Fred Sentence Examples
Fred took a deep breath.
Fred O'Connor was off to the post office, but before leaving, he ceremoniously presented Martha with thirty dollars and a smothering hug.
She's staying with her boyfriend, Fred explained.
After lunch, Cynthia borrowed a practice from Fred as she began to make a list of her own.
It's nice to know Brandon lives with people he can trust, don't you think, Fred?
The Deans were on their way to their quarters in the rear of Bird Song when Fred O'Connor returned, fresh from an evening with Mrs. Worthington.
The Deans had feared the long Colorado winter might slow down frisky Fred but, if anything, the opposite occurred, due in no small measure to his young pal and junk sale cohort, Martha Boyd.
Cynthia took Fred's hand.
Fred could tell by the look on her face that something was wrong.
The Deans retreated to the front porch, allowing Fred and Martha time alone, and Maria to her new chores.
AdvertisementFred O'Connor moseyed out and joined them.
We're not talking about cats, or Fred.
The second floor contained six quarters, five rooms for guests and the rear left corner occupied by Fred O'Connor.
Finally Fred O'Connor withdrew a crumpled dollar bill from his antiquated change purse and a fountain pen from his jacket pocket.
Dean didn't even offer a quip about Fred's tightness with a buck and his moth-eaten purse as the old man called over a waitress to do the duties.
AdvertisementDean was hoping to at least finish his salsa before having to stop Fred from dashing up the mountain to single-handedly solve the caper.
Fred, who could find a mystery in a grilled cheese sandwich, hardly stirred.
Martha smiled at Fred's compliments but added, I know I shouldn't have gone in there.
Fred's somber mood dictated restraint.
It was a rare event for Fred to speak of his past, especially when it sounded like a hint of the truth.
AdvertisementFred nodded his head.
Fred ignored Dean and reached in his coat pocket and withdrew a letter, handing it to Cynthia.
But once again, Fred wasn't biting.
Fred's mood remained somber throughout the meal.
The way Fred loves mysteries you'd think he'd be thrilled to be a part of a real jury.
AdvertisementFred's biggest shortcoming is that's he's not afraid enough!
Fred O'Connor plodded down the stairs carrying a wrapped present and set it by her chair.
It's a Lou Rankin design, Fred answered.
There was a hint of a smile and a roll of her eyes at Fred's pun.
Fred O'Connor returned, a bag of treasures in his hand, just as the slide show broke up.
The elderly photographer was as bad as Fred.
Like Fred, Westlake too had callused fingertips from pounding computer keys.
The sheriff's office was located only a few blocks east of Bird Song, behind the County Court House, where Fred O'Connor would report for jury duty the following Tuesday.
Dinner was a quiet affair, cooked by the returning Fred O'Connor—hamburgers, a tad over-broiled, but the Deans appreciated the effort as they were busy with Bird Song's other chores.
Fred displayed a tad more interest in the mysterious find than the prior evening.
He stopped Fred when the old man began to excuse himself.
Fred O'Connor looked embarrassed and took his time answering.
Fred looked down at his shoes.
Fred just snorted, but Dean noted the old man didn't deny the question.
Fred rubbed his chin and thought.
Like hell, Dean thought, but he let Fred go on.
But Fred continued to skirt the answer.
It was the most Fred O'Connor had ever said about his past, but the conversation was over.
Dean said with a salute as Fred rose and drained his glass.
By the time Dean finished listing the information, Fred was gone and Cynthia was off to read in their quarters.
She immediately came out, a note in one hand and SB, Fred's stuffed owl gift in the other and handed her husband the paper.
When she finished, still attired in bathrobe and floppy slippers, and leaving a cloud of flour behind her, she crept upstairs to talk to Fred; a conversation that lasted thirty minutes.
As for Fred, he was downright ecstatic about a baby in his adopted family—hang the underlying circumstances of the blessed event.
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.
He and Fred began chattering away about past bargains found and Internet profits reaped.
Joseph stormed by Dean and Fred without a word, but Ginger lingered to finish her cigarette.
Dean looked at Fred, who had no idea what was going on.
Cynthia would attend the New Jersey wedding—thank God for Visa—while Fred and Dean would hold down Bird Song.
Supper was pancakes—Dean cooking, and Fred complaining and serving Cynthia, who still had a phone glued to her ear.
Fred, a casual helper, was off to the courthouse, but even without him they finished early.
Fred O'Connor had arranged the affair and Dean had reluctantly agreed to subject himself to the scrutiny of the cream of the town's lady folk.
Fred thinks it would help me capture the up-county rancher vote.
