Morgan and Del managed to avoid each other the rest of the day. That was no small feat, considering the size of the rock shop and its living quarters. Every time Morgan thought about asking Del to move back to his trailer, she remembered Officer Sanchez’s words.
That evening, Del sat in the easy chair, reading an outdoors magazine and feeding logs into the wood stove. Morgan rocked back and forth, trying to concentrate on a romance novel.
She set the book aside, took a deep breath, and turned toward Del.
“I do appreciate how you’ve looked out for me.”
Del closed his magazine. He rolled it up into a tube and clutched it with both hands. “I know you can take care of yourself. You proved that Wednesday.”
“You insisted on leaving the gun with me,” Morgan said. “I don’t believe Trevin would have tried to hurt me—”
Del started to speak, but Morgan held up her hand to stop him.
“Time will tell which of us is right about him,” Morgan continued. “But I’m willing to admit that things would have turned out entirely different if I hadn’t forced him to stay and talk.”
“You’re welcome to borrow my revolver any time.”
“I don’t plan to,” Morgan said. “Not after dropping it on the trail. I’m not capable of handling a gun safely.”
“You just need practice,” Del said. “You’re gonna need the gun again before this is all over with, mark my words.”
In the morning, Del switched back and forth between three local news stations. Each predicted snow of varying intensity. Del had his opinions about which forecaster had the best track record. Finally, he made his decision.
“It could be a good one,” he declared. “We’d better get ready.”
Morgan had learned that his “good” snowstorm met her criteria for bad. Del wrote up a detailed shopping list.
“We need to stock up, in case we get snowed in.”
Morgan drove to Granite Junction to shop. After yesterday’s events, she hoped for a reprieve from stress. Instead, she was plunged into the tension of a community preparing for an impending blizzard. The aisles were jammed with carts, and the checkout line seemed endless.
The bread shelves were nearly bare. In addition to her distaste for cheap white bread, Morgan had been spoiled by Bernie’s baked goods. She stopped at the bakery on her way home and stood in another line. Emma manned the cash register.
When Morgan finally reached the counter, Bernie motioned for her to step behind the counter. Morgan followed Bernie into the kitchen.
“I saved you a loaf,” Bernie said. “I’m almost out of bread.”
“Thanks.” Morgan accepted the loaf. “This is Del’s favorite.”
“You two are on speaking terms again?” Bernie asked.
“I couldn’t stay mad at Del for long,” Morgan said. “He’s just trying to protect me. Like you and half of Golden Springs.”
“Speaking of half of Golden Springs, that would describe the population of the bakery right now. I need to help Emma.”
Bernie walked Morgan to the backside of the pastry counter. “I’m just glad this is all over.”
“You and Del may think so,” Morgan said, “but Trevin did not kill Dawn.”
The words came out of Morgan’s mouth a little too loud. Kurt Willard’s head popped up above the pastry display. His eyes grew wide.
“Did I hear that the murder has been solved?” he asked.
“No,” Morgan said.
“It’s okay, Morgan,” Bernie said. “I’m sure everyone’s heard that the police have a suspect in custody. But you’ll have to get the details yourself, Kurt.”
“Who is it?”
“Obviously not you,” Morgan said.
Kurt smiled his most charming smile. “I wasn’t aware that I was a suspect.” He bowed toward Morgan. “I am truly flattered.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. She pushed her way past Kurt and onto the boardwalk.
A magpie stood on top of her car.
“You,” Morgan yelled. “Bird. Off my car. Now!”
The bird ruffled its black and white feathers and paced across the top of the Buick. Morgan stooped to pick up a rock. She pulled her arm back and prepared to throw.
A hand grabbed her sleeve. Morgan spun around, and was face to face with Piers.
“Don’t harm the bird,” Piers said.
“It’s scratching up my paint,” Morgan said.
Piers released her arm. She let the rock fall to the ground.
“You’re stressed,” Piers said. “And you’re striking out at a defenseless creature.”
