Stone Cold Blooded (A Rock Shop Mystery)

by Catherine Dilts

  “We give the Triceratops to my daughter.” Sonny’s voice assumed a rare tone of command.

  “Then I will need to sell the horn to my other connection,” Wenda said.

  “I don’t like that idea,” Sonny said.

  “Rhinoceros horns and elk antlers are worth a fortune as aphrodisiacs,” Wenda said. “Those are renewable resources. There is a limited supply of dinosaur horns. If you refuse to sell the fossil to this collector, I have no choice but to get whatever the market will bear for the horn.”

  “Wenda, listen—”

  “Stormy doesn’t need to know about the Triceratops. She’ll be delighted to receive five or ten thousand dollars. You’ll have funds to devote to the Center. That’s fair. A win-win solution.”

  More footsteps sounded in the gravel walk. Morgan peeked around the corner of the outbuilding to glimpse one of the bikers escorting a person dwarfed by his bulk. The shorter man was of the same sturdy build as the biker, but a good foot and a half shorter. The biker banged on the door with a huge fist.

  “Let me handle the negotiations,” Wenda said.

  “I always do,” Sonny said, his tone resigned.

  The door to the outbuilding creaked open, closing with a thump. The biker left. Then Morgan heard the third voice, and the familiar whining nasal tone of her table-neighbor at the mineral show, Buckskin Quinn. Morgan clicked the digital camera to video, hoping it picked up the conversation inside the shed.

  Wenda introduced the men. Quinn began a windy bio listing his many qualifications as a fossil collector. Wenda interrupted him.

  “The price of the horn has gone up. Fifty thousand.”

  “That’s absurd,” Quinn said.

  “We recovered the rest of the Triceratops,” Wenda said. “The price includes the entire dinosaur, not just the horn.”

  “How convenient.” Quinn slathered sarcasm over his words. “But how do you know the horn belongs to the animal you found?”

  “My father left papers,” Sonny said.

  Morgan heard rustling. The three were silent for a minute. Quinn spoke, reading from the document. Morgan knew the words. They were the same on the certificate she and Ned found.

  “ ‘As verified by the University of Wyoming.’ This still doesn’t prove beyond a doubt that your horn belongs to this particular Triceratops.”

  “Circumstances seem to indicate—” Wenda began, but Quinn cut her off.

  “I’m sure you got the horn for a bargain,” he said. “Perhaps even a steal.”

  “Wenda!” Sonny exclaimed. “What is he talking about?”

  “Quinn,” Wenda said, “you must be confused with the Velociraptor theft.”

  “I was there. I saw that Madame Cici woman hand the Swedes an envelope. Are you telling me she wasn’t acting on your orders?” Quinn snorted. “Rather than increasing the price, the fact that the brow horn was stolen reduces it to the bargain rack. Shall we say, fifteen thousand?”

  “I think that’s fair,” Wenda said. “Do you agree, Sonny?”

  “For the horn, plus the entire skeleton,” Quinn added.

  “You leave me no choice,” Wenda said. “What a pity. I had so hoped we could ensure the preservation of this rare find.”

  “I don’t understand.” Sonny sounded confused. “You two have entirely lost me.”

  “That’s why I wanted to do this deal alone,” Wenda said. “Let me handle this. Quinn, the price is fifty thousand, take it or leave it.”

  Buckskin Quinn laughed. “What alternative do you have? No reputable museum will buy the Triceratops from you, with or without the horn. Two other people have claims against the fossil.”

  “That’s a lie,” Wenda said.

  “I believe the niece of Caleb Yates and Eustace Day’s granddaughter might disagree.”

  “You leave me no choice but to go with plan B,” Wenda said. “I have a buyer drooling over the thought of offering authentic dinosaur horn powder in his black-market apothecary.”

  Buckskin Quinn gasped, raising himself a notch in Morgan’s esteem for his outrage.

  “You can‘t allow some quack to destroy a priceless fossil!”

  Morgan had been listening so intently, she did not notice Roxy’s arrival until the woman’s shoulder bumped hers. Morgan nearly shrieked.

  “What’d I miss?” Roxy whispered.

