"How did you get her in school?" asked Fred, the detail man.
"I guess I fibbed. But she's there now. Wouldn't seem right to change her, would it?"
"Mrs. Dean and I will have to discuss this," Dean said.
"She already said yes," Janet answered, gesturing toward Cynthia as if to say, the boss has spoken, mind your own business. She turned and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Damn head cold. Been sneezing all day. I'll be glad to be inside."
Dean turned to Cynthia who tried to busy herself picking up snack dishes from Fred's evening refreshments. He was at a loss for words. Janet, no whiz-kid, at least knew a good exit line and was out the door in a blink.
"Are you going to send me back to Indiana?" Cynthia smiled as soon as the three were alone. "I'm home five minutes and I'm getting you in trouble already."
Dean plumped down on the sofa. "Don't get me wrong-I like little Martha. She's a sweet child who deserves much more than she's ever gotten. But sixty days! And God knows what lies Janet told the school to get her in!"
"That sort of answers the home schooling bit she was trying to pull before you had Jake Weller force the issue," Fred said. "She probably tried to get Martha in class but couldn't come up with the right paper work."
"So now it's our problem," Dean muttered, and then speculated, "I wonder what Janet did to get sixty days."
"Something to do with checks," Fred said. They both looked at him. "Miss Worthington called from the islands." Then, as if explaining her long distance telephone expenditure added, "She got a free phone card for listening to a time share pitch."
"How come your senior citizen girlfriend knows our employee is going to jail when she's three thousand miles away and we don't get word until they're ready to slam the cell door?" Dean asked. Fred just shrugged. "To boot, now we've lost our only outside help."
"Don't need any help if the place stays empty," Fred reminded him. "Janet will be out of the slammer before spring."
"Martha will take your mind off everything that's happened the past few days," Cynthia called over her shoulder as she strolled toward the kitchen.
"We don't have a spare room," Dean protested.
"Look around. Spare rooms are about all we've got!" Fred said.
Martha, who couldn't have run that fast from her trailer if she did have a decent pair of sneakers-which she didn't-was at the door, pulling a sled upon which was piled a bundle far smaller than any ten-year-old's belongings ought to represent.