Stone Cold Case (A Rock Shop Mystery)

by Catherine Dilts

  “Trevin, the guy is huge,” Morgan said. “And he carries a machete for a pocket knife.”

  “I know you’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “Morgan is right,” Anna said. “If you had confronted him, tried to detain him, you might have endangered customers at the shop as well as yourself.”

  Trevin looked half convinced. “I had fun working at the shop, other than the close encounter with Sasquatch. Let me know if you need help again. When I’m not working here, of course.”

  “That’s why we like you, Trevin,” Anna said. “You have your priorities straight.”

  “Morgan, I thought I heard your voice.” Kurt pushed open the top of the Dutch door to his office. “Come on back.”

  As Morgan entered Kurt’s office, she wondered whether he would give her a hug, and how she should react if he did. Instead, he turned to his desk.

  “I haven’t seen you since last week,” Kurt said over his shoulder. “How did your trip go?”

  “I needed to go, for reasons I didn’t even know. On the bright side, I leased my house.”

  “Congratulations.” Kurt glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I need to get to City Hall to shoot some photos.”

  “Catching one of the candidates registering to run for office?” Morgan wondered if Kurt was giving her the brush-off. She attempted a smile.

  “You must have a nose for news,” Kurt said.

  “I was in Jade Tinsley’s art gallery before I came here. He’s being dragged to City Hall by his brother-in-law.”

  Morgan relayed her suspicions about Chase Cooper while Kurt loaded his camera bag.

  “I’ll be rubbing elbows with him in a few minutes. Maybe he’ll crack under the scrutiny of my Gazetteer lens and confess everything.”

  “That would be convenient,” Morgan said. “But unlikely. I’d better get back to the shop and give Del a break.”

  “Did you hear about the Prairie Rockhound show this weekend?” Kurt asked.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Would you like to go with me Saturday?”

  Just when she’d convinced herself that Kurt had lost interest in her.

  “If Trevin can help Del with the shop. It sounds fun.”

  Friday was a blessedly routine day. Del spent most of his time in his recliner, snoozing or reading magazines. In between customers, Morgan studied books about fossils. Barton, vice president of the gemstone and prospecting club, didn’t think the ammolite came from near the dugout where she had found Carlee. He wasn’t the only expert. Morgan reached for the telephone to call Tony Esteban, then reminded herself she had promised not to show the ammolite to anyone.

  Maybe the rock show would give her the opportunity to quiz an expert anonymously. If she had a chance to have the chips examined, Morgan didn’t want to appear to have a large amount. She divided her stash into two sandwich bags. She tucked the larger quantity in the drawer of her bedside table, and slipped the other inside a zippered pocket of her purse.

  When Beatrice called, it was a welcome interruption to a slow day. The church ladies had kicked into high gear to raise funds for Kendall and Allie’s plane tickets.

  “The first bake sale will be this Saturday,” Beatrice said. “We managed to claim a spot at a mall in Granite Junction. Amazing, on such short notice.”

  “Do I need to be there?” Morgan hoped she wouldn’t have to cancel her day at the Rockhound show with Kurt.

  “Heavens, no. We have too many volunteers as it is, and you have a business to run.”

  Beatrice would have a fit if she knew Morgan was skipping bake sale duty to go on a date with Kurt Willard.

  “We can use baked goods, though,” Beatrice continued. “Especially things that can be sold as single servings.”

  “I found cash Kendall set aside before they left the country,” Morgan said. “Not all he needs, but it’s a start. Five hundred dollars.”

  “We typically make that much with a well-organized bake sale. Having it at the big mall will be even better.”

  Morgan couldn’t imagine anything Beatrice was involved with being unorganized.

  “Next we’ll have a bake sale at the church after the service,” Beatrice continued, her voice on the phone sounding confident. “We can count on a crowd, since Gerda’s daughter Camille will be attending with her children.”

  Morgan hoped Kendall and Allie weren’t in such dire straits that they couldn’t wait a few months for rescue. It might be a long, slow haul to buy those plane tickets.

