When Dean shook his head and wondered aloud why Westlake, who obviously wasn't poor, would mess around with five and ten-dollar items, Fred explained. "You don't go fishing 'cause it's Friday and there's nothing for supper. It's a game, like a treasure hunt. Once you've got the bug, you'd no more pass up a good bargain than a cold beer on a hot day."

Dean didn't welcome the analogy; the reminder of beer, free flowing at that. Now that his diet had begun, wouldn't you know, Paul Dawkins had sprung for a case. To get away from the temptation and bring Cynthia up to date, he left the festive group of plunderers and joined his wife in their room. But escape wasn't that simple. The window was open to the summer evening and the bottle-opening revelers could be heard clearly as he sat on their bed.

Dean had just finished telling Cynthia the bone was human when Fred knocked and entered. Dean couldn't think of any reason not to confirm its authenticity to the old man and did so. Fred examined the small bone and handed it back to Cynthia who gingerly dropped it into a small crystal jewelry box on her bureau.

"I don't think I want to stare at someone's finger while I'm putting on my makeup," she said with a shudder.

No one had a suggestion for the next step, but Fred was determined to continue to research the ownership of the severed digit.

"I got special permission to spend some time at the library tonight," he said. "I'll read all the old newspapers from the summer and fall of 1961." Then he added, "I bumped into your opponent this afternoon. He stopped by the auction-kinda waved, like he was campaigning-but he didn't buy anything."

"He's no competition," Cynthia said with confidence. "You're a shoe-in, David. Fitzgerald's a carpetbagger. At least you live here in Ouray and have a business, even if Bird Song is only a year old."

"Fitzgerald is a local, too," Fred answered. They looked at him, surprised. "At least he was, years ago, and he's moved back here. I guess that makes him a resident. Moved into his father's old house. Seems it's been rented for years. His old man was a miner and lived in Ouray when Fitzgerald was a kid-a snot-nosed bully, I suspect."

"Was Fitzgerald's fly open when you saw him?" Dean asked cattily. He explained his aborted visit to Lydia Larkin and watching as she embraced her boss.

"Our temporary sheriff is getting more interesting," Fred said.

Dean, in hopes of prying some Dawkins v. Dawkins information from Fred, told them of meeting with Ginger's lawyer friend, Dickinson Faust, at the Beaumont Hotel.




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