CHAPTER NINE
* * *
Wednesday morning’s mail brought a notice from the bank. Morgan had spent more than she had in her checking account. Adding to the pain of embarrassment was a twenty-five-dollar charge, the bank’s way of punishing the financially inept.
After a quick review of her account on-line, and shuffling funds around, Morgan had the mess straightened out. She scrolled through her deposits, which were few, and her bills, which seemed to be multiplying like rabbits.
Morgan shoved both hands into her hair, clutching fistfuls of curls in frustration. She knew what she had to do, what she had been avoiding facing. It was time to eliminate the largest drain on her income—her house in Sioux Falls.
The home had been her anchor after Sam’s death. She feared cutting that tie might set her adrift. Morgan struggled to be rational. Not having a home in South Dakota didn’t mean she could never visit, or even move back.
What was irrational was slipping behind on the mortgage payments to a house that was nearly paid for. It would be foolish to lose all she, Sam, and the kids had put into it.
Morgan went through the door to the living quarters and dug a business card out of her purse. Her friend Dot Borgen ran a realty and property management business in Sioux Falls. Dot had discussed options with Morgan concerning the house, but until now, Morgan hadn’t been able to decide anything. She dialed the number.
“How’s Nancy Drew doing?” Dot asked. “Dug up any more bodies?”
News had spread quickly among her friends about her misadventure in January. Morgan could not tell the story of her new find, or she would never complete her business call.
“Nothing too exciting,” Morgan said, and hoped she could be forgiven for the lie. “I’m calling about my house. Is there any possibility that I could lease it?”
“Of course. But let me warn you, Morgan, that once you rent your home, after strangers live in it, it just won’t be the same.”
“Are you trying to talk me out of renting?”
“I’m saying that if you’re keeping the house as an investment, or renting as a half step to eventually selling, then it might work. But if you’re thinking of leasing it out for a while, then moving back in, you might be disappointed.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing ever since Sam passed away. Letting go in half steps. Maybe this is one big step.”
“As your friend, I’m glad to hear that. Sam would have wanted you to move on. As your real estate agent, I’m happy to tell you that your house could lease for much more than your mortgage payment. After we spoke about your house the first time, I crunched some numbers. You did well, buying when prices were low, and not taking out second or third mortgages like so many people do these days.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
“How about I do a little market research, and call you back when I have more information?”
“Sounds good.”
“Oh, and Morgan, is the house move-in ready?”
Morgan couldn’t even remember whether she’d taken the trash out before driving to Golden Springs. She had only expected to be gone for two weeks. Sarah and Russ checked on the house regularly. David had shot down any suggestion that he live there while going to college. Too many memories, he had mumbled. Everyone might be happy to be released of responsibility for the house, but first it would need to be cleaned out.
“I take it by your pause the answer is no?” Dot asked.
“There’s a lifetime of possessions, and probably a mountain of junk.”
“You could hire someone to clean it for you. I know a company that does good work. But they wouldn’t know what you wanted to keep, and what was trash. I’m afraid to tell you, but a trip back to Sioux Falls might be needed before I tackle leasing your house.”
“That’s not a problem. I’ve been looking for an excuse.”
“Okay, I’ll get busy on my end, and you just let me know when you’ll be back here. The gang will want to get together with you.”
Cindy arrived late to work, her baby in tow. She spent her first half hour getting settled, assembling a crib in the narrow space behind the checkout counter. Morgan had placed the shop mail by the cash register. Cindy flipped through the pile of envelopes and junk mail.
“Oh, good. There’s a notice about the Denver gem and mineral show.”
A colorful post card announced the event in July. The photo depicted a stunning cluster of one blue amazonite and three smoky quartz crystals jutting from the same base.
“This is the star of the show?” Morgan flipped the card over. “I imagine so, at that price. Thirty grand? Who would pay that much for pretty minerals?”
