Stone Cold Case (A Rock Shop Mystery)

by Catherine Dilts

  “We’ll be okay,” Bernie said.

  Rolf shook his head. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Bernie. Besides, someone should let Paul and Lucy know what’s going on.”

  Reluctantly, Morgan and Bernie headed back to the main trail. Morgan studied the map.

  “We might as well finish the race. There’s no shortcut back to the homestead.”

  Bernie glanced over her shoulder a dozen times in the next half mile.

  “He’ll be okay,” Morgan said.

  “I sure hope so. I’d hate if anything—” Bernie stopped. “I hear ATVs.”

  Morgan listened. Her brain told her the noise had to come from behind them, back at the gate Rolf and Lonnie guarded. Her ears told her differently. Morgan unfolded the map again.

  “There’s another gate.” She looked up, then pointed.

  This part of the park had been burned in the forest fire. Charred stumps jutted from bare earth. The fence was new. The metal posts and barbed wire gleamed in the sunlight. The wide gate looked like it came fresh from the hardware store, without the dings, dents, and rust typical of a well-used ranch gate. The sound of ATVs grew closer.

  “Quick! Hide!”

  The options were limited. Blackened debris had been bulldozed into a pile after the fire. Wearing their brightly colored windbreakers was a definite handicap, but Morgan and Bernie ducked behind the sooty pile. Bernie called her boyfriend. Then they waited. The sound of ATV engines grew louder, then faded, then grew louder again.

  “They’re definitely coming this way,” Morgan said.

  “I see them!”

  Two machines, gray with mud, rolled to a stop. They were on the Dalton ranch side of the locked gate. The riders wore heavy jackets and helmets with face shields, making it impossible to identify them. One hopped off an ATV and rummaged in a plastic crate bungee-corded to the back of the machine. The rider pulled out chain cutters and cut off the lock. Then he, or she, pushed open the gate, hopped on the ATV and drove through.

  Rolf roared up the trail in an attempt to block the gate, but he was too late. The ATVers were already in the park. When their helmets turned to face Rolf, they seemed to panic, gunning their machines and spraying mud as they headed cross-country. Rolf followed, zigzagging around charred stumps and blackened rocks. He closed the gap, nearing the trespassers. The driver in the rear stopped, pulled a pistol out of a jacket pocket, and aimed.

  A shot sounded. Rolf lurched to one side and fell off his ATV. The machine halted the moment his hand slipped from the accelerator, sputtering riderless beside Rolf.

  Bernie screamed. She burst from their hiding place and ran toward Rolf. The shooter’s helmet turned her direction. The gun aimed at Bernie. The other driver hit the shooter’s arm and pointed. Morgan could hear an ATV behind her. Lonnie. The two drivers revved their engines, spewing mud and gravel in high arcs as they raced through the park.

  Lonnie started to follow, but Bernie waved her arms.

  “Lonnie! They shot Rolf!”

  She dropped to her knees beside her boyfriend. Lonnie jumped off his ATV and grabbed a medical kit. Morgan ran to them.

  “Can I help?”

  “Call 9-1-1,” Lonnie said.

  Bernie had her phone out before Morgan.

  There must be something I can do, Morgan thought. But Lonnie was an EMT, and Bernie was talking to the dispatcher, pacing in tight circles around Rolf.

  Vernon galloped toward the gate on a tall palomino gelding. Mud splattered the horse’s white legs and golden belly. Vernon handled the reins with one hand, and in the other he held his .22 rifle. He nudged the horse with his heels and headed toward Morgan.

  “They went that way.” Morgan pointed. “But one has a handgun.”

  “Did you see their registration numbers?”

  “I looked, but any identification on the ATVs was covered with mud. It looked like they deliberately covered them. Vernon, they’re headed for a park full of people!”

  Vernon raised his rifle, and for a moment, Morgan thought he was going to take a shot. He was just using the gun’s scope like a telescope, though.

  “There’s another exit. They’re headed for National Forest, not the park.”

  “Thank God.”

  “I’d say so.” Vernon glanced heavenward for an instant, his eyes closed. Then he looked at Morgan. “Neither one of them looked like your Sasquatch.”