Just then Fred returned, a mile-wide smirk on his face, a ream of papers clutched in his hand.
Fred began sorting through his papers, taking his time, building the suspense.
Fred sorted his notes, a smug look on his face.
Fred shrugged his shoulders.
Fred returned to the courthouse, museum, and library for further research.
Fred O'Connor, with three silver-haired lady friends in tow, clustered around the backyard picnic table.
Dean was introduced—as the new sheriff— while Fred winked and the ladies laughed and clapped.
The three were north of sixty and involved with Fred's research activities.
Cynthia and Fred emerged from the kitchen at the sound of his voice.
The Deans and Fred were torn between discussing Fitzgerald's blockbuster announcement and this conversation, which was becoming more interesting by the minute.
Fred hoisted the box and without a word carried it back to the office.
Fred had emptied the carton and spread the contents on the office floor.
Fred scratched his head as he held up the skull for close examination.
The Deans were up at the first pink of dawn, but they didn't beat Fred O'Connor, who had already perked coffee, cracked eggs, and burned toast for their morning breakfast.
Fred grumbled as he poured three glasses.
He patted Fred on the back.
Fred was dressed for the occasion—dapper suit, bow tie, and vest—while the Deans donned the grubbiest attire they could find.
Dean figured Fred was making a last ditch effort for a dispensation from his public duty.
Joseph asked Fred for a marker and cardboard and began making "No Trespassing" signs, signifying he planned a visit to the mine later.
Fred said Brandon Westlake was already gone—off to capture the columbine in dawn's early light.
A young couple whose life dream was owning a Bird Song look-alike learned from Fred the principals would be absent for the day and offered to stick around playing temporary innkeepers.
The couple was newly married, Bird Song still under construction, and with Fred out of town, they stole two days on a camping honeymoon.
They were driving on Main Street when they spotted Fred O'Connor sauntering down from the courthouse chatting with two ladies who looked enthralled by his company.
When Fred saw the Deans, he waved, patted his disappointed promenade partners on the arm and came over to the vehicle.
Congratulations, Dean said as Fred climbed in back.
Dean looked back at Fred in the rear view mirror but there was no hint of clarification.
Dean's question was met with a smile and a kindergarten finger to Fred's shushing lips.
Cynthia asked, matching Fred's continued smirk.
Fred straightened his bow tie as he stepped down.
Whatever legal action the Dawkins are involved in would certainly be tainted if Fred knew how Joseph acted up there.
We're out of luck asking Fred for any research help, too.
I don't see the harm in Fred trying to find out whose bones Martha found.
I don't want to see Fred get in trouble with the judge.
Fred was in the kitchen peeling an orange.
Fred's disappointment was apparent.
Finally, Fred broke the silence.
Everything about Fred is an exception.
Chasing it down might prove difficult, even for Fred and his history-loving lady friends.
They were sitting around the dining room table, spellbound as Fred gave witness to past purchases and profits.
Dean had to admit—never out loud—that Fred O'Connor was far ahead in this junk collecting game.
That would take some research by Fred and his stalwarts, if Dean could figure a way to distance that investigation from Fred's court-dictated jury duty restrictions.
Fred and the Bird Song Five were spotted by first locating the largest stash of trash.
Fred attempted to pick the lock, as no keys were provided, but the audience became restless and impatient.
With Fred's approval, he dashed up to the old man's room to fire up his computer and do so.
When Dean shook his head and wondered aloud why Westlake, who obviously wasn't poor, would mess around with five and ten-dollar items, Fred explained.
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.
No one had a suggestion for the next step, but Fred was determined to continue to research the ownership of the severed digit.
Fred answered with a wave of his hand.
Fred put his finger to his lips.
Fred's quick enough to hear what I have to say, but tight-lipped as a smart fish about anything he knows.
Fred O'Connor—my stepfather—was called for jury duty.
Randy asked about Fred, and Dean related Fred's latest exploits with the bargains from the props of the play Boo!
When he'd finished, he asked Fred, "How many of those trunks were sold in total?"
If Fred's calculations were correct—they agreed with Mrs. Worthington's recollections—four trunks remained unaccounted for.
Fred explained that the New York sister was staying in her motor home at a local campground.
While Bird Song waited, Mrs. Worthington, prompted by Fred's phone call, went to the campground to see if she might catch the couple left before they left.
Fred asked, crossing his fingers.
In view of Fred's jury duty, even mentioning the name Dawkins around him was a no-no.
Fred, with the help of his cadre of lady friends, was the one person who had the best shot of producing further information on the family and its history.
Fred was frightened enough of the court system already.
