The inadequate number of steaks was surreptitiously replaced with hamburgers after the women were talked into staying for dinner. The chitchat roamed from details of Friday's luncheon to views on crime and punishment, which, as the booze went down, became more and more general. The old gals could certainly put away the suds. Dean's stock for the balance of the month was under serious siege, but if that was the price of political success, so be it. It was a fun dinner-he didn't even burn the buns-and he had at least three votes locked in place.
Another morsel of info emerged over ice cream and brownies as the sun began coloring the west. One of the ladies who worked at the courthouse made an offhand comment about the popular Lucky Pup Mine. When Dean questioned her, she told of receiving a phone call concerning that same property some weeks earlier. No, she didn't remember who'd called or even if they left a name. They were simply inquiring about the current ownership. The woman remembered the call because it took some work for her to dig up the old information.
Later, after the guests left, the three-person management team was cleaning up when the front door bell rang. Dean, towel over his arm, answered it. There stood Acting Sheriff Fitzgerald, in full uniform, a large box in his arms, wearing a smile as wide and sinister as a horror show villain.
Dean just looked at him. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" Fitzgerald asked.
Dean held back the door and Fitzgerald brushed past him, turning into the parlor where most of the Bird Song guests were gathered.
"Maybe we should talk about this out back," Dean said but Fitzgerald was already in the room. Cynthia and Fred emerged from the kitchen at the sound of his voice. Dean had no alternative but to follow.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Ouray. I'm Fitz Fitzgerald, filling in for the sheriff." He set down his box and smiled at his attentive audience. "I suppose you wonder what I've got in this box."
"An outlaw?" Paulette Dawkins asked.
"Give the lady a koppie doll! Right she is!"
Dean grabbed Fitzgerald's arm. "Let's go out back to my office and discuss this. . ."
Fitzgerald shrugged away. "What? And spoil all the fun for these nice people? Be a sport." He stepped forward. "Mr. Dean here, part time detective and sheriff candidate, tracked down a hot lead on some bones-maybe a long dead villain-up at The Lucky Pup mine." At the mention of the name, there was a noticeable reaction from all members of the Dawkins' clan. Fitzgerald paused, building the tension. "Your's truly, as acting sheriff, landed the chore of crawling in the pit, following up on this official inquiry. And here we are."