  “I couldn’t see faces, but you’re right. They were average sized. I’d say they were both men, but I suppose they could have been women. In those heavy jackets and helmets, it was hard to tell, but the mountain man’s beard would have been obvious.”

  Vernon slid his rifle into a scabbard attached to the saddle. He swung down and led his horse toward Rolf.

  “He gonna make it?” Vernon asked Lonnie.

  “Dislocated shoulder from the fall,” Lonnie said. “The bullet missed him.”

  “Praise the Lord,” Vernon said.

  Tears spilled down Bernie’s cheeks, but her voice was steady as she spoke to the dispatcher. “They want to talk to you.” She handed the phone to Lonnie, then knelt beside Rolf again. “The ambulance is coming,” Bernie said.

  “I’m going to be out of commission for weeks.” Rolf struggled to sit, wincing with pain. Bernie helped him up. “A bullet wound might have healed faster than this,” he complained.

  “Not a bullet to the head,” Vernon said.

  Rolf met Morgan’s eyes. “Did you see who it was?”

  Morgan shook her head. “They had on helmets. They covered anything that would have identified them with mud.”

  “They tried to kill me.”

  “Kids horsing around where they’ve got no right to be,” Vernon said, “that’s one thing. Shooting a man, that’s serious business.” Vernon lifted his rifle. “This little .22 wouldn’t have done much damage at that distance. If they come back, you can bet I’ll have something more serious to greet them. We’ll get them, Rolf.”

  “Don’t play vigilante on my account,” Rolf said to Vernon. He looked at Morgan again. “Or detective. I don’t want anyone else hurt.”

  Lonnie interrupted. “Rolf, you think you can ride down to the homestead?”

  “Sure, but I can’t drive.”

  Bernie hopped onto Rolf’s ATV while Lonnie and Morgan helped him climb on behind her. Morgan rode with Lonnie. They met Chief Sharp at the homestead. Morgan finally felt useful helping Paul and Lucy with crowd control. When Kurt arrived with two cameras dangling around his neck, he trotted up to Morgan and gave her a brief hug.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’d rather stay with you,” Kurt said, “but . . .”

  “Hot story,” Morgan said. “I understand.”

  Planting trees was out of the question with the police investigating a shooting. Lucy announced that the event would be rescheduled for Saturday. The crowd milled around until the sun dropped behind the mountains. As Morgan drove up Hill Street, she kept glancing across the fence at the Dalton ranch. The ATVers were long gone. They’d be stupid to come back, but they’d already trespassed at least twice. And now they’d tried to kill Rolf.

  What did they want on the Dalton ranch that was worth a man’s life?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  * * *

  Several times Thursday Morgan reminded herself that she was not responsible for Life On This Planet. Now didn’t feel like the right time to leave. Adelaide was in a delicate condition. Del had to be reminded to eat. A mountain man who might be a killer had been living in her barn.

  And her best friend’s boyfriend had been targeted by a masked assassin.

  But Morgan couldn’t afford to throw away her most valuable asset, no matter how bad the timing was for her trip.

  Trevin called to ask whether Del needed help while she was gone. Spring semester was over, and he could use the extra money. Morgan welcomed any hours he could put in at the shop, and they agreed on the pay p
er hour.

  Del lugged an enormous hard-sided suitcase to her room.

  “You can use this. It’ll hold up to any abuse by the airlines.”

  “Del, I’m only going for a weekend. I’d have to check that bag.”

  “It’s for the return trip,” he said. “You’ll be bringing back pictures. Your kids’ school trophies. That kind of stuff.”

  “Of course.” Morgan tugged the comforter off her bed. “You’re two steps ahead of me. Thanks. Can you help me change the bedding?”

  Deputy Parker would watch the barn Friday and Saturday night for the return of the mountain man, and sleep in the rock shop living quarters during the day.

  Del tugged at his mustache. “You sure you want that kid staying here?”

  “It’s not just me, Del. Chief Sharp assigned Deputy Parker to stake out the barn. We’re performing a public service by letting the police use our place to catch a potential murderer.”