The Deans found themselves alone on the front porch, with only Mrs. Lincoln for company, as Fred was off to the library for more research.
Cynthia expressed concern that Fred's newly acquired knowledge that the bone fragment was human might jeopardize his court-imposed decree.
Both Dean and his wife felt comfortable with Fred researching the identity of the skeleton as long as Fred remained unaware of any direct connection to the Dawkinses.
With the exception of deceased Dawkins, Senior owning the property where the skeleton was discovered, Fred should be on safe ground limiting his research to the identity of the elusive bones.
Fred said Fitzgerald lived here in Ouray and his father was a miner.
Now you're beginning to sound like Fred!
I'll ask Fred to try and run down who owns that storage place.
She asked about you, Fred, and Mrs. Lincoln.
Before she could answer, Joseph Dawkins came up the steps with Fred O'Connor close at his heels.
Dean followed close behind, with Fred O'Connor trailing.
Fred closed the door.
Cynthia related the conversation to Fred.
He turned to Fred.
Fred plunked down in a side chair and began sorting through his notes like a professor beginning a lecture.
Fred went back to his notes.
Cynthia patted Fred on the arm.
Dean had a feeling the woman was the tall blonde he'd seen leaving the courthouse behind Fred O'Connor.
One of Fred's nameless cohorts buttonholed Dean as he stepped from his vehicle, and by the time he extricated himself from her verbal grasp, the blonde was lost in the crowd at the park.
He wanted to tell her about meeting with Jennifer Radisson, but as soon as he started to speak, Fred O'Connor rushed up, a look of panic on his face.
There, amid a cluster of floats, Boy Scouts and ballerinas, four of Fred's lady friends were in the final stages of hanging bunting about a beautiful old touring car whose vintage or name Dean couldn't identify.
Fred explained the beads—she'd gone to Mardi Gras—as he unceremoniously pushed Dean into the rear seat of the open vehicle.
The vehicle, older than Fred, sounded better than Dean's Jeep.
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.
Do you think this Josh character—the miner Fred found out about—might be her father?
They were just finishing dressing when Dean heard a sound, the door closing directly above, in Fred's room.
Instead of Fred O'Connor, it was Paul Dawkins coming down the stairs.
Does Fred know you're in his room?
I think you'd better limit your use to when Fred's here to give you permission.
Looks like Fred should get a lock on his door.
Both Paul and Joseph Dawkins and Brandon Westlake have been lining up to use Fred's equipment.
Westlake is chasing down auction items the same as Fred, but I wonder what's so important to the Dawkins boys.
It's not fair that Fred has to share his all the time.
Dean wondered for a moment if Fred might have borrowed it, but dismissed the thought.
The young girl wanted to know about Fred, Maria, and Mrs. Lincoln and even asked about SB, her newly acquired stuffed owl.
Fred O'Connor was in the living room, hosting three of the four Dawkins, with Ginger missing, when the Deans returned to their bed and breakfast.
He filled Fred in on meeting Jennifer Radisson, their afternoon trip to the mine, and the discovery of a back entrance.
No need to taint Fred's jury-pure mind.
I have that Women's Club debate, and with Fred starting jury duty, this place will be short-handed.
He would have hauled Fred along for company, but the old man had a date, so Dean was on his own.
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.
She took his hand to lead him up to the porch where Fred stood.
Fred's changed his bow tie three times and you're bouncing around here like a November turkey.
Fred's lady friends will provide all the support I need.
Fred's back to being upset over this jury business.
Joseph Dawkins was there, seated at Fred's computer.
Fred was stretched out on the bed, fully dressed and looking like a funeral home customer.
Fred opened his eyes.
Fred was referring to a coffee klatch of elderly town patriarchs whose words and advice on just about anything was often quoted in the local paper.
He glanced back at Fred, who had again closed his eyes and was prattling on about the best ways to "case" the storage facility.
It wouldn't do to taint Fred O'Connor's open mind about the Dawkinses before the trial.
Look, Fred, if you're worried about some old beef, forget it.
Fred sat bolt upright.
Fred hesitated as he rocked up to a sitting position.
Even more disconcerting, while Dean knew a small number of those present, he didn't spot a one of Fred's supportive cronies.
While he smiled, he crossed his fingers that Fred was correct that Maria was legal.
There was more movement in the back of the room as Fred O'Connor entered, followed by a contingent of his followers.
Claudia called for order as Fred's friends chatted with a pair of women in the last row, no doubt bringing the new arrivals up to speed.
Fred patted him on the back and apologized on behalf of his friends who spent the afternoon in the court house attending Fred's jury session.
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.
