"We've got plenty of food," Dean said. He turned to Fred as he began dishing it up. "Set another plate." He pocketed the twenty dollars.
The four ate with gusto and animated conversation, led by Fred O'Connor, who won the contest of sucking up the longest spaghetti strand without dribbling oil on his chin. He even managed to coerce the children into doing the dishes. After the chores were finished, the group emigrated to the parlor for a game of Scrabble.
Gladys waddled downstairs, strung in more beads than the draped back room doorway of a Turkish dope den. She 'ta-ta'ed a greeting, and was off to dinner. The Quincy sisters strolled by moments later, arm in arm. Effie smiled and Claire snarled. Dean wondered how Effie would accept the final chapter of Annie's diary, once he had a chance to share it with her as Cynthia had promised. He wondered, too, about the sister's relationship, so close in some respects and so distant in others. Effie the realist, Claire, her head in self-made dreams of a pretend ancestor, as make-believe as Gladys Turnbull's creatures from Draghow and Zzz.
Donnie won the first game with "cant" which Dean questioned, unsuccessfully, assuming the boy meant the more common version, "can't," which was unacceptable. It was never clear if that was the case and the kid lucked out, but Dean used the excuse of mock consternation to excuse himself and walk uptown to telephone Cynthia.
As he strolled away from Bird Song, Corday pulled up in front. He didn't notice Dean, who continued walking. The night had cooled but it remained winter-pleasant as Dean sauntered into a Main Street bar. While he knew he'd have to speak to Corday sooner or later, he hoped to first learn the reason for his wife's reticence about discussing the ice park fall. Was she perhaps, as he had speculated, covering for young Donnie Ryland?
Once again, the phone rang unanswered at the Indiana location. Dean spent the next hour nursing two beers and telephoned again, still without success. As he was about to leave, Corday entered the dimly lit establishment. He spotted Dean at once and joined him on the next stool.
"Down here to call the little woman?" Corday asked.
"Down here to have a couple of beers," he answered. "And get away from the pressure of the hotel business."
"I'll bet. I want her address. Now." He waved for a beer.
"Drinking on duty, Officer?" Dean asked, a decibel louder than necessary, causing a head-turn or two.
"Now."
Dean looked directly at him. "Do you know the exact street address of your mother-in-law?"