Stone Cold Case (A Rock Shop Mystery)

by Catherine Dilts

  “You’re once again the talk of the town.” Kurt pulled his ever-present notepad and pencil from an inside pocket of his trench coat. “Care to make a statement?”

  With Kurt, it was better to tell him the story rather than let him find “sources” who made good headlines but got the facts all wrong. Morgan told him about falling down a gulley on the geology class field trip, then stumbling across the dugout. Kurt had questions about the skeletal remains and the smelly mountain man, but Morgan had precious few details. She didn’t tell him about the photos. They would end up plastered across the front page of the Golden Springs Gazetteer.

  “It happened so fast,” Morgan said. “And it was rainy and dark.”

  “I spoke to Chief Sharp. He thinks there’s a high probability that the remains are Carlee Kruger’s. I asked if there was ID on the body, but he wouldn’t say.”

  “People told me there was a massive search when Carlee disappeared, so I imagine it was in the paper. Do your archives go back sixteen years?”

  “Anna has been scanning and filing electronic copies of old newspapers,” Kurt said. “They go back to the town’s founding in 1876. If the Gazetteer ever burned down, so would half the history of Pine County. Or if the mice got into the archives. Maybe I need a cat, too. Long story short, I’m sure we have everything from sixteen years ago.”

  Houdini finally wandered into his stall. Morgan tossed hay to him, and sprinkled a half a coffee can of oats into the small trough. Kurt seemed in no hurry to leave. When it became clear he was fishing for an invitation, Morgan asked him to stay for stew. If she didn’t know him better, she might have thought he wanted to spend time with her socially, but Kurt’s motivation was clear. The Golden Springs Gazetteer needed headlines. He was hoping for more details about the skeleton and the mountain man.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  * * *

  When Cindy showed up Monday morning for work, she carried her baby in a car seat. Both were bundled up against the chilly May morning. Under the layers that Cindy peeled off, she wore her usual ankle-length denim skirt over red cowgirl boots and a loose pioneer-style gingham blouse.

  “Good morning, Cowgirl!” It was Cindy’s signature greeting. “I hope you don’t mind, but I can’t leave Hezekiah very long, and it’s not worth it for me to drive to work for just a couple hours.”

  “Not a problem.” Morgan peeked inside the blankets covering the car seat. Hezekiah’s promising puff of red fuzz matched his mother’s hair, although hers was piled on top of her head in a bun. “I understand about nursing babies. And Hezekiah is so quiet.”

  “You should hear him when he’s hungry, or needs a diaper changed. Herb will be happy when the baby sleeps the whole night. Of course he doesn’t have to get up to nurse Hezekiah, but it still wakes him when I do.”

  “Herb must be used to that by now.”

  “Sure, but he’s up for a promotion, and he needs to be to work on time. There’s no dragging your behind into work late when you’re bucking for the supervisor position.”

  “That’s great,” Morgan said. “I hope he gets the job.”

  “Us too. He’d get a big raise. The problem is, Herb wouldn’t have as much flexibility to watch the kids when I go to work. He’d need to be on site all the time. I’ll have to quit.”

  “Oh.” Morgan felt Cindy’s words like a knife in the heart. She depended on her part-time employee. Cindy could handle the rock shop by herself, and often did when Morgan needed to run errands. “Should I start looking for someone to replace you? Not that you can be replaced.”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as Herb hears anything. Don’t worry. I won’t go running off on you without warning.”

  Morgan’s brother Kendall had dumped the Rock of Ages on her without warning. She had not realized at the time how fortunate she was that the staff of two part-time employees knew the rock shop business inside out.

  “There’s so much I haven’t learned yet about running the Rock of Ages,” Morgan said. “I’ve been handling the souvenirs, the advertising, and I have a website up and running. But how do I replenish stock? We’re running out of shark’s teeth. Where on earth does a person purchase wholesale shark’s teeth?”

  “Kendall bought things at other shops once in a while, or from local prospectors. But mostly, he’d hit the big wholesalers. That, and he and Allie’d go to three or four gem and mineral shows a year.”

