Cynthia met him as he came down the hall. "What's the matter?" she asked.
He summarized his conversation with Edith Shipton, adding his opinion. "One minute she's babbling like a spring brook; the next second it's back in the shell. The woman has a serious problem." He paused before continuing. "After listening to her this morning, I'm beginning to wonder if we're getting the whole story about Jerome Shipton. She might be exaggerating. The woman has a vivid imagination."
"What makes you say that?"
"I don't know. Perhaps I'm being unfair. It's just she constantly changes. One minute she's in fear of her life, the next she's enthralled over Annie Quincy, dreaming about life a century ago."
"Don't make fun of dreams. You just had a vivid dream yourself!"
"But she's taking hers much more seriously. In her dream Annie is telling her to stick around Bird Song!"
"Perhaps we should pay Annie Quincy's ghost a commission!" Then she asked, "Did you tell her about the phone call?" Dean admitted he hadn't.
"I think I'll speak to the sheriff," he answered, "just in case. If this husband of hers is abusive and traced her charge slip to Bird Song that quickly, he means business. I don't fancy having him show up on our door step but I'm not sure there's much the law can do." Dean explained to his wife the number of times in his police career he'd seen battered women refuse to follow through when confronted by their abusive mate. "As fragile as Edith Shipton is, I just hope this jerk her." stays away from Cynthia nodded in agreement.
Fred joined the couple. "I'm off to the library," he said as he buttoned his coat. "The kids are going with me. Donnie's Ma needed a bit of convincing but figured I wasn't going to do him no harm." Dean was pleased, for both of the children. Martha's exposure to the library was more educational than helping Aunt Janet clean toilet bowls.
"Any luck with your Wonder Woman code book?" Dean asked.
"Naw. I didn't have much time." The heavy thump of footsteps on the stairs interrupted their conversation. There followed a cheery "good morning" from the late-sleeping Gladys Turnbull. Fred O'Connor beat a hasty retreat out the back door, looking like the Pied Piper with Donnie and Martha tagging behind, the Annie Quincy notebook under his arm.
Gladys was dressed in a tiny skirt that made her look like a cheerleader for the Slim Fast "before" team. She wore those half-stockings that were supposed to be hidden by something far longer than what covered her pudgy legs, which were streaked with the stark blue of veins looking like a map of a very congested and curvy area. Her skirt rode up her ample body as if it were trying to get away.