“He wouldn’t give any details,” Kurt said, “but apparently Beatrice was right. I’m no longer a suspect.”
“Did they catch the person who assaulted Erwin?”
“No arrests have been made. Burke is still planning to ride up with Herb Tuesday. If you don’t mind, instead of just coming up for the day Friday, I could stay the weekend.”
“I’d like that,” Morgan said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
On Monday, Cindy and her kids went shopping for homeschool geology class materials. The excitement of the show was beginning to fade just a little for Morgan. Sitting at the table waiting for customers to wander by was tedious. Sarah kept her entertained for half an hour, texting new photos of Gregory sleeping, Gregory in daddy’s arms, Gregory in mommy’s arms, Gregory and Darby. In every photo, he was adorable. Eventually, Morgan had her turn to explore the coliseum.
Tables and booths spilled over with beads in rainbows of colors. Morgan lingered over one display. At the Rock of Ages, customers also bought a lot of Lucy’s jewelry. Maybe they would be interested in making their own, if Morgan sold some beading supplies. Nothing that would compete with Lucy’s genuine Arapaho jewelry, though. She wanted to keep Lucy happy, as one of the best sellers in the shop.
She haggled over the price for multiple strands of chunky, sparkly beads that might appeal to their younger female customers. Then she needed bead stringing supplies. Morgan resisted the temptation to fill her canvas tote. She could only spend so much for an experiment.
Morgan returned, eager to compare purchases. Cindy began to unroll a poster on the table, then lifted it with a frown.
“Hey, this spot wasn’t empty earlier.”
“That’s good,” Morgan said. “I didn’t think we’d sell that crystal. The color was nice, but the tip was chipped.”
“No,” Cindy said. “I don’t remember selling it. Matthew. Ruth. Did either of you sell that pink crystal that was sitting here?”
Matthew’s eyes widened. “Mom, you told us not to handle money. I didn’t sell anything.” He looked at his younger sister. She shook her head. Both looked frightened, the freckles dotting their pale skin fading against a flush of red.
“Nobody’s in trouble here.” Cindy placed a hand on Matthew’s shoulder and pulled Ruth in for a hug. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She turned to Morgan. “We got real busy. Lots of people crowded around the table looking. I’m sorry, Morgan. I didn’t even notice it go missing.”
Morgan flipped through the receipts for the morning.
“No, I don’t see the crystal listed here.”
“I feel terrible,” Cindy said. “If some shoplifter got that crystal, I’ll pay for it myself.”
“Don’t be silly,” Morgan said. “You can’t watch every inch of the table all the time.”
Morgan was doubly glad she would have help during the week. This was the first case of theft they’d suffered.
Buckskin Quinn leaned across his table. “They got you, too?”
He was in the middle of wheeling and dealing with a dusty prospector, but Morgan and Cindy’s complaints must have reached his ears.
“Somebody walked off with one of my necklaces,” Quinn said. “Just a polished rock on a leather thong. Not worth much. Heck, I would have given it away rather than see it stolen.”
“Count yourselves lucky,” the prospector said. “A jeweler upstairs lost a really nice cut topaz. It was worth a bundle.”
“Shoplifters are parasites,” Quinn said, his voice high-pitched and squeaky. “They don’t have any concept of what we go through to extract gemstones and fossils from the earth.”
Considering that a high percentage of the rockhounds could be carrying guns, Morgan thought it especially foolish to shoplift. Del had drilled into his students that guns were never to be used to protect property, only human life, but the theft of a valuable gemstone might cause someone to forget the law.
“We go through a lot to dig them up,” the prospector said in a slow drawl. “Risk our lives. And it’s not free. Even if you’re digging on your own land, there’s a price to pay for prospecting.”
“If thieves put as much effort into working an honest job instead of scamming people,” Cindy said, “they’d all be millionaires.”
The prospector studied Cindy for a moment.
“I know you, don’t I?” He seemed to notice their banner for the first time. “Say, are you that outfit out of Golden Springs?”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “Have you been to visit us?”
