Morgan’s low-heeled ankle boots crunched on ice-melting granules scattered across the sidewalk. The entrance doors opened into a narrow foyer. Stepping into the social hall, warm coffee-scented air enveloped her.
Morgan timed her arrival to avoid the new-visitor-greeting routine. She had attended the church twice every summer for many years. She and Sam brought the kids for their annual stay with Kendall and Allie, picking them up two or three weeks later. Six years had passed since her last visit. She doubted anyone remembered her.
The couple guarding the sanctuary doors stuffed an order of service into her hand and scooted her inside.
Wood pews with maroon cushions lined the oak-floored sanctuary. Morgan slipped into a seat as far to the rear as she could find. She had barely gotten settled when the introit music ended and the choir started a song. Morgan stood with the rest of the congregation and shuffled through the hymnal to the correct page.
She went through the motions, struggling to keep her attention on the sermon. Pastor James Filbury had not changed his preaching style. His voice was soothing, his message comforting.
The congregation was solidly mainstream. How it had inspired Kendall with the crazy idea to move to Central America to establish a cult baffled Morgan. The kindly old gentleman behind the podium hardly seemed the type to spawn zealots.
The crisp white collar of Pastor Filbury’s dress shirt and the knot of his blue tie peeked above the solid black of his clerical robe. Silver hair groomed short and neat was losing the battle with a growing patch of scalp. The oversized silver frames of his eyeglasses were a couple decades out of date, but they suited him.
A closing hymn ended the service. Feeling a bit like an undercover agent, Morgan moved with the crowd into the social hall. She stood by the windows, a white ceramic mug of steaming coffee in her hand, murmuring “good morning” to strangers, and mulling over the polite way to strike up a conversation about a missing body.
Cindy Lyons waved at Morgan. She towed a tall, red-haired lumberjack of a man to the windows. Morgan was surprised to see her employee in Golden Springs Community Church. After her pronouncements about goth kids and witchcraft, Cindy seemed more a candidate for the hellfire-and-brimstone type church.
“Herb, this is my new boss lady. Mrs. Iverson, this is my husband, Herb.” Cindy looked up at Herb, a good head and a half taller than she, although Cindy was not short. “She’s the gal who found the body and then lost it.”
Herb shifted the toddler he was holding from one arm to the other. He held out a large, calloused hand and crushed Morgan’s fingers briefly. “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he mumbled.
“Please call me Morgan.”
“And these are the kids.” Cindy placed a hand on top of the red heads of children with uniform upturned noses and freckled cheeks. “Jacob, a year and a half. Isaac, three. Rebekah, six. Ruth, eight. And Matthew, nine.” The boys wore blue jeans, cowboy shirts, and sneakers. The girls wore jumpers over long-sleeved blouses, cable tights, and Mary Janes. Cindy’s outfit matched the girls’, except for her ever-present red cowgirl boots.
Morgan surveyed the children. “What a beautiful family. And another on the way!”
“We believe in big families.” She glanced up at Herb with an adoring smile. “Right, honey?”
“Yup,” Herb grunted. The three-year-old boy grabbed Herb’s hand and led him to the cookie table.
Morgan decided to cut to the chase. “Cindy, I wondered if you’ve heard whether anyone here’s missing a teenager?”
“You mean the body you lost?” Cindy didn’t wait for a reply. “You need to meet Beatrice. If anything happens in Golden Springs, Beatrice knows.”
Cindy grabbed Morgan’s arm and pulled her to the church kitchen. The room was designed to prepare food for a crowd, with two refrigerators, a restaurant-style stove and oven, and cupboards lining walls painted industrial white. The humid air smelled faintly of bleach and lemon-scented dishwashing soap.
Three women, aprons tied around their waists, bustled around cleaning and putting away dishes.
“Ladies,” Cindy announced, “this is Kendall’s sister, Morgan Iverson.”
A stout woman with short, steel-gray hair stuck out her hand. “I’m Beatrice,” she said in a no-nonsense tone. “Welcome to Golden Springs.” A white cotton apron covered her navy-blue sweater. Polyester slacks and thick-soled shoes completed a look that screamed “sensible.” Beatrice’s handshake was as solid and assured as her words.
