Stone Cold Blooded

by Catherine Dilts

  Quinn returned to his own table, looking less than pleased. Burke tilted his chair back on all four legs. He tucked his cell phone into the pocket of his bright blue Hawaiian shirt. Swaying green palm trees shaded dancing hula girls.

  “That little dude is annoying,” he whispered.

  “He’s just trying to get a good deal,” Morgan said.

  “While you were gone, he offered me two thousand dollars. I told him I couldn’t sell the brow horn without your okay. The dude fanned out a handful of cash and waved it in my face. He was relentless.”

  Morgan glanced over at Buckskin Quinn’s table. He studiously ignored her.

  “You did the right thing.” Morgan placed her hands on her hips, upset that Quinn had tried to take advantage of a teenager. “I’m not taking a dime less than three thousand. Especially from him.”

  * * *

  That afternoon, Burke came back from his ramblings with a funnel cake. He held it out to Morgan. She tore off a bit, stuffing the greasy, powdered sugar coated confection into her mouth.

  “I met that dude Cindy and Herb were upset about,” Burke said. “His assistant is a dime.”

  “Dime?” Morgan asked.

  “You know. Ten cents. A perfect ten?”

  Morgan choked, a puff of powdered sugar spraying from her lips.

  “Are you okay?” Burke patted Morgan on the back, then offered her a bottle of water.

  “Wenda?” Morgan gasped.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” Burke said. “She’s too old for me. She’s gotta be twenty-five at least. But she was nice, and she talked to me about stuff.”

  While Cindy might warn Burke about the dangers of being sucked into a satanic cult, Morgan was more worried about Kurt’s son falling into the clutches of an older woman.

  “Sonny was real interested when I told him my mom’s an actress. He said he wants to make a movie.” Burke popped a wad of funnel cake into his mouth, then spoke around the sugary dough. “I told him I could help. My brother will want in on this, too.”

  When Kurt called Thursday evening, Morgan wanted to blurt out that his son was in danger of being scammed by a New Age flim-flam artist, or at the least, having his heart broken by a siren luring him to dangerous waters.

  “How is David doing?” she asked instead. Morgan felt silly worrying about her son while she was gone for a week, when he had been making his own way in the world for several years now. But still, it was a mother’s prerogative to worry about her children.

  “He’s having a blast,” Kurt said. “After his last job ended, he went fishing with some of his old friends from the church youth group. He won’t be coming to Denver until Sunday. He says you should not worry about him picking up girls while he’s driving his mother’s Buick.”

  “That’s both a relief and an insult.” Morgan laughed. “I will replace that beast some day.”

  “I still plan to come up Friday,” Kurt said. “As soon as I can get away.”

  “I’m glad you’re no longer a suspect for Erwin’s assault,” Morgan said. “Any updates on what happened?”

  “Chief Sharp wouldn’t give me details, but apparently when they brought Erwin out of the medically induced coma, he was gracious enough to clear me.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “I agree. Erwin must be in bad shape, because if he could have pinned the assault on me, I’m sure he would have. In any event, I’m no longer a suspect.”

  “What about Ned?” Morgan asked.

  “Still missing.” Kurt relayed details about the hunt for Ned. Pine County Search and Rescue, Chief Sharp and Deputy Parker, and dozens of volunteers, had turned up no clues.

  “I’ve learned a little more about Eustace Day and his business dealings with my great-uncle, but nothing that helps solve his death.”

  “Chief Sharp has firmly settled on the accident theory.”

  “I doubt that will convince Roxy,” Morgan said. “She called asking about the case.” Morgan gave Kurt the information Roxy told her about Day’s will, and the Buried Treasure. “She’s demanding, considering that we aren’t charging her.”

  “Maybe we should start charging,” Kurt said.

  “Open a private investigation business?” Morgan asked.

  “It’s something to think about,” Kurt said.

  “Did Burke tell you about the Miracle Wand incident?”

  “In imaginative detail,” Kurt said. “My son seems to have a creative flair.”

