Stone Cold Case (A Rock Shop Mystery)

by Catherine Dilts

  “Did you see him?”

  “Not right away. When I heard the noises, I headed back to the kitchen, hoping whatever was inside didn’t notice me sneaking away. After I called you, I heard barking. I thought maybe a dog had fallen inside the Dumpster and was trapped. So I turned around just as a head popped up. Not a dog. A human, more or less, with a long scraggly beard and ratty clothes.”

  “Smelled bad?”

  “I didn’t get that close, and it is a Dumpster.”

  “Right. Did you see the dog?”

  “Yes, or was it a wolf? It jumped out and chased me. I got inside and called the chief. That’s it. The whole story.”

  Morgan helped Bernie assemble a tray of to-go coffees and pastries, then went outside to help her distribute them. When Chief Sharp sipped real coffee, he smiled. The deputy rustled around inside the Dumpster. Morgan heard the click of the camera’s shutter.

  “Shouldn’t you tell your partner about the coffee?” Del asked.

  “He’s busy,” Chief Sharp said.

  “Holy moly!” echoed from inside the Dumpster. The deputy’s arm shot out, his hand clad in a disposable glove. “Look at this!”

  They all leaned toward the Dumpster, then pulled back in unison, with expressions of disgust at the smell. Pinched between J.B.’s thumb and forefinger was a diamond engagement ring.

  “I haven’t had any reports of a missing or stolen ring,” the deputy said.

  Chief Sharp pulled on a glove and took the ring from the deputy. “No one’s been missing this ring for a long time.”

  “Is it Carlee Kruger’s?” Morgan asked.

  The chief ignored her. “Deputy Parker, get the evidence bagged up, then we’d better look for that guy.”

  “I’d be happy to make some calls,” Del said. “Get some of the boys helping you search.”

  “We don’t need a bunch of vigilantes and wannabe cops running around town,” the chief said. “I just want to ask this guy some questions.”

  “Then how about letting people know to be watching for the guy?” Del asked. “Surely that couldn’t hurt.”

  Bernie looked anxiously from Del to the chief.

  “I need to take a statement from Miss Belmont,” Chief Sharp said. “I don’t need for any citizens to go off half-cocked. There’s been no crime committed here, as far as we know. Why don’t you just go home and take it easy, Mr. Addison?”

  The crowd dispersed, and people got back to minding their own business. Morgan and Del opened the shop early. They had settled into dull routine when Beatrice pulled up.

  “I just came from the bakery. Bernie told me about her run-in with the mountain man. Awfully strange. Why is he in Golden Springs now, when no one ever saw him in town before?”

  “I have a theory,” Del said. “The police took Carlee’s bones away, and the mountain man is searching for her.”

  “He might have been just looking for food,” Morgan said. “Bernie’s Dumpster must contain some real treats.”

  Del ignored her comment. “Did Bernie tell you about the ring?” he asked.

  “No,” Beatrice said.

  “Deputy Parker found a diamond ring in the Dumpster,” Del said, “mixed in with the mountain man’s gear.”

  “Carlee had an engagement ring, as I recall,” Beatrice said. “Jade Tinsley gave it to her.”

  “Then Gerda might remember if it’s Carlee’s,” Morgan said.

  Del tugged at his mustache. “Or it could have been dropped in there by some woman who’s now frantic. And for that matter, it might not even be real. Could have been a kid’s toy.”

  “It looked real to me,” Morgan said.

  Del nodded. “Me, too. I’m just sayin’.”

  “Hopefully we’ll find out soon.” Beatrice sat on the aspen bench. She obviously had more to say. “There was an emergency meeting of the church elders last night.”

  “I heard your pastor had a heart attack,” Del said. “How’s he doing?”

  “He resigned.”

  Morgan grimaced, remembering with guilt her uncharitable thoughts about Pastor Filbury’s dull sermons.

  “He told the elders he’s been contemplating retirement for some time now,” Beatrice said. “When his doctor suggested he retire, Mrs. Filbury jumped on the idea. She’s wanted to move closer to their children for years now, or so I hear. It’s a disaster for the church.”