  “Someone will step up with a big donation,” Beatrice said. “The Lord has a way of providing.”

  After Beatrice hung up, Morgan called Bernie to let her know about the bake sale. The baker volunteered three dozen cookies and two dozen cupcakes.

  After selling one of Lucy’s bead necklaces to the last customer of the day, the phone rang.

  “Hey, cowgirl.”

  “Hi, Cindy. How is Herb’s new job going?”

  “His new schedule takes some getting used to, but we really enjoy the extra money.”

  They chatted about the baby, Morgan’s trip to Sioux Falls, and Adelaide’s condition.

  “So I didn’t just call to yak,” Cindy said. “Remember I said I’d be available to work here and there?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you,” Morgan said.

  “I appreciate it, but I could use a little pin money for Herb’s birthday next month. Could you use some help?”

  “Any time! Today was slow, but we’ve had too much business on weekends for one person to manage, and I wanted to go to the Prairie Rockhound show Saturday.”

  “Good idea. That’ll give you an idea of what to expect when we go to Denver in July, even though it’s tiny in comparison.”

  “Trevin is going to work Saturday and Sunday morning. You can have whatever other hours you want.”

  Morgan and Del had dinner in the kitchen, then settled in for a quiet evening. Instead of focusing on the television program about Alaska, Morgan found herself distracted with worry. She hoped they made enough in sales this weekend to justify paying two extra employees. A little tremor of terror seized her at the thought of being caught by Beatrice at the rock show with Kurt.

  Guilt propelled her to bake an additional pan of bake sale brownies. They were cooling on the counter, and Morgan was washing dishes, when she heard braying. Morgan turned off the faucet and listened. The donkey repeated its hoarse alarm.

  Del heard it, too. He clambered out of his recliner and pulled his jacket on.

  “Del, wait. I’m coming with you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  * * *

  Del loaded the shotgun while Morgan pulled on her boots. They exited the rear door to the back pasture. The wind whistled around the building. A blast of needle-like snow pellets stung Morgan’s face. Snow in May. Colorado weather was full of surprises. Del leaned against the wall and peeked around the corner, the muzzle of the shotgun aimed at the ground.

  “I don’t see anything,” he whispered. “No lights in the barn.”

  “The donkeys don’t give false alarms,” Morgan said.

  “There’s a cold front moving in fast. Good night to seek shelter in a barn.”

  The clouds covered any potential light from the stars and moon. Del didn’t want to alert an intruder with the beam of a flashlight. They followed the fence line to the barn in darkness. A donkey brayed again, its raspy voice echoing off the mountain behind the back pasture. Del lifted the muzzle of the shotgun as they neared the barn.

  “Better to go through a stall,” he whispered. “An intruder will expect us to come through the front door.”

  Morgan crept along behind Del, mindful of every crunching pebble under her boots, certain her breathing could be heard all the way to Golden Springs. They crouched down and entered Adelaide’s stall. She turned to look, the whites of her eyes showing. Morgan hoped she wouldn’t go into donkey attack mode, but she seemed to relax wh
en she saw her people.

  Del squeezed around her. Morgan followed. They tiptoed through the narrow gate to Adelaide’s stall and into the barn’s wide center. A scuffling sound came from the loft, too loud and heavy to be mice in the hay. Del aimed his shotgun up the ladder.

  “Hey! You up there!”

  The scuffling stopped. Morgan held her breath.

  “I’m going up,” Del whispered.

  He grasped the ladder with one hand, the shotgun in the other, and placed a foot on the bottom rung. A bulky shadow appeared at the top of the ladder, half climbing and half falling, knocking the old cowboy to the ground. Del dropped the shotgun as he landed.

  The intruder scrambled to his feet before Del. He was every bit as huge and menacing as Morgan remembered. The stolen jacket didn’t soften his wild appearance. The mountain man glanced at the gun, then at Morgan. He was closer to the weapon. He only needed to bend over and close his enormous hand around it, but he didn’t make a move to pick it up. Morgan lunged forward and grabbed the shotgun. She aimed it at the mountain man and wondered how to turn off the safety.

