Cynthia Sentence Examples
Cynthia Turley was in the middle of cleaning his favorite table when he walked through the diner door.
Cynthia looped the coils of the telephone cord around her finger.
Cynthia rolled her eyes in exasperation.
For the next week Cynthia listened to - and even found herself instigating - discussions about Mr. Cade.
Cynthia looked up at Adrena.
Adrena tipped her head to the side and studied Cynthia thoughtfully for a moment.
Cynthia's face grew warm.
Cynthia caught her breath.
So when Mr. Cade strode into the diner Friday night, Cynthia's clothes were packed and stored in the back room of the diner.
He stomped his boots and shook white flakes from his hat and coat before entering the house Cynthia poured them both a cup of coffee as he washed at the sink.
AdvertisementAs for Cynthia, her cheeks weren't the only things filling out.
When Cynthia finished tightening the cinch and lowered the stirrup, she turned to find him watching her.
Cynthia leaned over as they drew near one and tried to pet it, but the cow moved away a few steps and began grazing again.
Cynthia glanced up at Cade.
Cynthia knew her face was getting red.
AdvertisementThankful for the change of subject, Cynthia launched into a description of her latest conquests with the cat, again tucking that nagging doubt to the back of her mind.
He had never used the nickname – always before it had been Cynthia.
Cade launched into an investigation of the old truck while Cynthia and Mary caught up on the latest gossip.
Cynthia reached for her purse.
Cynthia rolled her eyes.
AdvertisementCynthia closed the book and gazed out the window.
Cade answered the door and ushered his sister into the family room where Cynthia was doing some last minute dusting.
This is Cynthia Turley.
Cynthia, this is Claudette Lander and her husband Carl.
Cynthia offered a hand to Carl and he accepted it cordially.
AdvertisementFinally her gaze came back to Cynthia.
I'll show you where you will sleep while Cynthia gets supper on the table.
Claudette and Carl were waiting patiently in the dining room when Cynthia and Cade entered.
Sobering, Cynthia addressed them.
During and after supper, conversation seemed to continually migrate back to Cynthia.
Cynthia glanced up and smiled warmly.
Claudette laced her fingers and leaned against the counter, eyeing Cynthia with a puzzled expression.
Her intent was obvious, but Cynthia decided to play dumb.
Cynthia didn't dignify her statement with an answer.
Cynthia jerked her head around and stared at Claudette.
Confusion flooded Cynthia's mind, drowning her in doubt and questions.
Cynthia picked up another potato and eviscerated an eye.
She glanced at Cynthia.
Cynthia began slicing the potatoes in the pot.
Cynthia ran water in the pot.
Cynthia fairly leaped away from Cade, her face flaming.
You can get that salt shaker now, Cynthia.
Cynthia turned on Claudette.
Cynthia slammed the shaker on the counter, spraying salt on the floor.
Glancing into the family room, he turned back to Cynthia.
Cynthia glanced at him and frowned.
She sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating Cynthia with a compassionate expression.
Claudette stood and smiled down at Cynthia.
Cynthia was careful not to flirt with Cade again, putting on a professional front when he was around.
Cynthia picked at her food, pushing it around the plate more than anything else.
Following his gaze, Cynthia saw the little green Ford coming up the drive.
You must be feeling better, Cynthia.
It's open, Cynthia called.
Cynthia grabbed the opportunity to change the subject.
Over the next couple of weeks, Cynthia made a few visits to town, once taking in a movie before she returned.
When Mary answered, Cynthia stammered around about the weather and every other subject she could think of.
Cynthia wiped a tear off her cheek and when she spoke, her voice didn't sound like her own.
She ignored Cynthia's horrified gasp.
Cynthia dropped to the couch and held the cool rag to her face as a new wave of nausea clutched her stomach.
Cynthia removed the rag from her face and stared at her friend.
Cynthia clamped the rag to her face again.
Cynthia lowered the rag again.
Do you need help, Cynthia?
Cynthia spotted him as he crossed the living room and started down the hall, his boot heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floor.
Cade looked up at Cynthia, his expression alarmed.
Cynthia reached down and pulled the cap back on his head.
He turned to Cynthia, awkwardly shifting him around so she could take him.
Cynthia gathered him into her arms and sat down on the bed.
The ten-year-old girl had resided at Bird Song with David Dean, his wife Cynthia, and Dean's seventy-seven-year-old stepfather, Fred O'Connor, for the past six months.
David and Cynthia Dean had experienced little success in trying to secure a more formal arrangement for long term custody of Martha, managing only undocumented assignment as temporary foster parents.
It was Cynthia who volunteered for the nasty duty, turning down Dean's offer to join her.
Cynthia released the tears she'd held in check.
The exasperation showed on Cynthia's face.
Cynthia tilted back her head and closed her eyes.
Cynthia took Fred's hand.
On Friday morning Bird Song's full complement of guests were treated to the usual bounty of Cynthia's baking, but with less zip and smiles than most days.
Elderly Brandon Westlake, the only single oldie, failed to engage Cynthia's interest in his day's activities, a high country wildflower photo shoot in Governor's Basin.