Instead, he asked Fred about his detective work.
Fred made a note on his pad.
It was Fred who broke the silence—with a mighty leap.
He was the one who switched the bones, killing two stones with one bird—" "I think you've got that a bit mixed up," Dean offered, but Fred was on a roll.
Fred pulled out his notebook and began scribbling.
Dean was glad to see Fred's line of reasoning stray away from the Dawkinses.
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.
Fred looked down at the table, pretending it wasn't his turn, as he wrapped a chicken leg in a piece of dark bread.
Fred lost and muttered something about the unfairness of life as he left to do his duty.
Fred O'Connor popped back into the room waving money.
Fred said, holding them up.
Fred began pacing the kitchen.
It might taint Fred's open mind.
Fred wore an ear-to-ear grin.
Fred continued to be mum about the trial.
Perhaps the weekend respite from the jury box had lessened Fred's apprehension.
From what Fred says after snooping on the Internet, Mr. Westlake is quite wealthy.
Fred O'Connor banged into the room with a look-ma-no-cavities smile on his face.
Fred nodded his head, pulled out his pad and took notes.
She stood up and kissed Fred on the forehead.
Dean smiled at Fred's exuberance but didn't contradict him.
Printed brochures, gratis from Myrtle Somebody whose brother-in-law was a printer, were placed about town by tiny Tonya, an eight-year-old Latina waif hired by Fred for five bucks.
Dean was directed to spend all available weekend time on a door to door smiling and handshaking crusade, the first of many Fred had mapped out for his full-court press for making David Dean the sheriff of Ouray County, Colorado.
Fred volunteered to temporarily move down to Martha's small first-floor room next to the Deans.
The Fred O'Connor Cyber Cafe was unplugged from electronic connection to the world at large, as the old gentleman was taking his sweet time moving his belongings downstairs.
Dean sensed Fred had finished his own web business before unhooking and was content to let the waiting line of users cool their respective heels.
Fred peered over his shoulder as he read it.
Cynthia stepped into the room as Dean asked Fred, "Any way of finding out who he is?"
Fred considered the question.
Joseph had grumbled something along the same lines to Fred earlier.
Fred's freebie hookup was the only show in town, in the mind of the rich old cheapskate.
Fred had told him the young girl lived between divorced parents, always at odds with one or the other.
She was the victor of Vegas to the tune of three hundred dollars, and called to invite Fred out to spend the spoils.
While Fred was outside picking a boutonniere for the occasion, his now marginally wealthy flame of fame—locally at least— called a second time.
Fred would be up till the moon was down, out spending Mrs. Worthington's Vegas spoils.
When Fred returned later yet, Dean rose and told him the news.
Fred was back to worrying not only about Martha, but his duty with the reconvening jury after the weekend hiatus.
They were too busy knocking on Fred's door before he'd even risen to book their reservations for Cyberville.
Fred O'Connor was nearest and talked in subdued and nervous conversation, reaching for a paper and pencil to take down a number.
Fred O'Connor's usual behavior was often erratic.
Dean scampered out the door, tripping over a dozen "Dean for Sheriff" placards, delivered overnight by one of Fred's legion.
Cynthia poked her head in later, wondering what was holding up Fred.
It was a shock for David Dean to see Fred O'Connor sitting on a wooden stool behind bars at the Ouray County jail.
After giving Fred a hug he sat next to him on the bunk.
What's this all about, Fred?
It was no use pressing Fred further.
Then Fred added, Keep your fingers crossed.
Fred thought a moment.
Dean left the cell confident that the old man was coping, but he was beginning to mirror Fred's concern with his past.
Dean had run Fred's prints, but as Fred pointed out, it had been many years ago.
Cynthia was waiting for Dean at Bird Song—a message left at the library had alerted her to Fred's arrest.
The mixed news produced a sense of relief that Martha was, according to Fred, temporarily safe, but she seethed at what she saw as Fitzgerald's vindictiveness at attacking them through the old man.
But Fred's concern tends to be contagious.
If Martha's no longer with her mother, do you think Fred knows where she is?
When Fred gets out of jail, we'll have to send him back to his old newspapers—begin all over again.
Fred gave the woman a petulant little boy look but then smiled and patted her arm.
When told Patsy Boyd was traveling alone, Fred nodded with a knowing smile.
Dean didn't press the old man for whatever he knew nor did Fred offer any information.
When he told Fred of Jennifer Radisson's revelation concerning Josh Mulligan, his stepfather's response was far more animated.
Dean then told Fred of Lydia Larkin's clever set up of Fitzgerald.
As Dean left the building, the jailer sauntered back to Fred's cell.