  “Hold it right there.” She hoped bluffing would work.

  The mountain man grunted something.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He grunted again, and took a step toward Morgan. Del rose slowly.

  “You gonna use that gun?” Del asked.

  Morgan hefted the shotgun to her shoulder and aimed. The mountain man backed away.

  “Stop!” Morgan yelled. “Stay where you are!”

  The mountain man watched her as he continued stepping backward. He bumped up against the barn wall, reached behind himself to tug at a board, then squeezed through the gap. Morgan and Del nearly ran over each other as they raced to the loose board. Del pulled it aside and they stepped outside.

  “Where’d he go?” Morgan asked.

  Del took the gun from Morgan. “You check the donkeys. Make sure they’re okay. And call the police.”

  Morgan went back through the loose board. That explained how Houdini was escaping. The donkey brayed again, and kicked the side of his stall.

  “It’s okay, boy,” Morgan said. “He’s gone.”

  She clicked on the overhead light. Adelaide seemed to be okay. Then she checked on Houdini. His ears were flattened and his teeth bared, his attention focused on a corner of his stall. Morgan leaned over the top rail.

  A dog with matted fur huddled in the corner. The dog resembled a wolf, but it lacked wolf attitude. His eyes were wide with fear.

  “I lost him,” Del said. “What’s all the ruckus in here?”

  “Houdini has the mountain man’s wolf-dog trapped.”

  Morgan began to unlatch the stall door, but Del grabbed the sleeve of her coat.

  “A scared dog’s a dangerous dog.”

  “I’m afraid Houdini’s going to kill it.”

  “That might not be a bad thing,” Del said.

  Houdini backed up, seemingly ready for the humans to handle the intruder. The dog lowered itself to the ground with its front paws extended in a submissive gesture. It crawled forward a step, its belly scraping the ground.

  “Does that look dangerous?” Morgan opened the stall door and reached toward the dog, but Del stopped her.

  “I have leather gloves,” he said. “Won’t hurt me much if he does bite.”

  Del lowered one hand, letting the dog sniff. The dog wagged its matted tail, thumping it against the ground. Del patted the dog’s head, then rubbed his hand down its side.

  “He doesn’t seem vicious, but be careful.”

  Morgan reached for the dog. It flinched away.

  “Slowly,” Del said. “He’s skittish.”

  She took a step closer. The dog sniffed her knit glove. Morgan touched her fingers to the top of its head, then patted gently.

  “Were you giving Houdini a hard time?” Morgan asked.

  The donkey had backed off, but was still watching closely.

  “The dog was probably trying to follow the mountain man into the barn,” Del said. “It’s gonna be a cold night. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why Houdini didn’t sound the alarm other times the mountain man slept in the loft.”

  “But he did tonight.”

  “Right. Maybe the other times, the dog stayed outside and kept Houdini distracted while the mountain man got in the loft. Tonight, the dog had enough of the outdoors, and tried to come inside.”

  “Setting off the donkey alarm system.”

  Chief Sharp and Deputy Parker both arrived in the official Golden Springs Police SUV. After a search of the area around the barn, they joined Morgan and Del in the kitchen.

  “Vanished.” Sharp held his hands up in a frustrated gesture. “The guy knows these mountains better than anyone. I suspect he won’t be found unless he wants to be.”

  “From what you told us,” the deputy said, “he had a chance to grab the shotgun and didn’t. He hasn’t shown any signs of being dangerous.”

  “Other than hanging around with a dead girl’s remains?” Morgan asked.

  Chief Sharp shook his head. “We don’t know the full story there.” He gulped down coffee and set his mug on the table. “Treat him like he’s a threat. Don’t take any chances. But I think it’s a good sign he just ran away tonight.”

  After the police department, all two of them, left the rock shop, Morgan filled a pail with water, and a bowl with leftovers for the skinny wolf-dog. Del suspected a trap. At the very least, he said, the mountain man had to be nearby. He insisted on walking with Morgan back to the barn, fully armed, of course. Driving sleet pelted them.

