"I really ought to go down to the jail and visit with the old guy. I haven't even told him that Fitzgerald plans to release him tomorrow." He rose to leave and then added, "Whatever the age of that skeleton, the facts still remain that someone swapped the bones, someone stole the finger and 'metalman29' was offering an inflated price for the mine. As I said before, back to the drawing board."

Dean biked to the jail in the failing light of the July evening. When he stepped inside the ancient building, he was surprised to see Fred was engaged in a robust game of pinochle with the jail matron in the outside office.

"You call this hard time?" Dean asked.

"You betcha," Fred replied. "I'm down sixty cents."

"Where's the ogre?" Dean asked, drawing a smile from the matronly jailer.

"Ain't nobody around except me and this charming young lady," Fred replied. Dean detected a hint of a blush from his card-playing partner. "Both Fitzgerald and the redhead are AWOL- been gone since before lunch. Me and my friend here would have gone out dancing 'cept she has to mind the phone."

"You'd better hurry if you want to win your money back," Dean said. "Fitzgerald told me he's going to spring you tomorrow morning."

"Right neighborly of the jerk," Fred grumbled. "It's about time."

"I ought to be making a better impression on my future boss," the woman said as she winked, rose, and turned to Fred. "Back in your cell. Party time is over." Fred gave the woman a petulant little boy look but then smiled and patted her arm.

"You're just afraid I'll clean out your pocket book, given enough time."

Both men were just as happy to have the quiet of the jail cell so they could talk in private. When told Patsy Boyd was traveling alone, Fred nodded with a knowing smile. Dean didn't press the old man for whatever he knew nor did Fred offer any information. When he told Fred of Jennifer Radisson's revelation concerning Josh Mulligan, his stepfather's response was far more animated.

"Dad gum! That's what we get for jumping to conclusions! Now we don't know diddly about Martha's bones. She's gonna be as disappointed as a Red Sox fan in September." He withdrew a note pad, licked his pencil, and scrunched up his eyes in deep concentration. Dean then told Fred of Lydia Larkin's clever set up of Fitzgerald.

The old man looked concerned. "Ain't neither of 'em been around here all afternoon and they were scheduled for duty. I hope that gal's all right. He's a mighty nasty fellow and if he was as mad as you say, I wouldn't put it past him to hurt her. If he thinks she has him trapped, he'll be a rat in a cheese house with a craw full of cheddar, snarling and biting to get out."




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