Stone Cold Case

by Catherine Dilts

  Morgan didn’t think one mineral could possibly entertain for forty-five minutes, but Professor Esteban had a slideshow presentation, samples, and an engaging style. He put Morgan on the spot by asking her a couple of questions mid-lecture, but they were easy ones, and she passed with flying colors.

  Then Chase waved his hand, like a kid in a grade-school class.

  “Professor, you mentioned several other local gemstones in your amazonite talk, but can you tell us if there’s any ammolite around here?”

  Tony Esteban’s deeply tanned face went pale. When Chase had asked about ammolite at the rock shop, he had made it sound like he was asking on behalf of a jeweler, as though he was not aware of the organic gem’s rarity and value. Playing dumb. Morgan wondered what else he was covering up.

  Dr. Esteban recovered his composure, shaking his head. “There are wild rumors circulating about ammolite in the hills around Golden Springs. Fossilized ammonite is typically found in sandstone deposits in this area, but I have yet to see ammolite,” he pronounced the “l” in the word carefully. “That would be a significant find.”

  “So it is possible?” Chase asked.

  “Let us just say, I will believe it when I see it.”

  When the Q and A portion of the lecture ended, and people gathered around the front table to examine Professor Esteban’s mineral specimens, Morgan managed to get Barton’s attention away from Myra. She tugged on his arm to draw him closer.

  “Maybe we should show the professor a piece of the ammolite,” she whispered.

  Barton shook his head. “Not until we figure out where it came from.”

  Then Barton noticed that Chase had moved in on Myra. The young woman stared at his scarred face, but Chase didn’t seem to notice. As Barton attempted to break into the conversation, Lorina took his place at Morgan’s elbow.

  “How about that?” Lorina asked. “Chase Cooper thinking there’s ammolite around here. What an amateur!”

  “Colorado has almost every other gemstone in existence,” Morgan said. “I might have asked the same question, if I didn’t know better.”

  “Do you know better?” Lorina asked.

  The skinny cowgirl was trolling for information. Del had warned her about the club. Morgan considered an answer.

  “Professor Esteban is an expert. If he says there’s no ammolite, I’d take his word for it.”

  Lorina shook her head. “He didn’t say it’s impossible. People make incredible discoveries all the time, like record-setting aquamarine deposits worth a king’s ransom. If a person were to run across something big like ammolite, they might need an expert to make sure some slick operator didn’t swindle them. You catch my drift, missy?”

  A voice sounded behind Morgan, startling her.

  “That would be something, now wouldn’t it?”

  Morgan turned. Harlan Cooper stood so close, if she’d taken a backward step she would have tripped over his alligator cowboy boots. Morgan felt like a fish at the center of a shark-feeding frenzy.

  “I suppose the first question is, does anyone have a claim on ammolite?” Harlan lifted one eyebrow above a turquoise-colored eye as he smiled at Morgan. The geezer with the bulldog jowls was turning his charm on full blast. “That would settle the whole issue, if the person holding the claim would just make it public. There’s a fortune to be made, for a person smart enough to call on the right resources.”

  “No true prospector blabs about their claims or mines.” Lorina glared at Harlan. “Just like a good poker player knows to hold her cards close.”

  Lorina pressed one hand to the top of her blouse like she was hiding a royal flush in her cleavage. There was no flirtation in the gesture. Her reply was delivered with such a cool air, Morgan couldn’t believe they had recently been holding hands in downtown Granite Junction.

  “Miss Lorina, you of all people know that mining is an expensive venture.” Harlan shrugged. “It’s one thing to own a claim. It’s a whole ’nother thing to have the wherewithal to dig. Some minerals can’t be harvested with a pick axe and shovel. They require heavy equipment. But for something like ammolite, a delicate hand might be needed. An amateur could damage a good portion of their find. Chop it all to bits.”

  Cooper was digging now, for information.

