Stone Cold Dead
Page 21
He looked at Morgan, his brown eyes growing large as he focused on the gun in her hand.
“Stand up.” Morgan wished her voice would stop trembling. “Raise your hands.”
Houdini turned around and faced the young man. He pulled his lips back in a donkey snarl, baring his long yellow teeth.
“Your donkey has rabies,” the burglar said.
“He remembers you. This isn’t the first time you’ve been here.”
The young man glanced from Morgan to Houdini.
“Yeah. That was me.”
Morgan was terrified she might pull the trigger by accident, even though her finger was alongside the gun, the way Del had showed her, and not inside the trigger guard.
“What do you want?” Morgan asked.
“I was told to get something,” the burglar said. “When that didn’t work—”
“‘Told’? By whom?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why not?” Morgan waited for a response. When there was none, she added, “Or would you rather tell the police?”
The young man groaned and slumped against the wall. He looked very tired. “I’m almost ready for that. But, no.” He drew his arms close to his body and clenched his hands into fists. “I know what would happen. I’d get blamed.”
“I caught you red-handed!” Morgan cried. “I’ve got witnesses.” She nodded her head toward the donkeys.
“Breaking and entering?” The young man gestured toward the broken door. “I didn’t even get inside, so it’s not technically entering. That’s nothing. The police want me for murder.”
Morgan gripped the gun tighter, her knuckles white. “Dawn Smith?”
Pain creased his young face. “If they throw me in jail, I’ll never find out who killed her.”
Morgan didn’t have a lot of experience with drug addicts, but the young man’s eyes were clear. He was upset, yet seemed rational. His speech was coherent. She was certain he wasn’t high or drunk.
“Before I call the police,” she said, “let’s talk.”
“About what?”
“You’re afraid no one’s going to listen to your side of the story?” Morgan asked.
“Why should they? The police like to solve crimes quick, even if they accuse the innocent.”
“I need to know two things,” Morgan said. “Who sent you, and what they sent you for. That’s pretty simple.”
The young man spat out a laugh. “If I knew the answers to your questions, I wouldn’t be here.”
He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself.
“What happened to your coat?”
“I—I—lost it when I escaped.”
Morgan debated what to do. She had control of the situation for now, but the young man was shivering convulsively. He might be going into shock. Maybe Houdini had broken his ribs or damaged an internal organ. Both the unreliable landline and her cell phone were inside. Morgan had to call the police, but if she went inside, the young man would just run away.
“Let’s go in,” Morgan said.
The young man hesitated.
“Inside.” She waved the gun in the direction of the house. “Now!”
He edged ahead of Morgan, walking sideways, keeping one eye on the door, one eye on her. Adelaide nuzzled Morgan’s arm. She was tempted to invite the donkeys inside. Instead she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. The slow cooker scented the warm air with the savory smell of chili.
“Sit at the table,” Morgan said.
The young man slumped onto a chair. He clasped his hands together and pressed them between his knees. Trembling wracked his body. His hair, in matted dreadlocks, danced against his face and shoulders.
“What’s your name?” Morgan asked.
“T—trevin Pike.”
“Trevin?”
“R—rhymes with K—kevin, but with a T. My m—mother was creative.”
A plate of Bernie’s chocolate chip cookies caught Trevin’s attention.
“Hungry?” Morgan asked. “Have a cookie.”
He grabbed for the plate, then stopped, glancing up at Morgan. “I h—haven’t eaten in a while.”
“Want some tea?” Morgan asked. “Hot cocoa?”
She reached into the cupboard, keeping one eye and the gun aimed on Trevin while she pulled out the selections. The good hostess holding her guest at gunpoint.
“Will you put th—that thing down?”
“I’m not letting go of the gun,” Morgan said. “You’re taller, younger, and faster than me. I need an equalizer.”
“You sure it’s not ’cause I’m b—black?”
“Oh come on,” Morgan exclaimed. “You tried to break into my house!”
Trevin looked down at his hands. “Okay. That was lame.” He looked up at Morgan. “But th—things happen, you know. You mean it to go one way, and then it g—goes the opposite of what you intended. I just don’t want to get shot by accident.”
Morgan hesitated, then lowered the gun. “Is that better?”
“A little.” He ate another cookie. Between the food and the warmth of the kitchen, he gradually stopped trembling.
“You must be new at this,” Morgan said.
“New at what?”
“Being a burglar. You escaped the first time. And breaking in when someone’s home—not too professional.”
“I saw the car leave. I thought you were gone.”
Morgan used her free hand to set the drink choices on the table one by one. “Two kinds of tea, hot cider, instant cocoa.”
“Hey.” He grabbed the box of tea Morgan had purchased at Faerie Tales. “Where’d you get this?”
His swift movement startled Morgan. She gripped the gun, but didn’t raise it. Trevin’s sleeve rose slightly as he held up the box of tea, revealing the edge of a gargoyle tattoo on his forearm.
“It’s from Faerie Tales.” Morgan placed a mug of water in the microwave.
“You hang out there?” Trevin opened the box.
