Stone Cold Case

by Catherine Dilts

  “Impossible,” Beatrice said in her no nonsense tone. “Gerda’s daughter was twenty-something years old when she went missing. People that old don’t run away from home. Besides, she was engaged to Jade Tinsley. Why would she run away?”

  “I remember,” Teruko said in a quavering voice with a trace of a Japanese accent. “They were very much in love. Carlee would not leave her soul mate.”

  “Maybe Jade changed his mind,” Anna said. “He could have killed her to get out of going through with the marriage.”

  Beatrice and Teruko spoke at the same time, with the same message. They had known the couple. Jade would never have harmed Carlee.

  “Then the most logical answer is that she got lost in the forest.” Morgan shrugged. “Del pointed out that if I hadn’t found my way back to the parking lot, and I had to spend the night in that sleet storm, I could have died.”

  “The autopsy will tell the tale,” Beatrice said.

  “Can a skeleton be autopsied?” Morgan asked.

  “Certainly.” The heavyset, gray-haired lady who looked like she’d be most at home with a tray of cookies in her hands proceeded to give the grisly details. “There’s an old saying that dead men tell no tales, but that’s not true. The entire story is written in their remains. Fractures in neck vertebrae mean strangulation. Gouges in the ribs, a knife to the heart. Broken skull bones—”

  “Enough, Beatrice.” Anna held up a hand to ward off the gushing stream of information. “We understand.”

  “I’ll invite my nephew Roger over for dinner this week,” Beatrice said. “He’ll have the details.”

  Beatrice regularly squeezed forensics information from recent cases out her nephew, an employee of the crime lab in the nearby city of Granite Junction.

  “If the remains are Carlee Kruger’s,” Teruko said, “we must treat this as we would any death in the family, even though many years have passed.”

  “Right,” Beatrice said. “We’ll take her some casseroles, offer to help arrange a memorial service. People remember her daughter. Carlee was a beautiful girl. Her disappearance left a hole in us all.”

  “But we don’t know if it is her daughter,” Morgan said. “You saw the photo. I only caught a glimpse of bone and rotted clothing.”

  “What did Chief Sharp have to say about the identity of the person?” Beatrice asked.

  “Nothing,” Morgan said. “He was hoping it was a deer, but I’ve never seen a deer wear jeans and hiking boots.”

  The introit music began. The ladies hung up their aprons and hurried into the sanctuary. After hymns, announcements, and a scripture reading by one of the elders, Pastor James Filbury took his place behind the pulpit. He looked the part of a pastor, with thinning silver hair groomed short and neat, and oversized eyeglasses a couple decades out of date.

  His sermons were as exciting as a mug of warm milk: soothing, and with a tendency to cure insomnia. The church had a vibrant youth program begun by Morgan’s brother Kendall and his wife, Allie, before they left on their mission trip to the Central American jungle. A couple in their late twenties had kept the program going, infusing it with even more energy. When young people graduated from the youth program to the church, they were going to be disappointed.

  Pastor Filbury’s numbing sermon stopped abruptly, mid-sentence. Expectant silence echoed through the pews. He tugged at the knot of a blue necktie that peeked above his black clerical robe as though it was choking him. The pastor grasped the podium with his free hand, his already pale face losing what little color it had. He slid to the floor.

  Congregants rushed from their pews toward the stage, but Pete Melcher and another usher held them back. Elder Thompson knelt beside the pastor.

  “Give us some room,” Thompson said. “Someone call 9-1-1.”

  Pete flapped his hands at the congregation. “Will everyone please adjourn to the social hall?” His nasal voice went an octave higher than usual.

  Beatrice, Teruko, and Anna jumped into action, coaxing the coffee brewing into high speed and pulling plastic wrap off trays of cookies.

  Morgan’s part-time employee, Cindy, her husband, Herb, and five red-haired children filed past the kitchen door. Herb held the new baby, number six, in one arm. A shock of fine, pale red hair peeked out from a knitted cap. Cindy leaned into the kitchen.

  “Anything I can help with?”

  “We’ve got the kitchen under control,” Beatrice said. “You can take these out to the social hall.”