  “You worry about your own resources,” Lorina said, “which may be considerable, but money won’t pull gems out of thin air, or unproductive dirt. You can keep your heavy equipment and leave us little people to our puny pick axes. We’ll do just fine, thank you, Mr. Cooper.”

  Lorina flounced off to rescue Myra from the competing attention of Barton and Chase. Morgan wondered if a dozen or more years ago a similar scene had played out between Lorina, Harlan, and Del.

  When she got home, Del studiously avoided asking her about the meeting. Morgan wanted to discuss the conversation she’d had with Lorina and Harlan. They both suspected Morgan knew where the ammolite was, but neither had come right out and asked. She ventured one comment.

  “The rumors about ammolite have reached the prospecting club.”

  “And you didn’t confirm any of them?”

  “I’d rather climb in a shark tank. In fact, I felt a little like I was in one.”

  “I’m tellin’ you, those people are dog-eat-dog.”

  Morgan had a feeling “those people” included Lorina Dimple. Whatever had happened between Del and Lorina, it must have cut deep. Morgan couldn’t imagine Del being the one to wrong the skinny cowgirl, but she might never learn that bit of history. In any event, it was a good lesson to observe. In a small town, a romantic involvement that went wrong could have long-lasting consequences.

  When Morgan went to the barn Thursday morning to feed the donkeys and check their water trough, she heard hammering. After tending to Houdini and the ever-expanding Adelaide’s needs, Morgan followed the construction sounds to Del’s trailer.

  “A little to the left,” Del said. “A little more.”

  While Barton held the board to the new porch steps, Del hammered a nail into it.

  “Good morning.”

  Both men glanced up at Morgan, each muttering a hasty “morning” between hammer blows.

  “How is the repair project going?” Morgan asked.

  “After I put my foot through a board,” Del said, “we decided fixing the steps took priority over the roof.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” Morgan said. “We’re going to need all the space we can find soon.”

  “Why’s that?” Del asked.

  “Kendall and Allie are coming back, if they can cobble together money for air fare,” Morgan said. “I was thinking about trying to convert part of the barn loft into an apartment.”

  “You’d consider putting them in the loft?” Del asked. “They might not like that idea, after living in the shop all those years.”

  “My brother gave me no warning about leaving Golden Springs, and he certainly didn’t ask my permission to move back home.” Teruko’s story reminded Morgan of how fragile family relationships were. She bit back more harsh words about being inconvenienced by her brother, and released a frustrated sigh. “We’ll just have to find a way to squeeze everyone in. I don’t think David would mind living in the loft.”

  In her imagination, she could see David happily taking the loft, while Kendall arm-wrestled her for who got to stay in the rock shop living quarters, and who had to move into Del’s trailer. The guest room, well, that might actually be used by guests again.

  “Oh, is your son coming to Colorado?” A smile lifted the corners of Del’s mustache.

  “I’m trying to talk him into working here this summer,” Morgan said.

  The logistics of Morgan’s announcement seemed to sink in.

  “If David’s going to be here, and Kendall and Allie, then it’s a good thing I decided to fix up my place.” Del turned toward the trailer. “I’d better get busy.”

  Del whacked another nail into the steps. Barton crooked a
finger at Morgan. She followed him a few paces away from the trailer. Since Del’s accident with the chain saw in January, Barton spent more time with the old cowboy. The relationship seemed good for them both, drawing Barton out of his hermit lifestyle, and giving Del a buddy who could play the role of caretaker without Del suspecting he was being taken care of.

  “I’m trying to talk Del into moving to my ranch,” Barton said. “I have plenty of space, but I can’t get him to budge.”

  “He’s pretty attached to the trailer,” Morgan said. “I think it’s because of the time he spent here with his wife. Memories, you know?”

  Barton lowered his voice. “The trailer is falling apart. It isn’t worth fixing up.”

  The weight that had been lifting off Morgan’s shoulders settled firmly back into place.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  * * *

  Morgan used her be-back-in sign and made a trip to the Temple Mountain Feed and Seed. The pasture was greening up with warmer spring days. Donkeys normally didn’t need much more than that, but Adelaide and her additional cargo needed the equine supplements Dr. McCormick had prescribed, along with the oats they both loved.

