Morgan and Ruth arrived at the Rock of Ages table unscathed by their exposure to New Agers. Unfortunately, their table lacked the throngs flocking around Faerie Tales.
“Allie took Marissa for a nap,” Cindy explained. “Since it’s slow, I thought I’d take the kids for a dip in the motel pool. If that’s all right with you, Cowgirl.”
Matthew and Ruth began packing their backpacks full of notebooks, brochures from other vendors, and treasures. Cindy lifted Hezekiah from his portable playpen and arranged him in the cloth sling across her chest.
“Shouldn’t you wait until Allie comes back?” Morgan asked. “I’m afraid I’ll get slammed if I’m here by myself.”
The dense population milling through the coliseum aisles periodically thinned, only to fill again in a predictable ebb and flow.
“There’ll be a long downtime this afternoon,” Cindy said. “People will be at the classes. It’s in the brochure.”
Morgan flipped through the show brochure and saw why. At set times there were talks in an auditorium. Right now, a paleobiologist was speaking. He claimed to have discovered a fantastically rare fossil worth six million dollars.
Dr. McTavish planned one more lecture tomorrow. The world would have to wait until Friday for the unveiling of his eighty percent intact Velociraptor skeleton.
Some speakers appeared several times throughout the week, like the gemologist Sandi Sharma from the television show Globetrotter Gems. A Sasquatch hunter promised to show film evidence of the mating habits of squatches. Another speaker offered a new interpretation of the Mayan calendar. Morgan didn’t think anyone would be interested in the topic after the hoopla around the December 2012 end of the world. People just couldn’t get excited about the world ending more than once or twice in a generation, in her opinion. Then she noticed the presenter’s name.
Sonny Day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Morgan called Roxy Day. The phone rang a dozen times before the woman picked up.
“What?” she wheezed.
Not the most professional way for a business owner to answer the phone. After introducing herself, Morgan dove right in.
“Roxy, your father is at the Denver mineral show.”
“I’m not surprised.” Roxy erupted in a brief cough, then went on, her raspy smoker’s voice a little more clear. “Probably hunting for new converts.”
“You knew I was coming to the show,” Morgan said. “And you forgot to mention your father might be here?”
“I told you, he’s got nothing to do with Grandpa’s death.”
“You asked me and Kurt to investigate.” Morgan covered her ear with her free hand to block the noise of a rock tumbler. “Whether you suspect your father or not, Kurt and I need to talk to him.”
“I wasn’t for sure he’d be there,” Roxy said. “The old man and I don’t talk all that often.”
A falling out with her father. That might not matter, except that Roxy claimed her grandfather had been murdered. Morgan wondered what other secrets the woman kept.
“If you want us to continue working on your case,” Morgan said, “you can’t decide who did or did not kill your grandfather. That’s what you asked us to discover.”
“Okay. But you’re wasting your time if you go after Dad.”
Roxy hung up. Why was she so convinced her father hadn’t murdered Eustace Day? Was it because she had?
“Good afternoon.”
Morgan looked up.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said, his voice high-pitched and nasal. “I have the booth next door. Buckskin Quinn’s Fossil Emporium. We’ve met.”
He extended a hand. Morgan expected the rough skin of a man who earned his living digging treasures out of the earth, but Quinn’s hand was soft and slightly damp. Morgan resisted the urge to wipe her hand off on her denim Capri slacks.
“I remember,” Morgan said. “You visited the Rock of Ages.”
He smiled, creasing dimples above his goatee. Quinn was a couple inches shorter than Morgan. His broad chest and shoulders would have been in proportion on a much taller man. He wore his fringed mountain man-style coat, even in the warm coliseum.
“I noticed your crew abandoned you,” he said. “Did they all go to the Mayan talk by that Day guy?”
“They’re religious people,” Morgan said. “They won’t have anything to do with New Age stuff.”
“Sonny Day is up to his same old tricks,” Quinn said, his voice taking on an especially whiney twang. “Luring in the gullible masses. You won’t see me at any of his talks.”