When there was a lady around, Fred O'Connor was always in good hands.
Dean knew Fred O'Connor was scheduled for release and that necessitated a dreaded trip to the sheriff's office.
Much as he disliked making Fred wait, he decided to put off the task until nine o'clock but another phone call forced a change of plans.
There was no sign of Fitzgerald, Lydia Larkin, the jailer, or Fred O'Connor.
Then Fitz goes and jails Fred O'Connor just for spite.
Fred returned part way through the recital, and after a greeting and a handshake, retired to the back room with Kathleen the jailer to fill out paper work for his release.
Kathleen and Fred were finishing the paper work and Dean readied to leave.
Something unspoken passed between them as Fred returned, his arm around his jailer's shoulders.
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.
Fred was absolutely joyous when Dean presented him with the unprocessed fingerprint card and promptly tore it into pea-size pieces.
There was no further official word on Martha's whereabouts, but Fred continued to assure the Deans not to worry, saying the girl was in good hands, whatever that meant.
Fred rubbed his chin.
Fred nodded and began writing on his pad.
The three went to Fred's temporary quarters in Martha's small first-floor room to compose the message.
In celebration of Fred's return to Bird Song, Dean didn't bother to protest.
Cynthia asked as Fred sent the message.
Fred slipped out early to renew his social life while the Deans ate soup and sandwiches.
In spite of the good news of Fred's return, the pall of Martha's continued absence draped over Bird Song.
Fred returned early and was informed of the new developments.
Fred O'Connor joined him in the hall.
Then she smiled sheepishly at Fred who tried to look innocent.
That's when I called Fred.
Fred O'Connor rubbed his chin and tried not to look guilty.
Most of the lodgers were about their daily activities, with Fred off to the post office, Maria doing her duties with her usual exuberance, and the Deans hovering close by.
It's just like one of Fred's books!
It's been a busy time for Fred since you left.
Fred came into the room, fresh from his uptown trip.
In spite of the happy group that greeted him, Fred's somber mood didn't mirror theirs.
He turned to Fred, patting him on the back.
As usual, Fred paused for emphasis.
Martha bounced around, thrilled to be back in the routine, and joined Fred in passing out more campaign literature.
Fred was alone, busy at his computer.
When Dean told Fred about Fitzgerald's death Fred immediately, in his best I-told-you-so tone, assigned the guilt to Lydia Larkin.
Fred shrugged as he continued to pound away at the keys.
Fred fingered the keys and on the fourth listing and yelled, I've got it.
Fred O'Connor was instructed to call Jake Weller and tell him where they were located, but Dean couldn't wait.
Fred is sending the sheriff up.
Fred O'Connor seemed a tad put out that he'd been absent from the final confrontation in the Lucky Pup Mine until Dean reminded him that without his Internet connection and library research, Martha's bones would still be without identity.
Fred O'Connor and David Dean kept close tabs on the New Jersey nuptials via telephone.
We'll save the mysteries for Fred to solve while we try to pay the bills.
Fred, age seventy-six, was quick to embrace any hint of mystery and attach it to the most common everyday happening.
The two had gradually fallen in love, married, scraped together funds, and together with Fred O'Connor, purchased a hundred-year-old Colorado Victorian home.
The second floor contained six, five rooms for guests, the sixth occupied by Fred O'Connor.
Fred was not so easily placated.
Fred just shook his head at Dean's perceived ignorance.
Fred plopped down on the sofa, set the plate in his lap and continued to eat and talk at the same time.
After fifteen bachelor years with Fred O'Connor he had heard it all.
With the proceeds of a recent stock sale, Fred O'Connor had invested in a complete computer system and was off and running.
The town of Ouray, while only a century and a quarter old, was rich in history and Fred O'Connor, together with a cadre of widows with similar interests, spent many hours reading Ouray's old newspapers and written accounts.
The sole response to Fred's electronic advertising was not a sale of services, but a questionable purchase he was conned into buying.
I got some ideas and I have a few feelers out, Fred answered, a defensive tone in his voice.
Fred, remembering historical items from an earlier mystery in which he and his stepson were involved, jumped at the offer.
Cynthia jumped in to give Fred a hand.
Fred O'Connor strolled back to the room, his platter replenished, the garage sale section of the newspaper tucked beneath his arm.
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.
Fred O'Connor bounced into the room before the woman could comment further.
Fred was so close to her she couldn't refuse his outstretched hand.
The phone rang twice while he worked, both times answered by Fred who sounded as if he was booking another guest.
The second caller was a lady friend of Fred's by the sound of the muffled conversation.