“I’d hardly call a magpie defenseless. I’m a bad aim, anyway. I couldn’t hit it if I tried.”
“Perhaps we can discuss whatever it is that’s troubling you tonight,” Piers said.
“Tonight?”
“Dinner,” Piers said. “Had you forgotten?”
Completely, Morgan thought.
“I heard there’s going to be a blizzard,” she said.
“Regardless of the intensity of the storm, I’ll be able to walk to the restaurant,” Piers said, “but the drive could be difficult for you. Would you prefer to postpone dinner?”
“I’ll call you if I can’t make it,” Morgan said.
“Then I may expect to see you tonight?”
“Yes. I’ll be there, weather permitting.”
The magpie flew off the car when Morgan opened the driver’s side door. Birds dropped a couple notches on her list of worries.
A new one looming before her was, what did one wear to dinner with a sensitive New Age type who might be a murderer?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
When Del asked to borrow the car, Morgan was more than happy to get him out of the house. She rummaged through the wardrobe. Her clothing ran from muck-out-the-barn, to going-to-church, to business casual. Nothing seemed right.
That set her on another train of thought. Heels were definitely out. She might need to run.
Just when Morgan was considering camouflage and Army boots, she found an Indian tunic Sarah had given her for Mother’s Day. It wasn’t exactly Morgan’s style, but it would be perfect for tonight. A nice pair of jeans and boots, a turtleneck sweater, and the blue tunic over everything.
By the time Del returned, Morgan was ready for her date.
“What did you get?” Morgan asked. “I don’t see any bags.”
Del took off his jacket and hung it on a peg.
“Gas for the chain saw,” he said. “We might go through some wood this weekend, if it snows like I think it will.” He grabbed his mug and headed for the coffee maker. The glass carafe was empty. Del went about the business of brewing a fresh pot. “I also got a couple bales of straw. The donkeys will be stuck in the barn for a few days. The straw will keep them more comfortable.”
“You really think it’s going to get that bad?”
Del opened the wood-burning stove and stirred the coals. “Maybe I’m hoping. I enjoy a good storm. It forces a person to relax.”
He put a log in the stove, then settled in the rocking chair. The smell of wood smoke and coffee filled the kitchen.
“Say,” Del said, “you’re kinda dressed up.”
“I have a dinner engagement,” Morgan said.
“You’re not going through with that date with Piers? I don’t trust that guy. Plus it could start snowing any minute.”
“I’ll keep an eye on the weather.”
Del stood abruptly and walked to the guest bedroom, returning with the handgun.
“You’ll need this.”
“Oh, no,” Morgan said. “Not this time.”
“After all that’s happened, you still want to argue with me about carrying protection?” Del let his shoulders slump. “Okay. You win.” He looked Morgan in the eye. “If you can tell me that Piers Townsend is innocent with the same conviction you claim Trevin is.”
Morgan wanted to argue with the old cowboy, but she knew she couldn’t. Not with confid
ence.
“How can I carry it?” Morgan asked. “And I am not wearing the camo fanny pack on a date.”
“How about in between layers? Under that blouse, on top of your sweater.”
Morgan pulled off the tunic and let Del adjust his shoulder holster to fit her smaller frame. She had to admit, when she pulled the tunic over the turtleneck sweater, the gun was not obvious. She wondered how many people walked around Golden Springs with loaded weapons tucked in their underarms.
Snowflakes drifted to earth as Morgan pulled out of the Rock of Ages parking lot. Main Street was nearly abandoned. She parked in front of the Hot Tomato restaurant.
Piers sat by a large window. One arm rested across the table. He gazed at the snow with a look of contentment. In his poet shirt, his blond hair curling at his shoulders, he could have stepped out of an earlier century.
Morgan passed two occupied tables on her way to the window. A young couple dressed in outdoorsy attire sat at one. A group of seven shared the other table with a balloon bouquet, wishing someone a happy birthday.