“I remember you.” A tiny lady held out a delicate hand. Her soft words carried a hint of a Japanese accent. “You are Kendall’s sister. You came every summer.”
Morgan was careful not to squeeze her hand too tight, for fear of breaking bones.
“Mrs. McCormick,” Morgan said. “I’m so happy to see you.”
The Irish name might seem incongruous with her refined Japanese features, but Mrs. McCormick was a WWII war bride. Her Irish-American husband had passed away over a decade ago. A cream jacket and mid-calf skirt accented her thin figure, and a cotton puff of white hair cradled her pale face.
“Please call me Teruko,” Mrs. McCormick said. “I feel as though we are old friends. How are your children? I remember they were so polite and well-behaved.”
“Thank you,” Morgan said. “Dave’s at college studying engineering, and Sarah’s married and has a baby on the way.”
“I’m so happy for you.”
The third woman was somewhere between Morgan’s age and Beatrice’s. Tall and lean, she had the tanned face of a lifetime outdoorswoman.
“Anna Heiden.” She climbed off a step stool and held out her hand. The frilly apron tied around her waist covered a safari jacket and khaki slacks. “I work for the newspaper.”
She clasped Morgan’s hand, her grip firm.
“I understand you’re here to stay,” Beatrice said.
“I agreed to fill in temporarily for Kendall and Allie,” Morgan said. “Two weeks.”
“Allie told me they’re not coming back,” Cindy said.
“Someone’s got to run the Rock of Ages,” Anna said.
“You bet,” Cindy said. “Or else I’m out of a job, and Del loses his job and his home.”
“The first time I heard about this crazy plan to move to Central America permanently was when I arrived Friday night. I don’t know what I’m going to do about the rock shop. I haven’t even unpacked my suitcase yet.”
“Whatever you do,” Beatrice said, “don’t let Piers Townsend get his hands on your property.”
Morgan held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Please, slow down. You’re throwing too much at me. I’ve got a lot of unexpected changes to adjust to.”
“Like finding a body?” Beatrice asked.
News traveled even faster than Morgan had anticipated.
“I told the ladies,” Cindy said. “At the shop you said you wanted to find out who the girl was.”
Beatrice settled her weight onto the padded seat of a four-legged wooden stool.
“Sit down, Morgan.”
The ladies joined her, perching on mismatched chairs and stools.
“I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to say.” Morgan met Anna’s eyes. “This is off the record.”
Anna shook her head. “I’m the administrative staff, not a reporter.”
All business, Beatrice asked, “Did the police tell you to keep quiet?”
“The police didn’t show up. Search and rescue looked for the girl, but they couldn’t find her.”
Beatrice frowned. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.”
Morgan recited a condensed version of her story. She was getting better with every retelling of her misadventure. Instead of the jumble she had spilled out for search and rescue, or the emotional account she had dumped on Del, Cindy, and Lucy, the story was coherent.
“Huh,” Beatrice said. “No body. Nothing to investigate.”
“From Morgan’s description, I’d say she�
�s goth,” Cindy said.
“Goth?” Teruko asked.
Cindy delivered her colorful explanation again.
“You’re sure you saw the girl?” Beatrice asked.
“I touched it. Her.” Morgan wiped her hands down her gray slacks, then stopped herself. “You can’t feel something you imagine.”
“Moving is very stressful,” Anna said.
Beatrice nodded. “Search and rescue wouldn’t overlook a body. You must be mistaken.”
Teruko patted Morgan’s knee with a trembling hand. “I believe you.”
“We would have heard if she was a Golden Springs girl,” Anna said. “I’ll bet she’s from the city.”
“I agree,” Beatrice said. “Doesn’t sound like a local kid. But I’ll see what I can find out.”
“You’re both fooling yourselves.” Cindy leaned forward, speaking in a hoarse whisper. “Golden Springs is infested with New Agers and devil worshippers. We need to clean up this town, before it’s too late!”