Wild flowers had become a hobby of Cynthia's since coming to Ouray County.
Cynthia devoured every publication she could find on the subject and was looking forward to spending some quality time hiking the high country, if the demand of Bird Song's chores would allow snatches of free time.
Mr. Westlake, dressed in his usual dusty and patched attire, pressed Cynthia for the reason behind her unusual reticence.
Cynthia excused herself and retreated to the kitchen, leaving well-meaning Brandon Westlake with a what-did-I-say-wrong look on his sun beaten face.
Maria was a wee bird of a woman—probably a teenager, Hispanic, and even shorter than Cynthia, who barely topped five feet.
But unlike petite Cynthia, Maria was compact—not fat, but solid.
Cynthia came to the rescue, taking the young girl's arm, and led her to the kitchen.
Cynthia forced a smile.
Cynthia led Martha to the kitchen.
The silence hung like a pall over the room as Cynthia wiped down the already spotless counter.
Cynthia halted her make-work scrubbing, surprised by the question.
Cynthia thought a second or two, careful with her answer.
Randy Byrne was Cynthia's twenty year-old son from her first marriage.
Cynthia was startled by the young girl's unusual tone and immediately regretted not being forthcoming.
Cynthia sighed, not quite sure how to answer.
Martha scooted around them leaving Cynthia to try and hide her concern with a false smile as she led the quarrelsome foursome into the dining room with a plate of pastry.
There was no time for Cynthia to talk to her husband, who was busy serving breakfast to the late sleepers while she showed Maria, by hand communication, the upstairs chores of Bird Song.
He knew Cynthia wanted to update him on her talk with Martha, but both realized time was short as they planned to take Martha to dinner for her last night under Bird Song's wing.
It was four o'clock and he'd just returned from Montrose to find Cynthia still damp from her shower.
Cynthia stood there, towel-wrapped and smelling like heaven.
Cynthia said as she snuggled on her pantyhose.
Cynthia raised her eyebrows as he asked, "Guess how much they cost me?"
Cynthia was still in the room when he returned, towel wrapped and shaking his wet head.
Cynthia detailed the morning conversation.
She mimicked Cynthia's lead in dressing for the family's outings.
Cynthia used Martha's smile to pursue the reason for their questioning.
She stole a glance at Cynthia.
She looked at Cynthia.
Cynthia said with alarm.
Cynthia put her hand to her mouth.
Cynthia closed her eyes.
Dean took a deep breath and looked at Cynthia who simply shook her head in wonderment.
Fred ignored Dean and reached in his coat pocket and withdrew a letter, handing it to Cynthia.
He raised the topic as much to take Cynthia's mind off Martha's departure as from any serious concern about the old man.
Cynthia looked over at her husband.
Cynthia thought a moment.
That takes guts," Dean said, then added with a smile, "So goodie little Cynthia used to get her bum-bum paddled, huh?"
Cynthia turned and propped herself up on an elbow.
Cynthia eventually bowed to Martha's sobs and crept into her room, spending most of the dark hours holding the grieving child.
Martha eventually slipped into a troubled sleep when Cynthia, with Dean by his side, again convinced the child they believed her, and promised to see the young girl's discovery reach daylight.
Cynthia hibernated to some serious tears while Dean sleepwalked through the daily chores, helped by Maria.
Dean was sorry Cynthia was missing the presentation.
When he returned to the parlor, Cynthia had emerged from her quarters in time to catch a mini-rerun of Brandon Westlake's slide show—enough to be enthralled.
Cynthia apologized for asking so many questions, but Westlake waved her off.
Cynthia said, with anger in her voice.
He busied himself with his equipment but after glancing outside and turned to Cynthia.
Cynthia agreed and as if in penance, gathered up plates and coffee cups while Westlake assembled his equipment.
Dean handed Fitzgerald the photocopy of Martha's drawing and comments she and Cynthia had made.
As he was about to leave, Brandon Westlake returned with Cynthia and, being sympathetic to his labors, volunteered to ferry the returning swimmers back to Bird Song.
Cynthia gave her husband a cautious glance.
Mind reader, Dean thought, remembering his conversation with Cynthia.
By the time Dean finished listing the information, Fred was gone and Cynthia was off to read in their quarters.
Cynthia turned away, saying nothing but snuggling the white owl to her bosom.
It was Cynthia's son, Randy.
Cynthia was super pleased to hear her son's voice, but her mood changed abruptly when he blurted out the news.
Cynthia didn't answer and the silence became nerve racking.
There was ice in Cynthia's voice.
Dean knew Joe Calvia; they'd met when he was first dating Cynthia.
Dean could hear the sound of Cynthia crying and then the click as she hung up the extension.
Dean acknowledged he was still there and started to make an excuse for Cynthia's exit but Randy cut him short.
Dean promised to talk to Cynthia but Randy was devastated as he ended the call.
When Dean entered their bedroom, Cynthia was no longer crying, but furious.