“One I wish I had heard was the paleobiologist.”
“You didn’t miss anything. Sylvan McTavish is as much a snake oil salesman as Sonny Day. Seriously, have you even heard of Everwhist College, where he’s supposed to be doing this amazing research?”
“What about that fossil?” Morgan asked. “The Velociraptor?”
“It’s a fake.”
“Have you seen it?” Morgan asked.
“I don’t need to. McTavish is building up hype before he takes it to auction by touring it around mineral shows. Why isn’t he letting a major university, one known for paleontology, examine it?”
“How can you fake a Velociraptor?”
“You can’t,” Quinn said. “Not for long. People will wise up before he unloads it. He won’t get anywhere near the six million he’s seeking. Even an amateur can eventually figure out a fake, and a professional won’t be fooled for a minute. Like your Triceratops brow horn. I don’t need a laboratory full of expensive equipment to tell it’s real.”
He caressed the brow horn, practically salivating over the fossil. Morgan wished she had an acrylic case large enough to contain it. People seemed unable to resist touching the Triceratops brow horn, despite the Do Not Touch sign.
“I guess I always assumed it was real because my great uncle dug it up,” Morgan said. “And he was an honest guy.”
Although Roxy Day might not agree.
“I don’t suppose he found the rest of it?” Quinn asked.
“No,” Morgan said. But her mind was racing. The certificate had been for an entire dinosaur. How many more boxes and tubs were hidden on the rock shop property? Might any of them contain the rest of the Triceratops’s remains? And why did Buckskin Quinn keep pressing about an entire Triceratops fossil? Did he know something?
“This brow horn would be worth a lot more with the skull,” Quinn said. “And with the rest of the animal? Yes, sir. It is a treasure.” He studied the horn, crossing his arms and taking a step back. “The horn is worth a fraction of what the entire skeleton would bring. I realize my earlier offer was insulting. I will give you two thousand two hundred and fifty right now.”
He looked from the fossil to Morgan, then back to the fossil. If he was so excited about the brow horn, he could give full price.
“I’m half-owner of the rock shop,” Morgan said. “I can’t come down on the price without consulting the other owner. But I know what the horn is worth, and I doubt my brother will agree to sell for less than three thousand.”
Morgan watched Quinn turn his attention to a customer. She was glad they were locking the horn in the trailer at night. She hoped that was enough.
* * *
After the final lecture of the day, a flurry of people bought fossil shark’s teeth, small quartz crystals, and angel donkey T-shirts. The loudspeaker announced the show was closing, but it took another fifteen minutes to wrap up the last purchases of the day. The coliseum slowly emptied.
Cindy lifted the Triceratops brow horn. “We need to lock this in the trailer, along with the topaz.”
“I think we should take it in the room with us,” Morgan said. “It could be more valuable than we think, especially if we have the rest of the skeleton.”
Allie laughed. “I doubt t
hat. All I’ve ever seen was the horn.”
Kendall and Allie had lived at the rock shop for nearly twenty years. If an entire Triceratops skeleton existed, surely they would have run across it during that time. Then again, considering Kendall’s lackadaisical management style, a live T-Rex could have been hanging out in the back pasture and have gone unnoticed.
After a dinner of salads and microwaved odds and ends from the coolers, and with the exhausted kids in bed, the three women sorted through the receipts for the day.
“Not bad,” Cindy said.
“Business during the week won’t be this impressive,” Allie said, “but if tomorrow and next weekend continue this strong, we’ll make a nice profit.”
Profit and the rock shop had not been on speaking terms for many years. Coming to the mineral show had been a great idea. Making a good day even better, Kurt called that evening. He asked if Burke could spend a few days with the Rock of Ages crew at the mineral show. Burke’s interest was not in minerals and fossils, but in the jazz pianist door guard.
“Cindy is staying until Tuesday,” Morgan said. “Herb is picking her up.”
