Stone Cold Case

by Catherine Dilts

  “Kurt is driving to the rock and mineral show. All I have to do is make it to town.”

  The dog squeezed through the barn door before Del got it all the way open. The dog bounded around on the frozen ground, slipping and sliding.

  “Don’t make me drop your breakfast,” Morgan said.

  Del gripped his shotgun so tight his knuckles were white. He wasn’t going to drop it again. The only other occupants of the barn were Houdini and Adelaide. Morgan emptied the pie plate into the dog’s bowl. He inhaled it, then looked at her expectantly.

  “I’ll get you some real food in town today.”

  “That’s how it starts,” Del said. “You feed a stray a meal or two, and pretty soon he’s running the place.”

  After feeding the donkeys and checking their water, they worked up the courage to climb the ladder to the loft. There was no sign of the mountain man.

  “In my experience,” Morgan said, “dogs don’t switch allegiance easily. The mountain man has to be around here somewhere.”

  “Maybe the dog didn’t follow Big Foot out into a sleet storm because it’s smart.”

  The driveway and rock shop parking lot were slick. Morgan turned onto Hill Street.

  “Not bad. Easy. Easy.”

  She rolled slowly downhill. Gravity increased her momentum. Unsure of how slippery the road was, Morgan tapped the brakes. The car didn’t slow. Morgan tapped again, not wanting to go into a slide, but when the brakes didn’t respond, she mashed on the pedal. Nothing.

  Main Street appeared through her windshield at the bottom of the hill, busy with Saturday morning traffic. The heavy Buick gained speed while Morgan pumped the brake pedal with her foot. She turned the steering wheel, hoping that zigzagging would slow her down. Instead, the Buick slid across the ice toward the irrigation ditch.

  Morgan straightened out. The car rolled faster. She grabbed her parking brake and pulled. The tires seemed to grab hold for a moment. The road was too icy. The car went into a slide.

  Almost to Main Street. She had seconds to make a choice. A wooden fence surrounded a parking lot on the right, a brick building loomed to the left, and Main Street was straight ahead. Morgan jerked the steering wheel to the right.

  She screamed. Wood splintered and cracked as the aging Buick plowed through the fence, sounding like fingernails scratching across a blackboard. The car launched upward briefly, then slammed down. Metal screeched and wood cracked as the Buick jerked to a halt, crushing the weathered fence like balsa wood. The airbag inflated, smacking Morgan in the face, then deflated like a popped balloon.

  The details of the wreck scrambled in her mind with Del’s warning to cancel her date. If only she’d listened. Or been sensible when she realized how slick the ground was in the barnyard. What-ifs couldn’t take back what was done.

  The heater blasted in her face. Morgan turned off the ignition. Her left shoulder ached where she’d slammed against the door. Her right knee must have hit something, too. Morgan didn’t feel any serious pain. She had felt like she was flying down the hill, but maybe the lumbering Buick hadn’t gained all that much speed.

  Piers ran out the back door to his Faerie Tales metaphysical shop. The last person Morgan wanted to deal with in Golden Springs was Piers Townsend, but his fence had been the safest option.

  Piers’s usual uniform of yoga slacks and a loose tunic looked ineffective against the Colorado cold. He stared at the tangle of fence and Buick with his mouth gaped open, but made no move to help.

  Typical, Morgan thought.

  A different citizen tapped on her window. Morgan had seen the woman around town, but had not yet met her. This was definitely the way to make a lasting impression.

  “Are you okay?”

  Morgan reached for the door handle. Blood dripped from her left hand. Her stomach went queasy for an instant, until she realized it was just a cut. No bone or tendons hanging out. She would probably live.

  “I’m better than the fence, right?” Morgan attempted a laugh.

  She jerked on the handle and pushed the door open. The slender woman held the door and offered her a hand.

  “I don’t want to get blood on you,” Morgan said in a shaky voice.

  “I called 9-1-1. Help is on the way. Is there anyone I can call for you?”

  Morgan wrapped her neck scarf around her hand.

  “I have a cell phone.” She crawled across the seat and reached for her canvas bag. She dug the cell phone out and dropped the bag onto the driver’s seat. Who to call? Del would just worry. He had no way of driving down the hill, unless he hitched the donkeys to their cart, and even then, Adelaide’s harness might not fit. Bernie would be busy with her morning rush at the bakery. Morgan punched in Kurt’s number. He was waiting for her, after all. And he had a car.

  He answered on the first ring. “Are you almost here?”

  She imagined him looking out the front window of his townhouse.

