“That jerk!” Morgan shook a fist at the screen.
David held up a hand. “Wait, Mom. There’s more.”
The reporter revealed that Sylvester had a financial interest in the outcome of the City Council election. Whoever won would be the deciding vote in whether the condo development would be approved. Sylvester’s concern wasn’t nesting birds or the historical integrity of downtown Golden Springs. Land was at a premium in the small mountain town. There simply wasn’t much room to expand. If the old resort property was no longer available, the developer would have to consider Erwin’s land, no matter the price.
“That should turn the tide of the election,” Bernie observed.
“Which way, though?” Morgan asked. “In favor of Kurt, or Piers Townsend?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
After dinner, Morgan and David told Bernie a little white lie. They were spending the night in the old trailer, they said, so they could be close to Adelaide. In reality, they made a beeline to Homestead Park. Chief Sharp had his Triceratops brow horn thief-trapping plan ready.
Deputy Parker had gone to the park earlier that evening, dressed in civilian hiking clothes, to find a vantage point from which he could watch a good deal of the park. He carried night vision goggles in his daypack.
Chief Sharp assigned Kurt and David to stakeout the two entrances to the parking lot. They were under orders to remain hidden no matter what happened. Kurt brought his still camera with a monstrous zoom lens. David planned to video any action with his phone. Morgan called Kendall and warned him to be on the watch, in case the brow horn ransom was a ruse to leave the rock shop unattended.
The plan was in place. She drove to the park, her heart thudding against her ribs in an uncomfortably fast rhythm.
Morgan stepped out of the old Buick. The car clicked and tinked as the metal cooled. Morgan shivered, even though the August evening was warm. The sun dipped behind the hills, spreading shadow across Homestead Park. A breeze rustled leafy branches. In the distance, perhaps on the nearby Dalton Ranch, a coyote yipped and cattle lowed.
Although the Homestead walking paths were lined with pea gravel, crunchy underfoot, there were plenty of places to walk that were covered with silent green grass.
I’ll find you, the mysterious voice had said.
Restored with city funds to its former humble glory, the two-story historic homestead house was dwarfed by ancient cottonwood trees. Would the thief come by car? On foot? By bicycle or horse? Time seemed to come to a halt. She checked her cell phone. It was nine fifteen.
Morgan zipped her windbreaker halfway and shoved her hands into the pockets. She felt the stack of paper, bound together with a rubber band, with her right hand. Kurt had given her newsprint coupons that looked nothing like real money. She only hoped it could fool someone briefly in the dark.
Chief Sharp had suggested they give the horn-napper until nine forty five. Half an hour to go. Morgan decided to walk around the homestead house. Every shadow seemed alive, and there were plenty of them. Morgan stood under one of the massive cottonwood trees and scanned the kitchen garden, planted with heirloom vegetables typical of the mid 1800s.
The corn rustled. Probably raccoons raiding the untended garden. At this altitude, the heirloom corn did not grow more than five feet. As she watched, the corn stalks parted at a height too high for the naked leprechaun, and not tall enough for a Sasquatch. Morgan’s heart raced. If she pulled her phone from her pocket and texted anyone, the horn thief might spook. She would have to trust that Chief Sharp and Deputy Parker were watching.
A hooded figure emerged from the corn, hefting a sagging burlap bag with effort. Morgan stepped out of the moon shadow of the cottonwood. The person did not seem surprised. He or she had obviously been watching Morgan.
“Give me the money.”
The voice coming from under the hood was not as deep as that of the phone caller. Now that she was face to hood with the thief, Morgan felt strangely calm. The thief was smaller than her. Wenda’s size. She doubted the young woman would be caught dead in worn jeans and a filthy hoodie, except as a disguise.
“Let me see the horn first,” Morgan said.
The figure tugged the burlap open for a moment, then slapped it back into place.
“I couldn’t tell anything from that,” Morgan said. “How do I know that’s my Triceratops horn?”
“Give me the money and then you can have a good long look.”
