Stone Cold Dead

by Catherine Dilts

  Lucy walked faster as she talked, until Adelaide pulled her to a halt again. Morgan remembered Paul’s grim expression when she’d seen him through the bakery window. She imagined he could be quite intimidating. Not that Piers wouldn’t have deserved it.

  Now she understood Lucy and Bernie’s amusement when Piers had offered to align her chakras. He was a garden-variety skirt chaser in a New Age package.

  “I know you need to form your own opinion of Piers, but please take me seriously when I say you shouldn’t let your guard down around him.”

  They reached the open gate to the rock shop parking lot.

  “I’m used to dealing with challenging men,” Morgan said. “I can handle Piers.”

  “What did you do in Sioux Falls?” Lucy asked.

  “I was an admin for an engineering firm,” Morgan said, relieved with the change of subject. “I ran the office, dealt with contractors, engineers, suppliers, customers. It was a good job, and I enjoyed it, but when the economy tanked, they had to lay off all the peripheral employees. That was me. Peripheral. They said they’d call me back when business picked up again.”

  “You’re not staying here, are you?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I have a home and family in Sioux Falls. Maybe a job.”

  “Sioux Falls is bigger than Golden Springs?”

  “Yes. It’s about half the size of Granite Junction.” Morgan laughed. “I thought it was funny when Kurt Willard told me I didn’t understand about small towns. I never thought of Sioux Falls as the big city.”

  “Like he’s an expert?” Lucy led Adelaide across the rock shop parking lot. “Kurt moved here from San Francisco four years ago.”

  “I was under the impression he’s lived in Golden Springs his whole life.”

  Houdini snorted, and pulled Morgan toward the paddock gate.

  “Kurt is big on impressions,” Lucy said.

  Del met them at the gate.

  “Have these two been running wild again?” he asked.

  “They might be front page news,” Lucy said. “Kurt was taking pictures of the roundup.”

  “Famous once again,” Del said.

  “Or infamous,” Morgan said. “Not everyone was happy about it.”

  “You left the paddock gate open,” Del said. “Gerda called the shop to let us know the donkeys were loose. I was headed to town just now to get them.”

  “I didn’t leave the gate open. I checked before I left.”

  “I’ll take the escapees.” Del snapped ropes onto their halters. “What happened to you, Morgan? Did these two drag you through the creek?”

  Morgan looked down at her wet pant legs and filthy sneakers. “This happened before I even made it to town. An SUV ran me into the irrigation ditch.”

  Del raised one bushy eyebrow. “You have more than your fair share of disasters.”

  “My thoughts exactly. I called Officer Sanchez. She was really happy to hear from me again. Did you notice a black SUV after I left?”

  “I was in the barn,” Del said, “until Cindy came to tell me about the donkeys. I wouldn’t have heard anyone on the road.”

  “Maybe someone opened the gate after I left.”

  “Why would they do that?” Lucy asked. “You just don’t mess with other peoples’ gates.”

  Morgan watched Del lead the donkeys back to the paddock.

  “When I was here earlier,” Lucy said, “I noticed that fabric you put in the display case. I could cover my jewelry board with matching fabric.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Morgan said. “I got it at the fabric store in Granite Junction.”

  “I hope they have enough left to cover my display.” Lucy glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later tonight, at the pub, right?”

  Del closed the paddock gate, checking the latch before walking up to Morgan and Lucy.

  “Six o’clock?” Morgan asked.

  “That’s when we start,” Lucy said, “but get there earlier to sign up.”

  Lucy waved as she jogged across the parking lot.

  “Where are you going?” Del asked.

  “A running club in Granite Junction,” Morgan said.

  Del followed her into the rock shop. He rummaged under the checkout counter for a notepad and pencil.

  “Did anyone pull up here after I left?” Morgan asked Cindy.

  “No customers today,” Cindy said.

  “I saw a black SUV drive up the hill when I was walking to town,” Morgan said.

  “It tried to run her down,” Del said.

  Cindy gasped. “You’re kidding. Run you down?”

