“That was the deal. I did the selling. You did the art. It’s not enough now.”
“We have all we need and more,” the man said. “What’s changed?”
“It’s not enough. That’s all.”
Heels clipping across wood alerted Morgan a moment too late. She tucked herself further inside the alcove as a woman stormed through the curtain. Her build was angular as opposed to athletic, and she wore her auburn hair short. The perfectly applied makeup wouldn’t have been necessary if frown lines hadn’t etched furrows between her turquoise eyes and around her downturned lips. She wore a black jacket and skirt that did not match the rugged mountain feel of the shop. She gave Morgan a brief glance, assessing and dismissing her in an instant.
After the curtain had settled back into place, a man peeked out. He wore a Native American–style ribbon shirt and stone-washed jeans tucked into knee high moccasins. His luxurious blond hair hung down his back in a long ponytail. The look, like the art in the majority of the gallery, was a bit predictable and forced.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Morgan tried to appear as though she hadn’t heard a word of the earlier conversation, glancing up at Jade Tinsley with what she hoped was a calm expression.
“I was admiring these paintings. They’re a different style from those in the rest of the gallery.”
“These are from my heart.” He pressed one hand to the front of his shirt. “The rest of the gallery, it’s what supports this.” He waved a hand at the paintings, hidden away in the corner of the gallery as though they were an embarrassment.
“Your nature scenes are lovely, and certainly skilled, but I like these better.”
A broad smile creased his handsome face.
“Thank you.” He extended a hand. “I’m Jade Tinsley. But then, you probably already figured that out.”
Morgan clasped his hand for a vigorous handshake.
“I’m Morgan Iverson. I manage the Rock of Ages.”
Jade dropped her hand. He glanced toward the counter, where the young lady was still engrossed in her magazine. Jade pulled Morgan deeper into the alcove.
“You’re the one who found Carlee.” He spoke in a husky whisper.
Morgan shouldn’t have been surprised. News traveled fast in Golden Springs.
“Yes, I did.”
“She and I—” He seemed unable to continue.
“I heard you were engaged when she disappeared.”
“I had almost reached the point of not wondering anymore about what might have been. Wondering what happened to her. Where she was.”
Almost, Morgan thought. After sixteen years.
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said. “It must be a blow. But at least now you know.”
She watched his face for any sign that maybe he had known, or had something to do with her disappearance. All she saw was grief.
“You’ve got to understand,” he said. “My wife, Mia, she doesn’t appreciate your discovery.”
He seemed to run out of steam, his shoulders slumping.
“I imagine it’s stirred up some painful memories for you,” Morgan said.
“Yes, but like you said, at least now I know. Mia doesn’t see it that way. She thinks I’m mourning for lost love. Maybe have been our entire marriage.” He shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets and leaned back against a wall, as though he needed something to hold him up. “Was she—was Carlee—you just found bones, right?”
Was he seeking closure, or wondering whether he’d left any evidence behind? Jade’s grief seemed real, but maybe Morgan was reading him wrong.
“Just bones. Well, and clothing.”
If he wanted to know more, he didn’t ask. Morgan wasn’t about to volunteer information to a potential killer about the condition of a crime scene.
Tears welled in Jade’s eyes. He glanced around as though fearful of being caught in a state of emotion.
“I have to go.” His brow creased.
“It’s your gallery,” Morgan said. “I should go.”
His broad shoulders, bunched up with tension, relaxed a notch.
“Right.” He offered a weak grin. “Really, though, I don’t mean to run you off. You’re welcome here any time.”
“Thanks, Jade. I need to get home. I have groceries in my car. It was nice meeting you.”
Morgan walked past the salesgirl and her magazine, ignoring her curious stare. As she pulled open the front door, movement in the window display caught her eye. A delicate mobile of icicles in shades of cold, pale blue twisted in the faint breeze. Morgan stepped outside the gallery, but stood on the brick walkway in front. The display of glass vases, nightlights, and sculptures captured light and transformed it into molten motion.
