“These look great.” Kurt held a shirt against his chest. “I might have to make a temporary wardrobe change.”
“Hannah assures me they can do a better job with a little more time,” Morgan said. “Add color. Improve the print quality. But I think I like this simple black and white image.”
“Is there any way you could bring the donkeys to the snowshoe race?” Kurt asked.
“Bernie and I are volunteering. We’re in charge of an aid station. I don’t think we’d be able to watch the donkeys, too.”
“I’ll talk to Del. Maybe I can work out a way.”
Kurt walked out of his office and arranged a shirt in the front window of the newspaper office. He watched Trevin for a moment.
“Is your friend who I think he is?” Kurt whispered to Morgan.
“Dawn’s boyfriend?” Morgan whispered back. “That’s him.” Louder she said, “Trevin, this is Kurt Willard. He owns the newspaper.”
The two shook hands.
“I’m looking for a job,” Trevin said. “If you hear of anything.”
“Give me your number, and I’ll call if something comes up.”
Like a request for an exclusive interview, Morgan thought. She would warn Trevin later.
“Before I forget,” Morgan said, “here’s your thumb drive.” She pulled the memory stick out of her jeans pocket.
Trevin snatched it from Morgan’s hand.
“Hey,” Morgan said.
“What did you call that?” Trevin asked.
“It’s a thumb drive, and it belongs to Kurt.”
Trevin held the computer memory stick at arm’s length. “Dawn used these all the time. How could I be so stupid?” He tossed the thumb drive to Kurt. “Gotta go!”
Morgan grabbed the sleeve of his fleece jacket. “Wait a minute. You’re supposed to repair my window.”
Trevin turned, his hands clenched into fists. “Thumb drive! Thumbelina? That’s what Dawn was trying to tell me.”
“Where are you going?” Morgan asked.
“To find Thumbelina,” Trevin said.
“Do you know where it is?” Kurt asked.
Trevin’s shoulders slumped. “No. But maybe if I search the places I looked before, I might see it this time.”
“Before you go running off,” Kurt said, “chasing after this needle in a haystack, I think you need a plan.”
Morgan grabbed both men’s arms.
“We don’t need a plan,” she said. “I know where it is.”
Kurt followed Morgan and Trevin to the rock shop. Cindy was thrilled to get the T-shirts.
“We’re taking the ATVs out,” Morgan said.
“Right now?” Cindy asked. “I could use some help.”
“I think there’s a clue to the murder out on the trail.”
“Then you’d better put the chains on,” Cindy said.
“Chains?” Kurt asked.
“Like tire chains for cars,” Cindy said. “There’s a lot of snow on the hill.”
They managed to locate the ATV tire chains, and fasten them around the fat tires. Trevin climbed on behind Morgan, and they drove through the pasture to the back gate. The chains dug into the snow, leaving a distinctive trail behind them.
Morgan pushed her machine as fast as she could. The sun had nearly dropped behind the mountains by the time they reached the spot where Morgan had first seen Dawn. She slowed the ATV to a stop and turned off the engine.
“That’s where I saw the magpie fly with the chain.” Morgan pointed to a nest in a cottonwood tree.
“That’s pretty high,” Trevin said. “We should have brought a ladder.”
They walked across the meadow.
“Kurt,” Morgan said, “you really need to get some boots.”
His scuffed dress shoes filled with snow, and his pant legs were soaked.
“I wasn’t expecting to go hiking.” Kurt stopped at the base of the tree and looked up. He pulled the digital camera from his coat pocket and snapped a picture. “Anyone good at climbing trees?”
“Give me a boost,” Trevin said.
Trevin managed to clamber onto the lower branches of the tree with Kurt’s help. He worked his way up to the nest. Kurt snapped photos.
“I’ll feel awful if nothing’s up there,” Morgan said.
Trevin reached the nest.
“Nobody’s home,” he called.
“That’s good,” Kurt said. “Do you see anything?”
