Stone Cold Blooded (A Rock Shop Mystery)

by Catherine Dilts

  * * *

  Sunday afternoon, Cindy, Herb and David arrived to help pack. Morgan had to tell the painful story of the brow horn theft once more.

  As they cleaned up and folded tables at the end of the day, Sonny and his crew walked by. They had hired people to carry their gear, which included what Morgan thought of as the circus tent. If Sonny had enough money to hire help, maybe he had hired a large woman in a Sasquatch T-shirt to hire the Swedes. But would Sonny really steal the Triceratops brow horn? He pedaled theories about alien overlords and the end of the world, not fossils. Unless he needed the horn to complete a dinosaur he knew was on his father’s ranch.

  How did his daughter Roxy figure in this? Could she have set Morgan up for the theft by faking her estrangement from her father? Were they both in on it?

  Wenda’s heels clicked across the concrete as she passed. Her dragon dress shimmered with every purposeful step. She shot an icy look toward the Rock of Ages table, where Cindy and Herb folded the tablecloth. Kurt and Burke were outside with David, packing the truck.

  Sonny Day broke ranks and approached their table.

  “I hope we will be good neighbors,” Sonny said. “Perhaps even throw business each other’s way.”

  “So it’s definite?” Morgan asked. “You’re moving to your father’s ranch?”

  “It will require a lot of work,” Sonny said. “My father let things go. It’s a shame. The property has beautiful views.”

  The circus was definitely coming to town.

  * * *

  Burke rode with Kurt in the vintage Plymouth. Morgan rode with David in his truck, towing the trailer. The Lyons family piled into their van. She hoped the conversations in the other vehicles were not as glum.

  For most of the long ride home, Morgan repeated her regrets about the brow horn theft. She could have avoided having the brow horn stolen, first and foremost, by not going to the mineral show. Second, by not bringing the fossil. Third, by not attending the Velociraptor lecture. Fourth and last, by not leaving a naïve teenager who was under the influence of an older woman in charge of the rock shop’s most valuable fossil.

  With the wisdom of a twenty-two year-old who had endured more than his fair share of suffering, David assured her that it was only money, and the rock shop would survive. She couldn’t stop herself from making one more observation.

  “I could have sold it to Buckskin Quinn.”

  “You said his offers were too low,” David said.

  “Which is why I was certain he stole it,” Morgan said. “But after talking to Ingrid, I don’t know what to think.”

  “Then don’t,” David said. “Let it go. In my engineering classes, if I get really stumped, sometimes not thinking about a problem relaxes my brain enough to finally see the solution.”

  Morgan welcomed the change of subject, and asked David whether he planned to return to Sioux Falls for his final year of classes, or transfer to a Colorado university. Listening to her son’s dreams for the future put her own problems in perspective. She had a son poised on the edge of graduating from college with an engineering degree. Her daughter had survived her pregnancy with a healthy baby boy, and she was married to a man with a proper balance of ambition and love of family.

  The sign for the Golden Springs exit appeared.

  “Thanks, David.”

  He glanced at Morgan. “I didn’t mind driving, Mom.”

  “Well, thanks for that, too,” Morgan said. “I meant thank you for reminding me of what’s important in life.”

  David grinned.

  The beneficial effects of the talk with her son evaporated when they arrived in Golden Springs. They passed a poster tacked to a telephone pole. Ned Alafare was still missing. Now a reward was offered by his grandfather.

  Kendall and Allie came out of the rock shop living quarters to help unload the trailer. Allie commiserated on the loss of the brow horn, but Kendall was ominously silent.

  “These things happen,” Allie said, squeezing Morgan’s hand. “You can’t second guess yourself.”

  Morgan glanced up at her brother, but he looked away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Despite the heat, Morgan opted to stay in the trailer. She wanted to wallow in her sorrows alone for a night, and hoped that would be enough to readjust her attitude. She called Bernie to let her know she was back.

  “Come to the bakery,” Bernie said. “I promise I’ll be normal. Rolf and I had a long talk, and he convinced me I have to slow down on the weight loss.”

