Stone Cold Blooded (A Rock Shop Mystery)

by Catherine Dilts

  Might as well get it over with.

  The phone rang seven times, with no sign that the call would go to voicemail, when someone finally picked up.

  “Hello?” The voice was gruff and raspy.

  “May I speak to Roxy Day?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Morgan Iverson. Miss Day left a message—”

  “I’m Roxy. And you’re the detective.”

  “No,” Morgan said. “I’m not a detective. I just run the Rock of Ages.”

  “Yeah, but you found that girl’s killer,” Roxy said. “We need to talk. I’m in town. How about I run up the hill in a few minutes?”

  “I’m in South Dakota,” Morgan said. “I’ll be back Sunday.”

  “Lordy. You took your sweet time calling me back.”

  “My daughter just had a baby, my first grandchild, and I’ve been a little distracted.”

  Instead of understanding, Roxy released a disgruntled sigh.

  “Can’t be helped, I suppose. But on all those C. S. and I. shows, they say the first twenty-four hours are the most important. Lots more than that has passed.”

  “The police are investigating your grandfather’s death. I can’t help you with that.”

  “Right. Like the cops care about some old crank that only gave them fits. Grandpa Day was a burr in the side of authority. They aren’t going to dig very deep. So are you interested in talking to me or not?”

  “I’ll call you when I get back in town,” Morgan said.

  “Good. I’ll be waiting. I’d like you to get started on my case right away.”

  Before Morgan could say anything more, Roxy Day hung up.

  * * *

  Dinner was definitely not a disaster. The food was excellent, and the conversation entertaining. Joan’s boyfriend Skylar was a philosophy professor at the University of South Dakota at Sioux Falls. His nephew Ford, who did appear to be close to Skylar’s age, was charming, nice looking, and a successful finance counselor.

  “What do you do in Golden Springs?” Ford asked.

  “I manage a rock shop with my brother and his wife.”

  This led to a description of Golden Springs. Then Joan mentioned Morgan’s involvement in two murder investigations. Morgan realized she had made the small mountain town sound too appealing when Ford commented that it sounded like a great place to visit.

  This was probably the point at which she should mention her boyfriend. Morgan wished she had told the ladies about Kurt. Bringing him up now would be awkward. This wasn’t a date, after all. At the conclusion of the meal, Joan double-crossed her.

  “Morgan, would you mind giving Ford a ride home? His house is closer to your daughter’s than to my apartment.”

  It was a dirty trick.

  Even more so when Morgan saw that Ford owned one of the expensive gentleman’s ranches just before Sarah and Russ’s rustic neighborhood. Morgan focused on the road. How much of a commitment was she willing to make to Kurt Willard, editor of the Golden Springs Gazetteer and possessor of baggage in the form of two teenage sons and a spoiled ex-wife? There was no reason Morgan couldn’t follow her friend Joan’s example. No reason, except her own ingrained stodgy moral code and her undeniable affection for Kurt. So much for the playgirl lifestyle.

  “Nice place,” Morgan said as she pulled onto a circular driveway.

  “I’d be happy to give you a tour,” Ford said.

  “Maybe another time,” Morgan said.

  Ford smiled. “I hope there will be a next time.”

  She panicked for a moment when she feared he was going to expect a goodnight kiss, but instead Ford extended a hand. They exchanged parting pleasantries while he held her hand. Finally, he opened the passenger door.

  “Have a safe trip home,” he said.

  She watched him enter through the front door, catching a glimpse of a foyer that was larger than the rock shop’s combination kitchen-dining-living room. As he shut the door, Morgan felt she had closed the door on a possibility. She drove toward Russ and Sarah’s, musing over the different direction her life might take if she chose to stick around Sioux Falls.

  Then it hit her so hard she had to pull to the side of the road, gripping the steering wheel tight with both hands. What she felt for Kurt Willard, newspaperman and small town political hopeful, wasn’t merely a convenient mid-life friendship. She loved the guy.