“That works great,” Kurt said. “Burke could ride up with Herb, and I can pick him up next weekend. If you don’t mind having him around.”
“I was dreading being on my own,” Morgan said. “Allie goes home tomorrow, Cindy on Tuesday. I’d be running the table alone Wednesday through Friday. Let me check whether the room is still available.”
The motel manager was happy to rent the adjoining room to Morgan for the rest of the show. Although she didn’t know Burke well, surely they could coexist for a few days.
After setting up Sunday morning, Cindy and her children walked to a nearby church to attend services. Morgan and Allie had their hands full as customers crowded around the Rock of Ages table, searching for geologic treasures. Kendall arrived mid afternoon to pick up Allie and Marissa. He carried boxes of angel donkey T-shirts and stuffed donkey toys.
“I ordered more T-shirts from Mike and Hannah,” Kendall said. “They won’t be in until late in the week.”
A portion of every T-shirt sale went to Pine County Search and Rescue. Houdini and Adelaide supported a valuable cause.
“Can Del handle the shop by himself?” Morgan asked.
“Lorina is with him,” Kendall said. “Beatrice planned to drop by after church to pitch in. The shop is in good hands.” Kendall placed his hands on his hips and scanned the coliseum. With his wild beard, he looked more like a pirate surveying potential sources of booty than a lay pastor. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoy the mineral show. I may stick around for a few hours.”
“Great. I want to hear the talk by Dr. McTavish,” Morgan said. “I missed the first one. Our next door neighbor claims it’s a fake, but I want to hear about the six million dollar Velociraptor.”
* * *
A lecture about a hazardous trip to the Mongolian desert to dig for fossils should have been an edge-of-your-seat event, if not for McTavish’s dry speaking style. Most of his talk centered around debunking Hollywood images of the dinosaur.
“The Velociraptor was the size of a chicken,” he droned in an oppressive monotone. “My discovery confirms that the dinosaur bore feathers.”
He flashed a slide of feather-like impressions in stone with the swiftness of a yesteryear stripper teasing her audience with just a peek. Dr. McTavish showed very few slides, and none of the dig site, claiming he needed to keep the location a secret. Still, the prospect of catching even a glimpse of the fossil drew a crowd.
Next up on the auditorium schedule was Roxy Day’s father. The audience shifted as people who came for the Velociraptor talk left, and fans of Sonny Day arrived. Roxy claimed her father had nothing to do with Eustace Day’s death, but Morgan needed to form her own opinion.
The woman taking the seat next to Morgan pulled a notebook and pencil out of her batik tote bag, as though preparing for a university lecture. The lights dimmed. On the screen behind the podium, a colorful image of galaxies made it seem as though the audience was flying through space. It made Morgan a little dizzy. Flute music played softly, then muted as Sonny Day took his place behind the podium.
He wore jeans, cowboy boots, and an embroidered silk western shirt with pearl snap buttons. Not what Morgan expected from a New Age guru. His thick silver hair was trimmed in a businessman’s style. Oversized eyeglasses with sky-blue rims gave his narrow face the look of a surprised insect.
The audience stood and clapped. A standing ovation, and the man hadn’t opened his mouth yet. When he did, Morgan didn’t understand half of what he said. His audience seemed to know about planetary convergences that would signal the appearance of what sounded like alien overlords. They would bring an era of peace and tranquility, but in Morgan’s opinion, a peaceful alien overlord was even more creepy than a violent one.
By the end of the lecture, the woman sitting next to Morgan had filled her notebook with Sonny’s wisdom. Morgan had learned about Sonny Day’s new interpretation of the Mayan calendar, but nothing about the man.
The auditorium was on the opposite side of the coliseum from the Rock of Ages table. Morgan cut through the arena. Rising from the arena floor were rows of empty stadium chairs. A rubber mat of interconnecting squares covered the dirt where rodeos and horse shows took place. Dozens of tables, booths, and displays had been erected, forming a miniature town.