Cynthia telephoned her son and apparently made temporary peace, although Dean wasn't privy to the details.
Whatever the old man said, it elevated Cynthia's mood a few notches on the normalcy meter.
It was Cynthia who questioned Fred's exuberance over hand-me-downs, if only with a cautious look.
Cynthia raised her eyebrows, but Fred ignored the query.
Dean was feeling more comfortable that Cynthia just needed time to get her priorities in line.
Cynthia confessed they didn't attend as often as they should— as much as she did when her son was at home.
Cynthia explained this was a second marriage and her first husband had died.
Whether it was Pumpkin's advice or the sunny day, Cynthia's mood lightened as they drove.
After lunch, Cynthia borrowed a practice from Fred as she began to make a list of her own.
Cynthia looked at her watch.
Cynthia's speech about Billy Langstrom seemed as old as the Gettysburg Address, but far less remembered.
Cynthia didn't ask him to join her and he was more than happy to remain rocking a groove in the front porch decking.
The telephone confab was between Rose and Cynthia and apparently the two spoke with like mind.
Cynthia would attend the New Jersey wedding—thank God for Visa—while Fred and Dean would hold down Bird Song.
While Cynthia might not have "come to terms" with her quickly acquired family, she was positively thrilled to announce the wedding to all who'd listen, skirting the impending birth like a ballet dancer, concentrating on lace and promises, even if the color was off-white.
Cynthia finished her wedding pronouncement by tossing out a comment about her foolish son considering delaying the final year of his education to play professional baseball, a decision against which she and Rose Calvia planned to exert a full court press.
Unfortunately, Cynthia Dean had chosen the wrong audience.
Cynthia looked from one to the other in stark amazement.
Cynthia asked in exasperation.
Cynthia barked, her face getting redder by the minute.
He set down his glass, and taking Cynthia's hand, retreated from the parlor to the kitchen, without even bothering to make an excuse.
Cynthia wasn't finished, but now her sole audience was David Dean.
While Cynthia was proud of her son Randy's athletic achievements, she always saw those abilities as a means to an end—not an end in itself.
But before Cynthia could reply, the phone interrupted.
Dean only caught snatches, but enough to know Cynthia was speaking to Rose, son Randy, and Jen.
Supper was pancakes—Dean cooking, and Fred complaining and serving Cynthia, who still had a phone glued to her ear.
I spent so much time on the phone talking to the Calvias she wouldn't have gotten through, Cynthia said the next morning, after breakfast was cleared, the wash loaded, and domestic matters reasonably settled—a momentary break.
Cynthia didn't respond but both shared the disappointment that she hadn't called.
Cynthia knew he was concerned.
Cynthia gave him a hands-on-hips serious look.
Cynthia asked, cutting the game short as Mrs. Lincoln leaped into her lap, purring like a buzz saw.
Cynthia asked, surprised by his reaction.
She swore to us she didn't tell a soul, Cynthia said.
He was a handsome kid who somehow reminded Dean of Cynthia's son, Randy, but more brash.
Cynthia suggested an outdoor barbeque for dinner and Dean began preparations in the late afternoon.
Cynthia emerged with a tray of drinks and Dean was surprised that beer was the beverage of choice.
Cynthia and Fred emerged from the kitchen at the sound of his voice.
Cynthia waved her hands.
Cynthia sighed, lingering in the parlor.
Cynthia sat cross legged on the floor, her back to the wall.
Mr. Dean wished he felt a modicum of confidence in himself as the three drifted off to sleep—David and Cynthia Dean, with SB, the Bird Song owl, snuggled next to them.
Cynthia and her husband were appreciative of his efforts, which Dean knew came as much from nerves over his pending jury duty as early morning kindness.
Cynthia toted her camera equipment, in part at least as an excuse for the trip should they be questioned.
While Cynthia was apprehensive over the wildness of the area, once there, the stark beauty that engulfed her dispelled her earlier trepidation.
Cynthia gritted her teeth.
Cynthia, trailing a few steps behind, bumped into him as they stopped and stared at the gaping opening.
Cynthia turned and looked back.
Even with Cynthia's tiny height she was required to stoop to avoid the low ceiling.
Cynthia spoke in a whisper as she poked around.
Cynthia asked, then cringed when she recognized it.
Cynthia was the first to comment but Dean at first dismissed her concerns as mutual nervousness.
Cynthia came to the same conclusion.
Cynthia asked as they hurried back to their Jeep.
As they reached the Jeep, Cynthia turned to her husband.
Cynthia took his hand.
There was a look of resignation, not concern, on Cynthia's face as Dean shouldered his pack and Cynthia's camera equipment.
Cynthia said as the pair stumbled down the path.
Cynthia held the door handle, looking ready to jump while Dean contorted around the shift stick, barely able to press the pedal with his toe.
Cynthia looked to her husband for agreement but before he could second her suggestion, Westlake once again jammed the old vehicle in gear.
Cynthia leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes while Brandon Westlake acted as if he were taking a Sunday afternoon ride in the park.
Cynthia gripped her husband's hand in a circulation-stopping grip as a deep dip bounced them to the ground.
