Stone Cold Dead

by Catherine Dilts

  Gerda pushed “the boys” out of the way and led Morgan through the steps required to check the water in the radiator.

  “Don’t count on the water pump to give out at your convenience,” Gerda warned. “It will most likely quit when you are in a hurry to go somewhere. If your engine starts to overheat, pull over! Do not keep driving! You can burn up your engine.”

  “I don’t have six hundred dollars right now,” Morgan said. “I guess I’ll have to take my chances.”

  “Here is my card,” Gerda said, “in case you need a tow. I also recommend you get a new battery. That battery is going to leave you stranded if the water pump does not.”

  She handed Morgan the keys to the Buick.

  “I suppose I should be happy I don’t have to walk up the hill.” Morgan turned onto Hill Street. “Six hundred dollars,” she grumbled. “Ouch!”

  “That’s a fair price,” Del said.

  “I just hadn’t planned on spending that much on it right now.” Morgan thought of her 401K money, and her resolve to not touch it except in an emergency. She sighed. “It’ll have to be done before I can drive home.”

  “Is that still the plan?”

  The question was too complicated for a simple answer.

  “Maybe Kendall will change his mind and come home,” Morgan said. “In the meantime, I’m stuck here.”

  “That’s fine by me, kid.” Del settled back into the seat, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m just getting used to having you around.” Del closed his eyes.

  Dust trailed behind the Buick as it crawled up the gravel road. Morgan clutched the steering wheel. The wind blasted against her car in ferocious gusts. She struggled to keep the car on the road and out of the ditch.

  Dried leaves swirled up from the irrigation ditch, spilling across the gravel road. A blue grocery bag took flight. When a cloud of grit slapped against the windshield like hard rain, Morgan slowed. Her hands ached from gripping the steering wheel, and she wondered if conditions could possibly get worse.

  Then the wind died abruptly. Morgan pressed on the accelerator, anxious to reach the rock shop before it started blowing again. Before they reached the gate, fluttering wings dropped into the tall, dried grass at the side of the road.

  Morgan slammed on the brakes. The sudden stop, or maybe her shriek, woke Del. He threw his hands against the dashboard.

  “What the—”

  “Look!”

  Morgan opened her door slowly. “That’s it. The thing I saw.” Then she remembered that she hadn’t told anyone but Bernie about the creature she had seen on the trail.

  She stood behind the open door, using it as a shield. Del climbed out of his seat and reached inside his vest. He drew a Smith and Wesson handgun out of the shoulder holster concealed under his western vest.

  “Just what are we alarmed about?” Del asked.

  “That—that thing. It’s a monster! Maybe you should shoot it.”

  Del stepped cautiously toward the tall grass. Morgan followed him, ready to run if the gargoyle should take flight.

  Flight. If it had wings, a person might not be able to outrun a gargoyle.

  Black and white wings burst into motion. Morgan ducked. Two magpies went airborne. The muzzle of Del’s handgun briefly followed, aimed at the birds, before he lowered his hand.

  “Just what was all that about?”

  “It was a—I saw it—there was a—”

  Morgan tiptoed beside Del.

  “It’s a bunny,” she murmured.

  “And two magpies,” Del snorted. “Nature’s garbage disposal system.”

  Morgan shuddered.

  “Is there something you haven’t told me?” Del asked.

  “Besides the fact that I’m prone to hallucinations?”

  “You said ‘the thing I saw,’ like you’d seen it before.”

  “When I first saw the girl on the trail,” Morgan said, “I saw something. A—a monster. It was perched on her, and then it turned into a magpie, just one that time, and flew away. She had a tattoo on her neck. You saw it. That’s what the monster looked like.”

  Del nodded slowly. “I see.”

  Morgan walked back to the car. “I knew it would sound crazy. That’s why I didn’t tell anyone.”

  Del stood by the passenger door. He placed the gun back in his holster and snapped it closed.

  “Do you always carry that?” Morgan asked. “You might have let me know.”