  “And Piers Townsend bailing out the Lyons family?”

  “That was strange,” Kurt said. “Piers may be a more formidable political rival than I anticipated.”

  Morgan relayed her impression that Piers was allying himself with Sonny Day in anticipation of Day’s move to Golden Springs.

  “Day will have an instant following,” Kurt said. “Fortunately, not many of them are residents, so they won’t be voting.”

  “Not in this election,” Morgan said. “What if they all move here to be closer to Sonny Day’s intergalactic U. N.?”

  * * *

  Business picked up on Friday. Morgan sent Burke to the trailer twice to replenish items on their table. When the schedule announced another Sonny Day lecture, Morgan knew they would have down time. She sent Burke on a break. He took his time returning.

  “I really appreciate you staying to help out,” Morgan said.

  “I don’t mind,” Burke said. “It’s been really fun. Way better than how I usually spend a summer.”

  “How is that?”

  “Going to parties thrown by my mother’s friends. You know. Snooty Hollywood types. It’s a big yawn. I didn’t think I would like it here, but hanging out with Dad is a blast. He took us to a shooting range one day. Hiking and canoeing too.”

  “You don’t get to go hiking and shooting in LA?”

  Burke laughed. “Mom had a fit when she found out. She hates guns.”

  And yet she had finagled her way into one of Jet’s movies, which was certain to be bristling with all manner of weapons.

  “So are you thinking of going to college here this fall?”

  “I got accepted by the University of Performing Arts at Granite Junction. They have a film department run by some ex-pat Hollywood types. Who knew? I’ll have to think about it, though.” Burke shrugged. “If the world’s gonna end in 2021, college is pointless.”

  His words hit Morgan like a slap in the face. Fortunately, a customer interrupted their conversation long enough to buy three geodes before Morgan could reply to Burke’s rash statement.

  “People said the world was going to end in 2012,” Morgan said. “I’m sure they’re wrong this time, too.”

  “Sonny was pretty convincing,” Burke said. “He’s really studied this out.”

  “Just remember the Miracle Wand,” Morgan said.

  “Those are on consignment,” Burke said. “Wenda said they didn’t have any control over those. She’s pissed at Madame Cici.”

  Morgan gave Wenda credit for admitting the Miracle Wands were fake, but it bothered her that Burke seemed to buy the rest of the malarkey.

  “I want to attend the presentation of the Velociraptor fossil,” Morgan said. “You should take your lunch break before then.”

  “Sure.” His phone pinged. “Text message.” He ignored Morgan and the next two customers as his thumbs flew across the keyboard.

  Burke took his lunch break late, returning just in time for Morgan to make it to the presentation.

  “Burke, can you keep your eyes on the table more?” Morgan asked. “And less on your phone?”

  “Oh. Sure.” Burke glanced at Buckskin Quinn’s table. “Relax. I’ve got it under control.”

  There were few seats left in the auditorium. Reporters had commandeered the entire front row. Cameras bearing television
station logos perched on tripods on both sides of the stage. The four o’clock reveal left plenty of time for a report on the evening news. At the center of the stage, on either side of a huge something draped with a shimmering cloth, stood two armed security guards.

  Sylvan McTavish spent thirty minutes emphasizing how amazing the find was, and how dangerous it had been getting it out of Mongolia. The exact location of the remote find would remain secret, to protect the area from an invasion of fortune hunters. Morgan sympathized. Her own property had suffered repeated invasions from people hunting for a mysterious creature.

  Dr. McTavish gave ample pithy quotes in his dull monotone for the reporters to seed articles that would have “find of the century” headlines. He spoke at tedious length about the authentication process.

  When they finally arrived at the big reveal, there was no drum roll, but there was a collective intake of breath by the audience. McTavish yanked on the cloth. It slipped to the stage.

  The big slab of rock did contain embedded fossils. It was expensive, too, although nowhere close to the anticipated auction price of six million dollars McTavish sought. No, the big reveal only revealed a ten thousand dollar giant turtle fossil.

