Stone Cold Blooded

by Catherine Dilts

  Morgan and Burke methodically searched the tabletop, then the bins tucked underneath, examining spaces too ridiculously small to accommodate the two-foot horn.

  Satisfied that the Triceratops horn was actually missing, the security guard took down their information. Morgan spelled out her suspicion of Buckskin Quinn.

  “You need to check him out,” Burke agreed in a low voice. “I’ll bet he’s guilty. The horn is probably under his table.”

  “Without proof, I can’t search his booth,” the guard said. “The law is strict concerning the powers allotted to private security guards. Unless I catch him in the act of committing a crime, I can’t make an arrest.”

  “He wanted the horn pretty bad,” Burke said. “The dude tried to talk me out of it when Morgan wasn’t around.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Hernandez said. “Within the limits of the law.”

  He made the rounds of the tables in the area, talking to vendors. Morgan saw most shrug and shake their heads. A few sympathetic glances found their way to her table. When the guard spoke to Quinn, Morgan could hear the man’s angry denial.

  “I don’t appreciate being accused of theft,” Quinn said, his high-pitched voice squeaking.

  “I’m not accusing you, sir,” the guard said. “I’m just asking whether you saw anybody near the table who could have taken the fossil.”

  “I didn’t see anything.”

  Burke whispered to Morgan, “Because he’s the one who took it.”

  “There was a ruckus,” Quinn said. “You can ask anyone. A couple got into a spat right in the middle of the aisle. Yelling and screaming in some language. Not English, and not Spanish either. The man must have grabbed the woman’s string of beads. They rolled all over the place. People were helping her pick them up.”

  No one would have noticed a thief during a violent lover’s spat.

  “Why don’t you ask that old man who’s always sitting by the door?” Quinn asked. “He didn’t do anything to stop the fight. He was supposed to be on duty.”

  Morgan watched Burke’s face go pale. He frowned as he started to say something to Quinn, but Morgan touched his arm and shook her head.

  “Could be he’s chasing down the thief,” Hernandez told Quinn. He spoke cryptic coded words into a walkie-talkie, but no one answered.

  “It seems pretty strange,” Quinn said. “The guard and the horn go missing at the same time? You should look into that angle, officer.”

  Hernandez looked annoyed. He returned to the Rock of Ages table.

  “There are no witnesses,” he told Morgan. “They were all watching a couple argue. I asked if anyone saw a bag or box go out the door, about the size of the horn. I think a person could have smuggled a pink ostrich out of the coliseum and no one would have noticed.”

  “Or it could still be right here,” Burke said, glaring at Buckskin Quinn.

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” Morgan asked, as tears filled her eyes.

  “I’ll turn my report in to the police,” the guard said. “Did you take out show insurance? Some folks insure their inventory, especially if they’ve got something of particular value.”

  “I don’t know,” Morgan said. “We had a few little items shoplifted, but my employee Cindy didn’t mention anything about insurance.”

  “That’s your best bet,” the guard said. “I’ll get you a copy of the report I file with the police. They’ll follow up if there’s a break in the case.”

  Like that would happen, Morgan thought. The attention of the police and everyone in the coliseum was on a six million dollar fossil, not her measly little Triceratops brow horn.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The Rock of Ages’ profit for the entire show evaporated in that theft. Maybe they were even in the hole now. She could only hope Cindy had taken out show insurance.

  Burke slumped down on a camp chair. “I feel so stupid. I shouldn’t have come to the show.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” When Burke looked up at her, the pain obvious in his eyes, Morgan added, “I meant myself. But we both came, and we can’t change the past. We’ll just have to deal with it.”

  “Hey,” Burke whispered. “He’s leaving.”

  Buckskin Quinn tucked his cash box under his arm, a wise precaution after the thefts. Morgan kept an eye on his fringed buckskin coat as he left the coliseum through the unguarded door.

  “He’s not carrying anything big enough to be the horn,” Burke said. “If he stole it, it’s still there somewhere.”