  Springtime in the Rockies, Morgan thought. What a treat.

  The dog jumped up from his nest in a pile of straw. He smiled at them, his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth and his tail wagging furiously.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Morgan asked.

  Del shook his head. “First, I doubt this mutt, or wolf, or whatever it is, has had his shots. Second, if we let it stick around, that’ll just encourage his master to bed down in the loft again.”

  “He’s so skinny, he’ll freeze outside.”

  The dog inhaled the leftovers, then jumped onto the pile of straw he had claimed as his own. He circled twice, curled into a ball, and stuck his nose under a foreleg.

  When the animals were settled for the night, they returned to the living quarters. By the time they reached the warm kitchen again, sleet coated Morgan’s hair and Del’s mustache.

  “Looks like you might not make that hot date with Kurt,” Del said. “The roads will be treacherous tomorrow morning.”

  “We’re just going to a mineral show.” Morgan shrugged out of her coat and washed her hands. “Not exactly a romantic date.”

  “I don’t know.” Del kicked off his boots and slipped his feet into fleece-lined moccasins. “I always thought gemstones could win a fella a little romance, if he played his cards right.”

  “If you keep teasing me about Kurt,” Morgan said, “I might start asking questions about a certain cowgirl prospector.”

  The smile pulling up the corners of Del’s mustache vanished.

  “I didn’t realize I was upsetting you.” He grabbed a shop rag and wiped down the shotgun.

  “I’m sorry, Del.”

  He ignored Morgan.

  “She’s the one, isn’t she?” Morgan asked. “You dated Lorina after Harriet passed?”

  Del settled the shotgun against the wall by his recliner. He flipped open his Field and Stream magazine to a trout fishing article. Morgan thought the conversation was over, and regretted bringing up Lorina when she had caused Del so much pain. She settled into her rocking chair on the other side of the wood-burning stove and opened the romance novel she’d been trying to finish for the last month. Popping sap and crackling flames punctuated the silence, while pine-scented wood smoke gave the living quarters the odor of a cozy cabin. Morgan was nearing the happy conclusion of the story when Del spoke again.r />
  “Harriet was my rock, and after she was gone, I let a lot of money slip through my hands pretty fast. Guess I didn’t figure I’d be around to need it. Or maybe I hoped I wouldn’t be around. Lorina’s not a bad gal. She’s just more interested in what’s in a man’s wallet than what’s in his heart. I had a lot in one, and not much in the other. And as it turned out, Lorina ended up not getting either.”

  He leaned back in his chair to read his magazine. Del was done talking.

  Del seemed to be over it by morning, and Morgan was careful not to revive the topic of Lorina Dimple. In return, Del didn’t tease Morgan about her “date.” She began loading her purse with everything she needed for an all-day outing. When the purse developed an unsightly bulge, she switched the contents to a canvas southwest-print bag. If there was ammolite at the Prairie Rockhound show, Morgan could compare her sample against the real deal. She stuffed the baggie of ammolite deep inside the canvas bag.

  “Trevin will be here before nine,” Morgan reminded Del. “If business is slow, he can straighten out that mineral display. I think he learned more in the geology class than I did.”

  “He can help me give that dog a bath,” Del said.

  “I forgot about him. Hey, last night you were going to let Houdini kill the dog.”

  “Guess I changed my mind.” Under Del’s bushy gray mustache was the hint of a smile.

  “I’d better fix the pooch something to eat. If he’s still here.”

  “From the looks of his ribs, I’d say its last few meals consisted of road kill and old boots. He’ll be here.”

  Morgan scrambled eggs and tore up bread, mixing it together in an aluminum pie plate. She pulled on a coat and gloves, and draped the strap of her canvas bag across one shoulder.

  “You should take this.” Del placed his handgun on the kitchen table. “Big Foot might be stalking you.”

  Morgan shook her head. “I’m not comfortable carrying a gun. Not yet. Maybe after I take a class.”

  “Then I’m going with you.” Del picked up his handgun.

  When Morgan stepped outside with the pan full of food, she nearly lost her footing on the icy paving stones.