  Morgan considered a new pastor might draw a larger, younger crowd. But she couldn’t say that to one of Pastor Filbury’s biggest fans.

  “They’ll find a suitable replacement.”

  “I’m not just worried about the church,” Beatrice said. “If Pastor Filbury leaves Golden Springs, his seat on City Council will be open. If Piers Townsend or somebody like that wins the seat, power will go to the wrong crowd.”

  Piers and his faction had already tried once to rezone the Rock of Ages, a move that could have caused Morgan to lose the property to developers.

  “There’ll be an election to replace him, right?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Seems to me,” Del drawled, “you need to decide on a candidate now, and convince him or her to start campaigning.”

  The previous night had been anything but restful. As Morgan crawled under her comforter, she relished the feel of clean sheets and a soft bed. She dropped off to a deep, dreamless sleep almost instantly.

  A sound intruded. Not the sighing of wind through the pines, or the scratching of an aspen branch against the side of the house. Those she could ignore.

  Braying.

  Morgan was out of bed and half dressed before she was fully awake. She ran into the narrow hallway, and nearly into Del, who was hopping on one foot while he pulled a cowboy boot onto the other.

  “The donkeys,” Morgan said. “Something’s wrong.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  * * *

  Morgan grabbed her jacket off a peg. She threw open the kitchen door, panicked by the insistent braying of the donkey.

  “Bring your cell phone,” Del said, “in case we need to call the vet.”

  Adelaide, a donkey of advanced years, was with foal for the first time in her life. Morgan and Del raced toward the barn, following the hoarse, raucous braying.

  “Over there.”

  Del aimed his flashlight. Morgan followed with her own shaky beam. A man and a dog loped across the pasture, followed closely by Houdini. The female donkey waddled several yards behind him. Del pulled his handgun out of the holster strapped under his left arm. Morgan placed a hand on his arm.

  “You might hit Houdini.”

  “He’s too far away.” Del replaced his gun in the holster. “Did you get a good look?”

  “In the dark?”

  “The moon’s pretty bright.”

  “Even from this distance,” Morgan said, “I’m sure it was Big Foot. Ratty clothes. Wild hair. Wolf dog.”

  The donkeys abandoned the chase at the rear pasture fence. Beyond loomed the dark form of a mountain, part of which Morgan and her brother owned. The donkeys walked purposefully toward Morgan and Del.

  “Yet again,” Morgan said, “I wish those two could talk.”

  “You don’t call that braying talking?”

  Morgan rubbed Adelaide’s forehead. “Good girl.”

  Houdini demanded attention. Del wrapped an arm around the donkey’s neck and gave him a squeeze.

  “You earned your feed again, boy.”

  Del looked toward his trailer, perched behind the barn. Years ago, Kendall and Allie had let the old cowboy park his single-wide trailer on Rock of Ages land. Del had been a fixture ever since, although after his accident with the chainsaw, he had moved into the rock shop living quarters.

  “Hey, my door’s open.” Del strode across the pasture toward the trailer. The door swung in the breeze, knocking against the side of the trailer. “Must have been that guy Houdini chased off.” Del peered inside, shining his flashlight around. “Looks like he’s been in here.”
>
  Del set a foot on a wooden step to the trailer door. The board sagged.

  “Del, be careful.”

  He grasped the doorframe and clambered inside. Morgan followed. Everything looked intact, as far as she could tell. A threadbare sofa, a television with a coat hanger and aluminum foil antenna, a tiny kitchen. Del disappeared down a narrow hallway.

  Morgan waited in the living room, scanning the small room with her flashlight. Water stains on the ceiling matched spots on the shag carpet.

  “He stole my jacket!” Del yelled.

  Chief Sharp bounced up the rutted drive to Del’s trailer in his SUV, the lights flashing red and blue against the side of the trailer, the barn, and the donkeys.

  “First Miss Belmont wakes me up at o-dark-thirty with her Sasquatch in a Dumpster,” Chief Sharp said, “then you two drag me out of bed in the middle of the night for a thief in a trailer house. I need to catch this guy before I suffer any more sleep deprivation.”

