"You have to admit it's strange," Cynthia Dean said. "The woman looked half frightened to death and the young boy with her never said a word. They were anything but typical tourists." She looked up at her husband from her position scotched down on the parlor floor and resumed sorting Christmas ornaments, packing them away as methodically as if she were returning them to the store.
"Besides, she signed the register as 'Edith Jones' but her credit card said 'Edith Shipton.'"
"Did the charge go through?" David Dean asked as he sat down next to her. He had been outside, atop a ladder, removing Christmas lights when the two checked in to Bird Song, the Dean's bed and breakfast.
"Yes. It was a platinum card."
"Good. That means she's got some bucks. That's all we have to be concerned about. We collect the money, the customer gets to relax, enjoy this gorgeous mountain scenery and eat your fresh blueberry muffins. End of our responsibility."
But Cynthia wouldn't let go. "If she's so rich, why did she only book one room for herself and the boy? Don't you think that's strange? He looks to be about twelve years old. And she doesn't seem the least interested in skiing or any outdoor activity."
"She's probably coming here to meet a hot date and wants privacy. Give the woman a break."
"A liaison with her son along?" Cynthia answered.
Dean rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "I'll talk to her and find out what's going on."
"No! She'll think we're nosy."
Dean looked up at Cynthia. "I'm not nosy."
She smiled. "I guess I shouldn't be snoopy either, but we've had a lot of guests in the last six months and I've never felt this uncomfortable about any of the others. It's a strange feeling something serious is troubling the woman." She hugged herself, in spite of the warmth of the cozy room.
David Dean squeezed his wife's arm and bent over to kiss her. "We're running an inn and we see a lot of different people. Some of them are bound to be a bit on the kooky side. I'm content to give them fair value for their bucks and try my best to see that they enjoy themselves. The rest of their problems aren't my concern. We'll save the mysteries for Fred to solve while we try to pay the bills."
Fred O'Connor, Dean's elderly stepfather, was an avid fan of a mystery, primarily in written form, often in his imagination and occasionally in his real life world. Fred, age seventy-six, was quick to embrace any hint of mystery and attach it to the most common everyday happening. Years of devouring that fiction genre helped formulate a world where intrigue crept around every corner for the dapper gentleman. The two had shared Dean's bachelorhood for fifteen years until Dean, an ex-Pennsylvania police detective married Cynthia Byrne seven months earlier. Dean met Cynthia while officially investigating her first husband's disappearance. The two had gradually fallen in love, married, scraped together funds, and together with Fred O'Connor, purchased a hundred-year-old Colorado Victorian home. After extensive alterations, Bird Song, a bed and breakfast, was born.