Piers stood as Morgan approached his table.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t let the weather deter you from our dinner date.” Piers pulled out a chair opposite his and held it for Morgan.
“I’ll have to head back if the snow comes down any harder.”
The waitress breezed up to their table immediately. She was probably anxious to feed people and go home, before she got snowed in. She’d dressed for the possibility of bad weather, in snow boots, blue jeans, and a Nordic sweater that matched her blue eyes.
The menu listed typical restaurant choices of soup, salad, and sandwiches, but there were some items she was not sure about. Hummus dip, roasted tempeh, and cold pumpkin soup sounded interesting, but she ordered a spinach-walnut-cranberry salad that came with a mini loaf of dark bread. Piers ordered a salad, too, but with modifications.
“I would like the Greek salad without onions,” he said.
“Of course,” the waitress began, but he was not finished.
“And no feta. I’m vegan.”
“We do have vegan salads on the menu,” the waitress said.
“I prefer the Greek salad with no feta. If you have a good vegan parmesan, the cook may use that instead. Don’t put any croutons on my salad. I would prefer the dark bread instead of the sourdough. And I believe that is it.” He handed the menu to the waitress with a smug smile.
Morgan gave the waitress credit for not rolling her eyes. She was probably too busy scribbling notes on her order pad.
“Can you make those separate checks?” Morgan asked.
Piers did not protest.
“You got it.” The waitress nodded.
When she left, Piers turned his attention to Morgan.
“You are lovely tonight.”
“Thank you.” Morgan tugged self-consciously at the sleeve of her tunic. She hoped he didn’t look closely enough to notice the bulge of the shoulder holster.
They chatted about the weather until the waitress brought their drinks.
“Merlot.” The waitress placed a glass of wine in front of Piers. “And herb tea.” She set a pot of steaming water, a selection of teas in a basket, and a mug on Morgan’s side of the table.
Morgan wanted a clear head. At the very least, she was dealing with a business adversary. At the worst, a murderer.
“I do enjoy this time of year,” Piers said. “The pace of life slows down. It’s almost a form of hibernation.”
“Slow would describe it.” Morgan shook her head. “I can see why so many businesses fail every year.”
“It’s a struggle to survive until the spring influx of tourists.” Piers sipped wine the color of blood. “I don’t know why people put themselves through the stress.”
“But you just said you enjoy the slower pace of life. I’m sure it’s the same for other business owners.”
“Some of us are in a better position to endure the vagaries of the business world.” Piers smiled. “In so many ways it’s less stressful to work for another person, rather than attempting to manage your own business.”
“I worked for a corporation before moving here,” Morgan said. “I’d say the stress is different, but it’s there in either situation.”
“Yet there must be an appeal to the security of a regular paycheck.”
“It’s a false security,” Morgan said. “You work at the whim of economic forces over which you have no control. Here one day. Gone the next.”
“Not unlike the many shops that go out of business each winter,” Piers said.
The waitress brought salads and bread to the table, balanced on a large round tray.
“The spinach, walnut, cranberry.” She set a generous platter of greens in front of Morgan. “A Greek salad, hold the onions and croutons, with vegan parmesan instead of feta.” She set it in front of Piers with a look of triumph. “And two loaves of dark bread. Can I get you anything else?”
“That will be all for now,” Piers said, not giving Morgan a chance to speak.
The waitress glanced at Morgan and raised one eyebrow.
“Everything looks wonderful,” Morgan said with a smile.
Piers poked his fork delicately around his salad, as though searching for an errant crouton or bit of onion. Morgan dug into hers. It had been a busy day. She was starved.
The conversation had been strained so far. Morgan supposed that was the way first dates were. Although on her first date with Sam, canoeing on a river, there had been little of the awkwardness she felt with Piers. She and Sam had known each other through church and friends for several months before they started dating. It probably wasn’t fair to hold Piers up to the standard of a man like Sam. And why was she even making the comparison? Her intention in accepting Piers’s dinner invitation wasn’t to become romantically involved. It was to evaluate his potential as a murder suspect.