  “Someone else could have taken it out of the coliseum,” Morgan said. “We don’t know.”

  Burke wasn’t listening. In a move worthy of his action adventure star stepfather, he dropped to all fours and crawled out of the U formed by their tables. He ducked inside Quinn’s area. Morgan didn’t have time to think, much less try to stop Burke. Maybe she didn’t want to.

  Her heart pounded while Burke made scuffling noises, opening under-the-table tubs and digging through boxes of rocks. Surely Quinn wouldn’t leave his table unattended for long. Not after the brow horn theft. Yet the minutes stretched on while Burke did a thorough search.

  Quinn was shorter than most of the adults crowding the coliseum, but Morgan caught a glimpse of the wide-shouldered buckskin jacket coming through the entrance.

  “Burke,” she whispered. “He’s coming back.”

  The teen seemed in no hurry.

  “Burke,” Morgan said, louder. “Get your butt out of there.”

  “Just one more—”

  Morgan heard cardboard tearing.

  “Oops. Ah, not here, either.”

  Burke’s head appeared under Quinn’s tablecloth. Morgan jerked her thumb toward the Rock of Ages.

  “Hurry,” she whispered, her voice squeaking.

  Burke burrowed under the Rock of Ages tablecloth just as Buckskin Quinn arrived. Morgan pretended to go through receipts, keeping her head down. Quinn unloaded a cardboard box, sorting through the rocks and fossils.

  He reached under his table.

  “Hey,” he muttered. “What the—”

  * * *

  Buckskin Quinn didn’t ask who had disturbed his booth. He didn’t dare. Nothing was missing, and Morgan had an answer ready if he should ask who had been nosing around. The same snide answer he’d given the security guard about the Triceratops brow horn.

  I didn’t see anything.

  Kurt arrived just before the coliseum doors closed for the night. He didn’t wear his vintage leather trench coat with his white dress shirt, narrow tie, and trademark fedora. Morgan wondered whether he was carrying his gun. If so, it was well hidden.

  Kurt must have noticed from their glum expressions that something was wrong.

  “Bad day?” he asked.

  “The Triceratops brow horn was stolen,” Burke said, “and it’s my fault.”

  As Burke told his father the tragic tale, with plenty of teen drama, Morgan watched Quinn’s table. He seemed in a jolly mood, chatting with the final customers of the day, animating his tall tales with sweeping hand gestures indicating the length of fish, the height of bears, and the width of the antlers of the elk he had harvested from the rugged mountains. Sitting on a stool behind his table, he looked much taller. He was as much a showman as a fossil hunter.

  When they left the coliseum, Morgan altered her route to follow Quinn. Kurt didn’t know the way to the motel, and Burke was too distraught to notice their path wound past the vendor tents and toward the parking lot RV camp.

  Quinn rolled a dolly to a large trailer. It was attached to an RV the size of a tour bus. Blazoned across both was Buckskin Quinn’s Fossil Emporium, including phone number, post office box, and web address.

  Morgan peeked around the side of a tent. Quinn unlocked the back of his trailer and placed the dolly’s contents inside.


  “Hey,” Burke said. “That’s Buckskin Quinn’s rig.”

  “I’ll bet the Triceratops brow horn is in there,” Morgan jerked a thumb toward the trailer.

  “We should come back later,” Burke whispered. “When he’s asleep.”

  “We’d need a bolt cutter,” Morgan said. “He has a serious lock on that trailer.”

  “What are you planning to do?” Kurt looked from Morgan to Burke. “Break in? You don’t have any proof that he took the horn. I’m not bailing you two out when you get arrested for breaking and entering.”

  “He’s not getting away with stealing the dinosaur horn,” Burke said. “I can get it back.”

  “You need evidence that he took it,” Kurt said. “Legally obtained evidence that you can present to the police.”

  Morgan exchanged a look with Burke.

  “Your father is right. Even if he has the horn, we’d be the ones in trouble. If we got caught.”