He chuckled as he reached over Dean and patted Cynthia's arm.
Cynthia looked as if she considered joining him but caution prevailed.
Cynthia tried to clean up the topless Jeep, still aflood with the bounty of nature's deluge.
Cynthia asked, matching Fred's continued smirk.
Cynthia read his mind.
While Cynthia didn't answer, her eyes told him if he did poke around, he'd better not get himself in deep do-do doing it.
While Cynthia took her shower, Dean made a few phone calls, asking for Ms. Dawkins, but after a dozen tries, he came up empty.
He was hanging up the phone when Cynthia emerged from the shower, pink and sweet smelling.
To escape the smiling innkeeper role, he plodded barefoot out back to the small patio, fired up the barbeque, popped the cap on the first of the last three Fat Tire Ales and stretched out on Cynthia's chaise.
Cynthia joined him with a tray of sacrificial pork chops awaiting controlled incineration.
Hopefully, Cynthia thought as she left, not 'third bottle' pork chops—meat doused with a shake from every third container on the spice rack.
He placed the bone atop Cynthia's jewelry box on their bureau and climbed into bed.
Cynthia was on the office phone to New Jersey, doing "wedding things," as she described them.
It was an independent lab and when Cynthia took a bathroom break and freed the phone, he telephoned.
Cynthia politely suggested leaving the smelly collection outside and no one objected.
To get away from the temptation and bring Cynthia up to date, he left the festive group of plunderers and joined his wife in their room.
Dean had just finished telling Cynthia the bone was human when Fred knocked and entered.
Fred examined the small bone and handed it back to Cynthia who gingerly dropped it into a small crystal jewelry box on her bureau.
The phone rang, precluding a pithy rejoinder, and as Cynthia was elbow-deep in dishwater, Dean answered.
The two chatted while Cynthia dried her hands.
Dean could barely wait for Cynthia to finish her conversation before he tossed out his inspiration concerning the skeleton.
Cynthia Dean, in hoping for further confirmation that the bones had been switched, tried to contact the parents of Caleb Jones, Martha's friend who was with her in the mine.
Cynthia expressed concern that Fred's newly acquired knowledge that the bone fragment was human might jeopardize his court-imposed decree.
Cynthia thought about that.
Cynthia reached over to stroke Mrs. Lincoln as the cat began adding a steady purr to the conversation.
Dean could see Cynthia bite her tongue.
Me too, thought Dean as the hall phone rang and Cynthia hurried in to answer it.
Cynthia returned, a warm smile on her face as she stood in the doorway.
Alice was a geranium Cynthia had lovingly rescued from certain death by frost last September when the rest of the couple's first-year garden succumbed to the advancing seasons.
Cynthia bit her lip; the euphoria of speaking with Martha was slipping away.
Dean wished Cynthia had waited until they were alone to bring up the subject.
Instead, he rose—a suggestion they go inside—but Cynthia and Mrs. Lincoln were content together, as if oblivious to Pumpkin and Westlake.
Cynthia related the conversation to Fred.
Cynthia asked, already knowing the answer.
Cynthia glanced over at her husband, a smile on her face.
Cynthia patted Fred on the arm.
David Dean was hanging patriotic bunting by dawn's early light when Cynthia finished setting out the usual assortment of pastries for the guests and joined her husband for the short walk to the Community Center.
Cynthia had volunteered a couple of hours selling tickets for the Ouray Chamber's Jeep raffle.
Cynthia took care of his down time by handing him a list of needed provisions.
Cynthia was seated with two other women at a card table in front of the Post Office when Dean arrived.
Cynthia's allotted tour of duty was finished, so he took his wife's hand and they walked to the corner for a better view of the parade.
Dean spotted Cynthia waving from the corner, just as Pumpkin shocked her with a stream of liquid.
Dean took advantage of the time before the water fight to detail to Cynthia his conversation with the Dawkinses' stepmother.
If he, Cynthia, and Fred were tasked with simply finding the identity of the old bones, the chore would be difficult at best and limited to Fred and his cronies researching old records.
Cynthia had missed the prior year's duel, and Dean explained the procedure.
Cynthia looked at the couple and shook her head.
Dean agreed as he and Cynthia were caught up in the dispersing crowd.
Cynthia joined the pair.
Cynthia was standing at her bureau for a last minute comb of her hair.
Cynthia's little shriek of dismay caused Dean to turn.
It was senseless to look elsewhere, as both had been present when Cynthia placed the small fragment in the cut glass enclosure.
Cynthia felt first anger and then violation that a thief had entered their private quarters.
Cynthia scrunched close to Dean's ear, trying to hear the conversation, and offered a word or two as well.
Cynthia asked "They were old cigarettes—not like Patsy smokes," she said and then added quickly, "gotta go."
Martha called them 'old cigarettes,' Cynthia said.
She climbed into the back of the Jeep, shooing Cynthia from having to alight to fold down the front seat.
She reached over, extending her hand to Cynthia, a wide smile on her face and a little kid look that said she was absolutely thrilled at the prospect of the upcoming trip.
