Cynthia plopped down in her chair and waved away the trail of smoke. "So that's Miss Lydia Larkin."
"Yup. She's something, isn't she?"
Cynthia crooked her eyebrow. "She needs certain facts pointed out to her." Then she added, "But not now. I think you should do as she asks."
"That's not the reaction I thought I'd hear. What's your rationale?"
"As angry as she is, I think it's a fair fight-her against Fitzgerald. Perhaps we're too nice to take him on at his own level. Any hint what she's going to do?"
"Not the foggiest. I'm not even sure I can trust her."
"Oh, I think you can trust her-on this business. She may be using you, but I have no doubt I'd rather be in your position right now than Mr. Fitzgerald's-the wrath of an angry woman is something to behold!"
"Don't I know it!" Dean answered.
Dean left Bird Song on foot, passing up the temptation to drive his Jeep the short distance to the Main Street delicatessen. It was en route that a nagging thought rose to the surface of his cluttered consciousness. It was Lydia's trailing smoke that floated it to life. Lydia, the long distance runner-now a smoker. The two together formed a totally incompatible combination, yet Josh Mulligan, at least according to the curmudgeons, was a runner, too. But there was the little problem of the pack of cigarettes Martha clearly described as being with the bones in the Lucky Pup Mine. One more inconsistency Dean didn't need.
It was slightly after two o'clock when Dean saw Fitzgerald emerge from The Timberline Deli and stroll to his white Blazer parked on the street. Dean timed his walk and opened the passenger side door as Fitzgerald opened his. He looked across the vehicle, smiled, and got in.
"So what do you want, asshole?" Fitzgerald asked.
"I want you back in Denver, shuffling paper clips."
"Oh? And why's that? Because I busted you felonious stepfather?"
"Because I don't want to live in a county where you're the law enforcement. You're a disgrace to the profession."
"Sort of 'this town's not big enough for the two of us, hombre?'"
"Close enough."
Fitzgerald laughed. "And you want me to ride off into the sunset? How about a shoot-out on Main Street at high noon? Give the tourists a thrill." He looked at his watch. "Too bad. It's two o'clock. Guess you're out of luck." He began working at his teeth with a toothpick. "You know Dean, you're a joke. I could eat you for lunch like a deli sandwich. You're going to wish you'd never bothered to run for election." He started the vehicle. "If you're begging for the old man, don't bother. I'll chase him out of jail tomorrow, after I have him swab down the cells and clean the toilets. And we'll catch up with that Boyd dame. She was ticketed in Kansas yesterday. That's across state lines-upsets the Feds. Felony kidnapping." Then he added, "Find any fake bones lately?"