Fred was still gabbing on the phone so Dean shared with his wife the last of the turkey salad, extended mileage from the Christmas turkey of ten days earlier.
Dean shrugged and reached for a jar of peanut butter just as Fred joined the couple.
Dean asked, ignoring Fred's quip.
Fred stooped to see what goodies remained in the refrigerator and removed a plate of cold meatloaf.
Cynthia told Fred as she rose to pick up the dishes.
Fred sat at the table and began forking in the cold meat.
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.
Donnie smiled shyly as Fred continued.
But before Fred could answer, Cynthia patted him on the shoulder.
Fred leaned back, as smug as a raffle winner.
Dean paused half way through his pie, awaiting Fred's answer.
Fred picked up an extra fork.
Dean didn't answer quick enough before Fred began eating his pie.
That's a stretch and a half, Fred.
Fred wiped his mouth and rose.
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.
Fred, who had tagged along, beat a hasty retreat downstairs, making the excuse of a trip to the library.
The Deans followed Fred O'Connor's example.
Cynthia carefully hand washed the articles of clothing from Fred's box of historical goodies and hung them outside in the sun to dry.
Fred telephoned from the library that he would not be back for dinner, instead no doubt tasting some widow's fare.
Fred O'Connor changed the subject.
Fred left the room and returned with a pencil and pad.
Both Fred and Cynthia looked over Dean's shoulder and agreed.
Neither Fred nor Cynthia had a ready answer.
Fred said as he resumed his list.
Fred mentioned she was a social minded do-gooder type citizen.
Fred joined the trio and nodded in agreement.
But he didn't pooh-pooh Fred's suggestion.
She looked at Fred.
Then, as if to change the subject, she added, to Fred, "I'm sure you'll find she was happy, wherever she lived."
She turned again to Fred.
She started to rise but Fred O'Connor rose to his feet.
Before she could protest, Fred was off with a wave good night.
The Fred O'Connor charm extended beyond the blue haired set to children as well.
Her room is right next to Fred's.
Fred The Bear joined them, later than usual, and confirmed their speculation.
Fred leaned close to Dean.
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.
He gave no indication he and his mother were leaving and joined Fred at the table when the old man offered him a bowl of cereal.
Fred asked the question like a learned professor, speculating on a universal problem of time, space and the creation of the universe.
Her presence reduced Cynthia's domestic chores and eliminated the need for Dean and Fred to pick up more than the occasional dust rag.
She just shrugged her shoulders as if she could care less about his lack of vocalization and moseyed over to near where Fred and the boy were sitting, the notebook between them.
Besides, if any dramatic discoveries were made, with Fred O'Connor on the job, Dean would learn the results soon enough.
Fred joined the couple.
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.
Fred was back in town, treating the children to sandwiches before returning to the library for a new dose of historical research.
Once the details to that "caper," as Fred O'Connor called it, were settled, life and business at Bird Song had proceeded peacefully.
Fred O'Connor, back from his second stint at the library and historical museum, was now poring over the newspaper and circling the Saturday garage sales in the classified ads.
Fred sighed and put down the newspaper.
Fred and his juvenile helpers had located a picture of Reverend Martin and his wife in an old museum collection of early Ouray papers and photos.
Fred ignored Dean's reference to pudginess.
Fred O'Connor reluctantly held out the century-old notebook.
Fred jumped in before Dean could question the math.
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.
Well, I guess it's time we see if Fred needs any help with our guests from Boston.
The two ladies had joined Fred in the parlor where he was showing them the letters they had purchased from him, sight unseen.
Claire Quincy had donned reading glasses and was scrutinizing the letters as Fred O'Connor followed his notes and explained the information on Annie Quincy he had gathered at the library.
Dean could sense Fred was peeved.
Fred reached for the picture but Claire held on to it.
Dean caught the look on Fred's face as Edith handed the items to Claire.
Claire directed her angry scowl at Fred.
Fred was in his finest form, the image of polite firmness.
She then pushed the three smaller denomination coins across the coffee table toward Fred.
Before Fred could reply, or whack her in the mouth, which would have been Dean's first choice, the front doorbell interrupted the tense gathering.
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.
Before Dean could tell her about Ryland, she turned to her husband, "Are you going to let Fred go skiing with that man?" she asked in a whisper as they turned toward their quarters.
I know Fred means well, but you said it yourself.
You know and I know Fred's past is his business.
As soon as the couple joined Fred behind the closed door of their office-sitting room, Dean explained the identity of their new guest.
Surprisingly, Fred O'Connor, arch fan of any hint of mystery, remained uninterested in the Donald Ryland-Edith Shipton-Jerome Shipton triangle.