  She handed Cindy a tray of cookies. Morgan followed, ready to clear space on a long folding table.

  “Have you heard anything?” Cindy asked Morgan. “What’s going on in there?” She nodded toward the closed sanctuary doors.

  “I don’t know any more than you do,” Morgan said. “Pastor Filbury looked so pale this morning during the sermon.”

  “The poor man hasn’t been the same since that business earlier this year,” Cindy said. The kindly old pastor had been falsely accused of a terrible crime. “His reputation was cleared, but I think it broke his heart all the same.”

  An ambulance pulled up in the parking lot. EMTs rushed into the church. No one seemed anxious to leave, huddling in small clusters in the social hall. After what seemed an eternity, the doors to the sanctuary burst open and the EMTs wheeled out a gurney. Mrs. Filbury hurried alongside, clasping the pastor’s hand. Morgan was relieved to see they hadn’t covered Pastor Filbury’s face with the sheet.

  After the ladies had the kitchen clean and in order, Anna pulled Morgan aside.

  “Would you mind giving Teruko a ride home? I told Kurt I would help him work on the advertising guide this afternoon.”

  Morgan smiled. She suspected Anna and her boss, Kurt, owner and editor of the Golden Springs Gazetteer, had more than a working relationship. Anna’s weathered skin made her appear several years older than Kurt, but Morgan didn’t know either’s age. She suspected that like her, they were in their forties, when some people still looked youthful while others were already wearing their years on their faces.

  “I don’t mind at all,” Morgan said.

  When she and Teruko pulled onto Aspen Street, they saw the police chief’s SUV.

  “I believe Chief Sharp is driving toward Kruger’s Auto Repair,” Teruko said.

  “Let’s see.”

  Morgan followed as discreetly as she could, considering the street was narrow and traffic was light. The police chief didn’t seem to notice. He pulled his SUV into the garage’s small asphalt parking lot. Parking spaces were jealously guarded in Golden Springs. A rack of tires marked the division between the self-service laundry and Kruger’s Auto Repair. On the right side of the garage, a row of boarded-up cabins hid behind a lot overrun with winter-killed weeds. Morgan’s family had stayed in one of the cabins years ago, before the low-budget tourist resort had gone out of business.

  “Maybe we should come back later,” Morgan said.

  “She was a great help to me when my husband passed away.” Teruko touched Morgan’s arm. “I must return the kindness. Gerda will need her friends.”

  Morgan hardly considered herself Gerda’s friend. A customer, yes, but the squat woman was a difficult person to befriend. When Morgan tried to imagine Gerda doing Teruko a great kindness, an image failed to form. She seemed to hold the world at arm’s length. Morgan parked and trotted around the car to give Teruko a hand. Before they were half way across the parking lot, Bill Sharp pushed open the office’s scarred glass door.

  “Now’s not a good time.” He spoke through clenched teeth, his cheeks flushed red. Chief Sharp had the rugged looks of a cowboy actor, just shy of handsome, and slightly over-the-hill, with a paunch straining the silver buttons on his leather vest. The star-shaped badge and ever-present cowboy hat completed the look. At the moment, he looked as though he’d just faced down a dangerous outlaw, and come out on the bad end of the deal.

  “We are Mrs. Kruger’s friends,” Teruko said. “She needs us.”

  �
��Mrs. Kruger is a tough old bird,” the chief said. “She’ll be just fine.”

  “I will let Gerda tell me whether she needs a friend now.” Teruko quietly pushed her way past the man who was twice her size, an unquenchable determination propelling the tiny woman in the cream-colored skirt and jacket.

  Morgan looked up at the chief. “So the bones I found? They were Gerda’s daughter’s?”

  “We won’t know until the dental and medical records check out. Seems likely, though. I wanted Gerda to hear it from me before the news ran through the gossip mill.”

  “Did she take it hard?” Morgan asked.

  “Cool as a cucumber,” Chief Sharp said. “But that’s Gerda. She doesn’t show a lot of emotion. Other than anger.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  Morgan entered the untidy office. Gerda sat behind the gray metal desk, staring at the stained circle where her bottle of bourbon used to reside. She hadn’t done much to hide her fondness for drink. She seemed loath to let anyone know she was now attending AA meetings in the basement of the church once a week. Morgan hoped this blow wouldn’t push her back to drinking.

