Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries)

"It's very becoming," Cynthia said, although on close observation, it looked stark and artificial to Dean's untrained eye.

Edith Shipton, all abeam, took the Deans aside to tell them how thrilled she was with her son Donnie's blossoming relationship with his father.

"Donald is so good with the boy. He and his climbing friends are taking Donnie to dinner later. Donnie would never do something like that with strangers before."

"That's nice," Cynthia replied, "but you have to understand it's just a few days the two of you have been on your own. You have to look to your future. Mr. Shipton is still in town and I think it would be wise if you spoke to an attorney or someone to settle the ground rules of your separation from him."

It was as if Edith didn't hear a word that was said. "Donald thinks the boy should be in school. Perhaps Martha could take him." Then she added, "Donald is so sweet. I'm so glad we're back together. He doesn't push Donnie the way Jerome did. I felt badly that I wasn't able to watch him climb but it made me nauseated to even look over the edge. But he's so brave to do it, don't you think?" Dean started to say something, but she continued. "You know, I dreamed Jerome came here, to Bird Song, last night. He wanted a room, but you told him the inn was full and sent him away." She turned, and went up the stairs, humming a cheery tune.

"I fear for that woman," Cynthia said as Edith squeezed by the descending elephantine shape of Gladys Turnbull.

"She's playing 'let's pretend' even more seriously than Gladys and her alarm clock rendezvous. Edith doesn't have a clue about life. She knows nothing about registering Donnie in school, or anything else, by the sound of it."

"The white dress, blonde hair and her trying to emulate Annie Quincy...it frightens me," Cynthia said with a shudder.

"At least she's casting herself as a minister's wife and not a soiled dove. We don't want to give Bird Song the wrong reputation and have Sheriff Jake Weller down here busting the place."

As he spoke, the Quincy sisters entered the front door. Gladys, bedecked in an orange caftan and a fox fur jacket, smiled a knowing smile to Cynthia and was gone. Claire made a beeline for upstairs while Effie tarried to chat with the Deans.

"How is your research going?" Cynthia asked out of politeness as Effie picked up a chocolate chip cookie with dainty fingers.

"I'm leaving that mostly to Claire," she replied. "She's the brainy one. I just strolled around town, trying to imagine Annie doing the same thing, a hundred years ago."