  “You sure it isn’t to keep an eye on me? I’m perfectly capable of dealing with intruders.”

  “I know, Del. But we don’t know who the mountain man is, or what he wants. And after the people on the ATVs shot at Rolf? Frankly, I’d rather you stayed at Barton’s.”

  “Neither Trevin or Deputy Parker know how to take care of the donkeys. I wouldn’t feel right leaving Adelaide for a weekend with strangers. Besides, I’m getting tired of you conspiring with Barton to get rid of me.”

  “That’s not true. Barton invited you over. I’m not trying to kick you out. I need you here. I just hate dumping the shop on you. We’ve been busy lately.”

  Del shook his head. “You just take care of your family’s business this weekend, and don’t worry about a thing on this end. I’ve got everything under control.”

  Morgan wished she could say the same.

  David met her at the airport Friday afternoon in the pickup truck that had been his father’s. Morgan wasn’t the only one having trouble letting go.

  “It’s a good thing I have the truck,” David said. “That suitcase wouldn’t fit in a car.”

  “This was Del’s idea. He thought I might need a big suitcase to bring things home—” Morgan paused. “Back to Colorado.”

  Morgan gave David the address of her hotel.

  “You’re not staying at Sarah and Russ’s?” David asked. “Or at the house?”

  “No,” Morgan said. “I thought neutral ground might be more comfortable.”

  David nodded in understanding. “Have a good flight?”

  Morgan attempted small talk, but they slipped into silence. Perhaps David was holding back his emotions, or maybe he was just a quiet guy, like his father. Morgan stole a glance at David’s profile as he studied the road through the pickup’s windshield. He had gotten his brown eyes and dark, curly hair from Morgan, but there the resemblance ended. Working construction to earn college tuition, his lean body had become solidly muscled. Just twenty-one, his features held a trace of boy, while his jaw had a determined set to it. He looked so much like Sam, it made Morgan’s heart ache.

  “I’m meeting some of the old gang for dinner tonight,” Morgan said. “You’re welcome to come.”

  “Just my idea of fun. Dinner with a bunch of old ladies.” His words were spoken with a smile. He was being funny, in his own way. “I’ll pass, Mom. Have a good time with your friends. I’ll pick you up early tomorrow.” The smile was gone.

  Morgan tried to rest in her hotel room, but she felt like she was wasting time. She dressed in the one nice outfit she’d brought and attempted to tame her dark curls. Then she paced the small room until Dot picked her up for dinner.

  “I feel silly staying at a hotel when I have a house here,” Morgan confessed. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of staying in my old bedroom.”

  “That was wise,” Dot said. “You don’t want to get attached to the place all over again.”

  “You look great.”

  Dot Borgen had received her height and her blue eyes from her Scandinavian ancestors. Since Morgan last saw her, Dot had sacrificed her blond hair to a severe modern hairstyle.

  Dot patted her head. “I’m still shocked when I look in the mirror. I guess it’s the age. Time to whack off the girlish locks.”

  “You have the face for short hair. It makes you look younger.” Morgan wasn’t ready to chop off her hair just because she was over forty. Anyway, she doubted she could pull off a look like Dot’s. The woman was a natural beauty.

  “You’ve lost weight,” Dot said. “Are you on a diet?”

  “No. Just walking a lot. And taking care of livestock.”

  The conversation felt awkward, as though their years of friendship had evaporated in the short space of a few months. Maybe it had become strained even before Morgan left Sioux Falls, during the long dark days after Sam’s passing, when she had withdrawn from life. Dot pulled up to the restaurant. She parked, and sat for a moment before turning to Morgan.

  “So how are you doing?”

  The question cut through all the chatter to something real. Morgan smiled.

  “I’m good. For the first time in a long time.”

  Dot seemed to relax. “I was afraid, you know? After Sam. And then when you moved away and didn’t come back. Well, I didn’t know.” Dot reached for Morgan’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Good to have you back.”

  Dot had reserved a table for eight. The wait staff had to push another table together when several more people showed up.