  With Hezekiah safely tucked away behind the checkout counter, Cindy took her seat on the tall stool by the cash register.

  “There are still boxes of stuff in the garage and the barn loft that I haven’t gone through,” Morgan said. “Kendall and Allie must have been doing more buying than selling.”

  “Well that’s the good news. You might still consider stocking up on more souvenir-type stuff.”

  “With the summer tourist season coming?” Morgan asked.

  “I’m talking about your latest adventure,” Cindy said. “People are ready to go hunting Sasquatches in the hills. That might bring in a lot of nosey customers. I’ll bet they’d snap up all the Big Foot items you could stock.”

  Morgan pushed stray curls out of her eyes. “Seriously? Okay, I might have said he resembled Big Foot, but what I saw was a large, smelly mountain man.”

  “That’s all it takes. And whoa!” Cindy waved her arms in the air. “People are off and running. Same thing happened a couple years ago when the Air Force was flying a new fighter jet around, and people thought the aliens were invading. I tried to convince Allie to stock alien stuff in the shop. We missed out on that deal. This might be our second chance.”

  “I don’t know. People might think I made the whole thing up just to make a buck.”

  Cindy shrugged. “Just trying to help.”

  “You’re right, though. Go ahead and check out the catalogs. See what’s out there for Big Foot souvenirs.”

  Cindy smiled at that, and pulled out the stack of dog-eared souvenir catalogs.

  “I’d better take advantage of having you here,” Morgan said. “Now that I’ve got the shop’s records straightened out, I need to stay on top of the paperwork.”

  Morgan closed herself inside the tiny shop office. The files had come a long way from their original chaos, most importantly going from piles scattered over the desk, floor, and on top of the filing cabinet to actually being in the cabinet, in labeled folders. Her friend Bernie, owner of the popular Bibi’s Bakery, had suggested Morgan hire her accountant to file the rock shop’s taxes, and Morgan was glad she did. He had saved her a bundle. He had also given her a lengthy list of forms and paperwork to keep track of for next year’s taxes. Morgan welcomed the interruption of a tap on the door. Cindy opened the door a crack.

  “Better pick up this call,” she said. “Sounds important.”

  Morgan lifted the receiver.

  “Mrs. Iverson, I actually need your help.” There was almost no trace of sarcasm in Chief Sharp’s tone. “Can you come down to the police station? The sooner the better.”

  “Is there a problem?” The classic question people asked authority figures when they weren’t certain whether they were in trouble or not.

  “I just need you to look at some photos. See if you recognize your mountain man.”

  The two-man police force occupied an office inside City Hall. The deputy sat at a scarred metal desk, blocking entry into the rest of the room. Cubicle walls divided the back two-thirds of the room into two small offices.

  “Good morning, J.B.” The deputy looked young enough to be her son. He didn’t seem to mind her informality, but Morgan reminded herself to treat him with the deference owed an officer of the law. “Deputy Parker, the chief asked me to come in.”

  “Yes ma’am.” J.B.’s uniform shirt was crisply pressed, and his eagerness to serve was written all over his face. “He wants you to look at mug shots. I mean, photographs. We’re not supposed to call them mug shots because it might cause you to be prejudiced and pick the guy that’s been arreste
d before.” Deputy Parker glanced over his shoulder, then back at Morgan. He lowered his voice. “Just between you, me, and the fence post, you can tell which are mug shots, even though they tried to trim out the background.”

  “Deputy.” Chief Sharp’s voice boomed over a cubicle wall. “Is that Mrs. Iverson?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s here,” he yelled back.

  “Well, send her back here, why don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.” He pointed to a wooden coat rack in the front corner, between two metal folding chairs. “You can put your coat there.”

  Morgan shrugged out of her lilac-colored fleece jacket and hung it on a hook. Then she followed Deputy Parker around the desk. At the end of the narrow hallway separating the two cubicles, a calendar from the feed store hung on the wall. Below it was a thigh-high refrigerator supporting a coffeemaker covered with spilled sugar and dried coffee drips. The pot had an opaque sludge coating its bottom, and was in need of a run through a dishwasher. Chief Sharp must have noticed her staring, mistaking her look of horror for desire.