  “You should be glad I’m packing,” Del answered, “seeing as how the hills are full of monsters.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Del opened the doors to the old carriage house. Morgan backed the Buick inside, avoiding the two ATVs. She climbed out and helped Del push the heavy doors closed.

  “You know, when Cindy comes in to work tomorrow, we don’t have to tell her about this.”

  “You don’t think I should warn her?” Del smirked, his mustache twisting up on one side.

  “I really thought I saw something,” Morgan said. “And if it was absolutely nothing, explain why you pulled a gun on it.”

  “I had an instinctive reaction to the scream of a female. But don’t worry. I won’t tell Cindy. I’m going straight to the barn to work on the donkey cart.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you gonna be okay?” Del asked. “After this morning and all?”

  “That girl wasn’t the first dead person I’ve seen, Del. I’m at that age, you know. I should be getting used to people dying.”

  Del nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  Cindy called in Friday morning. Two of her children were sick, and she wasn’t feeling all that well herself. Del borrowed the car to drive to Granite Junction to get parts to repair the donkey cart. Morgan sat in the office, filling in the lost months in the shop’s financial records.

  The Rock of Ages made a little money. Business was modest, but Kendall and Allie were frugal. The previous years’ property taxes had been paid. Morgan couldn’t find an account or records specifically for money to pay the tax bill coming up, but she hadn’t caught up on all the paperwork. She pushed her hands through her hair.

  “Argh! What a mess.”

  It was like trying to untangle a big ball of yarn after a kitten had played with it. The accounts were full of knots and tangles.

  Morgan’s cell phone rang. She smiled when she saw the name on the caller ID.

  “Hello, Sarah.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “I’m glad you called. I need a break.” Morgan stood and stretched.

  “How are things going?” Sarah asked.

  “Fine.” Morgan was not about to tell her pregnant daughter about the dead teenage girl, gargoyles, and homicidal SUVs. “Did you finish painting the baby’s room?”

  “You should see it, Mom. It turned out perfect. You remember the paint samples and fabric swatches you helped me pick before you left?”

  “Yes.”

  “We went with the pastel green. Russ and I both thought we could live with those colors a lot longer than—oops! I almost told you.”

  “You know?” Morgan threaded her way around stacks of papers and walked through the shop, pacing up and down the center aisle. “Boy or girl?”

  “Haven’t you checked your email?” Sarah asked. “I sent you ultrasound pictures.”

  “Your Uncle Kendall’s computer is a dinosaur,” Morgan said. “It should be sitting in one of the fossil cases. I’ll have to wait until I get home to see them.”

  “Mom, it’ll be next week before you get to see the pictures.”

  “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here now. According to the local mechanic, my car won’t make it back to Sioux Falls without major repairs.”

  “Russ and I can send you the money.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but it’s going to cost six hundred dollars.”

  “Ouch. Yeah, we might have trouble coming up with that much cash, especially after remodeling the bedroom for the baby. We could help you bu
y a plane ticket.”

  “Then I wouldn’t have a car in Sioux Falls.”

  “You do have a car, Mom.”

  “I gave it to your brother. He needs it.” Dave had formed an almost emotional attachment to Sam’s pickup truck. He had taken his father’s death hard, drifting away from Morgan and Sarah, hiding behind his college studies. “Have you heard from Dave lately?”

  “Russ badgered him into coming over for dinner next week. We’ll see if he shows up. So Mom, why don’t you ask Uncle Kendall and Aunt Allie to drive you home, when they get back? I can’t travel right now, but I’d sure love to see them.”

  “They’ve changed their plans. They’re staying longer. Maybe forever.”

  Morgan filled Sarah in on Kendall’s sudden change of plans.

  “You can’t sell the shop,” Sarah said. “Russ and I will help, if we can.”

  “I’m hoping Kendall changes his mind.”

  They chatted for several more minutes. When Sarah hung up, the shop felt empty.

