Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries)

Dean allowed Gladys to devour a platoon-size breakfast while he delayed bringing up the awkward question of the late-night alarm. All the time she was eating, Gladys prattled on about her magnificent dreams of the snow-covered landscape of faraway planets and the lustful urges of their alien inhabitants. Edith Shipton sat nearby, long finished with her meal, oblivious to Gladys' tales. She rose, and to Dean's surprise, went to the hall telephone. As soon as Dean was alone with Gladys, between her second and third helping of Cynthia's pancakes, he broached the subject of the annoying alarm.

Gladys must have thought most of the world was deaf as she was quite surprised when Dean politely scolded her. Gladys was contrite, promising to "not take sleeping pills" so she would wake more quickly. She was sorry that nice Mr. O'Connor was disturbed. She would apologize to him personally and in the future at least place the alarm under a pillow so only she would hear it.

"I have to bop into town anyway. With all the writing I'm doing, I need more paper!" She added, "Perhaps I'll find one of those clocks that just flashes lights! I'll think it's Belfair's space car and wake up at once and not disturb a soul!"

Dean's morning had been filled with enough ghosts, dreams and galactic sex to last a lifetime and he excused himself. He kissed Cynthia good-bye and strolled the sun-lit streets the short distance to Sheriff Jake Weller's office behind the courthouse.

It was a beautiful day and the town seemed to be enjoying it. Dean smiled at neighbors as they brushed last night's snow from cars and walkways and went about their lives. Metal roofs, designed to slip the snow, were a common sight in Ouray. They dripped streams of water as soon as the sun began its business, the remaining moisture forming dragon-teeth icicles as soon as the cold air touched the droplets.

Storefronts facing south were opening their doors to the summer-warm sun in spite of the temperature still hovering in the twenties. Mountain winters were always a surprise to lowlanders and easterners, where the chemistry of moisture played games that produced slush and wet snow, not the sparkling crystals so soft a broom could clear a foot-deep snowfall with a few swishes. Dean chatted with a number of the merchants of the few still-open businesses he passed.

The sheriff sat with his six-foot four-inch frame wedged behind his ancient desk, about to devour a large pastry. He offered Dean coffee with a wave of his hand as he continued to eat. Dean poured himself a cup while the lawman finished his snack.