Stone Cold Case

by Catherine Dilts

  “After she strung the first one up,” Chase said, “I had to agree. When the sun hits them, and the fan moves them a little . . .” He demonstrated by running a finger across several.

  Gayle made the appropriate ooh and ahh noises. Morgan was ready to intervene if the situation became more intimate, but Gayle’s attention was pulled away by a pot of flowers.

  “These are amazing.”

  “Pedicularis groenlandica,” Chase said. “That’s the scientific name. They’re also known as elephant-head flowers.”

  “I know,” Gayle said in a near whisper. “They were my aunt’s favorite flowers. Grandma Gerda told Mrs. Beatrice when she asked what flowers we should have at the memorial service.”

  Chase crouched beside Gayle, and Morgan was debating whether espionage was over, and it-takes-a-village parenting intervention was required, when the greenhouse door creaked open and rapid footsteps came down the pea gravel aisle.

  “Gayle?” Camille called. “Are you in here?

  Gayle and Chase jumped to their feet in an action that smacked of guilt. Morgan tried to edge away, but as Camille emerged from the greenery, Chase made eye contact with Morgan. Her cover was blown.

  “What are you doing?” Camille shrieked. “Get away from my daughter!”

  “Mr. Cooper was showing me his artwork.”

  Morgan wanted to scream. The oldest pickup line in the world was the artist luring a girl to his apartment to see his latest painting.

  “I’ll just bet he was.” Camille grabbed Gayle’s arm.

  “Hey! You’re hurting me!”

  Morgan made her entrance. “Camille, I was keeping an eye on things.”

  “Why didn’t you break it up?” Angry lines etched deep into Camille’s haggard face. She resembled her mother, Gerda, probably more than she wished.

  “Because there was nothing to break up.” Chase glared at Morgan.

  “It isn’t lost on me how much Gayle looks like Carlee,” Camille said. “You couldn’t have my sister, so you go after her niece? That’s just pathetic. Your entire family is pathetic, using Jade Tinsley like a prize racehorse to further your family’s ambitions.”

  Morgan tried to interrupt, reaching for Camille’s arm to lead her out of the greenhouse, but Camille slapped her hand away.

  “He doesn’t seem to mind,” Chase said. “What? Did you think he’d spend the rest of his days pining away for your sainted sister? The golden girl, always first in her class, the prettiest, the most athletic. Is that why you went the opposite direction, dating every boy in school, being the party girl? You were jealous of Carlee, of the attention the whole town gave her.”

  Camille glanced at Gayle, who was soaking up every poisonous word.

  Camille seethed for a moment, then pointed a finger at Chase. “You were jealous of Jade. Everyone knew you were infatuated with my sister, and she didn’t even know you existed.”

  “We are a lot alike, Camille, you and me. You chased around, trying to get Jade’s attention. Or was it your mother’s? Me, wishing Carlee would notice me. Trying to get my own father’s attention when he seemed to think he only had one child, his perfect daughter.”

  “You shouldn’t be an artist,” Camille said. “You should be a psychologist. You think you’ve got it all figured out.”

  Chase took a step toward Camille. “I wish I could figure it all out. I wish there were a way to heal all the hurts of the past.” He reached out a hand. “We two, at least, can be friends now, surely?”

  “So you can get your slimy paws on my daughter? No!”

  “Mother!” Gayle’s face flushed pink. “Chase was totally being nice. He didn’t do anything weird. Why do parents always think the worst?”

  Gayle sprinted down the pea gravel pathway, remarkably agile on her thick-soled sandals. The greenhouse door slammed closed behind her.

  “Now see what you’ve done!” Camille yelled.

  Morgan stepped beside them, hoping to cool the situation before violence erupted.

  “Chase, your attention to Gayle may be innocent, but surely you can see how it might look to a concerned parent. A pretty young girl hanging around with an older artist.”

  Camille snorted.

  “I’m practically a dinosaur,” Chase said with a smirk.

  “And Gayle does resemble her aunt. I never met Carlee, but I’ve seen photos of her, and Gayle looks just like her. Camille says you had a crush on Carlee.”

