Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries)

Fred O'Connor sighed deeply. "You gotta understand. Where I lived, being twenty-one wasn't necessary. All you had to do was look twenty-one. There was a guy who'd give you the money and tell you the name of the voter you were supposed to be. Most guys were off fighting the war so there was lots of empty slots. Then you'd get on the bus or subway and go to the polling place and vote."

Cynthia laughed out loud. "Someone paid you to vote for Roosevelt?"

"Of course not! Franklin Roosevelt wasn't like that, at least when he was running for president. I got paid to vote for Patrick McGarrity for City council, but I figured as long as I was in the box, I'd give ol' FDR a boost, too."

"Democrats!" Dean grumbled, returning to his newspaper. "Didn't they question you at the polling place?" Cynthia asked. "Naw. Nobody bothered to challenge anyone. They all knew what

was going on. Besides, I was in uniform. Home on leave." "You were in World War Two?" she asked. "Don't encourage him," Dean said as he read the comics. Fred left

with a wave and Cynthia returned to Annie Quincy's notebook. Later, after Dean had performed his night-closing duties and undressed, his wife handed him the results of her latest efforts.

My monthly condition excuses me from duties today so I donned my finest dress and strolled the streets of Ouray like the lady that was once Annie Quincy. Perhaps it's my past but I am more able to do so without the infliction of scorn and ridicule poured upon the other girls of my profession by the town's less sinful inhabitants. The new Beaumont hotel was all a glitter in preparation of an affair of some high social order and there was a general excitement everywhere. But this beautiful edifice was not my destination nor were its inhabitants my social equal. Instead I ambled past the house where I am to trade a damp and soiled mattress for domestic duties when arrangements are finally made by Joshua. I passed it many times I'm abashed to say. Though I so love him and trust his every word, I can't help but tremble at even the prospect I shall at last exchange this soiled and despicable life for another. It plagues my mind that my sins will continue but so in love am I that aught else matters.

"I don't suppose it means he's marrying her," Cynthia said as she emerged from the bathroom in her flannel nightdress. "But at least he's arranging for her to give up the terrible life she's been leading."