  * * *

  Friday morning, Morgan and David rented a small trailer that would not strain the truck’s aging engine on the long drive to the foothills of Colorado. They picked judiciously from the contents of the rented storage units, consolidating the two down to one.

  Goodbyes were hard. Travel seemed unlikely for any of them in the near future. It would be months before Sarah and the baby could handle the trip to Golden Springs, and at least that long before Morgan’s budget recovered enough to buy another plane ticket.

  They left Sarah and Russ’s after dark, planning to take turns driving all night and most of Saturday. Morgan tried to hide her tears, until David assured her he didn’t mind if she needed to cry. In a painfully earned wisdom from losing his father in his teenage years, he told Morgan it was better to just cry and get it over with. Morgan wondered how many tears David had shed in his twenty-two years, and that made her cry a little harder.

  The trip was tedious. By midmorning, and after plenty of truck stop coffee, David seemed talkative, for him. He took after his father, the strong silent type.

  “I could have signed on for the next job,” David said, surprising Morgan. “Do you think that was a dumb decision, passing up a job?”

  “No,” Morgan said too quickly. She thought about her response before she spoke again. “You might not have the opportunity to jump up and travel later in life.”

  He nodded as he stared at the prairie through the truck’s windshield. “You’re right. Look at Sarah and Russ. First, they tied themselves down with the house and land. Now they’ve got a baby to consider before they can do anything.”

  They rode in silence for several miles as a dark line wrinkled on the horizon. Morgan’s heart beat a little faster. Was it a cloud bank, or could she see mountains already?

  “On the other hand,” David said, “Russ and Sarah will have that property paid off way before they retire. And Gregory, well, he’s sure worth it.”

  Mature talk. Morgan had to wonder how serious he was about Chelsea. Her children were growing up way too fast.

  “You seem to have a lot on your mind,” Morgan said.

  David shrugged. “I guess that’s why I decided to come. I can pick up another construction job when I get back.”

  “And once you finish your engineering degree, there are other opportunities.”

  David was quiet for so long that the wrinkle on the horizon resolved into distant mountains.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would it be okay, I mean after I’m settled, to maybe invite Chelsea for a visit? She hasn’t seen mountains.”

  * * *

  The last miles were the worst. Morgan tried to stay awake while David drove. When they reached Granite Junction, Morgan sent Kurt a text message. He texted back an invitation to dinner, which Morgan declined. They were too tired from the drive, she texted.

  David glanced at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “I’m a modern grandma,” Morgan said by way of explaining her flurry of messages. “I know how to text, and I carry photos of my grandbaby on my cell phone instead of in my purse.”

  David laughed. “No problem, Mom. I’m glad you’re up on technology.”

  She hoped he would also be glad she had a boyfriend. They switched places after filling the gas tank one last time. Morgan drove the rest of the way to Golden Springs, and to Bernie’s behind-the-bakery parking lot. Bernie greeted them at the back doo
r. She still wore her pink striped apron and matching chef’s hat, even though the bakery was closed for the evening.

  “Come on in! You must be David.”

  After introductions, Bernie made Morgan and David sit in the bakery kitchen for a bowl of soup and a sandwich. On a counter, a game show played on the television.

  “Thanks, Ms. Belmont. Real food. I was getting sick of fast food.”

  “Call me Bernie,” she said.

  “Aren’t you going to join us?” Morgan asked.

  “I already ate,” Bernie said.

  Morgan didn’t believe her. Dark crescents sagged under each eye. Bernie looked exhausted. Before Morgan left town, Bernie had vowed to diet sensibly. Now Morgan wondered if her friend had eaten a proper meal in the entire week she’d been gone.

  “Get whatever you want from the day old basket for later,” Bernie said. “I’m on a diet, and if I keep food in the apartment, it drives me crazy.”

  After dinner in the bakery kitchen, they climbed the narrow stairs to Bernie’s apartment. Bernie gave David blankets and a pillow to make a pallet on the floor.

  “I’m sorry I can’t offer you better accommodations.”