  The whining sound of machinery pierced the quiet night.

  “That must be a grinder.” Kurt spoke in a normal tone of voice. Not much could be heard above the tool. “Sonny and Wenda have Morgan’s brow horn and your Triceratops skeleton in there,” Kurt told Roxy, “and they’re negotiating a price to a fossil dealer.”

  “The dealer is the guy who was at the table next to me at the mineral show,” Morgan explained. “I thought he stole the horn, when actually your father’s assistant did.”

  “That’s just typical of my father,” Roxy said. “He cheated on my mother, and now the cold blooded bastard is stealing my inheritance. I’ve been working my butt off my entire life to support myself. I’m claiming what’s mine.”

  She made a move, but Morgan grabbed the woman’s arm.

  “Wait! We need to discuss our strategy.”

  “Let go! I’m gonna give my old man a piece of his own karma.”

  Roxy broke free from Morgan’s grasp. She rounded the corner of the shed. Morgan and Kurt followed. Roxy yanked open the door.

  Sonny and Wenda looked suitably startled, staring at the large, well-armed woman in green and black face paint. Buckskin Quinn merely smirked.

  “You should have sold me the brow horn when I made an offer,” Quinn said to Morgan. “It would have saved us all a lot of trouble.”

  “It would have saved Wenda a lot of trouble, you mean. She paid a woman to hire the Swedes to stage a fight to distract people.” Morgan named the events one after the other, like a chain of breadcrumbs leading to the solution. Even to her, they sounded confusing. But she knew she had finally strung together the right crumbs in the right order. “Then the woman in the Sasquatch shirt stole the horn.”

  Quinn raised his eyebrows and smiled.

  Morgan jabbed a finger at Quinn. “You watched her walk off with the brow horn, and you did nothing.”

  “Because you suspected the rest of the Triceratops was on this ranch,” Kurt added.

  “My last question is who kidnapped Ned Alafare and Cleary Fontaine, and why?” Morgan asked. “Because it had to be one of you.”

  Morgan placed her hands on her hips and glared. Quinn looked smug, Sonny confused, and Wenda defiant.

  “That ape Madame Cici knocked out the old man with the Triceratops horn,” Wenda said. “She told me he was fine. None of us had anything to do with any kidnappings.”

  “You don’t deny setting up the brow horn theft,” Kurt said.

  Her silence provided the answer.

  “Wenda!” Sonny said. “You should have more faith that the universe will provide.”

  “I’ve been the one providing,” Wenda said. “You have the business sense of a carrot. This was the big break for the Center, and I wasn‘t about to stand back and watch you piss it away.”

  “So you did set up the theft of the brow horn,” Morgan said. “Did you steal the Velociraptor, too?”

  Buckskin Quinn spoke. “I told you that Velociraptor was a fake. Didn’t you hear? McTavish filed an insurance claim for the theft of the fossil. Turns out he stole it himself. It was nothing but an elaborate scam.”

  “Like this little hussy’s plan to steal my inheritance.” Roxy jabbed a finger at Wenda.

  “Once Wenda realized the Buried Treasure was the Triceratops,” Morgan said, “she must have believed that joining the horn with the rest of the fossil would bring in the cash she and Sonny need to rehabilitate this ranch.”

  “You’r
e wrong.” Roxy took a step toward Wenda and Sonny. “The Buried Treasure is the prairie dog breed my grandfather developed.”

  “What prairie dog?” Sonny asked.

  Wenda’s defiance melted into panic, which increased when Roxy pointed at her.

  “What’d you do with my prairie dogs?”

  Wenda reached into her tunic pocket and pulled out a tiny handgun with a pink grip. Morgan had seen the type in a gun store. Designed for a woman to carry in the smallest of pocketbooks, and in a color supposedly appealing to the feminine half of the species. They were still deadly at close range. Being crowded in the outbuilding certainly qualified as close range.

  Morgan met Kurt’s eyes briefly. He gave his head a little shake. She didn’t know whether that meant his gun was still with Del, or he wasn’t ready to draw. Roxy’s fingers twitched, but she left her semiautomatic holstered.

  “That bunch of filthy rodents?” Wenda asked. “They were already loose when I got here, running all over the place.”