  “Help yourself.”

  “I have water.” Morgan lifted her purse, showing him the bottle in a mesh side pocket.

  “Why don’t you pull up a chair?”

  There was no pulling to be done. The folding chair was squished between the cubicle wall and the desk. Morgan squeezed inside the cramped cubicle and perched sidesaddle on the gray metal chair. When she became a Colorado resident, she would vote “yes” to every request for more funds for the police.

  “I was thinking about your description of the mountain man you encountered in the dugout.” Bill Sharp rested his clasped hands on his desk. With his cowboy hat off, she could see strands of white in his dark hair. “When we went up there, I didn’t see any trace of him. Nothing. Of course, all the footprints outside were washed away by the rain and sleet. The ones inside indicated he’s one large fella. If he was accustomed to using the dugout for shelter, he was careful not to leave any personal items there.”

  “Why would he stay in there with a dead person?”

  “I’ve seen stranger things in my career in law enforcement, believe you me.”

  Chief Sharp pulled out a photo album. Morgan raised one eyebrow at the smiling puppy on the cover.

  “Our budget is tight,” Sharp said. “This was on sale.” He opened the album. “I’d like you to take a look at these photos. Tell me if any of these fellas look familiar.”

  He turned the album to face Morgan. The deputy was right. She could tell which were mug shots.

  “Before I forget,” Morgan said, “I have a photo.”

  “Of the mountain man?”

  “Yes. It’s not very good.” She pulled her phone out and found her way to the photos. “I also took a photo of the body. Or skeleton. Or whatever you call it.”

  “Remains.” Chief Sharp examined the screen of Morgan’s phone. “We took plenty of photos of the scene before the coroner moved the remains. I can barely see anything on this tiny screen.”

  “I’ll email them to you,” Morgan said.

  “Okay. Might prove helpful. So how about you look at my photos?”

  Morgan flipped through the photo album.

  “None of these look like the man I saw, and I only got a glimpse of him.”

  “Any impressions a camera doesn’t capture would be helpful.”

  “Okay.” Morgan closed her eyes, trying to relive the terrifying moment. “The impression I got was that he’s white, under all that dirt. He was huge, but you already figured that out. He filled the entire dugout entrance, and had to crouch down when he came inside. He had a beard this long.” She held a hand halfway to her lap. “His hair was matted. His clothes were kind of Old West in style, but looked like they came from a Dumpster. The thing I noticed the most was his smell. Or stench, I should say.”

  “Take another look. Maybe something will jump out at you. His eyes, or his nose?”

  Morgan held her hands over each photo, blocking out the facial hair, or lack thereof, and the tops of their heads. All she could remember was the tangled beard. She tried to imagine each man with the beard. She held her cell phone, with the blurry photo displayed, next to each of the mug shots. She shook her head.

  “He could be one of these guys. I just can’t tell.”

  “If anything comes to mind that you think will help identify the guy, let me know first. Don’t discuss this with Beatrice, and especially don’t try to run him to ground yourself.”

  “I’d be happy if I never saw him again. Except for Gerda’s sake. Were the bones those of her daughter?”

  “The Granite Junction coroner has the remains. I’d say it’s more than likely, but remember that I’m just guessing here, based on when Carlee disappeared, and certain other considerations.”

  “Was there an ID on the, er, remains? Was she murdered?”

  “I couldn’t tell you even if I knew.” Chief Sharp folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his office chair. “We can’t confirm anything until the coroner finishes his job. This being a cold case, it’s probably not high on his priority list.”

  Morgan called the shop. Cindy and her baby were doing fine, so she stopped by the Golden Springs Gazetteer. Kurt’s newspaper had the feel of a museum, with headlines of local and national historical importance hanging from the walls in rustic frames, and décor reflecting a previous century.

