Kurt replayed the video. “I think you’re right. They’re acting. That’s not a real fight.”
After the third viewing, Morgan admitted that other than the broken string of beads, no damage appeared to have been done. The angle of the video did not touch on the Rock of Ages table, and she did not see a thief carrying a brow horn.
Morgan glanced at Quinn’s table. He seemed to be pulling in enough money to pay for his bus-sized RV. “Quinn might have paid the couple to distract people while he stole the brow horn.”
“If we can find these people,” Burke said, “we might find the horn.”
He glared at Buckskin Quinn.
“Do they look familiar?” Kurt asked.
“Send that to me,” Burke said, a grim tone in his voice. “I’ve got the coliseum layout memorized. I’ll find them if they’re here.”
He adjusted the vendor ID badge hanging on a lanyard around his neck. The badge was nearly lost against the bright print of his silk Hawaiian shirt, this one an ocean blue covered with beach scenes and brown outrigger canoes.
“You’re not going alone,” Kurt said.
Burke’s face flushed, and anger flashed in his dark eyes. “You think I’m too lame to find the couple?”
“Touchy!” Kurt looked amused. “No, I’m afraid you could get hurt.” Kurt raised one hand to stop Burke’s protest that he could take care of himself. “The theft of the Velociraptor smacks of organized crime. Do you want to go up against a gang of thieves alone?”
“Okay,” Burke said. “You can go with me.”
The two left Morgan alone at the table for what seemed hours. Finally, the men returned.
Burke shook his head. “They wouldn’t crack, even after Dad gave them the third degree.”
“Ingrid and Iver,” Kurt said. “From Sweden. They run a bead table upstairs. They pretended they didn’t speak English when I tried to question them.”
“I heard them speaking English just fine when we arrived,” Burke said. “With an accent, but they didn’t fool me. They understood Dad.”
“They didn’t act as though they’d had a public brawl just a day ago,” Kurt said.
“Maybe they were embarrassed,” Morgan said. “They might have been trying to distance themselves from their previous behavior.”
“Well, maybe,” Burke said, his words thick with skepticism.
“I want to see them,” Morgan said. “Maybe Ingrid will open up to another woman.”
Before she could leave, two police officers approached the Rock of Ages table. Morgan was surprised the police actually took an interest in her case. The chance that the thief had left any evidence was slim, considering the hundreds of people who had poured down the coliseum aisle since then. From their questions, Morgan could tell they were really just trying to decide whether the theft of the six million dollar fossil and Morgan’s brow horn were related.
“We’re checking the security cameras,” one officer said.
“That sounds hopeful,” Kurt said.
The other officer shook her head. “There aren’t that many cameras, and the film quality is poor. We couldn’t tell if a person had a dinosaur bone or a wiener dog tucked under their arm.”
“Can we look at the film?” Morgan asked.
“It’s all at the forensic lab,” the first officer said. “They’re examining it for clues to the other theft.”
Of course. The six million dollar Velociraptor took priority over her pathetic little three thousand dollar brow horn.
“Mr. Fontaine is missing,” Burke said. “The door guard?” Burke pointed to the large open coliseum doors, where a different security guard stood. “I called his house, and his daughter said he didn’t show for dinner last night.”
“We’re looking into that,” the second officer said.
“His family is worried,” Burke said. “Mr. Fontaine wouldn’t steal anything. He was excited about being in my documentary, and when I told him my mother wanted him to do a cameo in her film, well hey, there’s no reason for him to just disappear. Maybe he got hurt trying to stop the thief.”
* * *
An announcement came over the tinny speakers that the coliseum doors would close in ten minutes. Morgan and Kurt wrapped up two sales, and began packing the table for the night.
“I’d like to try a brew pub I heard about,” Kurt said. “Are you up to an evening of somewhat less fine dining?”
“Frankly, I could use a beer,” Morgan said. “Maybe Burke will sit with us this time. Where is he?”