“Hang on and I’ll tell you about it.”
While the prospector concluded his business with Buckskin Quinn, apparently to both their satisfaction, Cindy shook her head.
“Those guys made me feel a little better, but I still feel awful letting some dirty sneak thief get the better of me.”
The prospector ambled over to the booth. He shook hands with Cindy, then Morgan. His grip was firm, his hand callused. Long brown whiskers streaked with gray trailed down his denim shirt nearly to the turquoise belt buckle cinching faded jeans to his narrow waist. He might have been younger than Morgan, but high altitude sun and outdoor work had burnished his skin to a heavily creased tan.
When Matthew extended his hand, the prospector’s eyes lit up.
“Hey, little fella. Name’s Raymond. What’s yours?”
“Matthew.”
“That’s a firm handshake you’ve got Matthew.”
Ruth approached, staying behind her older brother. “I have a badge.” She held up the vendor ID hanging around her neck from a lanyard. “And a rock.”
“That sure is a pretty one,” Raymond said, admiring the polished pink stone. “It’s nice seeing young people take an interest in geology.” He seemed in no hurry. “Caleb was your kin?” he asked Cindy.
“No, sir,” Cindy said. “I just work at the shop.”
“He was my great-uncle,” Morgan said. “Did you know Caleb?”
“I conducted some business with him over the years.”
“Do you have a few minutes?” Morgan asked. “I didn’t know Uncle Caleb well. I’d like to ask you about him.” Raymond seemed to hesitate. “I’ll buy you lunch,” Morgan added.
Although she would have taken him for a meat and potatoes kind of guy, Raymond requested a chicken wrap from one of the healthier food vendors, and a cold organic coffee drink. They found a quiet table in the open space near the food vendors.
“Your uncle was a fair man,” Raymond said. “And honest. He appreciated the effort it took because he’d tried his hand at gemstone prospecting.”
“I didn’t know that,” Morgan said.
“Caleb didn’t find much on his own property.”
He didn’t dig in the right places, then, according to Professor Esteban. Morgan still had faint hope the valuable gemstone ammolite would be found on her place, or the ranch next door.
The prospector continued his tale. “Nope, he didn’t find anything in the way of gemstones, and no gold or silver. What are the chances, on seventy-five acres? He and a partner even tried filing a few claims here and there.” He shrugged, then took a swig of the icy coffee drink. “They didn’t have much luck.”
“His partner?” Morgan asked. “Was that Eustace Day?”
“The one and only.” Raymond chuckled. “Old Eustace was battier than all get out, but he did manage to locate some pretty interesting fossils.”
This was getting good.
“Do you know if Uncle Caleb dug up the Triceratops brow horn? The one on our table?”
Raymond shook his head. “I couldn’t say. The fossil hunting, that was a joint venture. One that went sour, from what I heard. They were making good money off selling fossils to a museum. Eustace bought the place just up the hill while he was flush with bucks. Good thing, because he ended up flat broke b
y the end, from what I heard.” Raymond leaned his elbows on the round table. “Is it true Eustace blowed himself up?”
“The police think suicide was a possibility,” Morgan said. “Or an accident. Other people say Eustace Day would never have killed himself, on purpose or otherwise.”
Raymond tugged at his whiskers. “I’d have to disagree with the police. Eustace was determined to survive all manner of calamity, man-made or otherwise.”
“Do you know of anyone with a reason to kill him?”
Raymond leaned back in his folding chair, a look of surprise creasing his weathered face.
“Well, now, I hadn’t considered that possibility, but it fits better than suicide. Eustace did anger a lot of folks in his day, especially the authorities. But I hear he’d gotten pretty reclusive in his old age. Unless someone had something to gain, I just don’t see it.”
“Like someone who’ll inherit his ranch?” Morgan asked.
“That would be his fruitcake son,” Raymond said. “Inherit and sell right away is my guess. He’s that fella talking about aliens and the end of the world, ya know?”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “Do you think he could have killed his father?”