“Those New Age types are crazy about crystals,” Cindy said. “God created them so there can’t be anything evil about crystals to begin with, until witches use them in their devil ceremonies.”
Morgan had grown accustomed to her employee’s hellfire and brimstone outlook.
“They can’t be the only ones who buy crystals,” Morgan said, studying the post card.
“Something that nice will go to a collector,” Cindy said. “Or a museum. You need to go.”
“It’s during peak tourist season,” Morgan said.
“Kendall and Allie always did good at this show. They sold lots of stuff, and bought new stock. We’re getting kind of thin on some things around here.”
Morgan’s resentment of her brother bubbled up. He had dropped the keys in her hand and taken off for the jungle, without giving her any training in how to run a rock shop.
“If you hire someone now,” Cindy said, “you could have them trained by July.”
Morgan met Cindy’s eyes. “What do you mean hire someone? Did Herb get the job?”
Cindy looked away. “Yes,” she said in a small voice.
“That’s great.” Then Morgan considered Cindy’s hesitation. She hoped the seemingly benign Herb hadn’t demanded Cindy stay at home, barefoot and pregnant. Although it seemed a little late in the game for him to become an oppressive husband. “It is great, right?”
Cindy finally looked at Morgan, unable to contain a smile. “We’re thrilled. This promotion means a lot to our family. We’ll be able to take a family vacation, maybe replace our van.” The glow of happiness dimmed a notch. “But Morgan, I really hate to leave you in a bind.”
“The Rock of Ages will be fine. I’ll admit, right now I’m not sure how we’ll get along without you. I never would have survived my first months here without your help.”
Cindy threw her arms around Morgan in a hug, then stepped back.
“I love this place, and you and Del, but it’ll just be too much for my family to handle with Herb’s new hours.”
“How much longer can you work?” Morgan asked, dreading the answer.
“That’s the thing. I need to drop my regular hours right away. But I won’t be gone entirely. I can still help out when you really need me, and train my replacement. I can probably even go to the gem show with you in July.”
“I’ll take whatever help I can get.”
The phone rang. Cindy reached for the telephone, then paused, her hand hovering over the receiver.
“This might be my last official phone answering.” She held the phone to her ear. “Rock of Ages. Cindy—” She choked on a sob and held the phone toward Morgan. “I can’t do it.”
Morgan held the phone to her ear. “Rock of A—” She couldn’t finish.
“Is everything okay?” Kurt blurted over the phone.
“We’re fine. Cindy just told me she’s quitting. We’re both a little emotional.”
“Don’t even think about stealing Trevin from me.”
The thought had occurred to Morgan, but working for Kurt at the Golden Springs Gazetteer was a better opportunity for the young man.
“It’s a free country,” Morgan teased. “He can work at the Rock of Ages if he prefers low wages and cleaning donkey stalls as part of the deal.”
“I’m re
ally afraid now.”
“With the semester over, he might be looking for some extra work.”
“True. Just don’t lure him away permanently. But I didn’t call to warn you off from stealing my employees. Anna and I have all the newspaper clippings, public records, and photos of Gerda’s daughter we could glean from the files. Her entire life in Golden Springs, at least as depicted in the Gazetteer.”
“I can drop by your office tomorrow.”
“My schedule is packed through the rest of the week,” Kurt said. “I thought we could examine Carlee’s life story over dinner Friday night. At my place, so we have room to spread out.”
There was room to spread out on the table at the newspaper office. Dinner at Kurt’s house sounded like a social invitation. Several scenarios played through Morgan’s head. She would feel like an idiot if she made more out of an amateur sleuthing session with Kurt than he intended. Surely Anna would be there, but rather than asking a simple question to clear the entire matter up, she spoke.
“What time?”