  The noise of the shocked audience drowned out the words of Dr. McTavish, waving his arms, his face red with anger. The security guards were soon joined by uniformed police officers.

  Morgan didn’t wait to be herded out by the security guards with the rest of the audience. She hurried back to the Rock of Ages table. Burke was gone.

  So was the Triceratops brow horn.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Morgan turned slowly, searching the aisle for Burke’s bright Hawaiian shirt. Most of the crowd had flocked to the auditorium, drawn by the commotion of the Velociraptor theft. Burke might have been swept up in the excitement. Perhaps he had taken the Triceratops brow horn with him, to keep it safe.

  “Quinn, have you seen Burke?” Morgan asked.

  “I had customers.” Buckskin Quinn fussed with the arrangement of wooly mammoth teeth on a scrap of leather. “I didn’t notice the young man leave.”

  “My Triceratops brow horn.” Morgan’s breath caught in her throat, and her words came out hoarse. “It’s gone.”

  “Maybe the kid sold it,” Quinn said.

  “He wouldn’t have,” Morgan said. “I told him to call me if anyone made an offer.”

  Quinn finally looked at her. His white goatee puckered around pursed lips.

  “Maybe he sold it and took off. That’s a lot of money to a young person.”

  Morgan wanted to tear into Quinn, and set the twerp straight. Burke was a good kid, and besides, he didn’t need the money. His mother was loaded.

  Morgan glanced at her phone. She had no missed calls or texts. She called Burke, then texted him. No reply, but signal could be patchy in the coliseum. She called the security office.

  After giving her name and table number with shaky words, Morgan reported the theft. The office admin handed the call to the show manager, Wilson McFarland.

  “Are you sure it was stolen?” McFarland asked. “Maybe your assistant sold it.”

  “Burke was under orders to call me if anyone made an offer,” Morgan said. “The brow horn is worth three thousand dollars. Can you send someone?”

  “We have a big problem taking up our resources.”

  “The Velociraptor,” Morgan said.

  “The police are investigating that theft right now. It’s worth six million dollars.”

  “I know,” Morgan said. “My little three thousand dollar Triceratops horn is petty change by comparison, but it’s the most valuable item in our shop.”

  “Your family has been part of our show for many years,” McFarland said. “I’m devastated, believe me. I’ll get someone over there just as soon as I can.”

  Two people had suggested that Burke might have sold the horn. Morgan thought that option unlikely, and even less likely that he would steal the money, but she needed to find him to debunk the theory.

  “Can you watch my table for a minute?” Morgan asked Quinn.

  “I can’t be held responsible.”

  She stopped, glancing over her shoulder at Buckskin Quinn. He had made repeated low offers for the brow horn and had attempted to trick Burke into selling it for a song. What if he had a Triceratops missing a brow horn? What if it was part of Eustace Day and Uncle Caleb’s fossil, the one that had inspired a decades long feud? What if Quinn decided to take it?

  First things first. She pushed her way through the crowded aisle onto the arena floor, her heart racing. She spotted the bright blue Hawaiian shirt inside Sonny Day’s booth. Burke had his back to Morgan as he carried a hefty box toward the canopy. He chatted amiably to Wenda, but the young woman wore her usual expression—intense.

  “Burke!”

  He glanced around. When his eyes met Morgan’s, he seemed to sense her alarm, mistaking it for anger.

  “I was just heading back.”

  “Burke,” Morgan gasped, breathless, “did you sell the brow horn?”

  He set the box on a table. “Oh, shit.”

  “I take that as a no.” Morgan spun on her heel and raced past startled shoppers.

  Burke caught up to her outside the arena. “What do you mean? Is it gone?”

  “Yes,” Morgan said through clenched teeth.

  She skidded to a stop in front of the Rock of Ages table, staring at the empty spot where the Triceratops brow horn had sat.

  “I only left for a minute,” Burke said. “Everyone was in the auditorium. I thought it’d be okay.”