  There had not been a customer all day. Morgan thought of the be-back-in signs everyone else seemed more than capable of using. She had to break the corporate mentality, and start enjoying the Colorado mountains before her two weeks were up.

  Morgan walked to the front door. Both Del and Cindy had keys to the shop. She didn’t need to be here. Morgan turned the deadbolt, and flipped the sign around. She nodded.

  “Simple.”

  She unlocked the door with the “Private—Do Not Enter” sign, and entered the living quarters connected to the back of the shop. Morgan wished she still had her old hiking clothes. Loose jeans and a fleece sweater would have to do. She bandaged her blister and laced up her ratty sneakers. Coat, scarf, mittens. As she passed through the kitchen to the back door, she paused.

  Morgan could almost hear Del warning her about the dangers of the Colorado wilderness. Not to mention monsters. She grabbed the olive-green camouflage fanny pack and strapped it around her waist.

  When she closed the back door and walked into the back pasture, she felt like a kid slipping out of school to play hooky.

  Houdini and Adelaide followed her halfway across the pasture before their curiosity gave way to their greater interest in a patch of grass. Morgan reached the back fence and the gate the donkeys had escaped through her first day. She untwisted the baling wire Del had added to prevent another escape.

  The trail climbed steadily through dense pines and aspens. The vegetation thinned as the elevation increased. Hiking was strenuous, but soon she was above the height of the shop and the barn, and then she could no longer see the buildings below. The feeling of being utterly alone in the wilderness was invigorating and frightening at the same time.

  The trail would eventually lead her to the Columbine Trail, and the final resting place of the teenage girl. She unzipped the fanny pack. The pepper spray rested on top.

  A magpie burst out of a bush, cawing as it flew up into the trees. Morgan jumped backwards. She shook her mitten-covered fist at the bird.

  “You darn bird. I’m really starting to dislike magpies.”

  The bird scolded her right back. Magpies seemed to have it in for her, since the day she found the girl. The day she first saw a monster. Piers had claimed that the true nature of gargoyles were as protectors. The one perched on the girl had not done a good job.

  Morgan continued uphill, contemplating bungling gargoyles and persistent magpies.

  “It came to me in a vision,” Piers had said about his necklace.

  The trail narrowed, tracing two straight lines along the side of the hill. The inner track hugged the hillside, while the outer track hung on the edge of a steep drop-off. It didn’t seem possible that an ATV could negotiate the narrow trail, but she could see old tire tracks pressed into the dirt. Morgan stepped carefully in her worn sneakers. A fall might not be deadly, but rolling down the steep slope dotted with boulders would certainly cause some damage.

  Maybe the girl had fallen to her death. But the trail was level where Morgan first saw her. And the cliff where the hiker found her hadn’t been all that high.

  What cycle of events could lead to a person lying dead on a trail, tattooed, tattered, and alone?

  She wouldn’t learn how the girl had died until after the autopsy. Until then, it was all speculation. Morgan frowned. She wanted an answer. She wanted closure.

  Was there ever closure? she asked herself. She’d had plenty of warning with Sam’s departure. The diagnosis—colon cancer. The treatment. The obvious futility of the treatment. A simple screening might have saved his life, but colonoscopies weren’t typically performed before the age of fifty.

  Sam had passed away in the hospice, in as much comfort as possible, surrounded by loving family and friends. He had a better passing than the girl on the trail, but it was the final departure nonetheless.

  The wind gusted hard, pushing against Morgan. She shielded her face with her arm and looked up. Dirt stung her tear-dampened eyes. The sky darkened. Heavy clouds blotted out what little dim light had been offered by a reluctant sun.

  A whirlwind of dry leaves roiled up the trail toward her. Morgan resisted her own imagination, willing herself to not see images in the whirling debris. She fumbled with the zipper on her fanny pack.

  “Just a bunny.” Morgan clutched the pepper spray. “Just magpies.”

  She turned, heading back to the shop, telling herself it was because Del would be upset that she hadn’t left him a note. And there was a storm blowing in. Plus she had work to do. It wasn’t her doubts about the effectiveness of pepper spray on monsters that sped up her steps to a near run.