Fred just grunted in agreement.
Aren't you going to give the nice lady the notebook too, Fred?
Fred snarled his response with an uncustomary growl.
Fred just looked at him.
Dean and Fred pretended, without success, to not have heard what Edith was saying while she blushed.
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.
While Fred, and to a lesser extent Cynthia, had solved cryptograms in the newspaper, neither were particularly adept at it.
I'm beginning to think you like a mystery as much as Fred!
Besides, now that you're a retired detective, Fred and I have to carry the ball.
It might have been Fred.
Fred O'Conner, dressed for the slopes, gave a grumpy wave.
Fred O'Connor joined the others, looking distressed.
Fred began eating his cereal, with a serving spoon, a sure sign he wanted to accelerate the process and get on with the day's activities.
Fred finished his breakfast in a rush and hauled out the pair of his garage-sale skis.
While the equipment didn't match what was displayed on the cover of current ski magazines, they looked surprisingly good for the twenty bucks Fred said he'd paid for them, with boots and poles part of the package.
Donnie responded with nods, smiles and gestures while Fred and Dean, scrunched into the back seat, politely listened.
There was no charge for Fred, though the counter girl, with a wink at Dean, asked for age verification, telling Fred he didn't look a day over sixty.
Fred answered with a look that said he, too, was justifiably proud to be on the slopes at his age.
Fred understood this and volunteered to ski with Donnie while the others took a couple of runs from the higher elevations.
The two men first boarded chair lift number ten and ten and a half minutes later were eighteen hundred feet higher than Fred and Donnie, at nearly eleven thousand feet elevation.
At the base they checked in with Fred and Donnie, who were doing fine without them, so they moved to even more challenging terrain.
They spotted Fred and the boy from the top of the slope.
Fred held a large white handkerchief to his face.
But Dean could see in spite of Fred's humor, something was wrong.
Fred asked, looking over Dean's shoulder.
The three north-side second floor rooms contained Fred, Gladys Turnbull and a pretty female climber named Penny.
Fred returned just as they were clearing the dishes, wearing a perplexed look on his face.
Dean asked, trying to hustle Fred along with his drawn out explanation.
Fred gave him a big gotcha smile.
Fred, it looks like you've got yourself a real mystery this time.
With Fred's help, and two of the returning guests, the group revived Edith.
Fred had left a half hour earlier, to see Miss Worthington, about some business, or so he claimed.
Wait until Fred gets a load of this!
I'll leave that research up to Fred.
Fred had already left.
Cynthia went on to say Fred had been excited by her translation of Annie's notebook and had left in a rush.
There was a noise at the back door and Fred O'Connor entered.
She turned to Fred and handed him her latest translations of Annie Quincy's diary.
Fred had spent his day seeking obituary information on Annie Quincy Martin.
Dean asked as Fred left to change for yet another dinner engagement with Miss Worthington.
Fred joined them from his room across the hall, a startled look on his face as he first noted the blonde hair.
Edith tried to close her door but Fred deftly slipped his foot in the way.
He then added, "But when your sister was so snooty about the coins and other items and short changed Fred O'Connor, we decided to keep the notebook."
She rose from her chair, just as Fred entered the room.
She and her husband related their conversation with Effie to Fred, how she had read the notebook, her comments regarding the gold coins, and their new, more respectful evaluation of Miss Effie Quincy.
He owed Fred a "gotcha" after the hard time he'd given the old man about his electronic sales adventures.
Fred turned to leave.
Fred, I know you're an old geezer, but Roosevelt died during World War Two.
Fred O'Connor sighed deeply.
Fred left with a wave and Cynthia returned to Annie Quincy's notebook.
I just wish she had been able to escape and draw a curtain on her past like Fred O'Connor and move into a secure and happy life.
Well, I'm sure Fred wasn't a hooker but I'm content to accept him on a present day basis, regardless of why he's so protective of his past.
I never will understand how you could know so little about Fred.
You must have wondered about Fred's past at times.
Fred married my mother years after dad passed away.
I never even met Fred until a couple of days before she died.
She saw the basic good in Fred and she was correct.
Plus, Janet is either late or missing, Fred never even came home last night, I don't think I made enough breakfast rolls, and there's a stack of luggage in the hall.
He too was troubled to distraction by Shipton's presence, enough to pass up such an obvious chance to pull Fred's leg.
Fred read the latest transcribed pages of Annie Quincy's journal while the Deans cleaned up the dining room.
Fred emerged long enough to pass on breakfast, a sure sign the widow Worthington had fed him, and he was off to do his morning research.