  “I understand how frustrating it can be,” Morgan said, “but your health is more important than a photo on a wall. Besides, you’re a beautiful woman the way you are.”

  “Thanks, Morgan. That’s what Rolf told me. I need to have more self-confidence.”

  “A successful business woman engaged to a wonderful man, and you have self-doubts?”

  “Emotions aren’t logical.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  After hanging up, Morgan allowed herself a temper tantrum. She stamped her feet, shaking the trailer on its cinderblock foundation as she announced inventive variations on “It’s not fair” until her cell phone chimed, interrupting her immature tirade.

  “Hi, Kurt.”

  “You don’t sound happy. Did you make it home okay?”

  “Yes. We even got the trailer unloaded and returned.”

  “You should have called me,” Kurt said. “Burke and I could have helped.”

  “David, Kendall, and Allie pitched in. You and Burke helped enough at the show.”

  There was a pause. Morgan checked her phone to make sure it hadn’t died.

  “Kurt?”

  “Burke feels so badly about the horn, he’s still talking about paying you for it. Tomorrow he’s going job hunting.”

  “That’s sweet of him, but seriously, he wouldn’t expect to pay back a store he was working at if someone walked off with merchandise.”

  “How could someone get something that big and heavy out of there with no one noticing?” Kurt asked. “Burke called Cleary Fontaine’s daughter again. She said he was excited about the cameo in Zulina’s movie, and she’s scared something terrible happened to him. She told Burke she filed a missing person report with the police. After this weekend, I realize that Burke is still a gullible kid. Maybe Cleary was shining him on about the movie, and he is the one who took the horn.”

  Morgan couldn’t help it. The tears started.

  “Last week started out great. I got to spend girl time with Cindy and Allie. I got to know Burke. He’s a good kid. I hope this experience doesn’t sour him, and turn him in some wrong direction. Everything ended in disaster. My chances of recovering the brow horn are slim to none. Now here I am home again, only it’s not really my home, it’s Del’s old trailer. Either that, or Bernie’s couch. I have nowhere to go, and it’s obvious I don’t have a clue about running a business. I shouldn’t have left Sioux Falls. Then none of this would have happened.”

  She paused to catch her breath.

  “Why don’t you come over?” Kurt asked. “Spend the night at my place.”

  Morgan hesitated a long time before answering. Kurt had to know she was still on the line from her sniffling.

  “Thank you, Kurt. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

  “But?” he asked.

  “Maybe Bernie has influenced me. I don’t want to spend the night with you because I’ve had a bad week. I want it to be special.”

  “Just because you stay the night at my house doesn’t mean anything ‘special’ has to happen.”

  “It might not be special,” Morgan said, “but I’m pretty sure it would happen.”

  Kurt laughed, and for the first time in days, so did Morgan.

  “I understand,” Kurt said. “And on a certain level, I agree.” He
raced through the next statement so quickly, it took a moment for Morgan to digest. “Carrying you over the threshold would be a lot more romantic than shuffling your belongings in cardboard boxes into the garage.”

  Morgan thought that was darn close to a marriage proposal. Her spirits lifted considerably. When they concluded their conversation, she felt the weight of the week slough away. The August evening was still light. Morgan walked to the barn to visit with Adelaide.

  The setting sun muted the barn into soft browns and faded grays. If not for the tractor, Morgan could have felt she stepped back a hundred years. The smell of hay and donkey worked their magic on her frayed nerves.

  Adelaide, typically eager for oats, stomped a hoof and turned away from Morgan’s open palm.

  “You’re cranky,” Morgan said. “And I don’t blame you. But it will be over soon, and then your life will never be the same. In a good way.”

  She reached to pat Adelaide. At first, the donkey shied away. Then she took two steps closer to the stall door and allowed Morgan to rub her neck. Morgan picked up a rubber currycomb, stepped inside the stall, and gave Adelaide a donkey massage.