“I’ve been in there a couple times. I wouldn’t call it hanging out. I’m not really a New Age type.”
Trevin emptied the tea bags onto the kitchen table and shook the box, He peered inside. “So you’re not taking classes there?”
“No. Do you want tea?”
“Anything but tea.”
The microwave timer rang. Morgan dumped a packet of cocoa mix into the mug and stirred. She set the steaming mug on the table, careful not to place it close enough that Trevin could grab her arm. He stood slightly and reached for the mug.
“So you know my name,” Trevin said, settling back in his chair. “What’s yours?”
“Morgan Iverson. I’m managing the rock shop.”
Trevin gulped down the cocoa and ate another cookie.
“You want some chili?” Morgan asked.
“That would be great. It’s kinda weird, though. I mean, you’ve got a gun aimed at me, and you’re feeding me.”
Morgan had to set the gun on the counter to ladle out a bowl of chili. She picked up the gun and set the chili on the far side of the table. She stepped back and leaned against the counter.
“Spoon?” he asked.
Morgan grabbed a clean spoon out of the dish drainer on the counter. She handed it to Trevin. Morgan realized she had made a mistake as he took it from her hand, his fingers brushing hers. Maybe he thought she would shoot if he tried to grab her. In any event, he didn’t take advantage of her lapse.
“So why did you break my door?” Morgan asked. “What are you after?”
“I don’t know.”
Morgan pulled a chair away from the table and sat.
“You tried to break into my house twice, and you don’t know why? Am I supposed to believe that?”
“It sounds stupid, I know. They think you found something on Dawn.”
“First off, who are ‘they’?” Morgan asked.
Trevin scraped his spoon across the bottom of the bowl, going for every last bite of chili.
“Slow down,” Morgan said. “You told me outside that you escaped. From whom? Hand me your bowl.” She gave Trevin a generous refill. “What do you mean ‘escaped’? From the police?”
“No, I’ve been a prisoner. They had me locked up in a basement. I broke out a window—”
“You’re good at that.”
“Somebody was looking for me and spooked them pretty good. I thought they might decide to get rid of me. You know, like kill me.”
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said. “That was probably me. I went to General Minton Park and asked around about you.”
“Maybe that was a good thing. I was more scared of staying than escaping, so I did. I’ve been hiding for two days, trying to figure out what to do.”
It was either the most incredible story Morgan had ever heard, or the biggest load of donkey manure.
“I got so cold and hungry, I considered turning myself in. But the police—”
“Look,” Morgan said, “you’re dancing all around the edges of this story, and you’re not giving me any details that could actually help. I want to find Dawn’s killer, too, and so far only one suspect has been crossed off my list.”
“Who was that?”
“Pastor Filbury.”
“Why was he a suspect?”
“You’re kidding me,” Morgan said. But the confusion in Trevin’s face seemed genuine. “It’s been in the news. Pastor Filbury was questioned about Dawn’s death. He has an alibi and witnesses, so the police are certain he’s not the killer.”
“Man.” Trevin shook his head. “That’s crazy.”
“Did ‘they’ drive you here in a black SUV?” Morgan asked, thinking of the Mercedes.
“You’ve seen it?”
“Someone in that black SUV almost ran me down last week,” Morgan said.
Trevin nodded. “Slice was probably driving. It’s not his car, I can tell you that.”
“Did he steal it?”
“No, he was running errands for someone, but I can’t tell you who. Only that I think they’re involved in Dawn’s death.”
Morgan shook her head. “It sounds like you’re mixed up with a rough crowd. But you seem like a guy who should be in college. As I’ve heard it, Dawn didn’t exactly come from a nice family.”
“I’d like to try college someday,” Trevin said. “If all this ends without me going to prison. I guess that depends on whether I can get anyone to believe me.”
“I’m trying, Trevin. But you’re not giving me much.”
“Okay. Maybe if I explain a little about Dawn, it’ll start to make sense.” Trevin set down his spoon. “We went to the same high school. She was popular, even though everyone knew about her messed-up family. She wouldn’t look twice at me back then. Do you have any more cookies?”
“I’ve got something better. Keep talking.”
Morgan set the gun on the counter while she made a pot of coffee. When it was going, she set out a plate of blueberry bagels and a tub of cream cheese. She was starting to believe Trevin. He certainly acted like he hadn’t eaten in two days.
Trevin told a story that wouldn’t have been unusual, had it not ended in murder.
Dawn was the pretty girl from the wrong side of the tracks. She had fallen for a wealthy young man in her senior year of high school in Granite Junction. Right before graduation, he broke up with Dawn, declaring, in what Trevin deemed a heartless manner, that he was going to college out east, and wouldn’t be back. She had been counting on marriage to be her ticket out of the squalid trailer park.
Trevin ate two bagels while he described his role as Mr. Rebound. His parents refused to pay for college if he chose to shack up with trailer park trash. White trailer park trash, at that. So he got a job in one of the few factories in Granite Junction.
“Did Dawn work?” Morgan asked.
“She had trouble holding down a job. But Dawn was good with computers. She was a real genius about some things.”
Morgan refilled Trevin’s coffee cup.
