“I highly doubt there’d be two unique genetic mutations on our property,” Kendall said.
“But with all the sightings?” Morgan asked. “How likely is it that one lone bald prairie dog survived weeks without being snatched up by a predator? The day of the explosions, Lorina and I saw a hawk grab one. So that means there were two. And where there are two. . . ”
David, Del, Kurt and Burke rode the ATVs to reset the traps. David carried the jar of peanut butter and Del his shotgun.
Considering the relentless hours of excitement they had endured, Morgan should have been happy to catch her breath. Instead, she felt restless. She still didn’t have the brow horn. Now with Burke’s insistence that the horn was within reach, her frustration intensified by knowing there was nothing she could do about it.
* * *
The other trap was empty. The donkey birthing party, and now alien trapping team, broke up reluctantly. Burke insisted on working his shift at Prospector Pizza, which inspired Kurt to invite Morgan to a long, leisurely dinner there, no doubt to keep an eye on his son. Before they had finished their salads, Burke raced to their booth, waving his phone.
“It’s Mr. Fontaine! He’s alive!”
“He’s on the phone?” Kurt asked.
“His daughter had my number,” Burke said. “She told Cleary how worried I was about him, so he called to let me know he’s okay.”
Kurt slid over to give Burke room on the padded vinyl seat. The young man spoke into the phone, explaining to Cleary Fontaine that he was on speaker. After introductions, Cleary told his story.
“I was on duty at the mineral show,” the old man said. “My memory of that day is not precise, but one of the last things I recall was speaking to a woman as she hurried through the door.”
“Was she wearing a Sasquatch T-shirt?” Morgan asked.
“I couldn’t say. I am afraid the rest is a blur. Everything went black, and I awoke in a small room with a splitting headache and a goose egg on the back of my head.”
“Somebody knocked you out,” Burke said.
“So it would seem,” Cleary said. “At my age, one never knows when one will be called before the Pearly Gates. I thought perhaps I had abruptly left the land of the living. From my surroundings, I surmised I was not Heaven. I hoped my humble quarters were a holding cell. God’s Green Room. If not, I feared the sins of my youth had sent me to the other place. There were no flames, but the tiny washroom lacked functioning plumbing. My captor had left me a cooler stocked with bottled spring water and buffalo jerky.”
“That’s what Ned’s kidnapper fed him!” Morgan exclaimed.
“I do not know this Ned,” Cleary said. “I was alone. I tried the door, but it was locked. The window opened to an alley three stories below. The climb down was impossible for a man of my years. I beat on the door, yelled out the window, but to no avail. The building was abandoned, and what I could see of the neighborhood was bleak. Finally it occurred to me to write notes on sheets from my pocket notebook. I included telephone numbers for my daughter and my pastor. Then I folded them into airplanes and sailed them out the window.”
“Did you see who locked you up?” Kurt asked. “Did the person ever make an appearance?”
“No. I feared I would end my days in that room. With no electricity or water, and with the meager supplies quickly depleting, the heat and the solitude began to drive me mad. The only thing left was for me to write a goodbye letter to my daughter. That done, I still had plenty of paper. I began to compose songs. I haven’t enjoyed such inspiration for decades. One result was my new song, Captive Heart. Would you like to hear it?”
When Burke, Kurt and Morgan encouraged Cleary to perform, there was a pause as he moved to a piano, and asked his daughter to sing the lyrics. Burke silenced the pizza parlor employees and patrons with a piercing whistle, then held up his phone.
Written by a man convinced he was going to die, intent upon leaving one last work, the song was a masterpiece. Jazzy, bluesy, and from the depths of his heart. When he finished, the restaurant erupted in applause.
Cleary and his daughter began their goodbyes, with promises to stay in touch.
“Wait,” Kurt said. “You didn’t tell us how you escaped.”
“Now that’s a funny story,” Cleary said. “One of my airplane notes found its way to the street. A homeless working girl found it. Thankfully, she called the number. I was saved, and our pastor invited her to attend services.”