Several plaques of glass hung directly behind the window. They seemed to contain pressed flowers, but Morgan could tell they were formed by different colors of glass. The Colorado state flower, the blue columbine. Purple wild irises. Orange and red Indian paintbrushes.
Purple elephant heads. Just like the ones outside Carlee’s dugout.
A small easel held a foam board describing the art and artist. The photo of Chase Cooper had been shot at a slight angle, perhaps so that the scarred half of his face would not dominate the portrait. The unscarred half closely resembled Jade’s wife, Mia. They were obviously brother and sister. Morgan recognized him. He had been in the rock shop last week with his father, Harlan Cooper.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
* * *
Cars filled the parking lot when Morgan returned to the shop. She felt guilty for leaving Del alone so long, spending fruitless time chasing clues to Carlee’s death. After unloading the groceries, Morgan waded into the fray, answering questions with a little more knowledge after taking the geology class.
A high-school student needed an intact geode to break open for a science project. Chase had bought several the other day, and had managed to clean out most of the good ones. Del disappeared for a long time, hunting in the garage for a box containing more geodes.
Sales ringing up on the cash register were a welcome sound, but Morgan realized her stock was depleted. Even Lucy’s display of Arapahoe jewelry needed replenishment. Finally the crowd thinned, then the shop was empty. The cowbell clanged one last time as Del closed and locked the front door.
“We’re running out of geodes, quartz crystals, and the smaller fossils and gemstones,” Morgan said.
“That reminds me,” Del said. “Cindy left this for you.”
Inside a binder was a neat compilation of information about the gem and mineral show: what Morgan would need to take, the hotel where Kendall and Allie stayed, how they loaded the van and rented a lockable utility trailer. They had given away the van when they moved to Central America, and Morgan couldn’t tow a trailer with her Buick.
“This looks like an expensive venture,” Morgan said. “Are you sure it’s worth it?”
“Was every time Kendall and Allie went,” Del said. “They at least broke even, and they always came back with something interesting. You rent a booth or a table, and then you can buy, sell, and trade with all the other dealers there, as well as hundreds of customers. Hey, you could take the triceratops horn. Even if it didn’t sell, you’d get lots of people stopping at your table.”
“Did Kendall and Allie just close up shop when they went to one of these shows?” Morgan asked.
“They used to, until I moved my trailer onto the property. Then I could run the shop while they were gone. Of course, we weren’t so busy back then.”
Morgan opened the refrigerator and pulled out the roasted chicken. While it re-heated in the oven, she steamed the broccoli.
“Del, remember the two men who came in the shop last week?”
“The Coopers?” he asked.
“You didn’t tell me Chase Cooper is an artist, too.”
“I didn’t know. How did you come by that bit of information?”
“After getting groce
ries, I went by the art gallery.”
Del tugged at his mustache. “I thought you weren’t investigating.”
“I’m not,” Morgan said. “I saw a display in the window of beautiful glasswork. It was made by that guy who was in here last week with Harlan Cooper. His son, Chase. The interesting thing was, some of the glass pieces were in the form of elephant-head flowers.”
“Like the ones you saw at the dugout?”
“Exactly. Did you and Barton notice them?”
“We weren’t paying attention to flowers. Maybe you should tell Bill Sharp about this.”
“And say what? That a local artist makes elephant-head glasswork? If I looked around, I might find them in every shop window in town.”
“Or not,” Del said. “When anything bad happens in Golden Springs, a Cooper is sure to be nearby.”
“Chase is Mia’s brother, right?” Morgan asked.
“Yep.”
“It is interesting that Carlee Kruger’s fiancé married into the Cooper family.”
“I’m tellin’ ya,” Del said.
Morgan made sure Del sat down to dinner. Then she got dressed for O’Reily’s Running Club. Bernie picked her up at the rock shop, driving her oversized SUV to Granite Junction.