“She wasn’t smart about people,” Trevin continued. “Maybe if I’d been better at convincing her, she’d still be alive. Maybe if I’d just said, ‘we’re moving,’ and taken her to Denver or somewhere else, away from that crowd.”
Morgan wanted to say something about the importance of personal responsibility, but she held her tongue.
“My grandma used to make a big deal about Harry Potter,” Trevin said. “She said things like Ouija boards and tarot cards opened the door to the devil. I used to laugh at her. That was until I met these people.”
Dawn was lured in by the thrill of belonging to a secret world. She adopted the clothes, the tattoos, the piercings, and soon the drugs.
“At first there weren’t any drugs around,” Trevin said, “and then it was all about the drugs. I’ll admit that I did it, too.”
Trevin lost his job, and became even more estranged from his family.
“Excuse me,” Morgan said, “but if you were using drugs, how do you know you didn’t kill Dawn?”
“Because I quit. I could see what was happening, what drugs were doing to me and Dawn. I was losing her. I quit the drugs. And I almost had Dawn convinced to quit, too. She was ready to get out. And then she disappeared.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Morgan kept one hand on the gun in her lap.
“You really didn’t know that Dawn had accused Pastor Filbury of molesting her?” she asked.
“No,” Trevin said. “She never told me anything about it.”
“Do you think the molestation really happened?” Morgan asked. “Or could she have made it up?”
Trevin shrugged. “That doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Dawn would lie about.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “She told me everything. Stuff I wish I’d never known. It seems strange she’d leave that out.”
Morgan pushed a shopping list and a pen across the table.
“Trevin, I want to help you, but I need names.”
“I gave you one. Slice. Nobody uses their real name. I can tell you this. The clue they think you took from Dawn has something to do with a fairy tale.”
“A fairy tale?” Morgan asked. “Is Piers part of this?”
“I don’t know. Dawn started hanging around Faerie Tales before she disappeared.”
Morgan could imagine a young woman falling for Piers, and his icy blue eyes.
“You have the gargoyle tattoo,” Morgan said. “You must have been there, too.”
“Piers stole that idea from us,” Trevin said. “That dude doesn’t have an original idea—”
The cowbell clanged as the front door of the shop opened. Trevin jumped up.
“It’s just one of my employees,” Morgan said. “Or maybe a customer.”
“I’ve got to go.”
Morgan stood. “No! You haven’t answered my questions.”
Trevin placed his hand on the doorknob. Morgan aimed the gun at him. He met her eyes with a look of calm determination.
“The only way I’ll find Dawn’s killer is if I’m out there,” he said. “I can’t do anything sitting in a jail cell.”
Morgan lowered the gun. Trevin opened the door.
“Take that jacket.” Morgan pointed at Del’s well-worn insulated work jacket, hanging from a peg by the back door.
Trevin pulled on the jacket and zipped it up. He paused, then reached for a bagel, stuffing it in a pocket.
“Be careful,” Morgan whispered.
And he was gone.
Morgan sat at the kitchen table and watched the back door, her hand on the gun, for several minutes before Del wandered in.
“I made it back,” Del said. “I thought that doctor—Hey, what’s going on?”
“The burglar came back.”
“While you were eating lunch?” Del examined the mess on the kitchen table.
“No, I fixed him lunch.”
Del sat down next to Morgan. “You what?”
Morgan pushed the gun toward Del. “He was hungry, so I fed him.”
“That sounds like something Kendall would do. Feed a thief.” Del placed his hand over Morgan’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. A little shook up, of course. But Trevin got the worst of it when—”
“You got his name?”
“After Houdini kicked him in the ribs—”
“Wait,” Del said. “This is not a story for an empty stomach. Is there any chili left, or is that just for thieves?”
Del fixed bowls of chili for himself and for Morgan, when she told him she had not eaten anything. It would have made for poor digestion to eat with one hand holding a gun on an intruder.
She recited her conversation with Trevin. When she finished, Del glanced at his watch.
“Seems like the police should have gotten here by now.”
“Police?” Morgan asked.
Del rested his forearms on the edge of the table and leaned toward Morgan. “You did call the police?”
“No.” Morgan looked down at her coffee mug, stirring the spoon around. “The phone wasn’t working. I’m getting the new phone service, and Internet. I don’t care what it costs, or how long I’m here to enjoy it. I want a phone that works.”
Del stood. “I’ll call them now.”
“No!” Morgan looked up. “Del, I don’t see any reason to call the police. Not this time.”
“What makes this attempted break-in different than the last attempted break-in?”
“Trevin’s trying to figure out who killed Dawn. If the police pick him up, he won’t be able to continue looking for the murderer.”
“It’s a good thing I showed up when I did,” Del said. “The burglar might have sold you the Royal Gorge Bridge before it was all over. He didn’t give you any answers.”
“You interrupted him before he could tell me everything he knew.”
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t call the police right now.”
“Because no damage was done,” Morgan said. “Because he could file charges against us for Houdini attacking him. Because I held him at gunpoint, and I don’t want to have to explain that. And because I need to talk to him again.”