“My guess is that he’s at Sonny Day’s booth. He seems to have become fascinated with the whole alien invasion, end of the world deal. Or maybe with Wenda.” Kurt shook his head. “Don’t dare say ‘I told you so’.”
“You can take heart that the mineral show ends tomorrow,” Morgan said. “Wenda only has a few hours remaining to convince your son to run away with the Sonny Day circus. Of course, if they move next door to the Rock of Ages, Burke won’t have far to run.”
“Thank you for those comforting thoughts.”
“I’ll go with you,” Morgan said. “You’re too angry.”
“You can’t leave the table unattended,” Kurt said.
“What’s left to take?” Morgan asked. “We’ve already locked up the valuables for the night. I’ll bring the cash box.”
The usual crowd flocked around Sonny Day’s booth, examining audio and video recordings of lectures about the imminent end of the world, and the aliens who would save them all. Morgan waved a hand at Wenda, trying unsuccessfully to get her attention.
“Is Burke here?” Kurt asked, his voice loud enough to draw curious stares.
“He’s talking to Mr. Day.” Wenda kept her eyes focused on the small cash register as she rang up a sale.
Morgan took a step forward, as though to step around the table. Wenda held up a hand.
“I’ll get him,” she said. “Just wait here.”
Kurt frowned. He moved as though to follow the young woman, but Morgan placed a hand on his arm.
“If Sonny is anything like Piers,” Morgan said, “the worst that can happen is he’s realigning Burke’s chakras. Cindy would tell you that’s nothing that a visit to Golden Springs Community Church can’t mend.”
Judging from the deep flush spreading up Kurt’s neck and into his cheeks, he failed to see the humor. Burke backed out of the canopied area, still talking to Sonny. Piers followed close behind, his hands shoved up the opposite sleeves of his tunic.
“Jet is my step-dad,” Burke said to Sonny.
“A man who makes millions for every film appearance might not be interested in narrating my little movie,” Sonny said.
“You’d be surprised,” Burke said. “Those Hollywood types love supporting causes. And this is definitely—” He turned and saw his father. “Oh. Hi, Dad.”
“You didn’t answer my call.”
“Oops. I didn’t hear it.”
“Cell reception is poor in the arena.” Sonny folded his arms across a western shirt decorated with embroidered aliens and flying saucers. “Burke is a capable young man. He has a fruitful future ahead of him.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Kurt said, with a heaping helping of sarcasm.
“Da-ad.” Burke drew the word out into a two-syllable admonition.
“We’re going to dinner,” Kurt said.
“I’ve got other plans,” Burke said. “Important business.”
Kurt raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”
There is something in the essence of some parents that commands authority with just a look, or a mere word. This seemed to be the case with Kurt.
“Family takes precedence,” Sonny told Burke. “We will see you in Golden Springs soon. Then we can really focus on the film.”
Burke released a dramatic teen
age sigh as he turned to his father. “I suppose I can go with you.”
For a spoiled Hollywood kid, Burke did not put up much of a fight. She doubted Burke had anything to do with the brow horn theft, but he seemed to be keeping something to himself. Morgan had lived through worse episodes of teen angst. In fact, his moping seemed forced.
Morgan tried to enjoy the craft beer and fish and chips. They were almost a good as those at O’Reily’s. But the tension between father and son made dinner awkward. Burke endured stoically. When they returned to the motel, he slouched off to bed. Kurt sat with Morgan on the sofa in her room, with the adjoining door gapped open.
Morgan could tell from Kurt’s pained expression that he wanted to apologize for his son.
“For the record,” she whispered, “I’ve been down the teen road twice. This is nothing new.”
Kurt glanced at the door. “If Sonny Day is serious about making a movie, maybe he’ll move to Hollywood. Of course, Burke might just follow him.” Kurt shook his head. “There’s no winning.”
“The movie might be a lot of hot air,” Morgan said. “You can’t worry about it until the cameras actually start rolling.”
“Let’s hope they don’t,” Kurt said. “We have more pressing matters.”