Sonny Day’s company occupied a large section of the expensive real estate on the arena floor. People stood in line, waiting to get his autograph. Eustace Day’s son was a popular guy. Morgan wound her way past the crowd and back to her table outside the arena door.
Kendall didn’t notice Morgan had returned. He was having fun talking to customers and greeting old friends. He and Allie stayed until closing. Then the entire troop piled into Kendall’s car and David’s truck for the drive to a restaurant.
They took seats around a huge round table and ordered enough cashew chicken and fried rice to feed a small army. Once their food arrived, Morgan asked Kendall if he remembered anything more about Uncle Caleb’s dispute with his neighbor.
“The reason I ask,” Morgan said, “is the guy from the booth next to us, Buckskin Quinn, asked whether we had more of the Triceratops. At the very least, the skull. It would be worth a lot more than just the brow horn by itself.”
“Those old prospectors were full of wild stories,” Cindy said. “They’re worse than fishermen with their the-one-that-got-away stories.”
“Sometimes those stories have a grain of truth,” Morgan said.
“Neither Allie nor I have found a Triceratops skull,” Kendall said.
“It’s probably in pieces,” Allie said. “We have yet to go through all the tubs and boxes.”
Kendall shrugged. “Uncle Caleb had stuff stashed all over. We spent months gathering it together into the barn and the garage. There could be more, sure.”
“Then we shouldn’t sell the horn,” Morgan said. “Not until we’re certain we don’t have more of the Triceratops.”
“Sell it?” Allie asked. “No one’s even made an offer.”
“Buckskin Quinn did,” Morgan said. “Twice. He came to the rock shop and offered fifteen hundred, then yesterday he offered two thousand two hundred and fifty.”
Kendall snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Hold firm on three thousand. I won’t go a penny lower.”
Back at the motel, Cindy took her kids to the swimming pool. In the room, Kendall and Allie helped count receipts. Morgan was nervous keeping all the cash at the mineral show. Kendall would deposit most of it Monday.
“Good news,” Kendall said. “We have earned back the table rental, and we’re making a handsome profit.”
Morgan realized how business-handicapped her brother was as she explained that he hadn’t taken into account the cost of the motel rooms, gas money to driv
e to the show, food, and pay for the employees who were not family members working for free.
The reality did not seem to dim Kendall’s enthusiasm. Even taking all that into account, they had squeaked into the black.
“I’m beat,” Allie said. “Can we go now?”
As Morgan waved goodbye, she felt a little guilty. She was elated at the thought of having the motel room to herself the rest of the show. Still, it had been nice getting to know her sister-in-law better, and Marissa was one of those no problem babies.
Kurt called that evening. Morgan gave her report about Sonny Day and his alien theory.
“The Day family certainly is interesting,” Kurt said.
“How about the Sylvester family?” Morgan asked. “Any news about Erwin or Ned?”
“There’s still no sign of Ned. Erwin’s condition is improving. At least that’s what Beatrice tells me.”
Beatrice was speaking to Kurt. That was a good sign.
“Did she give any hint about what happened to Erwin?” Morgan asked.
“No hard information,” Kurt said, “but she said I didn’t need to worry about an attempted murder charge. Funny thing. I attended an appreciation luncheon for regional newspapers hosted by a charity. I sat at a table with a reporter I know, and she told me the Granite Junction Times is going to drop a bomb on our City Council election.”
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe someone dug up dirt on one of the candidates,” Kurt said. “Hopefully not me.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s about Piers Townsend,” Morgan said. “Remember, he was involved in some shady real estate dealings. This could help your campaign.”
“There’s not much of a campaign right now,” Kurt said. “Piers is at the mineral show, Erwin is in the hospital, and I’m taking off Friday to visit you at the show.”
“I thought Chief Sharp didn’t want you to leave town.”
“He wouldn’t give any details,” Kurt said, “but apparently Beatrice was right. I’m no longer a suspect.”
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