Either Cynthia's presence relaxed her or she'd decided David Dean was not a combatant from the enemy camp.
The two women chatted amicably, as if they'd known one another for a lifetime, with Cynthia pointing out the sights with a running line of commentary.
The group left the Jeep and spent more than an hour on foot with Cynthia taking infinite care with each of her photos.
Cynthia continued to utilize her camera, apologizing for her time-consuming perfectionism.
Jennifer dismissed her concerns, expressing a wish that she had Cynthia's ability to capture this mountain beauty.
Jennifer wanted to know the names of each flower and Cynthia was able to respond to most of her questions.
Added to it was the pleasure of seeing Cynthia, after all she'd undergone, so utterly enjoying the day.
Before Dean could answer, Cynthia had started toward the trail.
He just laughed, ignoring the question and turned instead to Cynthia, extending his hand and introducing himself.
Cynthia smiled and asked, Jennifer's question is legitimate.
Cynthia and Jennifer followed.
He looked scared to death, Cynthia said, taking her husband's arm.
While Dean had briefly touched on his search for Martha's bones at the park that morning, he and Cynthia now repeated the story in greater detail.
He knew Cynthia would not look kindly on any direct line of questioning in the personal area of parentage.
Cynthia began grilling cheese sandwiches for a quick supper.
When the phone rang for the fourth time, Dean assumed it was either a call for reservations or more discussion on the upcoming New Jersey wedding plans, but Cynthia held the phone against herself and called to her husband.
After Cynthia conveyed the news to Jennifer, she turned to her husband.
Cynthia's admonition to be careful echoed in his ears—but someone might be down there.
He drove directly home, knowing Cynthia would be terrified by his absence and the sound of sirens in the night.
Exiting traffic from the fireworks delayed his progress, but as he turned in front of Bird Song both Fred and Cynthia were on the porch to greet him.
Dean continued to his bedroom with Cynthia following.
Cynthia looked disappointed but then nodded.
Cynthia noticed him picking at his fingers, a sure sign he was a bundle of nerves.
Cynthia was sufficiently sympathetic to the afternoon pounding Dean had taken to not bust his chops over the Fat Tire Ale.
One of Mrs. Worthington's friends taped the debate and Fred and Cynthia listened to it while Dean nursed his ego, and an ale or two, on the front porch.
When Fred and Cynthia emerged from listening, they joined him on the porch.
Cynthia opened one of his bottles.
Cynthia took his hand and looked away.
There was a look of horror on Cynthia's face.
Cynthia and her husband exchanged knowing been-there, done-that smiles.
Cynthia said, "Fitzgerald didn't even know he was going to run for sheriff until he became irritated at David."
Fred said he was too mind-stuffed with all these goings-on to eat a bite of supper, but when Cynthia supplied cold chicken and potato salad, he ate two helpings, just out of politeness.
Cynthia said, looking from one to the other.
Cynthia gave her husband a don't-be-nosy look.
Cynthia stacked the supper dishes.
Instead, he grabbed a plate of Cynthia's scrambled eggs and bacon and hauled the heaping plate up to his room.
Roger was a tiny man, no taller than Cynthia, with snowy white hair and sparkling blue eyes.
Either one of them might have stolen the bony digit from Cynthia's jewelry case and fired a gun at the Lucky Pup Mine.
All the guests are staying put, with no check-ins or check-outs, Cynthia said as she and her husband sat down to lunch.
While Dean hadn't read the tome, Cynthia had utilized it faithfully in her recent perpetration of meals.
Cynthia turned to her husband.
The open road, absent all responsibilities, looked inviting—if the rules allowed him to take Cynthia along in the cart.
Dean wondered if he and Cynthia would be camping in their pup tent in Bird Song's back yard.
While Cynthia hemmed and hawed about the most diplomatic way to suggest that the Dawkinses might billet down to two rooms from the three they now occupied, the situation cured itself.
Cynthia stepped into the room as Dean asked Fred, "Any way of finding out who he is?"
He showed Cynthia the paper.
Cynthia said, simplicity being one of her many virtues.
While Cynthia didn't explain her decision to fit God and church into their busy Sunday morning schedule, once again she dressed for church and Dean dutifully followed suit.
The date conflicted with the Election Day for sheriff but Cynthia repeated her promise to vote absentee.
Dean had explained this to Cynthia when he returned Friday night.
It was right after Cynthia had commented on liking his perfume—what was it?
After all, he'd abdicated all Bird Song's weekend chores in favor of his flesh-pressing tour, and Cynthia deserved a rest.
David was knee deep in a can't-put-down-able James Lee Burke mystery, while Cynthia plodded through her zillion-page saga, a real flower-presser in Dean's mind.
Cynthia lost the staring contest and shuffled out of the room.
Cynthia ushered the group down the hall to their office, out of earshot and out of sight.
Cynthia gasped at the news.
It was Cynthia's turn to blow up.
He stepped forward and bumped Cynthia, who didn't move an inch.
It was the wrong thing to say— or do—to Cynthia Dean.