“The mineral show closes tomorrow. I’ve spoken to everyone I can about Eustace, and the only one who believes he would have killed himself is his son, who seems eager to build on the ranch he inherits. As for the horn, it was long gone Friday.” Morgan felt tears fill her eyes. She pressed the sleeve of her T-shirt to her face. “I’m a lousy investigator. I can’t even keep track of a two foot dinosaur body part.”
“You said there might be an entire Triceratops somewhere,” Kurt said. “Between what the professor told me about the certification letter, and the story the prospector told you, I believe it’s possible.”
Morgan shrugged. “Maybe. Kendall and Allie haven’t run across one on the Rock of Ages, but they didn’t rule out the possibility.”
“Whoever stole the Triceratops brow horn could be hunting for the rest of the dinosaur.” Kurt sat up straight, his brow furrowed in thought. “Or they might already have it. The key to both Eustace Day’s death, and the location of the brow horn, might be one and the same. This investigation is far from over.”
“I’m certain Buckskin Quinn stole the horn. He came to the rock shop the day after Eustace blew himself up—” Morgan grabbed Kurt’s arm as realization hit her. “You could be right! The voices we heard, and the shooting. Maybe Quinn killed Eustace Day for the Triceratops, and he just needed the horn to complete it.” Morgan slumped. “Which means he has the entire dinosaur now.”
“Or the rest of the Triceratops might still be on the Day ranch. In which case Quinn could show up for the rest of the fossil. There is hope.” Kurt scooted across the sagging sofa, closer to Morgan. “But there’s nothing we can do about it tonight.”
The door to the adjoining room bumped open before Kurt could finish moving in for a kiss. Burke stood in the gap. He faked a yawn poorly and rubbed his eyes. Wearing cut-off gym shorts and an over-sized football jersey, he looked like a sleepy kid.
“Hey, I thought you said we had to get up early,” Burke said. “You’re talking too loud for me to sleep.”
Kurt followed his son into the adjoining room. Morgan couldn’t help but notice the look Burke shot her as the door closed.
He had been listening to every word.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Despite Kurt’s determination that they still had time to solve both the mystery of Eustace Day’s demise and the theft of the Triceratops brow horn, a dark cloud hung over Sunday. Packing items in tubs in preparation for the closing of the show later that afternoon was a depressing activity. When they sent Burke to the trailer with two tubs, he disappeared for over an hour.
“He’s talking to Wenda,” Kurt said, his cheeks flushing red. “I’d bet money that I could walk over there right now and catch him.”
Morgan placed a hand on Kurt’s arm. “Don’t. You’ll only make her seem more enticing, like forbidden fruit.”
Kurt tugged his fedora lower. “I shouldn’t be worried. She’s too old for Burke. In fact, it’s obvious that if she’s interested in anyone, it’s her boss Sonny. Wenda’s only using Burke for his Hollywood connections.”
A customer interrupted their conversation, purchasing one of the last angel donkey T-shirts. Seeing the pencil sketches of Houdini and Adelaide on the shirt made Morgan realize how anxious she was to get home. When Adelaide had her foal, perhaps the trauma of the mineral show would fade. However, after she left the show, Morgan’s opportunity to investigate the brow horn’s theft would fade, too.
When there was a lull in business, Morgan excused herself to make a restroom trip. The ladies’ room she headed for was conveniently close to the Swedish couple’s bead table upstairs. If she could convince Iver and Ingrid to confess that Buckskin Quinn paid them to stage a fight Friday, maybe the police could get a search warrant for Quinn’s trailer.
Morgan cruised by slowly, pretending to admire the strings of beads and beading supplies. The couple chatted amiably in Swedish, both stringing beads into intricate designs. They certainly didn’t act like they’d engaged in a public brawl two days ago.
With no particular plan in mind, Morgan realized she couldn’t just confront them. She wandered aimlessly past nearby tables and booths, finally glancing at her watch. Kurt would be wondering where she was. Morgan turned around, walking slowly toward the bead table.