Cleary’s daughter spoke. “I believe Daddy was kidnapped so that girl could be rescued from a life on the streets. God works in mysterious ways.”
* * *
Burke returned to the pizza kitchen, and the patrons to their dinners. Kurt called Chief Sharp to tell him about Mr. Fontaine’s kidnapping, which had similarities to Ned’s.
“I’ll contact the Denver police,” Sharp said. “Two victims, two escapes, no deaths. I guess we count ourselves lucky.”
Kurt hung up his phone and placed it on the table.
“Finally,” Morgan said. “Someone gets to have a happy ending.”
“Two,” Kurt said. “Ned escaped, too.”
“Possibly from the same kidnapper,” Morgan said. “Someone who had been in both Denver and Golden Springs. Like Sonny Day.”
“Maybe.”
Kurt lifted another slice of pizza from the wooden tray. Strings of cheese trailed across the table. Morgan accepted his offer to serve her another slice. After a long day that included Angel’s birth, Burke’s kidnapping and release, and capturing a naked prairie dog, she was starved.
“Our investigation is at a dead end,” Morgan said. “We haven’t solved Eustace Day’s death, and the brow horn is still missing. Houdini is a better investigator than us. He led us to Burke, probably saving your son from becoming another victim of their alien cult.”
“Relax, Morgan. The only person expecting results from us was Roxy Day.”
“We should call her.” Morgan smiled. “Maybe Roxy can get us onto her father’s ranch. Then we can search for the brow horn.”
The pizza parlor was noisy. After finishing another slice of pizza, she and Kurt walked to the nearby park and called Roxy.
“I’m afraid we’re not much closer to solving your grandfather’s death than when we started,” Morgan said. “Although we have learned a few things.”
She began with the events of the previous night, the fake brow horn, and Ned’s escape from a kidnapper. Then Morgan told Roxy about her foray onto the Day ranch.
“Digging in a pit?” Roxy asked. “Grandpa left the ranch to my father, but he left me the Buried Treasure. None of us could figure out what that meant in the lawyer’s office, so we decided it must have meant grandpa’s mineral and fossil collection. They boxed it up and brought it to me. Didn’t seem like much, considering all the years Grandpa prospected and dug for fossils. Nickel and dime specimens. My father must have figured it out. That explains why he keeps putting me off about visiting the place. He’s stealing my inheritance!”
Roxy was ready to drive to the ranch that very moment to confront her father.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Morgan said.
“Those wackos stole your fossil,” Roxy said. “They’re stealing the treasure Grandpa Day left me. If the police won’t do anything to stop them, I will!”
“Hang on a minute,” Kurt said. “This could be more dangerous than you realize.”
“Family disagreements can escalate quickly,” Morgan added. “You shouldn’t go there alone.”
Kurt gave Morgan a “what are you thinking?” look.
“There’s a back way onto your grandfather’s property,” Morgan said. “Meet us at the rock shop in an hour.”
“I’m on my way.” Roxy hung up.
“Morgan, this is not a good idea.”
“Chief Sharp needs evidence fo
r a search warrant,” Morgan said. “David and I could see the whole compound from the hill. Do you have any better ideas?”
“Plenty,” Kurt said. “But I doubt you’ll listen.”
* * *
Kurt did some fast-talking worthy of a politician to convince David to spend the night at his townhouse with Burke, claiming he feared for Burke’s safety after his near kidnapping. Morgan would be at Bernie’s, and Kurt had a late night campaign meeting. The lies bothered Morgan, but at least both boys would be far from danger, if their expedition went as badly as Kurt anticipated.
She called Kendall with a lame explanation that they had found a prairie dog expert to help them trap more of the creatures. Fortunately he bought the story over the phone. If he had come outside to meet Roxy, he might have questioned a biologist dressed in camo Army pants with lots of bulging pockets. No doubt one of them contained ammo for the holstered semi-automatic handgun on her hip. A knife scabbard hung from her webbed belt. The black turtleneck and knit skullcap looked hot for an August evening, and the black and green grease paint on her broad face glistened with sweat.