They had dined at an expensive restaurant, at Fred's booking and in his company, when the only connection between them was Detective Dean investigating her husband's disappearance.
The trio, at Fred's direction, had played an ice-breaking game of pretending the backgrounds of the various other dinners.
Fred O'Connor finished reading the latest pages as Mrs. Lincoln crawled onto his lap.
Dean turned to Fred.
Fred took on the air of a learned professor as he explained.
Effie sat at the table, smiling first at Fred O'Connor, then at the others, before beginning to read the pages.
Perhaps Fred could help you.
Fred wandered into the kitchen as Dean was reading the label of a Campbell's soup can in hopes of creating an exotic sauce for his broiling fish.
Fred looked over his shoulder before speaking.
He'd coerced Fred into doing the dishes.
However, when the phone rang—one a reservation, the other a lengthy call for Fred from his current beloved—Cynthia jumped like a startled rabbit.
Fred joined Dean in the dining room, taking up the duty of chatting with the guests, a task Dean was not yet ready to perform after a less-than-complete night's sleep.
Even Fred O'Connor was taking the day off from his historical research to watch the festivities.
Fred returned, was informed of the situation, and gave Cynthia a warm and silent hug.
Before Dean could remember what Shanghai offered for public transportation, Fred set about taking care of the needs and concerns of the returning guests.
Fred asked at one point, on his way to deliver cookies and hot chocolate to the parlor.
After a call to Fred at Bird Song and the necessary schedule changes, they once again boarded the Jeep for the one-hour ride.
Fred O'Connor sat in the parlor, a Sue Grafton novel in his lap, snoring softly.
Fred awoke, rubbing his eyes.
Fred asked the sheriff.
Fred rose to get the liquor.
Fred poured a full glass of Tequila for Weller but left the other two glasses empty.
Fred reached for an ever-ready pad and pencil and began making a list.
Fred had taken care of the early morning chores as Dean poured himself his first cup of coffee, dreading the inquisition he knew would be forthcoming from the old man.
Fred couldn't resist a mystery and here was a riddle on-site.
But Fred was being unusually patient.
Claire had informed Fred she and Effie would be leaving Tuesday.
Fred ignored the question and sat at the table, his patience expired.
His statement did nothing to slow Fred down.
Fred didn't have a chance to bellyache at the compromise before the phone interrupted.
Fred followed but there was little time for conversation.
Dean let Fred follow along, list in hand, as he poked into Edith's room, which Jerome had recently shared.
Dean asked, as much to himself as Fred O'Connor.
Fred peered at the paper.
He and Fred retired to Dean's quarters, having made no progress.
Dean asked, more to humor Fred than anything else.
He left Bird Song, telling Janet where he was going and together with Fred, hiked up to the ice park to where Shipton had fallen.
Fred said, moving closer to the tall lawman.
He and Fred walked down the road, unfortunately meeting a half-dozen friends from town en route.
Fred grumbled, but Dean just slapped his back and began to whistle, as if he didn't have a care in the world, while his mind turned like a racecar piston on the final lap.
Fred was snuggled up on the sofa, next to the only woman member of the law-folk group.
Fred sat down on the sofa, staking out his territory, letting the world know he had every intention of sticking around.
Fred squirmed to a more comfortable position.
He sat next to Fred on the sofa.
Corday looked at Fred, seemed to consider asking him to leave and then decided he'd best leave well enough alone.
Fred had his pencil and pad at the ready.
Fred, who had been taking it all in, gave a snort of laughter.
The police spoke to Fred next, while Dean strolled back toward his quarters, with Corday's question concerning his wife's return echoing in his mind.
Effie Quincy was next in the hot seat, according to Fred.
Dean knew Fred was chomping at the bit to dig into this caper, as he called it, but just to flip his switch a bit, Dean started the conversation with the old man's love life.
Look, son, Fred continued.
Fred wet his pencil and frowned like a college professor.
Dean smiled, in spite of himself as Fred continued.
Fred made appropriate notes, then asked, "Who was in the room when the knife disappeared?"
Fred grumbled a bit, but Dean just laughed.
Fred rubbed his chin in contemplation.
Dean tuned Fred to the off position until his stepfather floated back to reality and continued.
Here's my short list Fred, for what it's worth.
Fred nodded in agreement.
Fred rose and began pacing the room.
Maybe Fred O'Connor ought to make the list too.
Sometimes Dean wished Fred O'Connor wasn't so damned perceptive.
Then Fred asked, "What did she have to say about Shipton's fall when the two of you drove to the airport?"
Fred put his hand on Dean's shoulder.