  “Those ‘filthy rodents’ are worth a couple grand each,” Roxy said. “Maybe more.”

  Wenda looked alarmed at the thought of the thousands of dollars she had let escape.

  “That wasn’t our fault,” Wenda said, sharing the blame with anonymous others. “The fence was already down. It was blown apart when your grandfather killed himself.”

  “Grandpa didn’t commit suicide. It was you, wanting to get your manicured paws on his property.”

  “Your father has been planning the Center for Interstellar Diplomacy for years. It was just a happy turn of circumstance that this property came to him when it did.”

  “Happy?” Roxy’s chin quivered briefly, then clenched in rage. “Happy?”

  “Wenda,” Sonny said in a near whisper. “Did you kill my father?”

  Wenda’s lipstick-coated mouth opened in shock. If she was faking it, she was convincing.

  “I would never harm another human.”

  “Really?” Morgan asked. “Then what are you planning to do with that gun?” She pointed at the offending little firearm.

  They all jumped as a loud thump sounded from the corner.

  “What are you doing?” Sonny asked.

  Buckskin Quinn placed another plaster-encased dinosaur part into a wheelbarrow with a dull thud. “I’ll leave you to your family squabble. I have business to attend to.”

  “You’re not leaving,” Wenda said. “We haven’t worked out our deal.”

  “There is no deal,” Roxy said. “The dinosaur is mine.”

  “And the brow horn is mine,” Morgan said.

  “It’s all mine,” Quinn said in his whiney voice. “The entire beast. I argued with Eustace for a decade over this Triceratops. He wouldn’t listen to reason, or accept my generous offers, and I can see that neither will any of you. I’ll not listen to any more quibbling.”

  “You will,” Wenda said, aiming the handgun at his heart.

  “Ah, but your little pink gun is small comfort against a bucket of explosives.” Quinn held his hands palms up and shrugged. “Wouldn’t that be a shame? To blow to bits an entire Triceratops? Not to mention several human lives.” His smile was malicious under the white goatee.

  “Several more, you mean?” Morgan asked. “You left Cleary Fontaine to die in an abandoned building. Why? Because he saw who stole the horn? How did that help you?”

  Kurt pointed a finger at Quinn. “Because you knew the thief worked for Sonny Day. You knew the horn was going to be reunited with the rest of the fossil. The fossil you couldn’t find, despite killing Eustace Day. Just follow Sonny, and you’d find the fossil.”

  “What about Ned Alafare?” Morgan asked the question of Kurt as much as of Quinn. “How did his kidnapping fit in? Quinn, were you going to kill him after he got the ransom money for the fake Triceratops horn?”

  Quinn did not give Kurt time to work that puzzle out.

  “I’ve had enough of the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys routine.” He nodded at Wenda. “Put your lady gun away, and I won’t give the signal to ignite the explosives.” He held up one finger. “Don’t touch your cell phones. I’m sure you can imagine the result.”

  Wenda lowered her gun, then slid it into her tunic pocket. Quinn rolled the wheelbarrow to the door, struggling with the weight. He kicked open the shed door to the dark night.

  “Remain here for twenty minutes. If I or my cohorts see this door open, boom!”

  The only sound for thirty seconds was of the wheelbarrow crunching across gravel, and the panicked breathing of the inhabitants of the outbuilding.

  Kurt pressed an ear to the door. “The biker that brought Quinn left. There’s no guard.”

  “Someone might be watching from afar,” Sonny said.

  “That sawed-off mountain man killed grandpa over a fossil.” Roxy turned to her father. “You heard him. He as much as admitted it, right? Blew him up. Did you have anything to do with it?”

  “Of course not,” Sonny said.

  “Not even to inherit this property?” Kurt asked.

  Sonny made a sour face. “It would have been more financially wise to purchase land not requiring major clean up. I couldn’t chance that any of my father’s booby traps remained active. Do you have any idea how much land mine sweepers charge?”

  “I don’t believe Quinn,” Morgan said. “About the twenty minutes. He’s bluffing. I say we leave.”

  She reached for the door, but Wenda grabbed her wrist with surprising strength.

