Cynthia's son Randy was on his way back to college. Neither mentioned the late night phone call during Edith's nocturnal visit nor Cynthia's sudden, unannounced return. They began the drive back to Ouray with Cynthia snuggled against him.
It was Dean's turn to talk. "A lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours," he began. "Edith Shipton is dead." He could feel her tense against him as he explained in detail the late night suicide and the termination of the police investigation. She was shocked and disturbed by his announcement but said little, allowing him to describe the happenings without interruption. He delayed mentioning Edith's visit to his room as if that encounter deserved its own time and chapter in this bizarre scenario.
"It was Edith who tried to kill her husband?" She sounded surprised.
"That's what the police believe," Dean answered, surprising himself with so qualified an answer. Cynthia didn't press him on the point but continued to act very nervous. "They didn't say anything about still wanting to talk to you." He could feel her sense of relief.
Dean explained how Annie Quincy too had ended her life, in a carbon copy fashion, with Edith mimicking the century-old life to its final extreme. He quoted from memory, verbatim, Annie's final passage. Cynthia grimaced but seemed to understand. He glimpsed the sparkle of a tear in the flash of on-coming headlights.
When they arrived in Ouray there was a mutual understanding all that lay between them had not been discussed. Nor had Cynthia eaten dinner so they stopped at The Buen Tiempo. The Main Street Mexican restaurant was uncrowded on this winter evening.