Piers broke the silence, startling Morgan.
“I am so pleased that you moved to Golden Springs.”
“Oh?” Morgan said.
“You’re a good fit for our community of diverse people,” Piers said. “We gather the peacemakers, the artists and poets, the gentle souls striving to make our world a healthier environment, not just physically, but socially and emotionally.”
Morgan was sure she didn’t belong in a group of such elevated talents.
“We’ve made progress in recent years,” Piers said, “but there are still too many people in Golden Springs dedicated to thwarting our vision.”
“I’ve heard that Pastor Filbury opposed your rezoning initiative,” Morgan said.
The birthday party people stood, their chairs scraping across the wood floor. They pulled on coats and mittens, preparing to go out in the storm. Morgan would have to leave soon if she hoped to make it back to the rock shop.
“Oh, yes,” Piers said, “Filbury is certainly one of the forces seeking to stop the winds of change.”
“I suspect you consider my brother, Kendall, to be one of those forces, too.”
Piers nodded, a sad smile on his lips. “And yet, the winds will blow in spite of their efforts.”
“And one of those changes is rezoning the rock shop,” Morgan said. “Surely you can understand why Kendall and I would be opposed to that?”
“You would benefit,” Piers said. “The property would be much more valuable if it were zoned residential.”
“I wouldn’t be able to make a living,” Morgan said. “I’d lose the land.”
“If your property were to go on the market, I am prepared to make a very generous offer.”
“You don’t understand. I might decide to keep my family’s land.” Morgan speared a forkful of greens. “Pastor Filbury opposes the rezoning proposal, too. That made someone angry enough to try to ruin his reputation.”
Morgan tried to meet Piers’s eyes, but he looked away, pushing his salad aside.
“I hardly think the pastor needed any assistance in that endeavor
.”
“Do you believe what that young woman said about him?”
“Whether I believe it or not is irrelevant,” Piers said. “Reputation is a delicate creature. It is unfortunate the pastor became embroiled in this tawdry business, but now City Council can make forward progress, free of impediment.”
Morgan’s heart beat faster. She hadn’t expected Piers to confirm her theory. The gun poking her in the ribs now felt comforting.
“It seems terribly convenient that the young woman accusing the pastor was killed,” Morgan said. “Now we may never know the truth.”
“While we may not learn beyond a doubt whether or not the pastor assaulted the young woman, we may soon know who killed her,” Piers said. “I understand the police have detained a suspect.”
“If they have the right person.”
The young couple exited the restaurant. They paused in front of the window to zip up their ski jackets. The young man kissed a snowflake off the young woman’s nose. Their journey was as fresh as the clean white flakes covering their hair and shoulders. Morgan could feel the wintry air pressing against the window. She felt old, tired, and alone.
And tired of fighting.
Piers reached across the table and placed his hand over Morgan’s.
“I thought you didn’t touch people,” Morgan said.
“I have no clients until tomorrow,” Piers said. “And if the blizzard hits as predicted, we may all have the day off. Perhaps you would accept my offer of a massage? You are very tense.”
Piers’s hand was smooth and warm. A part of Morgan wanted to jerk her hand out of his grasp, but another part of her melted at his touch.
“I don’t know,” she stammered. “The snow—”
“It’s what you need,” Piers said. “Soft music, candles, scented oil. Perhaps a glass of wine.”
“It sounds heavenly,” Morgan said.
“I can assure you, it will be.”
Piers’s smug confidence in his abilities brought Morgan back to earth. The man wanted her land, she reminded herself. He might have been willing to commit murder to get it. Seducing an overweight middle-aged widow might be one more unsavory step in his march to victory.
“I need to go.”
Piers smiled. “I understand. My powers of persuasion are not strong enough to override your concerns about the storm.” He lifted Morgan’s hand to his lips. “Perhaps next time.”
Stone Cold Dead Page 23