  “He took off across the pasture when Houdini chased him,” Del said. “He might of left tracks.”

  Del led the chief in the general direction the mountain man had run, their flashlights dancing back and forth across the pasture. Morgan held onto Houdini’s halter. He seemed eager to join the investigation. The men disappeared beyond the back fence and into the pine trees covering the mountain.

  Morgan waited, listening. A breeze kicked up. May in the mountains alternated chilly weather with intensely beautiful spring days. They had enjoyed a stretch of sunny days in the fifties and sixties, but cold was moving in again. Morgan shivered.

  “How about we go inside?” she asked the donkeys.

  Not waiting for a reply, she headed into the barn through the open stalls. Houdini and Adelaide followed, perhaps hoping for seconds on dinner. Morgan obliged them with a handful of oats each.

  Hay rustled in the loft. Mice. Maybe she did need a cat. But not one like Bernie’s pampered Mr. Whiskers. No, Morgan needed a hungry mouser.

  Del and Bill Sharp finally came back.

  “Couldn’t track him in the dark,” Chief Sharp said. “I doubt I’ll have much more luck in the morning, but J.B. and I will drop by and give it a shot.”

  Friday morning Morgan ran to the hardware store to pick up a lock and hasp for Del’s trailer. He stayed behind to stand guard, convinced that his trailer was at risk of another break-in. Morgan avoided the temptation to stop at Bernie’s for coffee and conversation. As she drove up Hill Street, her cell phone rang. Morgan pulled to the side of the narrow dirt road. There wasn’t much traffic, so it wasn’t like blocking half of the uphill lane would bother anyone. The caller ID showed her daughter’s name. Morgan pawed through her purse for the headset that had come with her phone, gave up, and held the phone to her ear.

  “Sarah?”

  “Mom, I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls. The doctor told me to slow down, and I guess I did. I slept most of the last few days. Russ told me you talked to him, and he gave you the updates, so I wasn’t in a hurry to call back.”

  “Yes, Russ let me know he had things well in hand.”

  “I’m sorry if he was abrupt with you, but Russ was really scared. There’s not anything wrong with me or the baby that rest wouldn’t cure. I feel better already. If Russ overreacted—”

  “Don’t apologize for your husband. I understand Russ’s viewpoint. I need to trust him more.”

  “Has Uncle Kendall called you yet?”

  Morgan caught a glimpse of movement through the cotton-wood trees. They had only begun to leaf out, a blush of green on the bare branches, but the trees were thick along the irrigation ditch.

  “Mom?”

  “Sorry. I thought I saw something. It was probably one of my neighbor’s cows. No, I haven’t heard from Kendall. Not recently. If you don’t want me to tell him about your situation, let me know. With all the troubles Allie had, they would worry about you even more than I do.”

  Her brother Kendall and his wife Allie had been unable to have children, enduring several miscarriages.

  “He called earlier today,” Sarah said. “I didn’t mention anything about doctor’s orders and all that. There’s nothing they can do from that far away. I couldn’t understand him really well. The line was full of static. But it sounded like he and Allie are coming home. I was hoping he called you so I’d know if it was true.”

  Morgan’s heart skipped a beat. That’s what she had wanted, three months ago. Now that she was settled in, Kendall could stay in the Central American jungle forever, as far as she was concerned.

  “Coming home for good,” Morgan asked, “or for a visit?”

  “I’m not even sure I heard the ‘coming home’ part correctly.”

  “It would be nice if he’d let me know.”

  Another flash of movement caught Morgan’s eye. Vernon Dalton raised a small herd of cattle. He and his wife Sherry sold beef quarters and halves, and homemade jerky.

  “I’m sure Uncle Kendall will catch up with you soon. I talked to David, too.”

  Family communication was certainly healthy these days. Except that Morgan was excluded from the loop. She felt obsolete.

  “I did finally have a conversation with him,” Morgan said.

  “He said he wasn’t interested at first in spending the summer at the rock shop, but then he talked to some friends who were envious of all the outdoors stuff he could do, so now he’s considering the idea. He told me he knew he wouldn’t make as much money working for you, but then he wouldn’t be paying rent, so he could still save for fall semester.”