Morgan hoped she didn’t look as startled as she felt. She wondered how Cindy proposed cleaning up, and whether it involved burning at the stake.
Downtown Golden Springs was a protected historic district. Shops might change, but the outward appearance still exuded Old West. Brick facades, hitching posts, and streetlights designed to look like old-fashioned wrought-iron gas lamps lined the six blocks.
Morgan pulled in to the first empty parking space, a half a block from the bakery. A pink and white striped awning shaded the front bay window. Silk banners decorated with bright flowers flapped from flagpoles on either side of the glass-paned front door. The name had changed from Hindersman’s Baked Goods to Bibi’s Bakery, in loopy pink script across the bay window.
A gentle bell tinkled when Morgan pushed the door open. She doubted the owner could hear it above the conversations of the half dozen people waiting in line at the counter. Another dozen sat at bistro tables covered with pink and white striped cloths.
Morgan inhaled deeply the yeasty smell of fresh baked goods. When she reached the counter, a teenage girl took her order: a latte, a blueberry scone, and a loaf of whole grain bread to take home.
The young woman behind the counter wore her wavy strawberry-blond hair pulled back with a pink hair clip. Her cheeks were flushed the same shade of pink as her apron. While not overweight, she looked like she was not averse to sampling a few of the pastries.
No piercings. No tattoos. Definitely not goth.
Another girl filled the orders. Thinner, and with straight brown hair cut in a bob, she exuded a girl-next-door wholesomeness. She moved with efficient energy, placing pastries in bags or on plates.
On the wall behind the cash register hung an embroidered sign in a Victorian-style picture frame: “Never trust a skinny cook.” The woman running the cash register was definitely to be trusted. She wore a chef’s jacket in the same shade of pink as everything else in the bakery, tailored to her generous figure. Her name badge identified her as Bernie.
“Are you visiting Golden Springs?” Bernie smiled as she took Morgan’s debit card and swiped it through the reader.
“I’m managing the Rock of Ages, temporarily,” Morgan said.
“You’re Kendall’s sister?” She handed Morgan her card and receipt.
“Yes.” In Golden Springs, it seemed her identity would always be tied to Kendall.
Bernie waved her hands in excitement. Her green eyes sparkled. “I’ve been dying to meet you. Can you stay for a bit? The after-church rush will be over soon.”
“I have to clean the barn,” Morgan said, “but it’s not going anywhere.”
“Good!” Bernie clapped her plump hands together. “Grab a table, and I’ll be over as soon as I can take a break.”
Morgan picked up a newspaper and sat at a small, round table by the window. The Golden Springs Gazetteer had an old-fashioned appearance, but the pages contained modern issues.
“Big Box Goliath Defeated, But No Victory for David,” screamed the above-the-fold headline. Morgan started reading, wondering if the local newspaper had a religious slant.
“The Golden Springs City Council voted down an ordinance that would have allowed a corporation to develop meadowland on the south end of town. While many of us are grateful that the desecration of our fair town with a behemoth retailer has been halted, we face another development issue of equal magnitude. The big box Goliath has been defeated, but what will become of the Mom and Pop shops, the Davids of retail, if you will.”
Only in a small-town, weekly newspaper could someone get away with writing anything so over the top. Morgan continued reading.
“City Council, in yet another shortsighted move, voted down a rezoning proposal that would open up much needed land for a residential development.”
First development was bad. Now it was good.
“Rezoning would increase the tax base, draw more year-round business, and change the very complexion of Golden Springs. The undue influence of certain factions of our city is delaying needed change.”
Morgan wondered who stood to profit from rezoning.
“I can take a break now.” Bernie stood beside Morgan’s table. “Find something interesting?”
Morgan folded the paper. “I thought I was reading an article, but I think it’s an editorial.”
Bernie eased her large frame onto a bistro chair. “Kurt owns the newspaper, and I can tell you, he’s thoroughly opinionated.” She held out her hand. “I’m Bernadette Belmont, thus the name of the bakery, Bibi’s. My friends call me Bernie. Welcome to Golden Springs.”
Morgan grasped her hand. “Morgan Iverson.”