The voice did not sound like Wenda. How good an actress was the young woman? Morgan pulled the fake money from her pocket and riffled the corner quickly, then shoved it back in her pocket.
“Hey!”
“That’s how much of a look you gave me of the horn,” Morgan said. “You want to see the money, let me see the horn.”
Chief Sharp had told her he wanted to see the money exchange hands. The thief began to turn, ready to flee, or at least make Morgan believe he or she was leaving.
“Okay.” Morgan pulled the fake money out of her windbreaker pocket. “You win. Here it is. Give me the horn.”
She held out the stack of newsprint with one hand, and reached for the horn with the other. The thief snatched the fake money from her hand and bounced back a few steps.
“This isn’t money.”
The thief spun around and bolted for the garden, with both the coupons and the horn. Morgan started to follow, but remembered Chief Sharp’s warning. Do not give chase. She seethed with frustration as she watched her three thousand dollar Triceratops brow horn disappear into the corn patch.
The thief appeared in the moonlight beyond the garden, struggling uphill with the heavy burlap bag. Chief Sharp thrashed his way out of a lilac bush and ran after the horn thief.
Deputy Parker raced down the walking path from one direction while Kurt, in clear violation of police instruction, appeared from the other. The thief dropped the brow horn and bolted in an all-out sprint. Deputy Parker continued the pursuit, with Chief Sharp following. They vanished into the dark.
Morgan hurried to the horn. Kurt joined her, turning the beam of his flashlight onto the burlap. Morgan knelt on the ground and tugged it open. The horn had broken into three pieces.
“I don’t understand.” She picked up one fragment of the horn, holding it in the beam of Kurt’s light. “After all we went through, how could this happen?” Her brain attempted to reconcile the nubbly surface with the horn she remembered. “Hey. This looks like concrete.”
Kurt knelt beside her. He crumbled the edges of the horn with his fingers. “It is.”
Chief Sharp came back, huffing and puffing. “Deputy Parker is better equipped for high speed chases. Especially on foot. I see you got the horn back.”
“It’s not the brow horn.” Morgan stood and dusted off her hands. “It’s a concrete fake.”
Sharp lifted the burlap bag.
“I’ll take it. Evidence.”
They heard scuffling feet on the pea gravel trail. Then Deputy Parker appeared, dragging a reluctant thief.
“I got him.”
The thief’s hood fell back. It was not Wenda. The moon illuminated the very dirty face of Ned Alafare.
“Let me go!” Ned screamed. He kicked at Deputy Parker, and swung wildly with his fists.
“I didn’t want to have to do this.” Parker pulled out his handcuffs and fastened them on the teen’s thin wrists.
“No! He said he’d finish off Grandpa!” Ned wailed. “Let me go!”
“Your grandfather fell,” Kurt said, omitting the detail that Erwin had been drunk. “It was an accident. No one hurt him.”
“Is he okay?” Ned asked. “Is Grandpa alive?”
“Alive and as cantankerous as ever,” Chief Sharp said.
Sharp didn’t object when Morgan and Kurt followed them to the parking lot. He kept a light hand on Ned’s shoulder w
hile Parker dashed down the road to retrieve the police SUV. Ned babbled a confusing story about being kidnapped and kept literally in the dark for the past week and a half, on a diet of buffalo jerky and bottled spring water. He escaped once, but when the kidnapper caught him again, he told Ned he’d finish the job he started on Erwin Sylvester.
Morgan looked around the moonlit parking lot as the police pulled away with Ned.
“David will be upset. He missed all the action,” Morgan said. “But I’m happy he wasn’t in harm’s way.”
David had seen everything, though. He told them over Morgan’s cell phone that he had glimpsed another witness to the night’s drama.
“That must be the person Ned yelled about,” Morgan said. “The kidnapper.”
“I tracked them for a ways,” David said, “but they got away.”
“ ‘They’? ” Morgan asked.
“He, she, whatever,” David said. “I couldn’t tell. I’m halfway to the rock shop, so I figured I’d go warn Uncle Kendall.”