  Anna was not at the front desk. The top half of the Dutch door to Kurt’s office was open. Morgan peeked inside, but he wasn’t around, either. Morgan called out a “hello,” then followed the sound of “back here.”

  Anna crouched over the bottom drawer of a metal filing cabinet. Her power suit was appropriate for working at a major corporation. Morgan still didn’t know much of Anna’s history, despite the time they spent together in the church kitchen, but it had to be an interesting story. Kurt leaned over a table, sorting folders into stacks.

  “The paper’s archives go back to the beginning of time,” Kurt said. “It took us all morning to locate the correct decade, but we found a considerable amount of information about the Carlee Kruger case.”

  “I didn’t mean to put you through all this trouble,” Morgan said.

  “Are you kidding?” Kurt came around the table. “Golden Springs’s only unsolved case post horse-and-buggy era? You’re not the only one who can play amateur sleuth.”

  Morgan held up her hands. “Oh, no. I learned my lesson back in January. The only reason I got involved in that case was because someone was out to get me. I was investigating out of self-defense.” She cradled her left arm against her torso. “My arm has finally healed. I have no desire to risk another cracked bone, or worse, by tangling with a killer again.”

  “That’s good,” Anna said. “Kurt doesn’t want any competition solving this one.” She slapped another folder onto the table. “I’ve got other work to do.”

  As she left the room, Trevin Pike entered, carrying a cardboard box. Dark hair hung to his shoulders in matted ropes.

  “I found these in the basement,” Trevin said. “I think they’re negatives.”

  “Great place for photographic treasures,” Kurt muttered. “In the damp basement. I hope they’re still good.”

  Trevin set the box on the floor. “There are lots more. Hi, Mrs. Iverson. And bye.”

  “Nice to see you, Trevin.” Morgan was relieved to see the young man successfully turn his life around. He enjoyed his job at the newspaper, and was doing well in college. He probably aced the geology class.

  “What brings you to town?” Kurt smiled.

  “Chief Sharp called me in to look at mug shots,” Morgan said.

  “Did you ID the mountain man?” Kurt asked.

  “No. If his picture was in the album, I didn’t recognize him. The men in the mug shots were clean and neat, comparatively speaking. The chief thinks there’s a good chance the bones might have been Gerda’s daughter’s, but he wouldn’t say anything more than that. Oh, an
d for me to butt out.”

  “Did he know whether she died of natural causes?”

  “Until the coroner files a report, we won’t know.”

  Morgan reached for a folder on the table.

  “Ah, not yet.” Kurt threw himself in front of the table. “I want to get everything organized before we start assembling the clues.”

  “I have no interest in solving the case,” Morgan said. “But Gerda needs answers.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  * * *

  As she pushed open the front door to the Rock of Ages, the cowbell didn’t clang. Morgan looked up. A washrag muffled the cowbell’s clapper. Cindy sat on the aspen bench in front of the checkout counter, her red cowgirl boots crossed at the ankles. She held a finger to her lips and nodded at her baby, sleeping beside her on the bench. Morgan tiptoed across the creaky pine floor.

  “I just got him to sleep,” Cindy whispered. “Every time someone opened the door, the cowbell woke him up.”

  “Did you have customers?”

  “Half the time it was Del going in and out. He’s working on his trailer. Oops.”

  The baby scrunched his little red face and pulled his tiny hands into fists. Morgan held her breath until the baby relaxed, still sleeping.

  “I can take Hezekiah into the office,” Morgan whispered. “It would be quieter.”

  “Herb’s coming to pick me up in a few minutes,” Cindy said. “He had an interview for that promotion. I figured he might as well swing by and pick me up on his way home. If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” Morgan said. “Where are the rest of the kids?” Morgan couldn’t imagine the troop of two girls and three boys accompanying Herb to a job interview.

  “He dropped them off at my mom’s. She took off work to watch the kids. He was so nervous.”

  Morgan couldn’t imagine the lumberjack-sized redhead having a case of nerves. He could probably win a wrestling match with a bear.

  “You should have let me know,” Morgan said. “We could have managed the shop without you for a day.”