Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries)

"Plus you get to go schussing down the slopes tomorrow," Dean added.

"Schussing?" Cynthia asked.

"It's a ski term," Dean informed her. "All us mogul-jumping slalomers know these terms."

"Even the thought of skiing doesn't take away the nastiness of that woman," Fred answered, in spite of sounding somewhat placated.

"Well, at least now you can forget about Annie Quincy Martin and get on with life," Dean said.

Fred just looked at him. "Not on your tin whistle! I just said I wasn't sharing anything with that Boston shrew, I didn't say I was quitting the caper. No, sir. There's just too many questions. Not only this here coded notebook but questions like why was a minister's wife squirreling away $27.50 in gold coins in her comb?"

"Good question!" Cynthia said. "That has me wondering, too. Let's start by doing some serious work on the notebook. We've been putting it aside since last night."

Dean put on his reading glasses. He didn't really need them, but Cynthia had gone ahead and made the appointment. He just wore them to appease her. And when the light wasn't good, now that some international conspiracy was shrinking the size of the printed word.

The trio sat around the office desk, looking over one another's shoulders at the neat handwriting in the old notebook. Cynthia took up a pencil and paper again and began listing the different letters but almost as soon as they'd begun, they were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. When Dean answered it, Edith Shipton stood there, still clad in the white dress, that she now owned. Her face shone with a glowing smile like a summer sunrise.

She looked past David Dean to his wife. "Mrs. Dean? May I speak with you?"

"Certainly," Cynthia answered, coming to the door. "We were just gabbing. Come in."

Edith entered, but only a step. She smiled at the others as she spoke quietly to Cynthia. "I was wondering if you'd let Donnie sleep down here with you tonight? All he needs is the couch." She gestured toward the leather sofa against the office wall.

"We have an extra room. It's booked tomorrow but it's empty tonight," Cynthia answered. "It wouldn't be any trouble and I'm sure he would sleep much better in a regular bed."

"Oh, no! If he sleeps alone, he gets upset. The sofa in the office would be fine and you could leave the door to your bedroom open, just a pinch. It's just that he has dreams. I wouldn't ask, but I need- well, Donnie's father is here. That's who just came. I wasn't going to tell you, but you've been so kind. He hasn't seen us in years. I need some time with him." Then she added, "I'll pay for the room. And I'm sorry to put you out."