“A foil gum wrapper,” Trevin said. “A quarter. Something that looks like it came off a bike. A chain—”
“That’s it!” Morgan yelled. “I saw a chain.”
Trevin stuck his hand inside the nest.
“Uh-oh.” Kurt pointed out a magpie, wheeling across the sky.
“Hurry, Trevin,” Morgan called.
“The chain’s stuck on the nest.”
The magpie spied the intruder, and soared into the cottonwood branches. Trevin threw an arm across his face.
“Ah!”
“Hang on!” Morgan yelled.
The bird cawed and beat its wings against Trevin.
“Got it.”
Trevin threw a fistful of leaves and twigs to the ground. Kurt pawed through the snow. Morgan watched Trevin’s retreat. The magpie flapped its wings and screamed at Trevin all the way. Trevin scrambled down the tree trunk until he was low enough to jump. He dropped to the ground and rolled in the snow.
Morgan ran to Trevin. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Did you get it?”
“This is it?” Kurt asked. He held out his hand. A black leather pouch the length of a finger hung from a silver chain. Piers’s gargoyle was sewn to the smooth leather with heavy black thread.
“I think that’s what I saw,” Morgan said. “The chain must have been what glittered. Maybe there’s a thumb drive in the pouch?”
Trevin reached for it. Kurt wrapped his fingers around it.
“You’re a suspect,” Kurt said. “If you open this, the police might accuse you of tampering with evidence.”
“I just want to see if it’s Thumbelina,” Trevin said.
“There’s no sense taking it to the police if it’s empty,” Morgan said.
Kurt photographed the unopened pouch. He took a close-up of the drawstring closure. When he had worked open the pouch, he took another photo.
“Would you hurry up?” Trevin asked.
Kurt frowned at Trevin. “I’m doing this for your benefit. You should be thanking me.”
“Sorry,” Trevin said in a sullen tone.
Finally, Kurt tipped the pouch upside down, spilling its contents into his gloved hand.
“A crystal,” Kurt said. “Bits of dried leaves. The tiniest address book I’ve ever seen. And a thumb drive.”
Morgan clasped her gloved hands together. “Yes!”
“Do you have a computer?” Trevin asked Morgan. “When we get back to the rock shop—”
“No,” Kurt said. “This goes straight to the police.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
If business hadn’t kept her occupied, Morgan would have camped out at the police station, waiting to learn what was on the thumb drive. She had the happy distraction of crowds of customers anxious to see the Angel Donkeys.
When the phone rang Thursday morning, Morgan was prepared to give directions to the shop for the hundredth time.
“Good morning. Rock of Ages. How may I help you?”
“I’m coming home.”
“Del, the doctor wanted to keep you another day, at least,” Morgan said. “I’m not picking you up.”
“You don’t need to get me,” Del said. “I’ve got a ride. See you in an hour or so.”
“Del, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Morgan began, but Del hung up.
After noon, Barton’s rugged old truck pulled up in the parking lot and drove around the side of the rock shop. Morgan ran to the kitchen and unlocked the back door.
A man in a suit helped Del out of th
e passenger seat. Morgan would not have recognized him if not for the bushy beard. Barton carried a plastic personal items bag with the hospital logo in one hand, and a large paper sack from a fast-food place in the other.
Del struggled to free himself from the seat belt, and hobbled to Morgan on unsteady feet.
“I’m back!”
Barton followed Del inside.
“If you so much as sneeze,” Morgan scolded, “I’m sending you right back to the hospital. Barton, I can’t believe you let Del talk you into bringing him home.”
Del’s arm was in an elevated cast that looked too complicated to wear home. Morgan imagined Del and Barton sneaking out the back door of the hospital, fleeing watchful nurses.
“The doctor said it was okay,” Barton said, “if Del promised he wasn’t staying alone at his place.”
“I hope you don’t mind.” Del seated himself at the table and opened the fast-food sack with one hand. “It’s just until I get this thing off my arm.”
Morgan was curious to see how Del would manage eating a taco.
