"We're out of luck asking Fred for any research help, too."
"I don't see the harm in Fred trying to find out whose bones Martha found. Surely that doesn't have anything to do with whatever the court fight is about."
They paused on the front porch, taking off their boots and shaking their clothes in the afternoon sun. "I'd love to know who the other Dawkins of Dawkins v. Dawkins is," Dean said.
"'Gold-digger bitch' sounds like a woman involved with the Dawkinses' father. If the name is 'Dawkins,' my guess is she's a stepmother."
Dean thought a moment before answering. "It's hard to say there's no connection with the bones until we're sure there is a third Dawkins, who he or she is, and what the suit is all about. I don't want to see Fred get in trouble with the judge. He was worried enough when he didn't have anything to worry about."
Cynthia read his mind. "Finding out about the bones because we promised Martha is one thing, but snooping into our guest's legal matters falls into the none-of-our-business category, doesn't it?"
"How do I know the two matters aren't tied together unless I poke a bit?" While Cynthia didn't answer, her eyes told him if he did poke around, he'd better not get himself in deep do-do doing it.
Dean considered his poking options as he used half a cake of soap to scrub away the stink of the mine. Finding another Dawkins in one of Ouray's dozen or two lodging places shouldn't be much trouble for an ace detective-almost sheriff. Presumably, his wife was correct and "bitch" referred to a woman. While Cynthia took her shower, Dean made a few phone calls, asking for Ms. Dawkins, but after a dozen tries, he came up empty. He was beginning to doubt his superlative detecting skills when it dawned on him that she might be using a maiden name. He was hanging up the phone when Cynthia emerged from the shower, pink and sweet smelling. One look told her he'd been up to no good.
"Don't tell me about it," she said. "Just fix us some supper instead of goggling at a naked woman and getting all tingly when we don't have time."
Fred was in the kitchen peeling an orange. Dean could tell his stepfather's curiosity was at a peak. He was dying to know what happened up at the Lucky Pup. In spite of his customary grumbling to the contrary, Dean felt an unusual void in not sharing his findings with his stepfather.
"Ready for a little confab," Fred said with eagerness in his voice.