  “I understand,” Morgan said. “It’s hard to enjoy the moment before everything changes. I don’t know why that is. Maybe because we can’t envision the future, and so we’re a little afraid.”

  Adelaide huffed out the donkey version of a sigh. Her large brown eyes drooped to half mast. Morgan felt relaxed, too. Either a little physical labor had done the trick, or perhaps talking to donkeys had a soothing effect.

  Walking back to the trailer, she retained her reflective mood. The rock shop property was rugged, the ground pebbly with decomposing granite, the main type of soil in the area. It certainly didn’t look like the lush farms of an artist’s painting, but it was beautiful in its own way. If an artist were to paint the small Colorado ranch, he or she would use lots of brown and red. Morgan squinted in the deepening dusk.

  And a splash of white?

  She was ready this time. Morgan pulled out her cell phone. There was a little charge left. She zoomed in as far as she could on the blob of white near the fence line. It was not a rock. Rocks didn’t move.

  Morgan tapped a button. The phone emitted a blinding flash of light and a mechanical click. When she could see again, the white object had vanished.

  Taking a photo had nearly drained the phone of the last of its power. Morgan headed for the rock shop. When she unlocked the front door and sent the cowbell clanging, Kendall emerged from the living quarters, a butter knife clutched menacingly in one hand.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “I got a photo of the naked leprechaun.”

  He glared at Morgan for a moment.

  “Let’s hope it’s a good one,” he grumbled. “Your boyfriend is offering a reward for a photo.”

  “Not three thousand dollars,” Morgan said.

  “Then we’d better sell it to one of those newspapers you see at the grocery checkout stand.” His whiskers bristled with the effort to suppress a grin. As with many of their childhood standoffs, Kendall seemed unable to sustain his anger. “Come on, we’ll look at it on my computer.”

  That Kendall actually had a computer was a bit shocking. Morgan thought the antiquated computer in the office was the sum total of her brother’s advanced technology. Instead, he pulled out a laptop, explaining it had been a gift from Allie’s parents. They wanted to receive frequent photos of their granddaughter.

  Allie padded out of the bedroom in pajamas and a robe. The three huddled around the computer screen, studying the photograph.

  “This is the best shot yet,” Morgan said. “You can almost tell what it is.”

  “It has a bad case of red eye,” Allie said. “Creepy. Can you fix that?”

  “It might have red eyes,” Morgan said. “It could be an albino whatever.”

  “It’s not an alien,” Kendall said. “Aren’t they always green or gray?”

  “Not according to the Area 51 people who invaded us the other day,” Morgan said.

  Kendall squinted at the screen. “Looks more like a ferret to me. I can barely make out two little arms, or hands, up high on the torso.”

  “Then it’s a fat ferret,” Allie said. “Look at that paunch.”

  Kendall stood. “The photo helps confirm that it’s real.”

  “And not the figment of anyone’s imagination,” Allie added.

  “We still need to catch one,” Morgan said.

  “I’ve been checking the traps,” Kendall said. “Nothing yet.”

  * * *

  Monday, Morgan threw herself into work. Kendall had another interview, David was at a new construction job, Burke was job-hunting in Golden Springs, and Del was taking a much needed day off. Ned was still missing. Morgan was glad to run the shop alone. She didn’t have time to dwell on her problems as she handled a crowd of alien hunters, rock gnome fans, and people searching for Sonny Day’s place. As though the caravan of cars, vans, and RVs kicking up dust on Hill Street did not provide enough of a clue.

  Midday the phone rang for the dozenth time. Morgan picked up the receiver and gave her usual greeting.

  “I have the brow horn,” a muffled voice said. “You can have it back for three thousand dollars.”

  Morgan wasn’t sure she had understood. “What?”

  “Meet me at the Golden Springs Homestead Park tonight at nine. Bring cash. Come alone.”

  Right, Morgan thought. Like she’d be crazy enough to do that.

  “The park is big,” Morgan said. “Where will you be?”

  “I’ll find you.” Click.

  I’ll just bet you will.