  As they trudged to the motel, Morgan detailed her suspicion of their neighbor Buckskin Quinn. Nothing she said persuaded Kurt they were justified in breaking into the man’s trailer. Burke expressed his regret to the point of monotony.

  “You weren’t the only ones hit by a fossil burglar,” Kurt said. “I heard about it on the radio on the drive up.”

  “Maybe somebody took advantage of all the excitement about the Velociraptor to nab our horn,” Burke said.

  “You think they’re related?” Kurt asked.

  Burke shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Whoever stole the Velociraptor must have had it planned. Taking the brow horn was just a matter of opportunity, which I could have prevented.”

  “Stop beating yourself up,” Morgan said. “What’s done is done.”

  They weren’t the most comforting words, but it was the best Morgan could do.

  “I know you two are feeling low,” Kurt said, “but I was hoping to take you out to dinner at the Sky View Restaurant.”

  Burke’s eyes lit up, then the spark faded as he glanced at Morgan. “I’ll stay at the motel. I can eat something out of the vending machine.”

  Burke did guilt really well. Morgan had to wonder whether he was laying it on a little thick to cover up his role in the brow horn theft. But she remembered the teen years from raising Sarah and David. Drama came with the territory, and as if that wasn’t enough, this kid had a Hollywood mother as a role model. Regardless, Morgan was certain his angst at the loss of the Triceratops horn had been genuine. He was no thief.

  “Suit yourself,” Kurt said. “But skipping dinner won’t bring the horn back.”

  Morgan and Burke went to their rooms to change. It was that kind of restaurant. Morgan hadn’t brought much in the way of dressy clothes, but she was able to throw something together that would not get them relegated to a table by the kitchen door.

  The restaurant was a world away from the mineral show, with its dust and heat, food truck cuisine, and Wild West atmosphere. While they waited for their table, Sonny Day, Wenda, and three devotees walked in. They had reserved a private room. There was obviously money to be made in selling the end of the world and alien overlords. As the group followed a hostess, the maître d’ informed Kurt that a table for two was available, but the wait for a larger table would be at least thirty minutes.

  Sonny Day stopped abruptly, nearly causing his entourage to crash into his backside. “We have room. Why don’t you join us?”

  Morgan introduced Kurt to Sonny, who in turn introduced his cadre of minions. The hostess and maitre d shuffled impatiently.

  “The staff is trying to seat us.” Wenda touched Sonny’s arm. “The room only seats six.”

  “If Burke joins us,” Sonny said to Kurt, “you won’t have to wait for a table.”

  “It’s okay, Dad,” Burke said. “I know them.”

  Without pausing for a response from his father, Burke disappeared through a doorway. Morgan and Kurt followed a different member of the wait staff.

  Kurt seemed amused. When they were seated, Morgan expressed her concern about Wenda’s interest in Burke. The woman looked dangerous in her dragon dress and spike heels.

  “He’ll have lots to tell his brother when they get together again,” Kurt said.

  They ordered dinner from a menu that didn’t list the prices. Morgan let Kurt talk her into a glass of wine.

  “Dinner is my treat,” Kurt said. “You’ve had a rough day.”

  “Thanks, Kurt. I’m still hoping I’ll wake up, and it will all have been a nightmare.”

  “If it was in any way Burke’s fault—”

  Morgan rested her hand on Kurt’s. “Not once has Burke tried to push the blame elsewhere. He took responsibility from the start. The only thing he did wrong was leaving the table unattended, and that was because a pretty woman lured him away. He told Buckskin Quinn he’d only be gone for a minute. Quinn claims he saw nothing, and Cleary Fontaine is missing. Burke idolizes Cleary. I thought he’d punch Quinn when he hinted Cleary might have taken the brow horn. They did disappear at same time, but I just can’t believe Cleary took it.”

  Morgan stopped to catch her breath, realizing she was talking a mile a minute.

  “Start from the beginning.” Kurt retrieved his notepad and pencil from his shirt pocket. “Maybe if you talk your way through it again, something will occur to you.”

