"Yes we do. That's how she introduced him. I suppose she's divorced and 'Shipton' is her maiden name. But who is 'Jones'?" Dean shrugged and reached for a jar of peanut butter just as Fred joined the couple. He had a Lewis Carroll smile on his face.
"You look pleased," Cynthia commented as she put out a third plate.
"Which lucky lady was on the phone?" Dean asked.
"Miss Worthington. But that was no social call. Strictly business." He turned to his stepson, a smile brightening his face. "You might have to eat your words on that purchase I made of them valuable antiques!"
"So, who was the other call?" Dean asked, ignoring Fred's quip.
"I booked a room for tonight," Fred answered, a smug look on his face. "She's coming this afternoon. Just one person. It's a famous author named Miss Gladys Turnbull." Then he added, "But she don't write mysteries, just that science fiction stuff. I told her it would be nice and quiet here. She called from the Montrose airport and booked for a whole week. That will near fill us up when them ice climbing fellows get here." Fred stooped to see what goodies remained in the refrigerator and removed a plate of cold meatloaf.
"Good job!" Cynthia told Fred as she rose to pick up the dishes.
Fred sat at the table and began forking in the cold meat. "Miss Turnbull sounds fat," he mumbled as he surreptitiously dropped morsels to Mrs. Lincoln, the Dean's cat, who tried to remain anonymous behind his legs.
"How does someone sound fat?" Dean asked.
"It's a gift I got," he answered. "Works most times."
Cynthia turned to her husband with a look that said 'don't pursue it,' then announced, "If we're going to get in some ice skating, we'd better get cracking. Keep dilly-dallying with lunch and winter will be over!"
"No rush," he answered with a smile. "That doesn't happen until May...or maybe June." But he gulped down his milk and followed her back to their quarters.
While the Ouray winters were far less severe that one might think, they did have a way of wearing out their welcome, like company that won't go home. With the town's elevation near eight thousand feet, plenty of snow was to be expected. So were early autumn frosts and late spring freezes. And snow well into the spring. Perhaps that's why many of the citizens of the picturesque town decided they might as well enjoy mother nature's offerings rather than remain locked indoors for six or seven months. There was little hibernation in the town often called the Switzerland of America.