“The person went up Hill Street?” Kurt asked.
“They cut across the park toward Hill Street, but I lost them on the Dalton Ranch.”
Back at the City Hall police station, Sharp was concerned about questioning a minor. Scaring kids who had been involved in petty crime was his specialty, but Ned was in a unique situation. He claimed to be a victim, and yet he had played an active role in an extortion plot.
“Call Kendall Yates,” Sharp told Deputy Parker. “Ask if he can get down here right away.”
“My brother?” Morgan asked. “If you need an adult to supervise Ned while he’s in custody, I’m right here.”
“And me,” Kurt said. “I’d be happy to lend my services.”
“Kendall is a certified youth counselor,” Sharp said. “No offense, but I’d rather have a professional.”
When Kendall arrived, Deputy Parker shooed Morgan and Kurt out of the office. They sat on a wooden bench in the hallway.
“I haven’t spent time around Ned,” Kurt said. “His story sounds ridiculous. What do you think?”
“I believe him,” Morgan said. “He’s a responsible kid. He wouldn’t disappear for no reason, make his parents sick with worry, and risk losing his job. But what happened does sound crazy. Kidnapped? Buffalo jerky and bottled spring water?”
“That’s pretty specific.”
The door to City Hall opened. A girl in a Prospector’s Pizza T-shirt entered with a stack of three pizza boxes.
“Hi, Mr. Willard,” she said. “You’re Burke’s dad, right?”
“Yes. Did he make these pizzas?” Kurt asked.
“He’s on counter duty tonight.” She blushed. “Burke is great with customers.”
Kurt opened the door to the police department. After the girl made her delivery and left, Morgan and Kurt resumed their seats on the bench in the hallway. Kendall arrived. A splotchy patch of baby throw up blended in with his tie-dyed Jesus T-shirt.
“He’s in there?” Kendall nodded at the police department door.
“Yes,” Kurt said.
“Is he okay?”
“Hungry,” Morgan said. “Tired. But he seemed fine otherwise.”
“Thank God.”
Kendall pushed the door open, closing it behind him. When the door opened again, Deputy Parker leaned out.
“Do you know where to find the kid’s parents?” he asked.
“Yes, if they haven’t moved,” Kurt said. “They live in their van in the Mineral Springs Park parking lot.”
“Can you get them? Ned says they don’t have a phone.”
* * *
Morgan remembered how Ned’s mother looked the day she interrupted them on the bridge. The woman who opened the van’s sliding door tonight had aged several years during the ten days her son had been missing.
The odor of marijuana smoke did not waft off Gypsy or Sly. Just unwashed body and waves of fear. Sly’s curly red hair was in its usual disarray, but he was on high alert. Tears streamed down Gypsy’s face from puffy, reddened eyes.
“We found Ned,” Kurt said.
From their panicked expressions, Morgan could tell they were expecting the worst.
“He’s fine,” Morgan said. “Chief Sharp sent us to get you.”
Gypsy erupted in relieved sobbing.
“Where?” she sputtered. “I need to see my baby.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Del pulled up as Morgan unlocked the shop’s front door. The cowbell clanged when they both entered. Morgan only needed to make one phone call Tuesday morning to ensure the news of Ned’s safe return reached the entire town. She dialed, knowing that Beatrice would be awake already. The early bird may have been after worms, but Beatrice’s prey was juicy bits of gossip.
“Beatrice, Ned is home, safe and sound.”
“Thank goodness!” Beatrice said. “Erwin has been worried sick. My ladies group has been praying for them both. Where was the boy?”
Morgan told Beatrice as much of the story as she knew. Someone kidnapped Ned, kept him locked up, then sent him to the Homestead Park with a fake Triceratops brow horn and a demand for money. Ned was terrified the kidnapper would follow through on his threat to kill his grandfather.
“That can’t be,” Beatrice said. “Erwin realizes now that he tumbled down the steps between the real estate office and Old Tyme Photos. No one assaulted him.”