  If Kendall and Allie did come home, and David showed up, the tiny living quarters would be cramped. Morgan envisioned the Rock of Ages becoming like the little old woman in the nursery rhyme who lived in an overpopulated shoe. Two beds. The current tally was now five people. Something had to give. She would just have to hope Sarah had misunderstood her uncle’s phone call.

  They chatted another couple of minutes. Long distance and her imagination had made mountains out of molehills. Still, Morgan looked forward to seeing them in person. She placed her phone back in her purse and put the car in gear.

  There it was again. Something moving in the field. Then she heard the familiar raspy bray of a donkey.

  “Houdini!”

  The escape artist donkey had managed to leave his home pasture, cross Hill Street, and find a way onto the Dalton ranch. Morgan turned off the Buick’s engine and climbed out. She zipped up her lilac fleece jacket and pulled a knit cap over her dark curls. The door of her late model car made a ridiculous amount of noise, creaking, then closing with a loud bang. Houdini glanced her way, his ears showing above the tall grass like a shark fin in the ocean, but he was a donkey on a mission.

  Ancient cottonwood trees hugged the banks of the three-foot-deep irrigation ditch. Morgan dashed across the gravel road and slid down the side of the ditch. She waded through knee-high weeds, hopped over water rushing with spring snow-melt, then clambered up the other side.

  Houdini ignored Morgan’s pleading. She followed the stubborn donkey across the pasture and along a barbed wire fence. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. Morgan plodded along behind him, knowing she could not catch him unless he let her. But she couldn’t leave him on another person’s property.

  A dozen cattle moved toward an open gate. Houdini trotted ahead of the herd and stood his ground, blocking them. Morgan hadn’t known that herding cattle was in the donkey’s repertoire. The reddish-brown bovines moved slowly, grabbing mouthfuls of grass as they plodded along. One finally came nose to nose with Houdini. The small gray donkey nipped the heifer’s nose. If the cattle wanted through that gate badly enough, they might trample him.

  “Houdini!” Morgan called. “Come here, boy!”

  He ignored her, preoccupied with herding angry cattle.

  “Ho! What’s going on?”

  The man’s voice called from behind Morgan. She turned, and through the trees saw a person dressed in wha
t could have been Del’s stolen clothes. Dull colors. Thickly padded for cool weather. The kind of garb worn by ranchers and outdoors people in Colorado. And by thieving Sasquatches.

  Then Morgan saw the beard. Her heart missed a beat or two, until she realized these whiskers were neatly groomed. Vernon Dalton was probably wondering what her meddling donkey was doing in his pasture.

  “I’m so sorry,” Morgan said. “Houdini must have gotten a gate open.”

  “Impossible.”

  Vernon’s cheeks were ruddy above long whiskers, and his brown hair was close-cropped under a hand-knit wool stocking cap. He carried a .22 rifle in the crook of his arm.

  “My gates are all donkey-proof,” Vernon said. “This isn’t the first time someone’s trespassed on my property and left gates open.”

  An inviolable law of the West was to leave gates the way you found them. Morgan followed Vernon across the pasture. He shooed his herd away from the gate. Houdini waited patiently. When Vernon raised a hand to rub the donkey’s forehead, Houdini leaned into him, closing his big brown eyes.

  “You know you done good, little fella.” Vernon turned to Morgan. “This gate opens to Golden Springs Homestead Park. My herd would’ve been running around downtown.” Vernon gave Houdini another pat. “We operate the ranch on a tight margin. If I lose one animal to theft, or to injury because some fool leaves a gate open, it could really hurt us.” Vernon pulled off his stocking cap. “This is the kind of thing that makes me consider selling.”

  “You can’t do that!” Morgan said. “The ranch has been in your family for generations.”

  “The land’s worth too much for its own good. I’ve had some awfully tempting offers lately that made me think hard about selling this place and buying land farther east. I love these mountains, but a man has to be able to feed his family.”

  With the cattle safely out of the way, Morgan grabbed Houdini’s halter and led him into the pasture. Vernon hooked the gate closed. He reached into the grass and held up a short length of chain.