  “I fell in the irrigation ditch,” Morgan said. “I thought maybe the same person opened the gate after I left.”

  Cindy shook her head. “I didn’t see anyone. But I was cleaning, so I might not have noticed.”

  Del mumbled, and scribbled on the notepad.

  “Del, what are you doing?” Morgan asked.

  “You said you’re going running,” Del said.

  “Bernie and I will more likely walk,” Morgan said. “There’s a new running club,” she told Cindy. “It meets in downtown Granite Junction.”

  “What time?” Del asked.

  “The run starts at six,” Morgan said. “But Lucy said to get there earlier. Bernie is picking me up at five.”

  “Good,” Del said. “That’ll give me time to prepare.”

  “Prepare for what?” Morgan asked.

  “You’ll need equipment,” Del said.

  “I think shoes and a jacket are all that’s required,” Morgan said. “Maybe a flashlight.”

  “For downtown Granite Junction?” Del shook his head. “The city’s not safe for a couple of women walking at night. Especially considering that someone’s out to get you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cindy helped Morgan close the shop for the night. Before they locked the front door, Del walked in with an enormous olive-green camouflage fanny pack. He set it on the glass display counter.

  “Going camping?” Cindy asked.

  “Very funny,” Del said.

  “What is that?” Morgan asked.

  “A survival pack for your trip to Granite Junction tonight.”

  “I’m going to a running club with Bernie and Lucy,” Morgan said. “We’re not hunting bear.”

  Headlights shone through the front windows.

  “Herb’s here,” Cindy said. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

  Cindy waddled out the door, a hand pressed to her lower back.

  Morgan grabbed the strap of the fanny pack with one hand and lifted it an inch above the counter. She dropped it back on the glass.

  “Careful!”

  “Del, I can’t carry this for three miles. I can barely lift it.”

  Morgan unzipped the pack and started pulling out gear. A Buck knife, a roll of duct tape, granola bars, pepper spray.

  “Pepper spray?” Morgan asked. “I’ll be in a crowd.”

  “I’m guessing you won’t be in the middle of the pack,” Del said. “The pepper spray stays.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Morgan haggled with Del about what stayed in the pack and what she refused to carry. They had finally reached an agreement when the headlights of Bernie’s vehicle shone through the shop windows.

  “My ride’s here,” Morgan said.

  “Call me when you get home,” Del said.

  Morgan might have argued with the old cowboy, but she knew he would worry.

  “Okay, I’ll call. If the phone’s working.”

  “I’ll lock up the shop,” Del said. “You go have fun. And be careful.”

  Bernie drove an older model SUV that was, like her, of grand proportions. Morgan opened the passenger door and heaved Del’s camouflage fanny pack up on the seat.

  “Hi, Morgan. What’s that?”

  “Enough gear for us to live in the woods for a week.” Morgan climbed into the SUV. “Del insisted I carry it.” She buckl
ed her seat belt. “He seems to think we’re taking our lives in our hands going to downtown Granite Junction after dark.”

  “Maybe Del’s on the right track. You were almost run down by the black SUV.”

  Bernie pulled through the rock shop gate and onto the gravel road. Her straight brown hair, unfettered by the chef’s hat, brushed the shoulders of her heavy winter coat.

  “Thanks for driving,” Morgan said. “My car hasn’t been running well lately.”

  “There’s a good shop in town.”

  “Del recommended Gerda’s,” Morgan said.

  “She’s honest,” Bernie said. “That’s what’s most important to me, as a single woman. Auto mechanics have been known to take advantage of us girls.”

  “I haven’t had to deal much with car repairs,” Morgan said. “Sam used to take care of our vehicles. Then my son, Dave, helped, until he went off to college.”

  The drive to downtown Granite Junction went quickly as they chatted about Morgan’s children, Bernie’s cat, and whether or not they could walk three miles. In the dark.

  A crowd of runners stood outside O’Reily’s Pub, looking chilled in their shorts and thin T-shirts. Some had earbuds and MP3 players. Others had small packs with water bottles strapped to their waists. Morgan did not feel quite so conspicuous wearing Del’s suitcase of a fanny pack.