  The smell of grains and hay mingled with poultry feed and a hint of leather. She paid for her order while a shop employee loaded three bags of oats into her trunk. Shop owners Fern and Snowy Bahr listened attentively to Morgan’s update on Adelaide’s condition.

  “When’s your brother coming back?” Fern Bahr asked.

  Everyone in Golden Springs must have heard the news by now.

  “As soon as he gets money for plane tickets.”

  “That reminds me,” Fern said. “Can you ask Beatrice to put me down for a dozen of her pecan cinnamon rolls? They’re the first to go at the church bake sales.”

  The people of Golden Springs were anxious for Kendall and Allie to return. Morgan was more worried about where to put everyone. Especially now that Del’s trailer was out of the picture.

  Instead of heading home, Morgan drove up Main Street to the pedestrian mall where Jade’s Aspen Gold Art Gallery resided. She had found both the elephant-head flowers and ammolite at the dugout. Surely one of them provided a clue to Carlee’s demise. Jade painted the flowers, and Chase sculpted them in glass. Add in Jade’s past relationship with Carlee, and Chase’s interest in ammolite, and Morgan was certain there were answers to be found in the gallery. Now, if she could just be certain of what the questions were . . .

  The over-eager clerk in the black polo shirt greeted her, then seemed to remember Morgan was the deadbeat looky-loo from the other day, not a potential customer. Her attention shifted back to her magazine.

  Elephant-head flowers were the central theme of several pieces of glasswork, two miniature paintings, and as part of the scenery in a dozen paintings. Chase claimed he wanted ammolite for a gallery jeweler. Three different artists displayed necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. Lucy’s jewelry was every bit as good as anything in the glass cases. None of it used ammolite. Of course, Chase claimed he was hunting for the fossil gem on behalf of a jeweler. There would be no ammolite jewelry until he found the raw material. So much for that theory.

  On the other hand, his interest might be due to a desire to stake a claim on an ammolite find, with his father financially backing the mining enterprise. With Jade sure to win the City Council seat, they could push through re-zoning if the ammolite was in an area currently off limits to mining.

  The curtain to the back room pulled aside. Jade shouldered his way through as he wiped paint-stained hands on a cloth. Morgan caught a chemical whiff of paint and thinner, and the organic scent of wood.

  “Lynn, did those new brushes arrive yet?”

  She dropped her magazine with a guilty look. “UPS hasn’t been by.”

  “You did order them next day?”

  She gave him a blank look.

  “Well, let me know when they get here.” He headed back, then noticed Morgan. “Oh. Hello. Mary, right?”

  “Morgan. I was in here last week.” Lynn’s attention was on her magazine. Morgan lowered her voice to a whisper. “There will be a memorial service for Carlee Kruger the Saturday after next. June sixth, at Golden Springs Community Church.”

  Jade wrung the rag in his hands. His glorious mane of blond hair was drawn back in a ponytail. “I wish I could.” He glanced over his shoulder. “If I can get away . . .”

  “I understand.” Morgan gestured at a painting. “I noticed you use elephant-head flowers in several of your paintings.”

  His face didn’t betray any reaction to Morgan’s question.

  “The reason I ask,” Morgan continued, “is because it looks like someone planted elephant-head flowers near the location of Carlee’s remains.”

  The color left Jade’s face. He leaned against the wall, seeming to forget the expensive artwork behind him until his shoulder bumped a frame. He glanced toward the checkout counter. The clerk was enthralled with her magazine.

  “Do they know,” he began, then stopped. “How did—how did Carlee die?”

  “The coroner hasn’t said. Why? Do you know something about her death?”

  “No!”

  Jade glanced at the front again. The girl looked up from her magazine briefly, but seemed spectacularly uninterested in her employer. Or maybe she was just good at listening in. Morgan wondered whether part of her job responsibilities included reporting Jade’s activities to his wife.