  “Bernie, I’m just grateful we both have a place to sleep tonight,” Morgan said. “We’ll figure out something for tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” David said. “This’ll be fine. I’m so tired, I could sleep on a bed of nails.”

  He was soon sound asleep. Morgan was keyed up from the drive and countless cups of coffee. She considered calling Roxy to let her know she was back in Colorado, but Roxy sounded like the type to get cranky if her sleep was disturbed.

  Morgan texted Kurt that she and David were safely at Bernie’s. He texted back that he had taken the boys to a baseball game in Granite Junction. Morgan imagined Zulina in the bleachers, dressed for a fashion show and drawing all the male attention. She decided not to ask, and plugged her phone into a charger. Morgan slept so hard, she didn’t hear Bernie leaving for Mass in the morning.

  Fortunately, the Golden Springs Community Church held their services later than the Catholic Church. When Morgan woke to sun filtering through the lace living room curtains, she still had time to make it. David looked up through one eye as Morgan stepped out of the bathroom, dressed for church.

  “Want to go with me, or keep sleeping?” she asked.

  David mumbled something unintelligible, then pulled the blanket over his head.

  Morgan wondered how many church services David had missed lately. He had worked last Sunday. This morning, it was understandable that he wanted to sleep in. Still, she worried about his faith.

  “Hold on,” David mumbled. “I’ll go. There are people I want to see.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lush grass stretched from colorful flowerbeds to the curb. Rounded leaves on the aspens to the right of the entrance quaked in the gentle breeze. The stonework, wood shingle roof, and stained glass windows made the church appear as aged as the town, but while Golden Springs had been in existence since 1876, the church building was not much older than Morgan’s son.

  The exhaustion from the long drive slipped away as Morgan climbed out of David’s truck. She might be sleeping on other peoples’ sofas, exiled from both the rock shop and her house in Sioux Falls, but at least she had a spiritual home.

  “Hey, cool,” David said. “Mom, look.”

  David pointed to the outdoor message board. Morgan had to read it twice. “Kendall Yates guest pastor.” Apparently, he held no hard feelings the church elders had turned him down for the permanent position. There was no time to digest the information. She and David barely made it to the pew shared by the church kitchen ladies in time for the opening hymn. As they rose to sing, Morgan noticed Kurt and his sons across the aisle and several pews closer to the stage.

  The newspaper editor had only recently begun attending services. Morgan’s elation was tempered by dread at the prospect of David meeting Kurt. She wished she had broached the topic of her love life during the long drive from South Dakota. Morgan wondered if she was ready for a relationship with Kurt when she neglected to tell her children and her old friends about him.

  Two verses into a familiar hymn, the sound of clacking heels echoed down the aisle. Beatrice elbowed Morgan. The main tender of the gossip grapevine was on high alert.

  “Look who’s here,” she whispered.

  Light from a stained glass window dappled Zulina Jones’s white summer suit with color. A white hat rested on top of a mass of dark curls, the colorful silk scarf that served as a hatband trailing down her back. She made a show of searching the pews, until Burke and Jase caught wind of their mother’s presence, or perhaps they caught a whiff of the expensive perfume enveloping the woman. The boys waved her over. Zulina wormed her way down the pew, whispering “excuse me” loudly enough to be heard through the entire sanctuary, then plopped between Kurt and Burke.

  Morgan felt her blood pressure shoot through the rafters. Fortunately for Kurt, he looked properly shocked as he struggled to create personal space between him and his ex-wife. And yet he didn’t eject her from the pew. Or the building. Morgan suddenly regretted not taking the tour of Ford’s ranch house.

  The church, Morgan’s haven from the travails of life, had erupted into the perfect storm. Before she could experience a complete meltdown, her brother stepped to the podium. In Morgan’s current mood, she wouldn’t have minded a hellfire and brimstone sermon. A reading of Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God by colonial-era preacher Jonathan Edwards would have done just fine.

  Instead, his message suited the middle-of-the-road congregation, with perhaps a touch more passion and exhortation than was typical. Morgan had to admit her brother was quite good. Kendall had managed to turn her thoughts from Zulina Jones to the Higher Power. Which made her wonder why he hadn’t gotten the job.