“Of course you can stay here,” Morgan said. “You won’t be much use as a bodyguard, though.”
“Sure I will. This thing’s hard as a rock!” Del swung his arm back and forth. “Ow.”
“See what I mean?” Morgan said.
“Mrs. Iverson?” Robin rapped on the door and stuck her head inside the kitchen. “Someone wants to write a check.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Morgan watched Barton unwrap a taco and place it in Del’s free hand.
“Barton?”
He looked up at Morgan.
“Do you know anything about memory sticks? Ones used for personal computers?”
Del snorted. “If it has something to do with computers, Barton probably invented it.” Del bit into his taco. It broke in half, spilling its contents on the kitchen table and floor. The mice would be happy.
“I wish I’d invented them,” Barton said.
“How sturdy are they?” Morgan asked.
“They’re pretty tough,” Barton said, “but not indestructible. I’ve washed them in my clothes before, and they still worked. Why?”
“Mrs. Iverson?” Robin rapped on the door again.
“I’ll tell you later,” Morgan said to Barton.
Too many people knew about the thumb drive already. She couldn’t let every murder suspect in town know she’d found it.
Friday was a blur involving T-shirts, customers, and preparation for the Hopping Bunny Snowshoe race. Kurt arranged for the stable to transport the donkeys to the race the next day, after Morgan confirmed with the vet that Adelaide could travel. She put in a call to the church ladies to provide something in between a babysitter and an armed guard to make sure Del stayed off his feet, per doctor’s orders. Beatrice promised to be there at six to fix Del breakfast.
The morning of the race came too early. Morgan woke at four to help Bernie make pastries and coffee to feed the volunteers. She sneaked out of the house without waking Del and drove to the back of the bakery.
“Look, Morgan.” Bernie held up a long-sleeved purple T-shirt. “I’m on the shirt.”
Bibi’s Bakery was printed in white letters on the back of the race T-shirt, along with other sponsors.
“Nice!” Morgan said.
“We’d better get busy. I did a lot of prep work yesterday, but we only have a couple hours to get things cooked and to the park.”
It was still dark when they loaded Bernie’s SUV with trays of pastries and insulated boxes of coffee.
“Did you remember a flashlight?” Bernie asked.
“Del made sure I packed the entire sporting goods store,” Morgan said. “I have a backpack this time. But I drew the line at the gun. I don’t feel confident handling it, especially after that day we ran into Trevin on the trail.”
Bernie put her vehicle in gear and headed to the park. They had no trouble finding the staging area. Cars, trucks, and vans crowded the small parking lot. Spotlights on poles illuminated the tables set up on trampled snow.
Lucy, clipboard in hand, talked to search and rescue volunteers astride ATVs.
“Hi, Bernie.” Rolf smiled and waved. “Hi, Morgan.”
Lucy consulted her clipboard. “They’re running aid station number six.”
“I’ll take them,” Rolf said.
“First I need to know where to put the coffee,” Bernie said.
The volunteers cheered.
By the time they headed to their aid station, the sky was growing light.
“Who wants to go first?” Rolf patted the seat of the ATV.
“We don’t have to walk?” Bernie asked.
“I have to haul in the water and sports drink,” Rolf said. “I have room for one passenger at a time.”
“I’ll walk,” Morgan said. “We’ll be standing all day. Walking might help me warm up.”
“Maybe I should walk, too.” Bernie looked at Morgan with an expression that was crystal clear.
Morgan waved a hand. “No, you should ride.”
Rolf’s smile was as delighted as Bernie’s. Morgan had guessed right.
“But if you have room,” Morgan said, “could you take my backpack?”
She handed Rolf the supersized survival pack.
“Yow!” he exclaimed. “What’s in this thing?”
“Pretty much everything,” Morgan said.
Bernie hopped onto the ATV with Rolf. Morgan lagged behind so they could chatter without including her. The trail following the creek was level, and the snow was packed. Morgan checked her watch. She was certain she could walk the mile to the aid station in less than twenty minutes.