  “More like an obsession,” Camille said.

  “Every boy in town was in love with Carlee. I was one of many.”

  “Chase is as screwed up as anyone in this pathetic little town,” Camille spat out.

  “We can’t change the past,” Chase said. “But some of us have managed to let go.”

  “I changed my life,” Camille said. “I moved away, and it was like I never existed in Golden Springs. I evaporated like fog. No one tried to find me, either.”

  “No one knew where to look,” Chase said. “Or maybe they would have.”

  “I wouldn’t have ever come back, either, if it weren’t for Morgan finding Carlee’s—” Camille’s anger dissolved abruptly into tears. “I have to find my daughter.”

  After the greenhouse door banged shut, Morgan turned to Chase.

  “I apologize,” Morgan said. “I was looking for Gayle.”

  “No need to explain.” Chase slumped onto a chair, the legs wobbly on the cracked cement paving stone. “I’ll admit that Gayle looks just like Carlee. She’s a beautiful kid. But I’m not a pervert. Gayle is perfectly safe with me.”

  Chase turned his focus to the elephant-head flowers.

  “Where did you get those?” Morgan asked.

  “You’d have to ask the gardener,” Chase said.

  “Carlee’s favorite flowers just happen to be in your green house?”

  “My parents’ greenhouse,” Chase said. “I just live here.”

  His lack of concern made Morgan think he didn’t know about the elephant-head flowers at the dugout. Which might mean he had nothing to do with Carlee’s disappearance. Maybe.

  “Was Mia jealous of Carlee, too?” Morgan asked.

  Chase stood, brushing his hands together as though they had been soiled.

  “What about all the guys who were infatuated with Carlee?” Morgan continued. “Were there any who might be jealous enough that if he couldn’t have Carlee, no one else could? That he’d kill her?”

  “I resent the implication, Mrs. Iverson. Neither my sister nor I killed Carlee Kruger. I suggest you stop playing amateur detective and mind your own business.”

  Chase Cooper stormed out of the greenhouse, letting the tempered glass door slam behind him. Morgan sat on the chair for a moment, replaying the conversation. Chase had not argued against Carlee’s death being murder. Did he know something? As a witness? Or, despite his protest of innocence, as a perpetrator?

  When Morgan left the greenhouse, the sun had dropped lower in the sky, and the air had chilled several degrees. Jade’s speech was well under way. Considering he had not written them, he did a remarkable job of delivering the borrowed words with passion. Jade was an actor, she realized, living a life not of his choosing. Morgan wondered whether he was a good enough actor to cover up a murder.

  In the den earlier, nothing Jade said made Morgan believe he killed Carlee. It seemed he had more motivation to murder Camille, who destroyed his relationship with her sister by confessing her affair with Jade.

  Morgan wanted desperately to unload all her information on Kurt. She needed his perspective. The cold case was simultaneously weaving together and unraveling.

  She moved through the knots of people clustered around the propane patio heaters. A woman standing next to Kurt wore a vintage overcoat just like his. No. It was his coat, draped over the shoulders of the lovely young thing huddling close to his side. Morgan felt a surprising stab of jealousy.

  She imagined the painful emotion magnified by youthful hormones. Pregnant and scared
, teenaged Camille might have killed her sister, hoping Jade would marry her. But Camille left town before Carlee disappeared. Had she come back long enough to kill Carlee?

  After the speech, the hired help lowered three sides of the circus tent–sized food canopy and moved the patio heaters inside. Only the hardy remained in the increasingly breezy out-of-doors. The hardy, and the upset. Gayle slouched on a folding chair at the edge of the garden. Which meant Camille must still be on the grounds of the Cooper mansion. Morgan found her with Farley under the food canopy, the boy oblivious to his mother’s anxiety as he loaded a sturdy paper plate with gourmet treats. Morgan worked her way to Camille’s side.

  “Gayle’s outside,” Morgan told her.

  “I’ve been trying to find her for an hour,” Camille said. “I’m beyond ready to leave.”

  “Come on. I’ll show you where she’s sitting.”