  “Hey,” Kurt said. “Hands off.”

  Wenda’s hand went to her pocket as Kurt’s went to his back.

  “I’ve got a gun, too,” he said. “And it’s a lot larger than yours.”

  They glared at each other for a moment before silently declaring a truce.

  “Suppose Quinn is telling the truth?” Sonny asked. “We should not die for the rash decision made by one person. No. We have to be in agreement on our course of action. I say we wait the twenty minutes.”

  “I don’t believe the little twerp,” Roxy said. “I say we go after him.”

  “I agree with Sonny,” Wenda said. “The Triceratops has been dead a long time. I want to live.” She looked up at Sonny with the same cow eyes Morgan had seen her use on Burke.

  Sonny turned to Roxy, taking her hands in his. “Stormy, my precious daughter, if we die now, we’ll go to the next plane of existence without healing our relationship.”

  Morgan had heard enough. She squeezed around the workbench and pressed her hand against the back wall of the shed.

  “What are you doing?” Wenda asked.

  “Looking for a loose board,” she said. “Kurt, remember this spring when Houdini did his disappearing act through the barn wall? This shed looks as old as my barn, and not as well built.”

  Kurt joined her, testing boards with his hands.

  “Stop!” Wenda screamed. “That horrible little man said he would blow us up!”

  “If he has someone watching,” Morgan said, “they’re watching the door, right? And Sonny, you said you hired a service to get rid of all the explosives.”

  He didn’t answer. Roxy joined Kurt and Morgan in the corner, but instead of delicately pushing her hands against the shed wall to test for loose boards, she raised a leg and kicked hard. A board splintered with a loud crack.

  Wenda shrieked. Then everyone was silent, waiting for the promised explosion.

  Nothing happened.

  Kurt shouldered his way through the narrow opening, which was not easy for a man his size. Morgan followed. The night air was chilly after being crowded in the shed heated by half a dozen anxious bodies.

  They heard an engine. Morgan pulled out her phone to call Chief Sharp.

  “No signal,” she said.

  “This way,” Sonny said.

  They ran
, following him to the fifth wheel trailer and a large detached truck.

  “I pegged you for driving one of those stupid cars,” Roxy said. “Oh, you probably call them smart.”

  “Living in the wilderness requires a sturdier vehicle,” Sonny said.

  They all clambered in as Sonny fired up the eight cylinders. The truck roared to life, spraying dirt as he gunned it to the driveway. No repairs had been done to the rutted drive. The passengers struggled to fasten seat belts as they bounced on the leather seats. On Hill Street, Morgan could see the lights of the escaping vehicle pass the rock shop entrance. She checked her phone, dialing the Golden Springs police as soon as she had signal.

  Chief Sharp advised them to stop chasing a potential murder suspect, but no one in the truck wanted to chance losing the vehicle and its valuable cargo. They needed to get Quinn’s license plate number. They had to catch the murderer. At least, that’s what they told each other as they careened down Hill Street.

  Morgan leaned forward from her seat, squished between Kurt and Stormy Roxy Day. They were gaining on Quinn as he neared Main Street.

  His brake lights blinked on. The truck fishtailed.

  Sonny slammed on his brakes, throwing everyone against their seat belts. The truck slid sideways across the gravel. Morgan and Wenda screamed while the rest of the passengers cursed.

  The truck stopped. Morgan opened her eyes.

  “We caught him!” Sonny said.

  Morgan brushed sweat-damp curls away from her face to peer out the back passenger window. Buckskin Quinn’s truck sat on the splintered remains of Piers Townsend’s new fence.

  “We haven’t got him yet,” Kurt said.

  Quinn gunned his engine, but the back tires spun uselessly. He emerged from his truck looking dazed, balancing precariously on the pile of splintered lumber. As Kurt opened the passenger door to Sonny’s truck, Morgan grabbed his arm.

  “It’s not worth getting hurt over a dead Triceratops,” she said.

  “Here.” He handed Morgan his gun.

  “You might need it,” she said.

  “I’d be too tempted to use it.”

  “While you’re arguing, Quinn’s escaping.” Roxy flung open her door. “He’s not getting away. He killed my grandpa.”