  “‘Everyone was in the auditorium’?” Morgan repeated. “Everyone?” She waved a hand around the crowded aisle.

  Burke could not have looked more startled if she’d slapped him.

  “I’m sorry.” He seemed to struggle for control. “Are you sure it’s gone?”

  Burke reached to move a display shelf, but Morgan grabbed his arm.

  “Security is coming. We don’t want to disturb anything.”

  Burke leaned against a column, his shoulders hunched and his expression miserable. He didn’t seem nineteen at the moment. Instead, Morgan thought of eight-year-old Ruth’s fearful tears when she had done nothing wrong. And now Burke, more man than child, was in nearly the same condition.

  Coming to the mineral show had been a terrible idea. The Lyons family had left with a sour taste in their collective mouths. Now Burke’s summer vacation was ruined. Every bad decision she had made in her entire life seemed to flash before Morgan’s eyes. Stupid, stupid, and more stupid.

  Morgan studied the tabletop, then crouched down to peer under the table at bins and boxes, as if by force of will the horn might reappear. Her head spun with anxiety. If only she had not gone to the presentation. If only she hadn’t left a nineteen year-old kid in charge of the shop’s valuable inventory.

  “I’m sorry,” she told Burke.

  “You’re sorry? I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have left—”

  Morgan held up a hand. “We’ve had several things stolen. That should have been enough warning that something like this could happen. I should have been more—”

  “You left me in charge,” Burke said. “I did tell that Quinn dude I was leaving, but it’s not his fault. I said I’d be gone for just a minute, but then I lost track of time.”

  “You told Quinn?” Morgan whispered.

  “Yeah,” Burke said. “You’d think he’d notice somebody walking off with—” Burke frowned. “Hey.”

  “Exactly. When did you leave?”

  “I can tell you. Wenda texted me.”

  Burke checked his phone. Morgan hadn’t taken note of when she left the auditorium. The whole reveal had devolved into disaster several minutes before the scheduled end. She did know when she called security. Morgan ch
ecked her phone, comparing the time with Burke.

  “I left the table at four twenty five,” Burke said.

  “And I called security at four thirty nine. The thief had less than fifteen minutes to grab the brow horn.”

  “I’ll talk to Mr. Fontaine. He’s guarding the door. Maybe he saw somebody walk out with the horn.”

  Burke hurried away. Morgan stewed about Burke’s role in the loss of the horn, but in the end, she blamed herself for placing too much trust in a nineteen-year-old kid. Burke had led a more privileged life than her own children. By his age, Sarah and David had already moved out and were supporting themselves.

  She and Burke had both placed too much trust in their table-neighbor. Quinn didn’t look upset as he glanced her way. Had he wanted the Triceratops brow horn so badly, he stole it in the brief moments it was unattended? Or had he watched a thief walk away with it, not calling the alarm because he had been denied possession of the precious horn?

  Burke returned as a lone security guard appeared. Morgan’s loss didn’t even warrant a police officer. They had bigger fish to fry, like a six million dollar Velociraptor.

  “Mr. Fontaine is missing,” Burke said. “I asked at the tables closest to the entrance, but nobody’s seen him for thirty minutes at least.”

  “We’ll get to that.” The dark-haired security guard’s nametag read F. Hernandez. He wasn’t tall, but he had the toned bulk of a man who spent a lot of time at the gym. “So what was stolen?”

  “A Triceratops brow horn,” Morgan said. “It was worth three thousand dollars.”

  “Are you sure it’s not here?” He glanced at the table, then at Burke and Morgan.

  “It’s gone,” Burke said.

  “I didn’t disturb the crime scene,” Morgan said, “in case you need to take fingerprints.”

  “I’m sure any pertinent fingerprints are on the horn,” F. Hernandez said. “Why don’t you look around before I go any further with this investigation. Make sure one of you didn’t put it under the table.”

  “Maybe we should wait for the police,” Burke said.

  Hernandez did not look pleased. “It’ll be a long wait. They’re all investigating the disappearance of the other fossil.”