  Morgan wasn’t concerned about protecting the Cooper public image, but she would do what she could to save the Kruger family more pain. Gayle huddled on the chair. Her hair hung over her shoulders, shielding her face like a golden veil.

  “Gayle, we’re leaving,” Camille said.

  The teenager looked at her mother with red, puffy eyes.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Gayle slid off the chair and onto her feet. She placed her hand on a low gate that led to the woods.

  “Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

  Gayle ignored her mother.

  “You can’t go off in the woods,” Camille said. “Alone. Dressed like that.”

  Goosebumps covered Gayle’s bare arms and shoulders. The teen turned, her hands balled into fists.

  “Is this how Aunt Carlee was dressed when she ran away? She was probably sick of you and grandma. A couple of drunken party girls.” Gayle wiped the back of her hand across her tear-damp face. “All those times you lectured me about behaving myself, and you’d done everything you warned me not to do.”

  “Yes, Gayle. Because I didn’t want you to make the same mistakes as me.”

  “Our whole family is one big lie.”

  Gayle shoved open the gate and bolted down a trail. Camille started to chase after her, then stopped, defeated.

  “She’ll come back,” she said to Morgan. “Won’t she?”

  “It’s easy to get lost in the hills,” Morgan said. “We should go after her.”

  “I’ll go. You bring help.”

  She began to say something more, but her words were interrupted by a scream.

  Camille flew through the gate. Morgan wanted to follow, but Camille was right. She should get help. A dozen people who heard the scream ran toward Morgan. Harlan Cooper bolted to the head of the crowd and blocked the gate. He waved his hands at the gathering crowd.

  “If we all gallop off into the forest, we might obliterate the woman’s tracks. I’ll check out the situation and call if I need help.”

  Cooper pushed the gate closed and trotted up the trail.

  “I’m not waiting around here,” a hefty cowboy said.

  When he chased after Cooper, four more men followed.

  Kurt raced to the gate, a camera banging against his broad chest. He had his overcoat back. Morgan felt guilty for noticing, under the circumstances, but she was glad all the same. He spoke to Morgan before plunging into the forest.

  “Find Doc Drewmoore. He and Patty were headed for their car. We might need him.” Kurt shook his head. “I really hope we don’t, but just in case.”

  Morgan reluctantly left the growing throng of people at the garden gate. A dozen scenarios played in her head, but the most logical one was that Gayle had tripped and fallen while running through the woods in her ridiculous shoes. In which case, Morgan’s time was better served getting medical help. She sprinted through the garden and around the house.

  Henry and Patty Drewmoore waited in a short line for the valet to bring their vehicle.

  “Doctor, I’m glad I caught you.” Morgan gasped for breath, then added, “A girl might need your help.”

  The valet pulled up with their car. The doctor retrieved a medical bag from the trunk and began to rapid fire questions at Morgan for which she had no answers. As they reentered the garden, the crack of a gunshot reverberated off the back of the house. Doc Drewmoore broke into a trot.

  One of the men holding back the crowd saw the doctor and yelled, “Make a hole!”

  People opened a gap just wide enough for Doctor and Mrs. Drewmoore. Morgan pushed her way after them. A short distance through the dense forest, a group huddled in the middle of the trail, some on their knees and others standing. Harlan Cooper paced circles in a thick bed of pine needles. Kurt’s camera flashed again and again. Gayle had a borrowed suit coat wrapped around her shoulders. Camille stood next to her daughter, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

  “The doctor’s here!” someone yelled.

  People rose and backed away, except for one man who remained kneeling beside a body on the trail. He pressed a handkerchief to the prone man’s shoulder. The man on the ground wore a beige canvas coat, and wild matted whiskers hid his face.

  The mountain man.

  The temperature dropped another ten degrees as the sun slipped behind the mountains. Morgan turned up the collar of her thin jacket against the chilly air creeping down her neck.

  “Kurt,” she whispered, “did you see what happened?”

  “Big Foot grabbed Gayle, and then Cooper shot him.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “Doc Drewmoore seems busy,” Kurt said. “If the mountain man were dead, he wouldn’t be trying to patch him up.”

