It was a strawberry sunrise, topped with whipped cream clouds, a perfect sort of day until Dean was awake enough to remember Martha Boyd, lord knows where, escaping the law in a stolen twenty-year-old Buick, with a ditzy ex-junkie for a chauffeur. The realization struck Cynthia, too, and as neither had slept particularly well, both plodded through the early morning chores with few words passing between them. Fred was back to worrying not only about Martha, but his duty with the reconvening jury after the weekend hiatus. He also had little sleep, as much from partying with the temporarily affluent Mrs. Worthington as concern over Martha's cross country flight from the law.
Brandon Westlake offered his concerned condolences, apparently having heard the news from domino eavesdroppers. He insisted on being kept abreast of the news. If the Dawkins group had heard about Martha, none showed a lick of concern. They were too busy knocking on Fred's door before he'd even risen to book their reservations for Cyberville. The WWW news was either negative or tardy because each took turns bickering at the other until Dean was ready to toss the entire family.
As Dean ate his one poached egg, absent toast, the phone rang. Fred O'Connor was nearest and talked in subdued and nervous conversation, reaching for a paper and pencil to take down a number. The Deans couldn't hear the conversation but assumed it was one more lady in waiting for the senior Prince Charming's favor. Instead of discussing the current calamity, as would be Fred's normal reaction, he grabbed his coat and left. If his destination was the courthouse, he was an hour early. While the old gent's hasty departure was out of character, his rapid exit caused the Deans no concern. Fred O'Connor's usual behavior was often erratic.
The phone was as busy as the Bird Song household this Monday morning. First Jennifer Radisson called to ask about stopping by after dinner. There followed a call from Groucho, whose name Dean learned was Coleridge, telling of a report that the Boyd pair was sighted in Kansas, stopped for a tail light violation on Sunday afternoon. No, Dean had no idea what might attract Patsy to drive across the plains.
The call caused Cynthia to tremble with nervous frustration to the point of dropping a favorite sugar bowl, snowing the kitchen floor in white. While both Deans were on their knees cleaning up the mess, the phone rang again. It was Lydia Larkin.
"Look," she said to Dean, a hint of panic in her voice. "I have to talk to you!"
"This isn't a good time," he answered, but she cut him off.