  The salads arrived. Then they were alone again, or as alone as two people could be in a popular restaurant. Morgan began her story when she left the table to go to the fossil reveal. By the time the rest of the meal arrived, she reached the part about the couple fighting.

  “With a window of opportunity of less than fifteen minutes,” Kurt said, “I don’t see it as a crime of opportunity. It had to be well planned. Have you seen the couple since then?”

  “I wasn’t there at the time.” She thought of Burke, filming the aliens versus rock gnome fight at the Rock of Ages. “But maybe someone caught it on a camera phone.”

  “I’ll ask around tomorrow,” Kurt said.

  Morgan fought back tears. She hadn’t realized how stressed she was, and how much of a relief it was knowing Kurt would be around.

  “Maybe Wenda lured Burke away so one of Sonny Day’s people could steal the horn. His father and my uncle feuded over a fossil, according to the prospector. I hate to think Burke is being used by Wenda.”

  “That’s one of those hard life lessons to learn,” Kurt said. “For coming from a big city, he’s still just a naïve kid. Anyway, I’m certain his interest in an older woman will fade as soon as this particular circus leaves town.”

  “But Kurt, the circus could be moving next door to me.”

  If not for the meal being one of the best she had ever had, Morgan might have lost her appetite just thinking about her potential new neighbor and the lost brow horn. The crisp southwest salad, perfectly cooked asparagus in a light sauce, and melt-in-your-mouth steak distracted her temporarily.

  They collected a reluctant Burke from the private dining room. When Kurt drove them back to the motel in his vintage Plymouth, there was a moment of awkwardness when Burke assumed Kurt and Morgan would be sharing a room. Burke seemed level-headed despite his exposure to life in the Hollywood fast lane. She hoped he didn’t buy into Sonny Day’s end of the world ideas, and would opt for a Colorado university. Despite the brow horn incident, Morgan realized she liked the young man.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Morgan had clung to the hope that when she woke Saturday morning, the events of the previous day would evaporate as nothing but a bad dream. If not a dream, then maybe the thief had experienced a fit of conscience, and returned the horn during the night. Instead, every time Morgan glimpsed the empty space on their table left by the missing brow horn, her emotions churned to the surface again.

  Kurt had brought up the new batch of angel donkey T-sh
irts. Morgan wondered how many they would have to sell to make up for the loss of the Triceratops brow horn. She was attempting to work that out on the calculator when Kurt stood and stretched.

  “I’m going on a walk,” he said. “Now that they’ve slept on it, maybe one of your neighbors remembers something else from yesterday.”

  While Burke handled the customers, Morgan huddled on a camp chair and reluctantly called Cindy to tell her about the theft. She was properly outraged. When Morgan asked her about show insurance, Cindy broke into tears.

  “We’ve never had anything like this happen in all the years we’ve gone to shows. Petty shoplifting, sure, but nothing this big. I didn’t think we needed the added expense.”

  The show had started as such a fun experience, with the three women bonding in their common mission. Then they had left Morgan alone, and she had nearly destroyed the rock shop with her epic fail. Which reminded Morgan that she needed to call Kendall and Allie.

  Her sister-in-law was more understanding than Morgan expected. Kendall refused to talk to her.

  Kurt returned to the table, holding his smart phone at arm’s length and squinting at the screen. He could have been mistaken for a private detective in his white, long-sleeved shirt, narrow tie, and fedora. A detective from a 1940s film.

  “The folks from the turquoise mine shared a video with me,” he said.

  “The fight?” Burke asked.

  “Yes. They thought the woman might need proof if she wanted to press assault charges. Have you seen these two around?”

  Kurt propped his phone on the table. They huddled around the screen, watching the wobbly images. An attractive blond couple grappled in the aisle. Morgan strained to see whether the rock shop’s table had been captured in the background. Maybe the turquoise miners had inadvertently filmed the theft of the brow horn.

  Burke seemed to find the battle hilarious.

  “Domestic violence is not funny,” Morgan said.

  “They’re not making contact,” Burke said. “It’s all just a big put-on.”