Kurt brought a digital camera and zoom lens, giving Morgan a different camera that had video capability. Roxy Day’s night vision goggles hung from a strap around her neck.
They locked Adelaide and her foal into one stall, and Houdini in his, to keep the donkeys out of harm’s way, then rode the ATVs over the now familiar route to the sagging spot in the fence. They turned off the engines and dismounted.
“There’s another prairie dog,” Kurt said.
Roxy crouched down to examine the raccoon trap. The animal was eerie in the moonlight, its wrinkled skin and the tuft of white fur on top of its head seeming to glow blue, its red eyes blazing.
“You got more of these?”
“Just one,” Morgan said. “It’s in the barn.”
“And they just started showing up after Grandpa’s place blew up?”
“Yes,” Morgan said.
Roxy stood and wiped her hands down her camos. “Interesting. Seems unlikely no one noticed a wild colony of naked prairie dogs. Maybe grandpa was raising them.”
“Why?” Morgan asked.
“They’re used for medical experiments. People keep them as pets, too. I remember Grandpa Day was raising hedgehogs at one time, and selling them to pet stores. Prairie dogs might be a better paying market.”
“That explains why they don’t seem afraid of humans,” Morgan said.
As they climbed through the barbed wire fence, Morgan’s adrenalin began pumping. Perhaps Kurt was right, and this wasn’t the wisest course of action. But this might be the only chance to recover the brow horn and Roxy’s Buried Treasure. They needed evidence.
She led them to the granite outcropping. The compound was an anthill of activity even at this late hour. Spotlights focused on the pit, illuminating it as brightly as the sun had earlier. Workers still dug, but with less vigor now. They removed what looked like chunks of concrete and placed them in wheelbarrows. Instead of moving them to the Dumpsters or the dirt pile up the hill, these wheelbarrow loads were rolled to an outbuilding.
“What are those?” Morgan asked.
Kurt focused his zoom lens, and Roxy her night vision goggles. Kurt snapped a photo.
“Fossils,” Roxy said. “That’s how they package them at dig sites. Wrapped in newspaper and plaster.”
“I saw fossils like that at the mineral show,” Morgan said. “Why put them in a swimming pool?”
“That’s not a swimming pool,” Roxy said. “You ever been to a zoo?”
“Yes.” Morgan looked at the pit again. “Oh, I see it now.”
The pit resembled the habitats for Meer cats she had seen at the zoo. The concrete bowls prevented the animals from digging their way out of captivity, while allowing them to build the tunnels and underground homes that were their natural habitat.
“After the explosions went off,” Kurt said, “people started seeing aliens.” He snapped more photos.
Roxy Day’s chin trembled. She wiped her eyes with a camo-print bandana. “He didn’t forget me. Grandpa left me his Buried Treasure. Those naked prairie dogs.” Her sorrow turned to anger. “And those bastards let them get away.”
She started to stand, apparently ready to charge in, gun blazing. Kurt held her arm.
“The fence could have been blown apart by the explosions,” he said.
“Grandpa was probably hoping to get me and Dad to reconcile,” Roxy said. “Think about it. He left me the prairie dogs, smack in the middle of the property he left Dad.”
“Then what is in those packages they’re digging up?” Morgan asked. “The missing Triceratops? Maybe that’s your Buried Treasure. In which case, the brow horn is somewhere near, like Burke said.”
“The fossil and the prairie dogs could both be Buried Treasure,” Kurt said. “They’re both underground.”
“I’m going on reconnaissance,” Roxy said. “We need intel.”
“I’ve got photos now,” Kurt said. “We show them to Chief Sharp, he gets a search warrant, and we get the brow horn back without endangering ourselves.”
Morgan added mentally, or others, as she studied the firearm at Roxy’s hip.
“What’s your sheriff really gonna say when he sees those pictures?” Roxy asked. “They don’t prove anything. I’m just gonna get a little closer. If I can get one of those packages, and it’s a Triceratops bone, that’s the proof we need.”
Stopping Roxy from going would be like trying to stop a bear from a salmon-filled river.