Fitzgerald growled something about keeping an eye on them, but he stood far enough away from Cynthia to protect his other cheek.
Cynthia looked about to cry, but her anger held her tears in check, at least until they were back in bed.
Back in bed, Cynthia remained awake and was sitting up.
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.
The call caused Cynthia to tremble with nervous frustration to the point of dropping a favorite sugar bowl, snowing the kitchen floor in white.
Cynthia was scraping sugar off her knees when he told her about the phone call.
Cynthia reluctantly agreed and after the now-customary caution to be careful, Dean rose to leave.
Did Fitzgerald tell you Cynthia hit him?
Dean lied that he'd miss them and strolled into the kitchen where Cynthia and Maria were enjoying a second breakfast.
He brought Cynthia up to speed on his meeting with Lydia after confirming there was no further word on Martha's disappearance.
Cynthia poked her head in later, wondering what was holding up Fred.
Cynthia and I will call a lawyer when I get back to Bird Song.
Cynthia was waiting for Dean at Bird Song—a message left at the library had alerted her to Fred's arrest.
Lydia did all but ignore Cynthia who in turn was equally cool to the visitor.
Dean looked at Cynthia but she remained silent.
Lydia put her hand on his knee, as if Cynthia were not in the room.
Cynthia had had enough and rose, a familiar blazing look in her eyes.
Before she could say a word, Lydia too stood up and looked down on Cynthia, who was ten inches shorter.
She continued to stare at Cynthia, but her conversation was directed at Dean.
Cynthia plopped down in her chair and waved away the trail of smoke.
Cynthia crooked her eyebrow.
Cynthia shook her head.
Cynthia answered but quickly motioned for Dean to pick up the extension.
If anything, the news was more upsetting to Cynthia.
She handed Cynthia the package she was holding.
She looked at Dean as Cynthia opened the box.
The parcel contained a beautiful lavender dress, causing Cynthia to let out a slight gasp.
While Cynthia was writing down the dates, Jennifer bit her tongue and looked at Dean.
Cynthia's always accusing me of being too pushy.
Cynthia nodded in agreement.
But as many times as David Dean considered picking up the telephone, it remained snuggled in its cradle unless Cynthia was answering it.
The real celebration of Fred's release from jail didn't begin until the pair returned to Bird Song where Cynthia had baked a fresh apple pie, complete with vanilla ice cream, tagged on to the end of a healthy lunch.
It was then Cynthia renewed her simple earlier suggestion.
Cynthia asked as Fred sent the message.
Cynthia talked him out of it until more was learned of Fitzgerald's present whereabouts.
Cynthia, who'd followed the men to the door, was the first to smother the young girl in hugs and kisses, and an ample dose of tears with the others joining in with equal enthusiasm.
Cynthia continued to cling to Martha as if letting go would somehow cause the child to disappear.
Cynthia sat next to Martha and hugged her all the harder.
Dean grimaced but withheld comment, while Cynthia looked askance at the news that Patsy Boyd had summarily abandoned her daughter.
Patsy Boyd Cynthia took one look at the note and began to cry.
After greeting the group with a hearty wave, he proudly handed a surprised Cynthia Dean a wad of bills.
Martha responded affirmatively just as Cynthia called to her from the kitchen.
Eyes widened when she learned someone had pilfered the small finger bone from Cynthia's bureau and she shivered when told the Deans had been followed into the mine.
Each time the phone rang, Cynthia flinched, fearing some state minion was calling to drag Martha back to his lair in the dungeons of officialdom.
Towels were in short supply, rooms needed quick cleaning, and Cynthia, Maria, and Dean had their hands full.
Cynthia asked, as if reading his mind.
She accelerated in a screech, without so much as a glance at Cynthia, who stood at the curb.
There was a note on the hall table from Cynthia that she and Martha had accepted Brandon Westlake's invitation to catch the late afternoon sun and photograph wildflowers, and Pumpkin Green has stopped by, looking for Dean.
Dean's heart began to race as he caught sight of Cynthia and Martha at the edge of the rocks near the edge of the path leading to the entrance of the Lucky Pup.
Cynthia held her young charge tightly about the shoulders.
Cynthia looked at Dean knowingly but said nothing as Martha continued.
He knew without Martha's map he'd never remember the various turns he and Cynthia had taken to where the skeleton had reposed for over fifty years.
It was Cynthia's voice, weak and yet strong at the same time.
Cynthia looked over at her husband, still unaware of Fitzgerald's death.
It nearly covered Cynthia's scream as blood spurted from Brandon Westlake's chest.
She turned on her knees and vomited behind her while Cynthia closed her eyes and wept.
It was a blissful late afternoon and the Deans were alone in the kitchen—Fred had taken Martha to a movie— when Cynthia raised the subject.
Randy Byrne was joyously married with mother Cynthia in proud attendance, attired in her Radisson original dress.
Cynthia accepted the news well, first on the phone amid post wedding hubbub, and the next day when he met her stepping off the plane.