  The pub looked like it had been lifted from a street in Dublin and nestled into the eclectic Granite Junction downtown. The red brick exterior was trimmed with dark wood window frames and a heavy wooden door. A low, wrought-iron fence marked off a small patio area on the wide concrete sidewalk.

  Lucy stood in the doorway of the pub, a clipboard in one hand. She fit in with the crowd, dressed in black running slacks, bright yellow and white sneakers, and a thin turquoise windbreaker. She spotted Morgan and Bernie, and waved.

  “Come on in and get signed up.”

  Morgan pushed through the crowd, Bernie following on her heels. Lucy led them to a tall, round, wooden table just large enough for the clipboard and a stack of papers.

  “Here’s the waiver.” She handed Morgan and Bernie each a sheet of paper and a pen.

  “Waiver?” Morgan asked.

  “It just says that if anything happens to you, you won’t sue the running club or the pub.”

  “How dangerous is this?” Bernie asked.

  “Any physical activity carries a certain risk,” Lucy said. “Waivers are standard for running clubs.”

  Bernie glanced at Morgan, a trace of fear in her green eyes.

  “Let’s do it.” Morgan put pen to paper, signing with a flourish.

  “Here’s a map.” Lucy handed Morgan a sheet of paper. “There are a couple turnaround points, if you don’t want to walk the whole five K. If you run with us ten times”—Lucy reached into a cardboard box under the table—“you get one of these, for free.”

  She held up a white T-shirt emblazoned with the running club mascot: a bear dressed like a leprechaun, stealing a beer from a picnic basket.

  Bernie clasped her hands together. “I’ve got to have one of those shirts.” She turned to Morgan. “You have to stay in Golden Springs. At least nine more weeks, so you can get your shirt.”

  Kimmie tugged on Lucy’s running slacks. “Mommy, I hafta go.” The five-year-old’s outfit was a smaller version of Lucy’s, with a heavier jacket.

  “I’ll see you ladies out front.” Lucy took her daughter’s hand. “You can leave your coats here,” she told Morgan and Bernie. “They’ll be too hot.”

  They walked outside. Morgan glanced at the runners, hardly dressed for the chilly January evening. She shivered.

  “I’m keeping my coat,” she told Bernie.

  Bernie wrapped her arms around herself. “Me, too.”

  A man climbed onto a chair in the small patio area. A breeze flapped the legs of his running shorts.

  “Okay runners. Listen up.”

  He shouted out the rules of engagement, warning people to be careful crossing streets, and to obey traffic lights and stop signs. Headlamps or flashlights were required. The pub owner announced two-dollar beers for club members after the run, which brought a rousing cheer from the runners.

  “All set?” the man asked. “Let’s go!”

  The runners surged forward, bumping against Morgan and Bernie. They funneled from the front of the pub to the sidewalk.

  “See you later,” Lucy called. She disappeared into the crowd of churning arms and legs.

  Glowing headlamps sent shafts of light in advance of the runners. They looked like crazed miners, each determined to find the vein of gold before the others. Traffic lights and the crowded conditions kept even the fleet of foot from going faster than a swift walk. Morgan struggled to keep up for all of a block and a half. Finally Bernie grabbed her sleeve.

  “I can’t keep this up,” Bernie wheezed.

  “Me neither.”

  They slowed, allowing people to rush past them. Lucy’s husband, Paul, trotted by on their left, grunting a greeting as he pushed Danny in the jogging stroller. A long black braid hung down his back, bouncing with every stride. Shorts revealed muscled runner’s legs. He was a big man, but apparently, it was more muscle than fat.

  “Look,” Bernie puffed. “Even Kimmie, on her short little legs, is faster than us.”

  “She’s a kid,” Morgan said. “She’s supposed to be faster than us.”

  The family disappeared down a street illuminated with feeble streetlights.

  “If I had remembered we were running tonight,” Bernie said, “I would have let someone else chase those silly donkeys.”

  “We’re not running,” Morgan said. “We’re walking.”

