Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries)

Fred telephoned from the library that he would not be back for dinner, instead no doubt tasting some widow's fare. Cynthia cooked something quick and Italian for dinner, small white things that looked as they would suddenly explode into butterflies, given sufficient time. Dean doused them in enough Parmesan cheese that they looked like Mount Abrams in February. It somewhat squelched the taste, enough so they were palatable.

"David," Cynthia said, stretching out the name as she saw him masticating longer than was necessary for normal digestion.

"So I like cheese," he answered, and then added, "it's really good."

The other houseguests had left earlier and separately after asking directions to one of the few winter restaurants that remained open in Ouray. The Deans dallied over the dishes and then took a slow stroll around town, stopping at the Western Hotel a few blocks away. There they each drank a glass of Fat Tire Ale. The couple was back in Bird Song by seven o'clock.

As the Deans entered the hall Gladys Turnbull was waddling up the stairs. She looked back and with a finger wave of two chubby digits and called, "Nighty-night. Time to visit the planet Draghow!" Dean just shook his head and smiled.

"I think she likes you," Cynthia said.

"That's all I need," Dean grumbled, "an intergalactic affair."

Fred had returned and was seated in the parlor with the Quincy letters and the rest of his acquired paraphernalia spread out before him on the coffee table. He was talking to Edith Shipton who was nodding and biting her fingernails, when she wasn't wringing her hands. Dean couldn't recall the last time he'd seen someone so nervous and obviously uncomfortable. Donnie sat close to his mother doing a Denver Post crossword puzzle. A fire blazed away in the cozy room. Edith was dressed in a sweat suit, though the descriptive name appeared to be a misnomer in her case. It wasn't designed to absorb perspiration and probably cost twice the price of a David Dean suit, at least the last time he'd purchased one. Donnie was in pajamas.

"This boy is a whiz at puzzles," Fred said as the Deans joined the group. Donnie gave a nervous smile.

"Are you on school vacation?" Cynthia asked as she looked over his shoulder at his work.

The boy looked at his mother for an answer.

"No," Edith answered. "He doesn't go." Then she added, almost to herself, "I'll have to make some arrangements. Perhaps a tutor."

"Then you'll be away from home for a while?" Dean asked. The question seemed to bewilder the woman. She bit her lip but didn't answer, causing an uncomfortable silence. She started to rise but her son tugged her down, indicating he wanted to remain.