Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries)

Fred O'Connor changed the subject. "I was telling Mrs. Edith about these here letters and how the two ladies from Boston will be coming to Bird Song. They called back and will be here tomorrow afternoon. Just think, great-grand-nieces of the woman who wrote these here letters to Ouray a hundred years ago." Edith smiled, and in Dean's judgment feigned interest, but she made no further move to leave the room.

Cynthia rose. "I forgot about Annie's clothes. They're still outside drying." She hurried from the room.

"How did you make out at the library?" Dean asked Fred. "Did you locate the Reverend Martin and his wife?"

"You bet," Fred answered, pleased with himself. "They were quite a couple. He had a church here for ten years or so and his wife Anne was 'a well-respected lady of social importance,' at least according to a newspaper article I found, and a paragraph in the local history. 'Course I haven't had time to do any really in depth searching, at least yet. Me and Miss Worthington are going to do a real study tomorrow. Miss Worthington's a big mucky-muck in the historical society," he said, for Edith Shipton's benefit.

Dean picked up one of the letters, glanced at it, and put it down. "Too bad we don't have the Ouray woman's side of this correspondence. Her sister in Boston wasn't very talkative."

A sharp ring from the hall telephone interrupted him. As he rose to answer it, he couldn't help noticing Edith Shipton's alarmed reaction to the ring. She looked petrified. When Dean returned after confirming a reservation from yet another ice climber, she sat huddled in the corner of the sofa.

Cynthia followed her husband into the room, holding the Annie Quincy dress in front of her, with a bundle of under garments beneath her arm. The clothes looked far brighter after their first washing in a century.

"This is the dress that came with the letters," she explained to Edith.

"That's nice," Edith answered unconvincingly as she rose to leave.

Cynthia dropped the bundle on the sofa and held the dress up in front of the woman. "It looks as if it fits you. I'm far too short myself or I'd try it on."

Edith Shipton took the garment and held it against herself. The dress was full length, rather plain, with a high collar. Cynthia had ironed it and the dress looked quite appealing in spite of its hundred-year age.

"Yes," Edith answered. "It's about my size." For the first time since she'd arrived, Edith Shipton had a peaceful look on her face. "What was she like?" she asked. "Was she a happy woman?"