  By the time Chief Sharp and Deputy Parker arrived, the mountain man was sitting up.

  “Chief!” A man in a suit and tie waved one hand at Sharp while the other remained stuffed inside his jacket pocket. “Chief, over here.”

  He pulled a handgun out of his pocket, holding it by the barrel. He passed it grip-first to Bill Sharp.

  “I unloaded it. Here are the bullets. All that were left in the gun.”

  Chief Sharp accepted the weapon and ammo. “Who did you shoot?”

  “Not me. Harlan Cooper. He shot Big Foot. Doctor Drewmoore’s giving him first aid.”

  “Who’s getting first aid?” Chief Sharp asked. “Big Foot or Cooper? Never mind. I’ll see for myself.”

  The forest was getting dark by the time Chief Sharp directed people back to the Cooper house. The mountain man trudged up the trail, his hands cuffed behind his back. A red-stained hole had torn through the shoulder of the stolen jacket.

  Deputy Parker held the mountain man’s arm, guiding him as he stumbled on the uneven ground. Doc Drewmoore followed. Chief Sharp grasped Harlan’s arm, but there were no handcuffs on Cooper. Mrs. Drewmoore had her arm around Gayle’s shoulders, which were covered with the borrowed suit coat. Camille moved to bring up the rear with Morgan, her face chalk white in the gloom.

  As Camille approached, she muttered to Morgan, “See what all your meddling has caused.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  * * *

  The police chief herded the key players into the house. Morgan wished she could station herself at the French doors to the patio with the tabby cat again. Instead, she huddled near a heater in the tent while Kurt interviewed people and took more photos.

  Lorina headed her way, a glass of pink wine in one hand and a plate of petit fours in the other. Her sequin-accented black western blouse dazzled in the lights of the tent.

  “Morgan, have you got a minute?”

  Kurt seemed to have forgotten he brought a date. Morgan had nothing but time.

  “I don’t know anything about—”

  Lorina shook her head. “I’m not gleaning gossip about the shooting. I can already tell you how that’s gonna go down. Harlan Cooper’s guilty as hell, and he’ll get off scot free.”

  “What else is he guilty of?” Morgan asked.

  If he’d shoot a man in front of witnesses, he migh
t be capable of murdering a young woman when no one was looking.

  “You name it,” Lorina said. “He’s as crooked as a politician. If people didn’t know him so well in this town, he’d be running for City Council himself. No one’ll vote for him, so he’s setting up his son-in-law as his puppet. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “This ain’t gonna be easy.” Lorina closed her eyes briefly as she took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s the deal. Can you give Del a message?”

  “I suppose so,” Morgan said. “Depending on what the message is.”

  “Let the old buzzard know he was right.”

  “About what?”

  “He’ll know,” Lorina said.

  And that was it. The cowgirl strolled off into the dwindling crowd. Mia must have been waiting to catch Morgan alone. She stepped close and rubbed her hands in the warmth of the heater. Mia’s cheeks were flushed nearly as red as the flowers on her dress.

  “I hope you’re happy.”

  “Me? I didn’t have anything to do with your father shooting a homeless person.”

  “Isn’t Sasquatch the man who hid Carlee Kruger’s bones in the woods for sixteen years? Don’t make him sound like the victim.”

  “How did the mountain man know to come here?” Morgan asked. “Did he get an invitation?”

  “Apparently invitations were not needed, judging from the number of attendees who weren’t on the guest list.”

  “Including me,” Morgan said. “But I’m here with a member of the press who was invited.”

  “We should have been more specific.” Mia glanced toward the tent opening as someone came in. A person of no apparent interest, because she returned her attention to Morgan. “Now that you’ve opened this can of worms, what do you intend to do with it?”

  “Look, Mia, I just happened onto Carlee’s remains. I didn’t mean to stir up people.”

  “And yet you have.”

  The woman was already angry with her. Morgan decided to plunge in.

  “Isn’t it better for everyone to have closure? To finally know what happened to Carlee?”