Ingrid stood and stretched. She stepped around the table and headed to the ladies’ room. Morgan followed. The long-legged Swede outpaced Morgan, entering the restroom and locking herself in a stall. Morgan waited by the sinks.
When Ingrid stepped out and began washing her hands, Morgan turned the water on at the sink next to hers. She glanced over. Ingrid was involved in her task, enveloped in the artificial bubble of privacy one adopted in public restrooms.
Pasted to the wall were small posters for upcoming concerts and events, and one notice outlined in red giving the number for a women’s shelter.
“Hi,” Morgan said.
Ingrid glanced at her, pasting on a smile. “Hello.”
Ingrid turned the water off and held her hands under the towel dispenser. Brown paper scrolled out. Ingrid tore off the sheet.
“I saw you Friday,” Morgan said. “Downstairs, near the rear entrance to the coliseum.”
“Oh.” Ingrid’s peaches and cream complexion flushed, but she said nothing more.
“Are you okay?” Morgan asked. “If you need help, I can give you the phone number to the domestic abuse hotline.”
Ingrid laughed. “No, everything is okay.”
She turned to leave, but Morgan stepped in front of the door.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” Morgan said, “but the Denver police take domestic abuse seriously. If they see the video of you and your husband fighting. . . ”
Fear flashed in Ingrid’s blue eyes.
“I tell Iver this is not good idea,” she told Morgan. “Will only result in big trouble. But business at this show is not so good as we hope, and the money is too much. I want no trouble.”
“You’re not in any trouble,” Morgan said. “I just have some questions.”
The door opened and a woman brushed past Morgan to a stall. Ingrid frowned at Morgan, then shrugged.
“Okay, we talk.”
Morgan let her pass, struggling to keep up. Ingrid stopped at a coffee vendor. She ordered a latte. Morgan did the same, then paid for both. They sat at a small table.
“You are woman who owns the stolen dinosaur,” Ingrid said. “Not Velociraptor. The other one. I tell Iver this will bite us in backside, but he says that was just bad timing.”
“Someone paid you to stage that fight,” Morgan said. “Who?”
/>
“I do not know her name,” Ingrid said.
Not Buckskin Quinn. Morgan went with her next suspect.
“Did she wear a dragon dress?” Morgan asked.
Ingrid looked confused.
“A dress printed with dragons,” Morgan tried.
“No, she is dressed like us.” Ingrid pointed to Morgan’s blue jeans. “No dress. Jeans and T-shirt. The shirt have a creature like Grendel, you know, from Beowulf?”
“Bigfoot,” Morgan said. “Or Sasquatch?”
“Yes.”
That didn’t sound like Wenda. Unless she was in disguise.
“Was she young?” Morgan held out a hand at what she estimated was five feet high. “Small?”
“No, this was large old woman. Not as tall as me, but big around, you know?” Ingrid’s phone buzzed. She grabbed it from her pocket. “I go now. You don’t tell police?”
Ingrid had been forthcoming, but not with information Morgan could use to pin the theft on Buckskin Quinn. The Swedish woman had instead introduced a new suspect.
“You see I am okay. Iver does not hurt me.” She smiled.
“I won’t tell the police,” Morgan said. “I understand you did not mean to help a thief, but the woman paid you to distract people while she stole from me. If you see the woman again, will you call me?”
“The show end soon,” Ingrid said. “I do not see her since Friday.”
Morgan pulled a Rock of Ages business card from her pocket and scribbled her personal cell phone number on the back.
“She stole something important to me,” Morgan said. “If you see her again, or if you remember anything that might help me track her down, call me.”
Ingrid accepted the card, but Morgan suspected she would never hear from the woman. When she returned to the Rock of Ages table, she discussed the encounter with Kurt in whispers.
“I’m glad you didn’t break into Quinn’s trailer Friday night,” Kurt said.
“He could have hired someone to hire the Swedes,” Morgan said.
“You’re trying to make the facts fit your preconceived notion,” Kurt said. “Maybe leaving the show, and the proximity to Buckskin Quinn, will give you a fresh perspective.”
Stone Cold Blooded Page 26