Before the run started, Lucy announced the fundraiser for the Golden Springs Homestead Park the next day. Even with such short notice, plenty of runners signed up.
Once they were walking, back of the pack as usual, Morgan asked Bernie about Rolf.
“I’ve calmed down,” Bernie said. “Or maybe it’s just knowing I have a week of Rolf all to myself. Stacie will be back this weekend. I can see having her around makes Rolf happy, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with her, so I end up stuck—No. I refuse to have that attitude. I’m not stuck.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Whether things work out long-term for Rolf and me, I’m glad I’m dating him now. I guess I have you and Lucy to thank for coercing me into going to that first fundraising run.”
“He might have gotten up the courage to ask you out while he was buying zucchini bread.”
“Banana bread,” Bernie corrected. “That’s his favorite.”
They passed a footbridge arching over the creek.
“I might have to go to Sioux Falls soon,” Morgan said.
“Is your daughter okay? She’s not due for another month or so, right?”
“Everyone is fine. I have to clean out my house.” Morgan explained her decision to lease her home in Sioux Falls.
“That’s better than letting it sit empty,” Bernie said. “Does this mean you’re ready to move on with your life? And do your plans include Kurt Willard?” As Bernie smiled, a mischievous twinkle lit up her green eyes.
“Too soon to tell,” Morgan said. “I enjoy Kurt’s company, but I’m nowhere near getting serious. With Sam, I knew right away.”
Bernie stopped at an intersection and waited for a car to pass. Then she and Morgan stepped off the curb and trotted across the street.
“I wonder why Gerda never remarried,” Morgan said.
“She’s got the personality of a porcupine.”
“There’s someone for everyone,” Morgan said. “Isn’t there? Gerda did decide to have a memorial service for Carlee, so the church ladies have forgiven her for the casserole smashing incident.”
“I wonder if Sasquatch will attend the memorial.” Bernie shuddered.
“Maybe Chief Sharp can stake out the church,” Morgan said.
“I wish he’d solve this soon. I get the heebie-jeebies every time I go to my Dumpster.”
“I met someone else who would like to attend the memorial, but probably won’t.”
“Who?” Bernie asked.
“I went to Jade Tinsley’s gallery today.”
“You said you weren’t going to investigate.”
“I just wanted to see the place. Then I overheard Jade and Mia, his wife, fighting. She wants him to run for City Council, but he just wants to paint. He realized who I was, and I thought he was going to cry when he started talking about Carlee.”
They sped up as they neared the pub, walking quickly down the crowded sidewalk. Loud music spilled out of a cowboy bar a half block ahead. A couple strolled out of the open door. Morgan jerked to a halt. She pulled her friend into the wide entryway of an expensive dress shop. The door was inset deeply between two large glass window displays of summer fashions.
“What is it?” Bernie asked.
“I know that guy.”
Bernie leaned around the window display and looked. “I don’t see any mountain men.”
“No. Harlan Cooper.”
“Who?”
“The guy who upset Del with his mere presence.”
People downtown in the evening were headed to restaurants, the theater, or the clubs. Nobody seemed to notice two women spying on the older couple outside Ruby’s Two Step.
“Want to fill me in, Sherlock?” Bernie asked.
“That’s Harlan Cooper, Jade’s father-in-law.”
“Who’s the woman?”
“I don’t know.”
Morgan’s guess was that she couldn’t possibly be the mother of Mia and Chase, unless they were adopted. Not that she wasn’t pretty for an older lady, but she looked nothing like the Cooper siblings.
The woman with Cooper was dressed to kill, in a cowgirl kind of way. Tight jeans hugged her size-three hips, a western-style blouse emphasized her top-heavy figure, and pink and black boots with heels taller than anyone needed for riding a horse pushed her tiny frame into altitudes well over her actual five feet. Her helmet of short hair was a shade of pinkish-orange that only an older woman with attitude could wear.
“They’re coming this way!”