“We have to follow her,” Morgan whispered to Kurt.
He seemed to wrestle with the idea. They had been in more dangerous situations. Other than the biker goons, and Wenda’s temper, these people seemed peaceful.
Kurt shook his head. “I’d feel better if you stayed here, but I suppose that won’t fly.”
Morgan stood. They both scrambled off the granite outcropping, skulking through the woods while avoiding the row of outhouses, since they seemed to be in frequent use.
From the well-lit prairie dog enclosure came the sounds of shovels scooping dirt, wheelbarrows squeaking, and voices rising with excitement as new bundles were discovered. Beyond the circle of outbuildings sat a new RV, a fifth wheel trailer, and several smaller, older RVs and trailers. Morgan watched one of the bikers exit an RV that had more dents and rust than an old tin can.
“I’m going to see what’s in this shed,” she whispered to Kurt.
They crept to the side of an eight-foot square aluminum storage shed that had seen better days. Morgan tested the door. It wasn’t locked, which probably meant it was pointless to check, but she went inside anyway. She closed the door before clicking on her flashlight.
Dozens of cardboard shipping boxes rested on wooden pallets. They all bore a Made in China stamp. She lifted the flap of an open box. It contained trinkets she had seen on sale in Sonny Day’s booth at the mineral show. They had been repackaged and sold at a premium.
She backed out, closed the door carefully, and shook her head at Kurt. They crept around the rear to a wooden outbuilding. A heavy padlock hung from the hasp.
An owl hooted just before Morgan heard footsteps crunching in the gravelly dirt. She and Kurt scurried behind the outbuilding. Morgan held a finger to her lips when he began to speak.
“I think it’s a mistake,” Wenda said.
Did the woman never sleep?
“Of course it is,” Sonny Day said. “The Triceratops belongs to my daughter. I’m certain that’s what my father meant by Buried Treasure.”
Kurt placed a hand lightly on Morgan’s arm, stopping her from rushing around the shed to confront the two thieves.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“The mistake I meant was trying to rehabilitate your father’s ranch,” Wenda said. “This place i
s a disaster. You’ve already spent a small fortune, and we’re not half done.”
“For once, I must disagree,” Sonny said. “You’ll see, when we’ve finished.”
Metal clicked against metal as one of them placed a key in the lock. The door creaked on its hinges, then banged shut. A light flicked on, showing through the cracks between weathered boards. Morgan heard Sonny’s voice clearly.
“If the Triceratops bones are the Buried Treasure my father left to Stormy, don’t you think we should give them to her?”
Kurt looked at Morgan and mouthed the words “Stormy Day,” with one eyebrow quirked up. No wonder the woman went by Roxy.
“If you think it’s fair,” Wenda said, “give your daughter a portion of the profit. Your father only left her a partial Triceratops. Her share will be worth more with the brow horn I bought at the mineral show.”
Morgan’s heart jumped.
“The Triceratops horn!” she whispered.
Kurt held a finger to his lips and shook his head.
“You’ll need every penny you can gather to build the Center for Interstellar Diplomacy,” Wenda continued.
“Stormy loved her grandfather.” Sonny’s voice cracked. “She had a better relationship with him than I. That generational thing, you know. Grandparents and grandchildren have a special bond.”
Morgan heard the honking sound of a nose being blown.
“A bond that reached across time,” Sonny said. “Millions of years, you might say.”
“If you insist on letting her have the skeleton, then we keep the horn. I paid plenty for it.”
Morgan frowned and shook her head. “Wenda stole it,” she whispered to Kurt.
“No one saw her,” Kurt whispered back. “How can we prove she stole the horn?”
According to Ingrid, Wenda wasn’t the one who paid the Swedes to stage their fight. Maybe Wenda gave money to the large woman in the Sasquatch T-shirt who then hired Ingrid and Iver. The woman walked out with the brow horn while everyone watched the Swedes. And kidnapped Cleary Fontaine on the way?
“We give the Triceratops to my daughter.” Sonny’s voice assumed a rare tone of command.
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