Raymond seemed to ponder the idea, squinting as though he was attempting to see more clearly.
“Naw,” he finally said. “Sonny Day don’t seem the murdering type. Besides, it appears he’s making money hand over fist all on his own. He’s got no need for a hardscrabble little place in the hills.”
But his granddaughter might, Morgan thought.
“You said Uncle Caleb and Eustace had a falling out.”
“You’re uncle’s long gone, so I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you. Caleb and Eustace got in a little hot water over digging up some bones where they shouldn’t have been.”
“But you said Uncle Caleb was honest.”
“Coulda been a miscalculation on their location. We didn’t have GPS back then. But now that I think about it, maybe the hot water was over who got what share of whatever it was they dug up. In any case, I think that’s about when Caleb gave up on hunting gemstones and fossils, and started making his living buying and selling what other people dug up. Might have felt he’d be less likely to run into trouble that way.”
“Do you think they could have found a Triceratops?” Morgan asked. “Maybe that was what they got in trouble over?”
Raymond scratched his head, rumpling his already untidy hair.
“Coulda been. Can’t say exactly. It does seem funny for the brow horn to be separated from the rest of the animal.”
Morgan thought so, too. She wanted to continue questioning the prospector, but he stood.
“Unless you’re in the market for aquamarine, I’ve got an appointment upstairs with a fella makes necklaces and such.”
It had to be nice aquamarine if Raymond was selling directly to a jeweler.
“I’m more a geode and shark tooth kind of gal,” Morgan said. “Thanks for talking to me.”
“Thanks for lunch. Seems like we talked more about Eustace Day than your uncle, though.”
He was right. If Uncle Caleb were still alive, she could ask him what happened all those years ago. The dead couldn’t speak. Morgan had no option but to talk to the living. And the next person she needed to see was Sonny Day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A fresh line of people waited for Sonny Day’s autograph. Morgan lingered nearby, studying fossil displays that made the Rock of Ages seem pathetic. A fully assembled saber tooth tiger skeleton caught her attention, then she was lured to a slab of stone bearing images of a feathered dinosaur and palm fronds.
Waiting for the crowd to thin, Morgan noticed the attendant at Sonny’s elbow. While he was seated in an expensive folding camp chair, she stood. The young woman limited Sonny’s interaction with his fans, indicating in gently creative ways that their allotted time had expired. Polite yet firm. She wore a knee-length jade green dress with a print of swirling gold dragons. With her dark hair fixed in place at the back of her head with two polished sticks, and exotic features played up with makeup, the girl looked like harmless window dressing. Morgan wasn’t fooled. The girl was choreographing the autograph session. Her choice of a dragon print was entirely appropriate.
Finally, the last admirer had his moment with the Great Man. With bony legs exposed by faded cargo shorts, and a T-shirt with frayed seams, the fan appeared one step away from starvation. Morgan stepped behind him as though she had been waiting in line for hours.
“I was ready for December 2012,” the fan said. “Then nothing happened. I was devastated.”
“As I said in my lecture today,” Sonny said, his tone as practiced as an actor’s, “new research has revealed that the end of the Mayan calendar was merely the beginning of this new period of time. It’s all in my book, as well as the three DVD set I see you have purchased.”
“What if I have questions? I don’t understand it all. It’s so much to absorb.”
“You may contact me through the website. If you join the on-line group, you will have access to classes and breaking news.”
“Great! Thank you, Mr. Day. Everyone told me I made a huge mistake quitting my job and selling my home. I’ve got no regrets after talking to you.”
The man turned abruptly, bumping into Morgan. She nearly upset a display of self-proclaimed Miracle Wands that looked like large test tubes filled with colored rocks and glitter.
“Sorry,” the man said.
“It’s okay.” Morgan kept a hand on the wobbly display until the attendant in the dragon dress steadied it. “No damage done.”
