"I'd better get back to Bird Song in case he shows up," Dean said.
"I'll come on over as soon as I'm finished with the attorneys. I can referee!" Then Franny added, "It'll be strange going back there. God, it was a terrible night. I'll never forget it. Me standing there half naked, Gladys screaming her fool head off, Edith's body hanging in the middle of the room...." She gave a shiver.
Dean patted her arm. "Forget the Shiptons. You've got a whole life ahead of you." His words seemed to perk up Franny.
She smiled. "You're right. I've got too much going for me right now to be thinking about those jerks. And look," she added, "No butts! I listened to your advice. I haven't smoked since I decided not to kill Donald Ryland and let him marry me! It's pushing three weeks now and I hardly ever get the shakes anymore."
"No more midnight trips out in the snow?"
"God! I was bad, wasn't I?"
Dean climbed from her car and she was off with a wave. At least something good had come out of Edith Shipton's ill-fated stay at Bird Song. It looked like young Donnie had a chance at life, in a home where love was in residence, instead of hatred and desperation. And smoke-free to boot!
Dean was several miles north of Ridgway, fifteen miles from Ouray. Later, thinking back, he realized it was on that one-hour bike trip the first few seeds of comprehension began to sprout something besides weeds in the garden of his mind. No, the events of two weeks past didn't make total sense, at least not yet, but Dean was suddenly interested, not in avoiding Jerome Shipton, but asking him some important questions.
As Dean peddled up to Bird Song, he saw no unfamiliar cars. It was Martha who met him when he opened the front door.
"You're not alone, are you?" he asked, the concern showing in is voice.
The young girl explained Cynthia had just left for Duckett's Market to pick up a few items but Fred was up in his room, working on his computer. Shipton had come and gone. Cynthia had spotted him coming up the walk, Martha explained, and managed to remain out of sight while Fred helped Shipton lug down the belongings.
"He had some lady in the car," Martha said, just as Fred O'Connor tromped down the stairs and joined them.
"You wouldn't have recognized Shipton," the old man said with a smile. "He was as sweet as peach pie in August-shook my hand like a Sunday preacher. He even dropped off their room key and apologized all over for keeping it for two weeks and sticking us with storing all his junk."