Beatrice didn’t mention that Erwin had been drunk. Maybe that was what saved him as he fell down the steep flight of stone steps. A sober person might have been hurt much worse.
“Ned didn’t know,” Morgan said. “He believed the kidnapper.”
“Did Kendall tell you anything?” Beatrice asked. “You said he was present for the police interview.”
“No, Kendall has never been good at sharing, but to be fair, he claimed client confidentiality.”
“I’ll give your brother a call.”
Beatrice could squeeze information out of the most reluctant source.
“How is Erwin?” Morgan asked.
“Recovering at home,” Beatrice said. “He’s already back on the campaign trail.”
“I’d just about forgotten there was an election coming up.”
“I think Erwin has a very good chance of winning,” Beatrice said. “Kurt won the debates hands down, but neither Kurt nor Piers have been campaigning with the energy required to capture the attention of Golden Springs voters. And with his accident, and now the return of his grandson, Erwin is certain to gain the sympathy vote.”
“Did you hear the report on the Granite Junction news?” Morgan asked cautiously.
“As a matter of fact, I did. Even so, if Kurt and Piers don’t get busy, Erwin could still win by default.”
Beatrice spoke with an enthusiasm that made Morgan uncomfortable. Was that gloating by an optimistic supporter, Morgan wondered, or a warning from a spy?
“Thank you for the news, Beatrice. Kurt will be relieved to hear that Erwin is on the mend.” She hoped mentioning Kurt would remind Beatrice where her loyalties rested. “I’ll remind him he needs to focus on his campaign.”
“I have to go,” Beatrice said. “I’m getting another call.”
Probably from Erwin campaign headquarters. As Morgan hung up, the cowbell clanged.
“Customers already?” Del asked. “We aren’t officially open yet.”
“No,” Morgan said. “It’s David.”
“I’m going to check the alien traps,” David said. “I don’t want them getting sun-roasted while I’m at work.”
An amused smile pulled Del’s bushy gray mustache up on one side.
“What exactly do you use to trap an alien?” Del asked.
“Uncle Kendall’s raccoon traps,” David said. “And peanut butter. We have to catch them alive. A d
ead alien won’t impress anyone.”
“This I got to see,” Del said. “Morgan, you coming?”
“I’ll watch the shop,” she said. “I see a car headed our way.”
The people coming inside weren’t customers, and they weren’t alien or rock gnome enthusiasts, either.
“We’re trying to find the Center for Interstellar Diplomacy,” a tall, thin man said.
“Sonny Day’s center,” a plump woman wearing a flowing caftan added.
Another car pulled up. Morgan was only too happy to give directions, hoping the influx of people might convince Day the ranch was too small to accommodate his grandiose plans.
When Del and David returned during a lull in business, they huddled around the checkout counter.
“The darn aliens ate all the peanut butter out of the traps,” Del whispered, a smile creasing his weathered face.
“I had them set wrong,” David whispered. “That’s why Uncle Kendall never caught the raccoons. They had a free lunch on us. But Del set the traps the right way, so we should see some action now.”
A customer approached the counter. The men went silent. They didn’t dare mention the alien trap. Although the cages were placed well out of sight, if the crowd caught wind of them, they might launch a vigorous protest. Morgan could imagine the outrage that an alien rescue team might find their naked friends trapped in raccoon cages.
After the excitement of the previous night, and Sonny Day’s followers flocking to the rock shop in search of directions, Morgan was worn out before noon. She looked forward to an evening at O’Reily’s, and hoped it would be relaxing this time.
Allie approached Morgan as she restocked shelves.
“Can you join us for lunch?” Allie asked. “Nothing fancy. Just soup.”
Del was agreeable to watching the shop by himself after Allie promised him a bowl of homemade soup and rolls from Bernie’s bakery. Morgan sat at the kitchen table in the living quarters. Maybe Kendall was going to announce he had found a pastoral job, and the living quarters would be hers again.
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