“How are Kendall and Allie? Have they gotten settled in?”
“They haven’t called yet,” Morgan said, “but Kendall promised he would as soon as he could.”
“I had Kendall and Allie over for dinner a couple nights before they left town. They were so excited about moving.”
Her brother had apparently told everyone in town his plans, and yet lied to her. Probably because he knew she wouldn’t have agreed to move to Golden Springs. Not permanently.
“Yes,” Morgan said, “they were certainly anxious to leave.” She broke a piece off her blueberry scone. “I can see why your bakery is so popular. This is delicious.”
Bernie patted her ample tummy. “I don’t cook anything I won’t eat.” Bernie laughed and pulled off her chef’s hat, setting it on the table. She brushed a strand of straight brown hair that had strayed from her stubby ponytail away from her face. “I worry about Kendall and Allie, but they insist the Lord directed them to make this move.”
“Do you attend the Golden Springs Community Church?”
“No, I’m a confirmed Catholic, in spite of your brother’s best efforts,” Bernie said with a laugh. “And he’s still a Protestant, in spite of mine.”
“The bakery wasn’t called Bibi’s the last time I was in Golden Springs. Did you take over recently?”
“I’ve been here for over five years.”
“My last visit was six years ago. The kids got older and busier, and we just couldn’t find the time to make it out here. Then my husband became ill, and we couldn’t manage the trip again.”
“I watched the donkeys for Kendall and Allie when they went to the funeral. I’m so sorry.” Bernie’s concern seemed genuine.
“That was two years ago.” Morgan wadded a paper napkin in her fist, ready to staunch the tears that usually erupted when she spoke about Sam. “You’d think that was long enough to get over it.”
Bernie covered Morgan’s hand with hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “Not at all. That just shows what a wonderful man he must have been.”
“Excuse me, Miss Yates?”
Morgan glanced up. She tried not to gape at the handsome stranger standing beside the table. Wavy blond hair brushed his shoulders, and short whiskers dusted his square jaw. A pale green natural fiber tunic and matching trousers draped his athletic frame.
�
��My name is Iverson.”
“She’s Kendall’s sister,” Bernie said. “Morgan, this is Piers. He owns a shop on Main Street, a few doors down.”
“Ah,” Piers said. “Then your name was Yates, at one time.”
“That was my maiden name, yes.”
“You’re married?” Piers asked.
Morgan answered his blunt question with equal directness. “I’m widowed.”
He motioned to the chair beside Morgan. “May I?”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Sit down, Piers,” Bernie said. “I’ll get your bread.”
Bernie headed behind the counter as Piers pulled out the chair and sat next to Morgan.
“I own Faerie Tales,” Piers said.
“The metaphysical store,” Morgan said.
“The same.” Piers seemed to wait for a reaction, leaning forward slightly on his chair. He held her gaze with blue eyes the color of a summer sky. She wondered if he wore tinted contact lenses. If so, they were worth whatever he paid for them.
“It’s nice to meet another shop owner,” Morgan said.
Piers relaxed, leaning back. “I had heard Mr. and Mrs. Yates left town, but I had no idea their replacement would be so approachable.”
“I don’t know if ‘replacement’ is the right word,” Morgan said. “I was just supposed to fill in for two weeks.”
Piers leaned forward. “And after the two weeks, what happens?”
“I don’t know. Kendall seems to have lost interest in the Rock of Ages. I have a home in Sioux Falls. I wasn’t planning to stay.”
“If you should decide to sell, please let me know. I have expressed my interest in the land to your brother numerous times.”
Beatrice, the church kitchen lady, had just warned Morgan not to let Piers get his hands on the property. But Morgan couldn’t afford to let local politics sway her decision. If she decided to sell, the highest bidder would own the Rock of Ages.
Piers lowered his voice. “Excuse me for expressing myself so freely when we’ve just met, but your brother and I have not enjoyed the most amicable relationship. He has a dark aura.”
“Excuse me?” One of Morgan’s Sioux Falls friends went to a metaphysical healer to have her aura read, but Morgan had only a vague idea of what that meant.
Stone Cold Dead Page 3