The fan scuttled away, leaving Morgan facing Sonny Day. Close up, she realized the embroidery on his silk shirt was of aliens, not the usual western themes typical of pearl snap shirts. He glanced at her empty hands, his eyes magnified by the thick lenses of his oversized eyeglasses. Obviously, he’d been expecting another fan seeking his autograph. Instead, Morgan stuck out her hand.
“Hi. I’m Morgan Iverson. I live next door to your father.”
He ignored her hand. Maybe he was like Piers, and didn’t believe in contaminating himself with other peoples’ auras or vibes or whatever it was that seemed so dangerous to New Age types. Or it could be he was a garden variety germophobe.
“I saw you were at the mineral show, so I thought I’d drop by,” Morgan continued. “I’d like to offer my condolences on your loss.”
The attendant took a mincing step forward, clearly ready to intervene. Morgan guessed the petite girl could drop a man three times her size with a well-placed martial arts kick. Sonny held up a hand to stop her.
“It’s okay, Wenda. I didn’t know my father well in his later years.” He stood. “Come around, if you have a moment. Morgan, was it?”
Morgan stepped to the side of the table and inside a booth that seemed an oasis in the noisy arena. Heavy curtains offered privacy and a sound buffer. A gauzy cloth serving as the roof muted the harsh arena lights. If not for the swirling pastel colors brightening the confined space, she might have felt as though she’d stepped into a circus sideshow fortune teller’s booth.
“You’ve got an interview with New Light Times in fifteen minutes.” Wenda turned her electronic notepad to face Sonny, tapping the screen with a jade enameled nail to show the time.
Sonny waved his hand in the air dismissively.
“Come get me then,” he said. “You should take a break, Wenda. We’ve been working since dawn.”
Wenda hesitated a moment, then bowed and backed through the curtain.
“Time. It always has to be about time, or the lack thereof.” Sonny Day smiled, amused by his own notion. Morgan struggled to see any resemblance between his narrow features and his daughter Roxy’s broader face and build. “There will come a day when time is meaningless.”
“I heard your le
cture,” Morgan said. “Interesting stuff.”
“You obviously didn’t come here to learn about the end of the world,” he said. “You wanted to extend to me your condolences?”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”
“Ah, well, thank you for the sentiment. The one thing I need cannot be dispensed by humankind.”
Morgan braced herself for a hard-sell of his alien theory.
“What I really need is one day with my father.”
The sadness etching lines into his lean face seemed genuine. He removed the oversized blue-framed glasses and dabbed a tissue to his eyes.
“I have not seen my father in many years,” Sonny said. “He did not answer my telephone calls most of the time, and when he did, our conversations could be quite abrasive.”
“You didn’t get along?” Morgan asked.
“Father was a difficult man. I realize it wasn’t personal.” Sonny pushed the glasses onto his nose, giving him the appearance of a startled insect. “He was at war with the world. And perhaps with his own inner demons. When the police told me he killed himself, I was in vehement denial. Now that I have had time to think it over, I realize that option was not out of the realm of possibility.”
“No one I’ve talked to believes he was suicidal.”
Morgan was going on what people had told her. Surely his son would know him better, even if they had been estranged. She tried to keep an open mind.
“Had your father sounded depressed?” Morgan asked.
Sonny leaned back in his chair, seeming to consider Morgan’s words.
“That is difficult to say.” He cocked his head to one side. “Father was a Korean war veteran. Perhaps his rage against the world was actually a symptom of PTSD.”
“I think they used to call it shell-shocked,” Morgan said. “Or maybe that was World War One. People have always known the negative effects of war on soldiers. It just hasn’t been clinically diagnosed like it is now.”
“There you have it.”
Darn. Sonny Day had led Morgan in a circle, causing her to confirm his own evaluation of his father’s death. A death he probably stood to profit by. Morgan knew how much land near Golden Springs was worth, whether marred by a bomb crater or not.
Stone Cold Blooded (A Rock Shop Mystery) Page 22
