Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries)

"Well," Fred offered, "maybe each time you get to a number, you jump that many letters ahead in the alphabet for the replacement letter."

Cynthia shook her head. "That doesn't work. There are a lot of places where numbers follow other numbers. Besides, I think we're complicating it."

"Maybe the numbers are the punctuation," Dean suggested.

"Still too complicated," Cynthia said. "Let's see what we have. How many different numbers and letters are there?" She began counting and then reached over to the end table for a pencil and paper.

"If it is some form of code, it must have been the devil to write," Dean said but before his wife could answer, there was a noise on the stairs.

They all looked up as Edith Shipton tentatively entered the room, dressed in Annie Quincy's antique dress. She smiled. Cynthia set aside the notebook and papers and rose. Everyone followed suit, as if welcoming royalty into the warm and ancient parlor. Donnie ran up to his mother and gave her a hug.

"You look beautiful," Cynthia said as the others nodded in agreement.

The white dress scarcely touched the tops of her bare feet and fitted her perfectly. She had pulled her long auburn hair high on her head, making her appear taller and almost regal in spite of the simple lines of the garment, and the plainness of her features.

"Annie Quincy, born again," Fred said.

"I almost feel I'm she," Edith said, sounding embarrassed by her admission. "That was her name, Annie? I close my eyes and it's as if she's who I am. I'm Annie, standing in my parlor, a hundred years ago." She looked down at her son, as if just now noticing his presence. "Go up to bed now, Donnie. I put on the dress for you, just as you asked." She bent down, kissed him, and gave him a pat on his behind. He hesitated, but then followed her orders and scrambled up the stairs. Edith stood there, neither following her son, nor making any move to enter further into the room. "I guess that's a fib. I didn't just put the dress on for Donnie. I wanted wear it."

"I'm pleased you did. It looks lovely on you," Cynthia said as she returned to the sofa.

"You'll have to model it for them ancestor ladies when they come tomorrow," Fred said. Edith just smiled.

"Come," Cynthia said, motioning to the sofa seat next to her as Dean and Fred took chairs. "Sit with us a while."

Edith hesitated, as if embarrassed but then sat next to Cynthia Dean, adjusting the dress behind her. "Look at me," she said. "I'm like some poor farm girl, barefoot as the day I was born."