  “Why are you so jumpy,” Morgan whispered, “unless you do know something?”

  “It’s not that. If Mia sees me chatting with a pretty woman, she’ll be upset for days.”

  Jade’s statement startled Morgan on several levels. She hadn’t been called pretty by a man not related to her by blood or marriage in many years. But Mia’s jealousy was troubling. Was she possessive enough of Jade to knock off her competition?

  “Jade, was Mia around when you were dating Carlee?”

  “Mia is six years younger than me, so dating wasn’t an option back then. After high school, Mia moved on to bigger and better things than a life in Golden Springs.”

  “But she came back, obviously,” Morgan said.

  “Funny how things turn out. When Carlee disappeared, I was really broken up for a long time. Mia came back to visit her parents one winter. She had graduated and gotten a job with some high-powered marketing firm back East, but her family is very close. We ran into each other, and, well, things just worked out.”

  “You married her on the rebound.”

  Jade shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. Mia drew me out of my depression, encouraged my painting. In a way, she saved my life. With her marketing skills, and my painting, we’ve made a good life.”

  A miserable life, from what Morgan could see, but perhaps it hadn’t always been like that. She started to ask another question when she heard a man’s voice.

  “Mia made you rich.”

  Morgan turned to see Chase Cooper step through the curtain. He was shorter than Jade by several inches, and his black hair contrasted with the artist’s golden locks. If not for the burn scar on the right side of his face, Chase would have been every bit as handsome as Jade.

  “I’m glad you dropped by.”

  He extended a hand to Morgan. She clasped his hand briefly, feeling an unexpected strength, and rough calluses. Perhaps glasswork was more strenuous than she realized. She wondered how long he’d been listening, and decided to head the conversation in a different direction.

  “I can’t believe those aren’t real flowers.” Morgan pointed at one of the glass rectangles in the window.

  “Early in my career, I actually tried creating the pieces with real flowers.” He laughed. “Obviously, molten glass and flowers do not interact well. Then I experimented with dried flowers, but they lost their vibrancy.”

  Chase reached into the window and retrieved a three dimensional columbine, handling it with loving care. He rattled on about his artistic process, but Morgan hadn’t heard
much past his first sentence. He had tried creating art glass using real flowers. She wondered whether he had used elephant heads from Carlee’s final resting place.

  “Glasswork is not a forgiving art,” Chase said. “In an artistic sense, or,” he swiped a hand down his scar, “technically.”

  He seemed to invite the question, so Morgan asked.

  “You burned yourself creating art glass?”

  “The furnace is twenty-one hundred degrees,” Chase said. “A blob of molten glass hit me. Mother wanted to send me to a plastic surgeon, but I think the scar gives me character.”

  Morgan wanted to ask more questions, but Chase turned to Jade.

  “Dad says we can’t miss the deadline. Or were you hoping?”

  Jade grinned, but there was a measure of pain in his smile. “Maybe I was hoping.” He glanced at Morgan. “The deadline to register to campaign for the City Council seat isn’t until next week.”

  “And we’ll have hell to pay if we miss it. Let’s go.”

  Chase gripped Jade’s arm and steered him through the curtain to the back. Morgan made her exit through the front door, past the bored clerk. Instead of heading to the rock shop, she drove the two blocks to the Gazetteer. Morgan needed to report the results of her recent snooping. At least, that was her excuse. Harder to admit to herself was that she just wanted to see Kurt Willard.

  Morgan stopped at the front desk to tell Anna a little about her trip to Sioux Falls. She would deliver the full report Sunday in the church kitchen. Trevin took a break from researching Founding Father’s quotes for Kurt’s editorial about the importance of City Council.

  “So the police haven’t caught that dude yet?” Trevin asked.

  “No. Big Foot is still on the loose,” Morgan said.

  “I should have kept him at the rock shop,” Trevin said. “The whole town could rest easy now if I’d just tied him up.”

  “Trevin, the guy is huge,” Morgan said. “And he carries a machete for a pocket knife.”