  While Teruko dragged a metal folding chair next to the desk, Gerda glared at Morgan. Short white hair stuck up from her scalp, and a dark blue jumpsuit splotchy with grease stains covered her stout figure.

  “Go away.” Her words erupted with a terse German accent. “I wish to be left alone.”

  “This is not a time to be alone,” Teruko said in her soothing, whisper-soft voice. “You need your friends.”

  “I do not have any friends. I do not need your comfort. Chief Sharp is wrong. That was not my Carlee.”

  “How do you know?” Morgan hoped Gerda had a definitive reason for doubting the chief’s report.

  “My daughter ran away from home. She has forgotten all about her mother the drunk. She does not need or want me. That is why I have not heard from her in sixteen years.” Gerda stood, pressing her hands against her desk. “You may leave now.” In a less harsh voice she added, “Go now. Please.”

  Teruko stood. Gerda came around the desk and shooed her toward the office door. Morgan followed. She turned to give a parting dose of ineffective comfort, but Gerda slammed the door in her face.

  “That didn’t go well,” Morgan said.

  “The time will come when she needs us,” Teruko said, “and she will know we are here for her.”

  When she returned to the Rock of Ages, a respectable sprinkling of vehicles filled the parking lot. Business had improved since Morgan’s arrival in January, due in equal measures to the new sign in town, coupons in the Golden Springs Gazetteer, a fledgling website, and the blooming tourist season. The shop was not flourishing, but they were getting by.

  Del manned the cash register. Lucy Geary stood beside the display of her handcrafted Native American jewelry. The young woman fussed with the arrangement of necklaces, bracelets, and earrings while two ladies crowded near, asking questions. The jewelry Lucy left on consignment was one of the best sellers in the Rock of Ages. Some were traditional Arapaho beadwork, while the rest had a modern, artistic flair.

  When they had a lull in activity, Lucy sat on the aspen wood bench and crossed her long legs. She was dressed in just-came-from-church slacks and a plain blouse that showed her turquoise necklace nicely. Her long, black hair draped down her back nearly to her waist.

  “The rumors are all over town,” Lucy said. “You found a body and Sasquatch. I’m not sure which one has people more excited.”

  Del leaned against the checkout counter, a smile lifting the corners of his bushy gray mustache.

  “Did you go to Golden Springs High School?” Morgan asked Lucy.

  “Home of the fighting eagles,” Lucy said. “I’m a graduate. But what’s that got to do with a body and Big Foot?”

  Morgan shook her head. “You wouldn’t have been in the same class. Sixteen years ago, Carlee Kruger disappeared.”

  “Right. I was in grade school then, but I remember the searches. The entire town was in an uproar. They never found her.”

  “Morgan did,” Del said.

  “Maybe,” Morgan said. “As far as I know, the body, or rather, the skeleton, hasn’t been identified yet.”

  Morgan told Lucy the story she had repeated several times in less than a day. Del interjected with running commentary about the proper survival reaction to becoming lost in the mountains.

  “When I left church this morning,” Morgan said, “Teruko and I saw Chief Sharp stop at Gerda’s garage.”

  “So the bones are Gerda’s daughter’s,” Lucy said.

  “The chief seemed to think so,” Morgan said. “He wanted to give Gerda a warning before she heard the news through the gossip mill.”

  “Poor Gerda,” Lucy said. “She’s had such a tough time. I heard the younger daughter moved away and never talks to her. No wonder she drinks.”

  “Let’s get the gossip straight,” Del said. “Gerda’s been going to AA meetings.” He tugged at his mustache. “She lost her husband, then the younger daughter up and left town. Now you find the remains of the older daughter. I sure hope this doesn’t knock her off the wagon.”

  “She’s in denial right now,” Morgan said. “Gerda told Teruko and me that the chief is wrong. She said her daughter ran away sixteen years ago, but Beatrice and the church ladies don’t believe that.”

  “What happened to Gerda’s husband?” Lucy asked.

  “I forget what it was exactly,” Del said. “Some kind of cancer.”

