"I'm sorry," Dean replied. "We've got a full house. With the ice festival, things are pretty busy." The man looked annoyed as much as disappointed.
"Can't you move someone around-double them up? I'll pay for any inconvenience."
"Sorry. But I'm sure there are some other places in town. Do you want me to call around for you?" Dean offered, in spite of being a bit peeved at the man's abruptness.
"No. I want to stay here." Just then, Edith Shipton came down the stairs. She had reached the hall before she turned and saw the tall man standing in the doorway. "Hello, Edith," he said in a chilling voice. Edith Shipton's jaw dropped and a panicked look spread across her white face. She wilted to a heap and fell to the floor.
Dean rushed to her side, just as Donald Ryland came out of his room, in time to catch a glance at the departing man who turned and strolled down the stairs to the street.
"That bastard!" He exclaimed. "That was Shipton!"
With Fred's help, and two of the returning guests, the group revived Edith. She seemed bewildered with her surroundings and very weak. Ryland suggested they carry her to his first floor room instead of trying to maneuver her upstairs. After Cynthia came out and administered a cold face cloth, Edith seemed somewhat better, enough to decline medical attention, though she remained disoriented even after reaching Ryland's small quarters.
A batch of muffins burned in the process but things began to return to normal after Ryland indicated Edith was feeling better and had apologized for her actions. Dean called Sheriff Weller, concerned that Jerome Shipton would further disrupt Bird Song but Weller could offer little help.
"Shipton may be sleaze of the year, but until he does something illegal, there isn't anything the law can do. Tell his ditzy wife that if she won't do anything to keep the bastard away, we sure can't."
Dean considered calling the City of Ouray Police but realized they too could be of little help unless Shipton did something against the law.
It was after ten by the time the kitchen chores were finished and the place cleaned up, sort of. Fred had left a half hour earlier, to see Miss Worthington, about some business, or so he claimed. Dean retired to his quarters, bearing a warm muffin that Cynthia sampled with an approving nod. He related his conversation with the sheriff as she continued to work on the notebook. Both agreed they hadn't seen the last of Jerome Shipton.
Dean began getting ready for bed; the day's skiing had taken its toll. Cynthia, who was sitting up in bed, continued to work on the notebook.