The course looped through the woods in a circular route. They were the last aid station before the end of the race.
The ATV disappeared around a curve. The sound of the engine grew faint. She supposed it was a good sign that Bernie and Rolf were so interested in each other that they had forgotten all about her.
Pine trees thick with green needles and heavy with snow blocked out the dim rays of the morning sun. One lazy white flake floated out of the gray clouds. Morgan shivered.
All of her survival gear was on the ATV. If she got lost, she wouldn’t last long. Morgan tried to shake off rising panic. The last time she had let fear get the better of her, she had nearly slipped off a trail. She had almost pepper-sprayed Barton. She’d been ready to pepper-spray a photographer, also presumed innocent. And yet she had been unprepared for the tattooed man on the bridge. The problem was, until Morgan knew who the killer was, she had to assume everyone was potentially a murderer.
Snowflakes wove through tree branches, increasing in quantity and intensity with every step Morgan took. She was all alone in the dark woods.
Morgan shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she told herself.
The police had Thumbelina. For all she knew, they might have already made an arrest. She could hear ATVs, shouts, and laughter. There were hundreds of people in the woods today.
Including, quite possibly, one murderer.
Rolf set up a folding table. He lifted the five-gallon containers of water and sports drink onto the table.
“Here’s your walkie-talkie.” Rolf handed Bernie the device. “Every aid station gets one. You probably don’t have cell service out here, so use it if you need help. I have to go now, but I’ll be back to check on you.” Rolf seemed to remember Morgan. “Both.”
Morgan felt like an afterthought. Rolf hopped on the ATV and roared off in the direction of the park. She and Bernie unpacked the paper drinking cups and trash bags. Bernie hummed an airy tune as she filled cups halfway with water or sports drink.
“You’re remarkably cheerful, considering it’s snowing,” Morgan said.
“It must be the new ultra-light thermal underwear I bought. Not to mention the wool socks.”
“Are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with Prince Charming and his noble metallic steed?”
&nb
sp; “I have to admit,” Bernie said, “it’s nice feeling you have the undivided interest of a handsome gentleman.”
Her cheeks were pink with emotion as well as the chill air. Snowflakes settled on Bernie’s eyelashes.
“I’m afraid the water’s going to freeze,” Morgan said.
“I can’t imagine wanting to drink water in this cold weather, but Lucy insists people get dehydrated as fast in the snow as in the heat.”
Morgan checked her watch. “The race should have started by now.”
“I wonder when we’ll see our first runner?”
They heard the ATV several minutes before it roared into sight. Bernie looked disappointed when the driver wasn’t Rolf. The woman pulled the ATV to a stop and killed the engine.
“Hi. I’m Sharon, with search and rescue. There’s a storm heading this way, so we’re taking some extra precautions.” She climbed off the ATV and handed Bernie a clipboard. “Please mark off runners as they go through your aid station.”
Morgan looked over Bernie’s shoulder at the printout of bib numbers and names.
“I suggest one of you be the spotter,” Sharon said, “and one of you check names off.”
“Okay,” Bernie said. “We can do that.”
“We’re going to keep search and rescue personnel on the course until every runner and volunteer is accounted for,” Sharon said.
“How will we know when the last person goes by?” Morgan asked.
“We’ll send someone around,” Sharon said. “We won’t leave you out here.”
“When will the first runner be here?” Bernie asked.
“It’ll be at least another hour.”
The snow stopped, then started again. Morgan dug the pepper spray out of her backpack and tucked it in her jacket pocket.
“In case I run into a raccoon,” she told Bernie. “I’m going to find the little girls’ room.”
Morgan made a trip behind a pile of boulders to relieve herself. When she rejoined Bernie, the baker had rearranged the half-filled cups of water and sports drink.
“My feet are cold,” Morgan said.
“Mine, too,” Bernie agreed.
“I thought your wool socks were working.”
“They must have a time limit. This is kind of boring.”
Stone Cold Dead Page 27