  Morgan slowed as she approached the dangerous stretch of trail clinging to the hillside, until the rhythmic crunching of feet on gravel sounded behind her. Morgan turned. Something was following her.

  A blast of cold wind, grit, and dried leaves slapped Morgan’s face. She tried to run, but blinded, she stumbled. One foot slipped off the edge of the trail. She flailed, reaching for anything to hold on to as she went down.

  Something grabbed her arm, jerking her back. She preferred her chances falling downhill to being attacked by a gargoyle. Morgan aimed the pepper spray over her shoulder and blasted.

  “Hey, I’m trying to help,” a male voice yelled.

  She struggled a moment longer before she noticed that the creature gripping her arm wore gloves.

  “Oh.” She turned slowly, facing a human male with a mountain-man beard, and clad in running clothes. “I thought you were . . .”

  Morgan stopped herself.

  “You were going way too fast on that stretch, considering your shoes,” the man said. “You almost fell.”

  Morgan pulled away. He seemed harmless at first glance. A little wild around the edges, maybe. Gray streaked his bushy brown beard. His exposed skin was dark for winter, as though he spent a lot of time outdoors. His lean body suggested labor-intensive employment.

  The man grabbed her wrist and pushed the hand clutching the pepper spray away from his face.

  “You need to improve your aim,” he said.

  “I thought something was chasing me.” Morgan couldn’t admit she was running from a monster she didn’t see. “A bear.”

  “I haven’t seen any sign of bears around here. Maybe it was a raccoon.”

  “What are you doing here?” Morgan asked.

  His gray eyes opened wide. “Running.”

  “Running from what?” Morgan asked.

  “Just . . . running. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Morgan brushed her mittens down her sleeves.

  “You need to get some decent shoes, if you’re going to run the trails.”

  “I didn’t intend to run,” Morgan said. “Until the . . . whatever it was, started chasing me.”

  “A raccoon chased you?”

  “I thought it was a bear. I wasn’t going to take any chances.”

  The man gave her a you-must-be-from-the-city look. />
  “This is my hill, anyway,” Morgan said.

  A smile lifted the edges of his mustache. “You must be Kendall’s sister.” The man extended a gloved hand. “I’m Barton Potts.”

  “Morgan Iverson.” She extended her own mitten-covered hand. “Pleased to meet you. Uh, thanks for catching me.” She glanced down the hillside. “That probably would have hurt.”

  “No problem. I’ll see you at the rock shop later. Well, gotta go.” Barton nodded his head and ran across the narrow hillside trail.

  Morgan knew she should be grateful that Barton Potts had saved her from a spill, but she couldn’t shake the thought that he was running on the trail near where a girl had died. If he had been running that day, maybe he had seen something. She should have asked.

  Morgan turned. He was long gone.

  He had access to the trail, and he could move fast. For all Morgan knew, she just might have had an encounter with a killer.

  And magpies were gargoyles, and whirling leaves were monsters.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Del was on the work schedule for Saturday, but he didn’t arrive until noon.

  “Sorry I’m late. I guess I didn’t hear my alarm.” He pulled off his camouflage hunter’s jacket.

  “I can’t say I needed any help,” Morgan said. “I gave directions to someone who was lost. He didn’t buy anything. You might as well take the day off. You’ve already put in more than your scheduled hours this week.”

  Del’s hands shook as he poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the display counter. He had dressed as though he was chilled, with a green down vest over a western-style flannel shirt.

  “Do you mind if I borrow the car again?” he asked. “I need a few more things from the hardware store.”

  “Not at all,” Morgan said. “Just keep an eye on the temperature gauge, like Gerda told us.”

  “Have you decided what to do about the car? My offer to pay half the repair bill is still good.”

  Morgan was tempted to accept, but she couldn’t take the old cowboy’s money if she was planning to drive the car back to Sioux Falls.

  “Thanks, Del. Let me think about it.”