  The same monster that had stolen Morgan’s husband, Sam, over two years ago.

  “Gerda’s never been one to admit to weakness or ask for help,” Del continued. “I imagine dealing with Karl’s death, suddenly being a single mom, trying to run the business by herself, it was a lot to handle.”

  “Neither Teruko nor Beatrice think Carlee would have run away,” Morgan said. “She was engaged to some artist.”

  “Jade Tinsley,” Del said. “He’s still around. Has an art store off Main Street.”

  Lucy snorted. “Him.”

  “What?” Morgan asked.

  “I asked once if I could leave some of my jewelry on consignment in his gallery. Jade thought that would be great, but his wife said my beadwork wasn’t suitable for a fine art gallery.” Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe I let it bother me that much. I know my work is good, but she made me feel worthless. She’s a witch. Not literally. I don’t think. But the less you have to do with Mia Cooper and her entire family, the better.”

  Morgan smelled a motivation. Jade’s wife might have eliminated her romantic rival. “Was Mia around when Carlee disappeared?”

  “No,” Del said. “She was back east attending college. Swooped in like a hawk on that boy when she did come home. But he’s done real well since then. Mia’s a Cooper, like Lucy said. Wherever they go, the money follows. And the trouble.”

  “Maybe Carlee ran away because of her mother’s drinking,” Lucy said. “Or maybe Jade broke off the engagement and broke her heart.”

  “After sixteen years, I doubt anyone will find out exactly what happened,” Del said. “Stories can change a lot over time.”

  Adelaide snorted, then pawed the straw that padded the packed dirt floor of her stall. The short whiskers that surrounded her mouth seemed drawn into a frown as her large brown eyes followed Morgan. Adelaide was not in a good mood. Houdini wandered around the pasture instead of coming inside the barn for his dinner, perhaps seeking distance from his cranky wife.

  “I’m early tonight,” Morgan said. “You can’t complain.”

  But Adelaide did, with an impatient stomp of one front hoof. The donkey’s sides looked full to bursting with the foal she was carrying, and her spindly legs did not look substantial enough to support her body.

  Morgan resisted the urge to give Adelaide extra feed, sticking to the veterinarian’s prescription diet. The sturdy little animals did not do well on a rich diet, but
Adelaide did need extra vitamins and minerals.

  “Anybody here?” a man’s voice called.

  Morgan turned to the open barn door. Kurt Willard shaded his eyes as he peered inside.

  “By the stalls,” Morgan said.

  Kurt wore sensible walking shoes these days, after filling up his dress shoes with snow while chasing clues in January. He still wore his nineteen forties’–style reporter outfit, covered with a brown trench coat and topped with a fedora, a “press” card tucked into the hatband.

  “How’s Adelaide doing?” he asked.

  “I thought nine months was a long time to carry a baby. Doctor McCormick told me donkeys typically carry their foals for twelve months. The poor thing still has two or three months to go, but she’s a tough one.”

  Kurt reached over the stall to rub Adelaide’s forehead. Morgan half-expected the donkey to bite Kurt, but she seemed to like the newspaper editor. Turning to a stack of hay beside the tack room, Morgan tugged at a bale. A mouse emerged from between two of the bottom bales and scurried across her foot. Morgan jumped back and squealed.

  Kurt laughed, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. He had the sort of boyish good looks that added years and extra pounds just seemed to mellow. Men were lucky that way.

  “You need a cat,” Kurt said.

  “I’m not afraid of mice,” Morgan said.

  Kurt raised one eyebrow.

  “It startled me, okay?”

  Morgan reached again for the bale of hay, dragging it off the top of the stack. She pulled a pink pocketknife out of her jeans pocket and cut the orange plastic baling twine. They had started out adversaries, but when Kurt’s quick actions saved Del’s life three months ago, she had changed her opinion of the newspaperman.

  Morgan broke a flake off the bale and tossed it into the stall, then turned, leaning against the worn wood railings.

  “So what brings you out here tonight?” Morgan suspected she already knew.

  “You’re once again the talk of the town.” Kurt pulled his ever-present notepad and pencil from an inside pocket of his trench coat. “Care to make a statement?”