  Half the dinner was spent catching up. In the less than four months since she had left Sioux Falls, there was plenty of news. Morgan had not done a good job staying in touch with her friends. There had been too much happening in Golden Springs. Then it came time for her news. Everyone wanted to know about her involvement in the Dawn Smith murder case. Morgan didn’t mention the new one, Carlee Kruger’s cold case. They were already dubbing her Miss Marple. Morgan retold the story with as little drama and as much respect for Dawn as she could. Then it was on to other news.

  “Are you dating any Colorado cowboys?” A mischievous grin creased Franny Gundersen’s plump cheeks. The middle-aged housewife, a perpetual volunteer, could ask intrusive questions with an air of innocence that often caused victims to spill their every secret.

  Morgan felt a blush creep up her face, and was glad for the dim lighting. “No.” It wasn’t a lie. Granted, she and Kurt spent a lot of time together, but not on dates. Not really. And besides, he wasn’t a cowboy. “I’m not ready.”

  “Sam has been gone three years,” Franny said.

  “Not three,” Morgan said.

  “Well over two,” Dot said. “Sam was a special guy.”

  Morgan suddenly felt guilty for even thinking Kurt Willard could take Sam’s place in her heart. She was determined not to tear up. The ladies fell silent.

  “I’m sure Sam wouldn’t have wanted you to spend the rest of your life alone,” Dot said.

  “I knew at first sight that Sam was The One,” Morgan said. “I don’t expect anyone to be able to top that.”

  Joan Sundheim snorted. “Please, honey. I was there. We very nearly couldn’t convince you to walk down the aisle.”

  “That’s not true,” Morgan said.

  “ ’Fraid so,” Franny said. “You had a case of cold feet so huge we couldn’t have squeezed you into a size-twelve pump.”

  Morgan looked to Dot for support, but the Nordic blonde nodded.

  “You were terrified, right up until the ‘I do’ part.”

  “That’s not how I remember it,” Morgan muttered.

  The ladies giggled.

  “Ah, memory,” Joan said. “We often paint it in the colors of our own choosing.”

  “You’re quite the philosopher these days,” Franny said. “Must be that college professor rubbing off on you. Oops! I didn’t mean it that way.”

  The others laughed. Joan flipped her long gray hair over one shoulder. Her purple batik tunic and dangling crystal earrings would have caused Morgan’s
employee Cindy to brand Joan as a witch.

  “My divorce is final.” Joan lifted her wine glass. “I can do what I want without causing a scandal.” Joan’s smile was that of the cat who ate the canary.

  The gossip felt alien to Morgan, like she was a layer removed. Or maybe it was the physical distance, being almost a thousand miles away from her friends. After another hour of chatter, some serious and some silly, the party began to break up.

  “What time should we come over to help?” Dot asked.

  Morgan shook her head. “I think the kids and I will need all day to sort through the house. Sunday we should know what goes in storage, and what goes to charity.”

  “I’ll be happy to arrange for the church to send around a truck,” Franny said. “We can use anything you’ve got for the yard sale. And I can give you a donation receipt to use for your taxes.”

  “That would be great,” Morgan said.

  “We’ll see you Sunday, then,” Dot said.

  Morgan sat up in the hotel bed. She wished she had consumed more than the one glass of white wine at dinner. Then she might have been able to sleep. But maybe that’s how Gerda got started. Just another glass to let her sleep, and then another, and another. Morgan might as well have stayed at her house. She could have gotten a head start on sorting through papers and closets, rather than tossing and turning, and pacing the hotel room.

  Her cell phone rang at dawn.

  “Ready, Mom?” David asked.

  “As ready as I can be.”

  On the silent drive to their old home, Morgan remembered that she had not gone through any of Sam’s things. She had intended to start, right after she returned from her two-week Colorado stay. That had turned into more than three months. Now it looked like she was never moving back. She rubbed her temples, agonizing about what they were about to go through, and wondering if David was strong enough for the task.

  “Wild night, Mom?”

  “No. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me neither.”

  The house looked just like she’d left it in January, except that the lawn was green, not blanketed in snow. The iris beds Morgan had spent so much time cultivating were covered with buds. Someone else would be here to enjoy the fragrant blooms. The Madsen family. She hoped they appreciated the flowers.