CHAPTER TEN
* * *
Beatrice called at closing time to remind Morgan that the church ladies were delivering casseroles to Gerda in half an hour. When Morgan pulled up at Kruger’s Auto Repair, the tiny parking area was full. The self-serve laundry would ticket intruders into their parking spaces. To the right, the parking lot for the abandoned cabins was thick with weeds. She found a space on the street, gathered her frozen tubs of soup, and joined the group. Eight ladies from the Golden Springs Community Church climbed out of vehicles, retrieving carefully bundled items. When they trooped toward the office, casseroles in hand, Tom hurried out of the garage to meet them.
“Gerda’s home right now.” Tom wiped his hands on a red shop rag as he spoke. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
“Gerda knew we were coming,” Teruko said softly.
“I’m sorry.” Tom shrugged.
“Then we’ll take these to her house.” Beatrice started to push past Tom.
“Really, Mrs. Stonewall, this isn’t a good time for her.”
“And that is why her friends are here,” Teruko said. “Gerda once helped me when I needed it most, and I will not turn away from her now.”
“Let me give her a heads up,” Tom said. “But I’m warning you, she told me she didn’t want to be bothered by anyone.”
As Tom dialed his cell phone, the church ladies stared at him in silence.
“Gerda?” Pause. “I know, you said not to call unless it’s an emergency, but I’ve got nine ladies here with casserole dishes, and they aren’t leaving until they talk to you.” He hung up his phone. “She’ll be right over. Wait here. If you’ll excuse me.” He trotted back to the garage with the grace and speed of someone avoiding a nipping Rottweiler.
The ladies stood in a cluster, steam rising from some of the casserole dishes. Others clutched loaves of homemade bread and plates of cookies. After an uncomfortably long wait, Gerda appeared through a gate in the back fence. She stormed forward, her short white hair standing on end as though she’d stuck her finger in a light socket. She wore the blue mechanic’s jumpsuit that made her resemble an eggplant. She didn’t look sick. Just angry. Gerda stopped a few yards in front of the ladies, placing her hands on her wide hips.
Teruko bravely took a step forward. She held out her casserole dish, nested in a towel.
“We understand that food will not ease the sorrow of your loss,” Teruko said, her voice wavering, “but it is a small thing we can do to let you know we care.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do with all that food?” Gerda spat out the words, in thickly accented German. “I am alone. You know this.”
“You’ll need food when your daughter comes for the memorial service,” Beatrice said.
Gerda looked utterly lost.
“You will have a memorial service?” Teruko asked. “To honor your daughter’s life?”
Gerda’s lips trembled, and her eyes filled with tears.
“We’ll help,” Beatrice said. “Because you’re not alone. We’re here for you. We’ll call your family. Reserve the church. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”
Silence stretched for an agonizing moment, broken by the raucous caw of a black and white magpie.
“Perhaps you do not need the memorial service,” Teruko said. “Perhaps it is needed by Golden Springs.” She turned to look at the ladies. “We need to say goodbye to Carlee.”
“There will be no service.” Gerda clenched and unclenched her hands, her arms stiff at her sides.
As if to give Gerda’s hands something useful to do, Beatrice pushed a casserole dish at the woman. Gerda held it at arm’s length.
“Gerda, maybe you don’t want to go through this,” Beatrice said, “and I can understand that the needs of the town aren’t top of your list right now, nor should they be. But what about Camille? Your other daughter? She may need closure.”
“I have no family,” Gerda said. “And I do not want closure. Closure means an end. Do you not understand? When Carlee was missing, I could imagine she would come home some day. Now there is nothing. Nothing!”
She lifted the casserole dish above her head and slammed it to the parking lot. Ceramic shards splintered across the asphalt as steaming chili spewed out in a reddish-hewed splatter.
Morgan tossed and turned that night, with dozens of issues flashing through her restless mind. Top of the list was Carlee Kruger. After witnessing Gerda’s violent outburst, Morgan couldn’t rule out that maybe both daughters had run away from home to escape her temper. The fact that they might have left willingly did not answer all the other questions. How had Gerda’s eldest daughter ended up dead in a dugout on Temple Mountain? And where was the mountain man?