Before Dean could contact Lydia to offer his congratulations, she visited Bird Song the day after Cynthia returned.
Lydia left Cynthia standing by the sink and walked into the parlor with Dean.
Lydia and I have an understanding, Cynthia was dabbing Mercurochrome on a cut knuckle.
I can't believe sweet Cynthia Byrne, hitting people!
I'm Cynthia Dean now.
She's tougher than Cynthia Byrne used to be.
But Cynthia wouldn't let go.
Dean looked up at Cynthia.
The two had shared Dean's bachelorhood for fifteen years until Dean, an ex-Pennsylvania police detective married Cynthia Byrne seven months earlier.
Dean met Cynthia while officially investigating her first husband's disappearance.
Cynthia shivered, and took a sip from her cup of coffee.
Cynthia jumped in to give Fred a hand.
Cynthia described the woman and boy.
He cringed as Cynthia described her giving two different names, allowing Fred yet another shot at constructing a mystery.
Fred followed Cynthia, asking more questions about the new guest as Dean shook his head in mild frustration.
Just as Donnie was limply shaking Dean's hand, Cynthia returned, smiled at the boy, and offered her hand as well.
Edith Shipton appeared, as Cynthia had described, to be more nervous than a fifth-grader on speech day.
Cynthia introduced her as Mrs. Edith Jones, drawing a slight smile but no offered hand.
Before stooping to retrieve them, she handed three one hundred dollar notes to Cynthia.
Cynthia took the money.
Cynthia called the men into the kitchen for sandwiches.
Cynthia told Fred as she rose to pick up the dishes.
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.
By the time Dean located two woolen socks that were at least the same color, Cynthia was finished dressing.
Cynthia's widowed mother was a librarian in a small Indiana town.
They had not seen her since their wedding but Cynthia spoke to her by telephone frequently and the two were as close as the distance allowed.
Cynthia, whose tiny five-two body possessed far more gracefulness than her husband's, managed to look as born on blades as the other two skaters.
Fred was absent when they arrived home, but returned just as Cynthia was cutting a warmed apple pie for a late afternoon snack.
Cynthia offered the dessert but, surprisingly, Fred declined.
But before Fred could answer, Cynthia patted him on the shoulder.
Cynthia looked at him.
While Cynthia was off with Fred sorting his treasure box, Dean remained in the kitchen washing up the dishes.
When garb and miscellany were re-packed, sort of, the two struggled indoors amid greetings and apologies just as Fred and Cynthia entered the hall.
Cynthia carefully hand washed the articles of clothing from Fred's box of historical goodies and hung them outside in the sun to dry.
Cynthia cooked something quick and Italian for dinner, small white things that looked as they would suddenly explode into butterflies, given sufficient time.
Cynthia asked as she looked over his shoulder at his work.
Cynthia followed her husband into the room, holding the Annie Quincy dress in front of her, with a bundle of under garments beneath her arm.
Cynthia dropped the bundle on the sofa and held the dress up in front of the woman.
Cynthia had ironed it and the dress looked quite appealing in spite of its hundred-year age.
Cynthia went to the hall desk and brought back an envelope.
Cynthia glanced at her husband, a troubled look on her face as if to express her continued concern over the departing woman.
Cynthia took Edith's place on the sofa and began folding the ancient underwear.
He just smiled at Cynthia, who could read his mind.
Cynthia asked, picking up the brush.
Both Fred and Cynthia looked over Dean's shoulder and agreed.
Neither Fred nor Cynthia had a ready answer.
Cynthia bounced down to the floor to join the pair.
It was Cynthia who answered.
Cynthia set aside the notebook and papers and rose.
It looks lovely on you, Cynthia said as she returned to the sofa.
Edith hesitated, as if embarrassed but then sat next to Cynthia Dean, adjusting the dress behind her.
Cynthia took the opportunity to push Edith a bit further.
She looked up at Cynthia.
Cynthia put an arm about the woman's shoulders.
While Dean felt sorry for the distressed woman, he continued to hope his dearest Cynthia would let the matter rest.
Cynthia rose to join her, taking her arm.
She turned to Cynthia, a pleading look in her eyes.
Cynthia gently prodded the woman until Edith Shipton began to relate her story, speaking in almost a monotone.
Though Dean wished to remain at hand's-length from her troubled life he quickly sensed from her disjointed description Cynthia had been correct when she assessed that the woman carried serious emotional pain.
Cynthia asked as Edith paused in her narration.
Cynthia put her arms about the woman.
Cynthia spoke in a consoling tone as both women rose.
Cynthia gave their guest a hug and retreated down the hall to the Dean's quarters while Edith climbed the stairs.
He considered not telling Cynthia about the call, but no, they didn't have secrets between them.
It woke Cynthia, too.
After dawn arrived at last and the couple were showered and dressed, they speculated further on the late night sounds as Cynthia filled Bird Song's breakfast table with fresh baked goodies.
Cynthia buttered her toast while Dean dribbled orange blossom honey on three leftover rolls from last night's supper.
Then Cynthia answered her own question before biting into her toast.