  * * *

  The congregation moved to the social hall for cookies and coffee. Morgan was excused from her usual role as a church kitchen lady to show her cell phone photos of Gregory. When Allie brought Marissa into the social hall, the dark-eyed baby with impossibly long, thick eyelashes stole center stage. Cindy no longer held the position of the most recent mother in the congregation. She was probably already scheming on how to talk Herb into baby number seven. Comparing baby statistics distracted Morgan almost completely from Kurt and his entourage.

  Morgan had to give Zulina credit. Her sons were polite, chatting with small town strangers with poise. When the boys headed her way, Morgan had a little moment of panic.

  “Good morning Ms. Iverson.”

  Dark braids zigzagged across Burke’s scalp in an inventive pattern, gathered at the back of his neck in a thick ponytail. Jase’s blond Afro rose in a narrow column that added another six inches to his already considerable height. Both wore slacks and long-sleeved dress shirts that looked expensive.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” Morgan said. “Jase, Burke, this is my son David.”

  “I was heading downstairs to find some old friends,” David said. “Want to join me?”

  The three seemed eager to hang out with others their age, after their stint of mingling with the older population in the social hall. As they vanished down the stairs, Morgan noticed Zulina watching. She caught Morgan’s eye for an instant, then returned to her conversation. Zulina stuck to Kurt like a burr to a saddle blanket, but after the boys left the social hall, the woman made a dramatic exit.

  * * *

  In the church kitchen, Beatrice pumped Morgan for statistics about Gregory’s arrival. Duration of labor, time of birth, length, weight, eye color. Morgan tried to relay the details with accuracy, knowing the heavy-set woman with the steel-gray hair and navy blue polyester pantsuit would disseminate every tidbit before the day was done.

  “Your grandson is handsome,” Teruko said, her soft words flavored with a slight
Japanese accent. The elderly WWII bride wore a cream-colored linen jacket and mid-calf skirt. Her white hair formed a soft cloud of curls above a delicate and finely lined face.

  “He’s the image of Sam,” Beatrice said with authority.

  Morgan shrugged. “I do see a resemblance to his father, Russ.”

  “You won’t know who he really looks like for years,” Anna said.

  Dressed in a casual safari jacket and khaki slacks, Anna typically wore a power suit to her job at the newspaper. She would know why her boss Kurt had been too busy to return Morgan’s calls. Morgan hoped to do her own gossip mining later with Anna, but for now the conversation continued on the topic of grandchildren. Beatrice pulled out photos, while Teruko rummaged in her purse for photos of grand and a few great-grandchildren. After comparing their photos to Gregory’s, they got busy washing dishes and cleaning the kitchen.

  “I couldn’t help but notice Kurt Willard’s wife making a grand entrance just before the sermon began,” Beatrice said.

  “She does like to be noticed.” Anna loaded coffee cups into the dishwasher.

  Teruko sat at the small kitchen table, sipping chamomile tea. Ever the peacemaker, she added her thoughts.

  “I have heard she is a movie costume designer.” Teruko’s words were tremulous with age. “It is her business to make grand entrances.”

  Beatrice sniffed. “Is it her business to sit in a man’s lap during services? Even if he is her husband.”

  “Beatrice, really.” Anna shook her head. “You know Zulina is Kurt’s former wife. They aren’t married now. Haven’t been for a long time.”

  “I did not see,” Teruko said. “Did she really sit on Kurt’s lap?”

  “Figuratively speaking,” Beatrice said.

  “In other words, no,” Anna added. “I’m sure Kurt was mortified.”

  Maybe Morgan wouldn’t need to pry gossip out of Anna. She seemed ready to defend her boss right here and now.

  “Kurt was just being polite for the sake of his sons,” Anna continued. “What could he do? Throw Zulina out of the church?”

  “She seems pretty chummy if she’s no longer in the picture.” Beatrice focused on Morgan. “Pete Melcher was asking about you. He missed seeing you at church last Sunday.”