  She had promised everyone she would never again head into danger alone. This certainly qualified. Hands shaking, she called Kurt. He answered his phone with a cheery good morning, but his tone turned to concern as Morgan described the call.

  “I know I shouldn’t go to the park tonight,” Morgan said, “but I really want that brow horn back.”

  “I’ll call Chief Sharp.”

  * * *

  The entire Golden Springs police department, all two of them, planned a stakeout. When Morgan walked into the City Hall police office with Kurt, Chief Sharp shook his head.

  “I hope you don’t think that just because you got your conceal carry licenses, you’re now honorary deputies.”

  “Not at all,” Kurt said. “I’ll leave my gun at home if I have to, but I’m not passing up a chance to help recover the brow horn.”

  “Mine is in Kurt’s safe,” Morgan said. “I’m not packing heat.”

  She held her arms out and spun in a circle. Chief Sharp shook his head, appearing both dismayed and amused by the amateur detectives.

  “It is a big park,” Deputy Parker told the chief. “We don’t want civilians involved in police business, but if they happen to be near the entrance and exit points, they might see who we’re dealing with, in the unlikely event the suspect gets away from us.”

  “What about the Granite Junction police?”

  Morgan regretted her question when she saw the look on Chief Sharp’s face. He had wrangled with the big city police more than once about jurisdictional issues.

  “If we call them in,” Sharp said, “they’ll send in a S.W.A.T. team and ruin our chances of capturing the Triceratops kidnapper.”

  * * *

  Morgan finished her day at the shop, excited at the prospect of laying a trap for a thief. When David arrived, dirty and sweaty from a day working construction, he was surprised by Morgan’s upbeat attitude.

  “This is the first time I’ve seen a smile on your face in days, Mom.”

  “I have a glimmer of hope of recovering the brow horn,” Morgan said. “And the prospect of a hot meal in air conditioned comfort doesn’t hurt, either. We’ve been invited for
a dinner of leftovers at Bibi’s Bakery.”

  “Wait for me,” David said. “I’m taking a shower in Uncle Kendall’s place. I’m tired of freezing cold showers.”

  On the way to Bernie’s, Morgan explained the mysterious phone call, and the police chief’s quick action. Burke had obtained a much-sought-after job at the pizza parlor, so he was safely excluded from the plan. David, however, insisted on going along.

  “There are half a dozen places a person can get into the park,” he said. “I’m going to watch one of them.”

  “We’ll see what Chief Sharp says,” Morgan said. “Don’t mention this to Bernie, or she’ll have Pine County Search and Rescue combing the park.” Bernie’s fiancée Rolf was a member of the volunteer crew. “Chief Sharp wants to keep this operation small and discrete.”

  They parked behind the bakery. When Bernie opened the kitchen door, a combination of wonderful smells washed over Morgan. She hadn’t realized she was famished until she smelled savory soup and yeasty baked goods.

  Bernie looked better. Dressed in her off-duty attire of a sundress that was now a couple sizes too large, her recent dramatic weight loss was obvious. But her skin had color again, not the gaunt gray hues of starvation.

  “I’m eating,” Bernie assured Morgan. “I just can’t keep my kitchen upstairs stocked, or I nibble all night. That’s been my downfall. The endless nibbling on pastries and cookies.”

  “I can understand the temptation,” David said. “You’re a great cook.”

  “Thanks!” Bernie smiled. “I had plenty of beef soup leftover today. More vegetarians than meat eaters stopped in for lunch.”

  As they watched a game show on the small television tucked onto the counter, answering questions and racking up imaginary prizes, a news bulletin flashed onto the screen.

  “Maybe they found Ned,” Morgan said.

  “Not Ned.” Bernie shook her head. “It’s about Erwin Sylvester.”

  A pretty reporter stood on the Golden Springs City Hall steps. She spoke to the camera, telling viewers that Erwin Sylvester had blamed political opponent Kurt Willard for attempted murder when in reality Erwin had imbibed too much alcohol and fallen down a flight of stone steps.