“Act natural,” Morgan whispered.
Morgan pretended to study the dresses in the window, discovering as she did so that the mirrored backdrop allowed her to see the street scene perfectly.
The woman’s cowgirl boots clip-clopped on the sidewalk. Morgan could hear the couple’s voices, see their lips moving in the mirror, but their words mingled with other conversations. They walked arm in arm, Cooper’s head tilted toward the woman attentively. As they passed the dress shop, the woman stopped, pulling her arm from his. Morgan cringed, fearing she had noticed the two women staring at her in the mirror’s reflection.
“You know good and well I don’t know,” the cowgirl said. “And frankly, even if I did, you’re the last person I’d tell.”
“You don’t have to,” Harlan Cooper said. “I’m zeroing in on it just fine without your help. But I have a feeling you could save me some time and effort. I have the resources, and if you want in on it—”
“Like you let me in on that last deal?” the woman snapped. “That didn’t work out so well for me.”
“It’ll be different this time,” Harlan said. “We’ll be partners.”
The cowgirl snorted. “Like I believe that.”
“I could use the advice of an expert.” Harlan brushed a stray hair off her forehead in an intimate gesture.
Bernie leaned close to Morgan and whispered. “She must have missed one with the can of hairspray.”
“You know more about prospecting in these hills than anyone,” Harlan continued. “Don’t shut me out. If you help me, I’ll cut you in on it, and you can have that in writing.”
“If we make a deal this time, you can bet your sweet tush I’ll get it in writing.”
“Great.” Harlan spoke as though whatever it was they were discussing was a done deal. “Then I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“The gem society is my territory.” The cowgirl jabbed a long fingernail at Harlan’s chest. “Just don’t you forget that.”
They started walking again. Morgan tugged on Bernie’s sleeve.
“Come on.”
“They’re going to catch on,” Bernie said. “You have to be more subtle.”
Morgan tried to hang back, pretending to have a conver
sation with Bernie. When the couple disappeared, she ran up the sidewalk, then pressed her back to the brick bank building and peeked around the corner.
“Darn. They’re leaving.”
Morgan took a step toward the pay parking lot, but Bernie grabbed her arm.
“What are you going to do? Chase their truck?”
“I suppose not.”
“Let’s get to the pub, Morgan. I could use a Guinness.”
“Sorry. They were talking about a deal. Arguing. And it sounded like she mentioned the gem society Barton told us about. I’m just curious.”
“Does this have something to do with your—excuse me, Kurt’s—cold case?”
“Probably not, but it might have something to do with Del.”
Barton didn’t join their table this time. Morgan wished he had. She was bursting with questions.
When she pulled into the Rock of Ages parking lot, the place was dark. She parked in the old carriage house that had been converted into a garage. Walking as quietly as she could, she listened for any sound of Sasquatch skulking about. She trotted the last feet to the back door of the living quarters. The door was unlocked, and Del sat on his recliner by the wood-burning stove.
“Have a good run?” he asked.
“Bernie and I did run, for three blocks. But we were still back of the pack.”
“Nothing wrong with that. At least you’re out doing something.”
Del had placed his stash of ammolite chips in an antique tea saucer. Morgan fished out a chip and studied it in the light. She debated asking him point-blank about his history with the Pine County Gemstone Society and Prospecting Club, but she had a feeling if she started prying, he would walk out of the room like he had the last time. She decided on a more subtle approach.
“Del, I’m trying to learn more about minerals. Barton told me about a gemstone and prospecting club. Maybe I should go. I was wondering if you’d go with me.”
“No can do. I put in my time. Even went so far as to serve as vice president of the group.”
“Then it might be fun for you to see your old friends.”
Del pushed himself up from the chair. “I won’t tell you not to go, Morgan, but the world of gemstones and prospecting is dog-eat-dog. Just watch out for yourself, and don’t breathe a word about ammolite.”
Stone Cold Case (A Rock Shop Mystery) Page 14