  Bobbing headlamps showed the route of the runners, charging across the street, then flying onto a graveled trail through the city park.

  Bernie stopped when they reached the trail.

  “Through the park?” she asked. “Alone?”

  “We’re not alone,” Morgan said. “We have each other.”

  “You have Del’s backpack,” Bernie said. “You’ll have to defend me.”

  They walked along the gravel trail, their sneakers crunching loudly in the silence.

  “It’s really weird being here in the dark,” Bernie said.

  “Look.” Morgan pointed to the crescent moon peeking through clouds silvered by its reflected light.

  Bernie stopped. “Wow.”

  They watched the clouds drift to cover the moon, then resumed walking.

  “That was worth the trip,” Bernie said.

  Morgan unbuttoned her coat. “I should have listened to Lucy. I’m sweating.”

  “Me, too.” Bernie unzipped her coat. “Oh, Morgan.”

  She pointed to a bench. A homeless man curled on his side under a tattered sleeping bag.

  “We’re complaining about being too warm.”

  While Bernie seemed moved with compassion for the sleeping man, Morgan’s heart beat faster with fear. The entire park could be crawling with drunks, derelicts, and drug addicts.

  “How far do we go?” Bernie asked.

  Morgan slowed as she unzipped her pack and fumbled through Del’s idea of what was required for a walk in the park. “Here’s the map.” She handed the paper to Bernie, clicking on her flashlight. The little circle of light was reassuring.

  “Where are we?” Bernie asked.

  “Good question.” The street names were meaningless to Morgan. “Can you tell?”

  Bernie traced a finger along the route. “We came down here. Then this is the park. That’s the bridge we passed. We must be here.” She jabbed her finger at the paper.

  “The first turnaround is close,” Morgan said. “I thought I wanted to walk the entire five K, but I’m okay with just walking half.”

  “Just,” Bernie exclaimed. “This might be the first time in my life I’ve walked a whole mile.”

  They walked with more confidence as they neared a streetlight.

  “Pavement,�
� Bernie exclaimed. “Civilization.”

  They had to stop twice to breathe as they climbed the steep street out of the park.

  “We should get back before everyone else,” Bernie said. “Won’t it be funny when we’re sitting at the pub and Lucy and her family walk in?”

  But running three miles apparently took less time than walking one. When they reached Oak Street, runners dashed past them.

  “Hi, ladies.” Lucy blew past Morgan and Bernie. “I’ll get us a table.”

  “She wasn’t even breathing hard,” Bernie said.

  After another two blocks, Paul trotted by, pushing the stroller. Kimmie had squeezed in next to Danny.

  “I would have felt really bad if a five year old had beaten us,” Bernie said.

  Morgan laughed. “I had no idea you were in this to win.”

  “It kind of fires up the competitive spirit.”

  By the time they trudged into the pub, it was obvious that Morgan and Bernie were dead last.

  “Over here.” Lucy waved. Her family sat at a long wooden table surrounded by laughing people. “I saved you seats.”

  Lucy introduced them to the other runners.

  “We were getting ready to send search and rescue after you,” Chuck, a thirty-something businessman in top-of-the-line running attire, said with a grin.

  “You are so bad.” His trim wife, Vonne, makeup and hair unfazed by the run, slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “We’ve only been here a few minutes.”

  “Minutes and minutes,” Danny said.

  Kimmie rolled her eyes at her little brother, and resumed coloring the kid’s menu.

  “I think I need better shoes,” Bernie said. “My feet are killing me.”

  “What are you wearing?” Lucy asked.

  Bernie held her foot to the side. “Just plain old sneakers.”

  “What have you got?” Lucy asked Morgan.

  She moved her leg from under the table, showing Lucy the same worn sneaker she’d chased the donkeys in.

  “You’ll both do better with decent shoes,” Lucy said.

  As the conversation at the table of runners turned to stories of past victories, and plans for future adventures, Morgan tried to concentrate on the menu. She doubted that good athletic shoes would be cheap. The running club was free, but eating and drinking afterwards was not. Then there was parking.