Even without the unsolved cold case, Morgan had plenty of worries. Would using the excuse of cleaning out the family home in Sioux Falls resolve issues with her son and son-in-law, or exacerbate them? And what about the house? Should she rent or sell?
Kurt’s invitation to his house for dinner edged up on her list of worries. What if he and Anna were not involved? Thoughts of her husband Sam intruded. He had passed away over two years ago. Was that long enough? What would her children, with whom her relationship had already been strained by distance, think of their mother living the life of a single woman?
She felt as though she had just dozed off when her cell phone on the nightstand chimed.
“Hello?” Her voice was thick with sleep.
“There’s someone behind the bakery.” Bernie’s voice was a raspy whisper.
“Are you okay?” Morgan asked, suddenly wide awake. “It’s only five thirty.”
“I’m sorry, but this is an emergency. My day starts early, you know. A bakery and all. I was taking trash to the Dumpster and there was something inside. At first I thought it was a bear. Then I realized it was snoring, not growling. I’m going back inside with Mr. Whiskers.”
The enormous gray cat would be no protection from Sasquatch.
“Have you called Chief Sharp?”
“No. This just happened. I screamed, so I’m sure one of my neighbors called him.”
“Hang up and call him. I’ll be right there.”
Morgan climbed out of bed and pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt. She tried to be quiet, but Del must have heard her. He ambled out of the guest bedroom in a red plaid bathrobe covering thick long johns. His fleece-lined moccasins padded across the linoleum.
“You’re up kind of early for a Thursday. The shop doesn’t open for hours.”
“It’s Bernie. The mountain man might be inside her Dumpster.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Del asked. “Leaping right into danger, as usual?”
“I have to go. Bernie’s my friend. And she’s calling the police. They’ll get there before I arrive.”
“You’re not going without me.” Del headed down the hall.
“Meet me outside,” Morgan said. “I’l
l bring the car around.”
As they rolled down Hill Street and onto Main, Morgan saw Chief Sharp’s SUV in front of Bibi’s Bakery, the lights flashing in pre-dawn darkness.
Morgan parked at a crazy angle across two parking spaces, barely putting the Buick in park before she opened the door. She raced down the narrow walkway between buildings. A dozen people stood behind a boundary of two metal fifty-gallon barrels and Deputy Parker.
“The chief told me not to let anybody by,” J.B. said.
“I’m Bernie’s best friend,” Morgan said. “He won’t mind.”
Deputy Parker hollered a question at Chief Sharp, who gave his reluctant okay.
“Get on over here, J.B.,” the chief said. “I need a hand.”
Chief Sharp raised an eyebrow at Morgan, and several paces behind her, Del.
“Do you two always have to be in the middle of the excitement?”
“Just seems to happen that way,” Del said.
Sharp turned his attention to his deputy. “Think you can climb in there without disturbing things too much?”
J.B. wrinkled his nose, but accepted the camera and a foot up from Chief Sharp. The expected odors of rotten garbage drifted from the Dumpster, plus the distinctive smell of wet dog and sour human.
“What’s the youngster looking for?” Del shoved his hands inside the deep pockets of his canvas jacket and pulled out leather work gloves.
“Evidence,” Sharp said. “And he doesn’t need your help. Mrs. Iverson, your friend is in the bakery.”
He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. Bernie stood framed by the window over the sink with Mr. Whiskers cradled in her arms. Her cheeks were flushed as pink as her chef’s jacket. Morgan went inside, where the kitchen smelled of fresh coffee and yeasty baked goods.
“Oh, Morgan!” Bernie hugged her, smashing Mr. Whiskers between them. He didn’t seem to mind, as his chest rumbled with a purr. “I was so scared! I took a bag of trash to the Dumpster, and I heard noises. Bears come in town, but that’s why we have bear-proof Dumpsters. Only someone had left the top unlatched. Or now that I think about it, the mountain man must have unlatched the top and climbed inside.”
Stone Cold Case Page 7
