The second call was Mayer. As soon as Dean heard the name, he took the phone from Randy. He identified himself, and told Mayer everything was under control and he needn't worry. Mayer responded he was leaving to play golf but would call again when he returned. Not necessary, Dean said. He'd personally call Mayer's wife and pass on her husband's deep and frequent concern for Cynthia's well being as well as any news he heard. He hung up before Mayer could protest. Dean caught Randy smiling as he turned from the phone but pretended not to notice.
By 3:00, both had run out of conversation. The ball game was a lapper and Dean began to pick over a stack of magazines in a rack by the sofa. After flipping through a Ladies' Home Journal and reading the jokes in a Reader's Digest, he dug deeper into the pile. It contained mostly women's magazines and catalogs but one periodical caught his attention. It was a bicycling magazine-one to which Dean subscribed.
"My dad brought it home from a business trip. I guess he was thinking about biking again," Randy commented.
Before Dean could reply, the telephone rang for the third time, with a shrillness that startled them both. Randy caught it before the second ring.
"Where are you?" Randy shouted as soon as he heard the voice on the other end. "I was really worried." He listened for a few moments with Dean standing by the doorway as the boy's mother talked.
"I know. I know. As long as you're okay..." More silence from Randy's end and then, "Mr. Dean's here. Yes, here in the house." After a few seconds he handed the detective the telephone.
"Are you all right?"
Her voice sounded calm but firm, a hint of coldness he'd not heard before. She evaded the direct question. "I needed some time to myself."
Dean felt like an intruder again. "I didn't mean to butt in and run over here but Randy was worried and...."
"I could hear it in his voice," she answered. "I shouldn't have left like that. It was a rash thing to do."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked cautiously. The silence that followed stretched far longer than Dean would have liked.
"Yes. Maybe you can. There are some questions I have to ask you." More silence, then, "Will you have dinner with me?"
"Of course. Where are you?"
Once again, she didn't answer directly but described a well-known seafood restaurant on the New Jersey shore, at least two hours from Parkside. "I'm sure it will be mobbed for the holiday weekend but if we have to wait, I'll be in the bar. I'll make a reservation for 7:00." Then she added, "That way, it'll be early enough for you to drive back to Parkside."