Cynthia gave Fred a raised eyebrow look but he pretended not to see her.
Dean tried to minimize Edith's story but Fred pressed them until Cynthia related, in broad detail, all Edith had told them.
While Cynthia was telephoning and Fred mumbling, Donnie came downstairs to the dining room.
Her presence reduced Cynthia's domestic chores and eliminated the need for Dean and Fred to pick up more than the occasional dust rag.
Dean hadn't had time for a discussion with Cynthia about whether or not to tell Edith Shipton of the inquiry about her staying at Bird Song.
Cynthia met him as he came down the hall.
As soon as Dean was alone with Gladys, between her second and third helping of Cynthia's pancakes, he broached the subject of the annoying alarm.
He kissed Cynthia good-bye and strolled the sun-lit streets the short distance to Sheriff Jake Weller's office behind the courthouse.
Cynthia was concerned how nervous the woman acted.
Dean returned to Bird Song and brought Cynthia up to date on his conversation with Sheriff Weller over a quiet lunch of soup and grilled cheese.
Cynthia smiled, remembering the early-days' confusion of opening the bed and breakfast, two newlyweds and one old man, operating on piggy bank finances and not an ounce of experience among them.
Cynthia had received a phone call from the Boston sisters telling her their flight was delayed and they weren't now expected until late afternoon.
Cynthia leaned her head back, closed her eyes and drank in the scene.
Two cars were parked off the edge of the road and as they passed, Cynthia looked back with a start.
Cynthia ignored his I-told-you-so attitude.
Cynthia's ability to distinguish one motor vehicle from another was limited to trucks, vans, jeeps, limos and all others.
To petite Cynthia, tall meant anyone much over five-foot seven.
Cynthia just ignored them, instead watching the younger, more civilized occupants of the room play their card game.
It's time you gave someone else a chance, Cynthia said with a winning smile that offered him little room to maneuver.
As Dean reached for it, Cynthia beat him to it.
Cynthia rushed into the room, the notebook still in hand, and with Martha, hovered over the pending demise of the trembling rodent.
Meanwhile Donnie and Martha, with Cynthia's help, tried to revive the mortally wounded creature but the prognosis was not good.
Dean managed the luggage in three trips from their rental car while Cynthia and Fred handled the paper work and showed the women their quarters.
She turned to Cynthia.
Cynthia too was peeved.
The children's game broke up and Martha began to don her coat to go home but Cynthia coaxed her to stay for supper.
So much for all the empty words he'd been spilling to Cynthia about not getting involved, he thought.
When Dean told his wife about the bearded man who seemed to be following Edith Shipton, Cynthia just shook her head.
Cynthia took a deep breath.
Cynthia came out of the parlor, followed by Fred, who was still seething over Claire Quincy's appropriation of the gold coins.
Cynthia answered, another guest confirming his room while Fred told his new skiing partner he'd see him in the morning.
Cynthia was still on the phone so after Dean introduced himself he completed the paperwork, without comment or acknowledgment that he knew Ryland's relationship to Bird Song's other guest Edith Shipton and her son.
Cynthia finished her conversation and hung up the phone.
Cynthia asked with a knowing smile.
He didn't really need them, but Cynthia had gone ahead and made the appointment.
Cynthia took up a pencil and paper again and began listing the different letters but almost as soon as they'd begun, they were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
She smiled at the others as she spoke quietly to Cynthia.
It's booked tomorrow but it's empty tonight, Cynthia answered.
Donnie shook his head "no" and began listing the letters as Cynthia had suggested the night before.
Cynthia then began listing the different numbers that had been utilized.
Fred suggested that one of the letters might be in error so the group continued to look at the puzzle on the basis Cynthia had first suggested.
It was difficult for all of them to work together so Cynthia made two extra copies of a dozen random pages of the ancient text.
While Fred, and to a lesser extent Cynthia, had solved cryptograms in the newspaper, neither were particularly adept at it.
Cynthia surmised that when they did appear, they were oversights on the part of the writer who unconsciously placed them as if she were writing in a normal, un-coded fashion.
Still, there were more false leads than successes before the hall clocked tolled eleven and Cynthia announced it was beyond everyone's bedtime.
Cynthia asked the boy.
Dean went to close up while Cynthia readied the sofa for Donnie's bed.
The lights were out, but Cynthia was still awake, wondering what had taken him so long.
Cynthia looked at him and began to nod her head, considering the possibility.
Not after she'd been working at it awhile, Cynthia answered, not taking her eyes from the page as she continued to work.
Cynthia busied herself with the notebook once again.
Cynthia reluctantly put the notebook aside and the couple began to carry the fresh baked goods and other breakfast items to the dining room.
While Cynthia began serving breakfast, Edith Shipton emerged, looking as if she'd had little sleep.
Cynthia just shook her head, but never the less smiled.
Dean hardly had time to detail their day's activities before Cynthia proudly showed him the transcribed text.
Cynthia, usually much more reserved, was as excited as Dean could remember.
Cynthia crossed to the desk and returned with a hand full of cards and envelopes.