  “No, I’m not going anywhere at the moment.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “My car. The brakes didn’t work.” Morgan tried to hold back a sob, and failed. “My car. It’s destroyed.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Behind Faerie Tales. On top of the fence.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Shop owners, customers, and local folks curious about the commotion stepped cautiously across ice-coated pavement and wooden walkways. News travelled fast, and soon it seemed half the town was crowded around Morgan and her car. Hannah and Mike from the T-shirt shop, Lorina Dimple in pink and black cowgirl boots, Fern Bahr from the feed store, Bernie from the bakery, and a dozen more people milled around, trying to be helpful but just adding to the chaos.

  Kurt hopped out of his vintage Plymouth and ran toward Morgan. He slid to a stop, waving his arms to keep his balance. Bernie rushed down from the bakery at the same moment that Chief Sharp pulled up, the lights on his SUV flashing.

  Auto accidents had a way of bringing a person’s plans to a grinding halt. Deputy Parker scribbled in a notebook. Bernie retrieved Morgan’s canvas bag and dug out her insurance card and driver’s license. Piers teetered on the edge of despair, until one of his customers pointed out how nice a new fence would look. After Jason, the younger of Gerda’s two mechanics, towed the Buick to Gerda’s shop, there was nothing to distract Morgan from her injuries.

  “It’s time for you to see a doctor,” Kurt said.

  Deputy Parker tucked his notebook into a jacket pocket. “We should call an ambulance.”

  “My hand is okay.” Morgan held up her left hand. The scarf she had wound around it several times was seeping blood. “Just scrapes and bruises. Nothing urgent enough for an ambulance ride.”

  “You never know what’s really damaged until later,” Kurt said. “After everything swells up, it’s too late. It’s better to get a professional evaluation now. I’ll call Doc Drewmoore.”

  “Kurt is right,” Bernie said. “I’ll go with you.”

  Bernie had obviously been in the middle of a Saturday morning breakfast rush, her pink striped chef’s hat perched on her brown hair and her matching apron tied snug around her waist.

  “You have customers,” Morgan said.

  “And I’m not working today,” Kurt told Bernie. “We’ll check in with you after the doctor has a look at Morgan.”

  Morgan tried to relax on the drive up Main Street in Kurt’s 1947 Plymouth Coupe. When the car slid on a curving side street, she mashed her foot on an imaginary passenger side brake pedal.

  “You don’t have to hurry,” Morgan said.

  Kurt eased his foot up on the accelerator. “Sorry. I imagine riding in a car isn’t your favorite thing right now. But the ice is melting. It’ll be gone by noon.”

  “I know the chief and everybody else thinks I wiped out on an icy street,” Morgan said. “Just dumb luck. Happens all the time. But Kurt, I hit my brakes and nothing happened. I lived in South Dakota for most of my life. I know how to drive
on ice and snow.”

  “It hasn’t been cold enough to freeze your brake line. If that sort of thing can happen. I’m not a mechanic. But your car is old.”

  “Not as old as yours,” Morgan said.

  “Almost everything in this vehicle has been replaced. It was a bucket of rust when I found it abandoned in a rancher’s pasture. The man nearly paid me to haul it off. But back to your car. Have you had trouble with your brakes before?”

  “Gerda’s mechanics went over my whole car not long ago. As I recall, there was brake fluid involved, so I assume they checked my brakes.”

  “And she said her brakes went out, too. What are the chances her mechanics suddenly forgot how to maintain brakes?”

  “Slim to none. Why did anyone want to hurt Gerda? And why me? The same way?” Morgan didn’t wait for Kurt to answer. She was still riding an adrenaline rush, chattering a mile a minute. “That shows a serious lack of imagination. What’s the connection between Gerda and me? There is none. Other than her daughter. Maybe Gerda knows something about Carlee’s death that she’s not telling us, but I’m a newcomer. I didn’t even know Carlee.”

  “You found her remains,” Kurt said. “That might have been enough.”

  “If I had helped Beatrice with the bake sale today, instead of trying to sneak off to the rock show, I wouldn’t have wrecked my car.”

  “No matter what, those brakes were going to fail,” Kurt said. “Someone made sure of that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  * * *

  Morgan was happy to avoid the hospital emergency room, which typically turned into an all-day event. Doctor Henry Drewmoore ran what amounted to an urgent care clinic from the ground floor of his Victorian style home. He and his wife Patty were semi-retired. Patients needing anything more than routine care were sent to Granite Junction, or in extreme cases, the ambulance came up Topaz Pass while the doctor kept the patient stable. If Morgan’s injuries were serious, he would send her to the hospital in the city.

  She gave the doctor the details of her wreck and told him what hurt. He cleaned up her cuts and scrapes. No stitches, thank goodness. And no X-rays, unless she experienced an increase in pain, or swelling. Patty insisted they have a slice of homemade coffee cake before leaving. Morgan had lost some blood, and needed to replenish her strength. Morgan suspected it was a pretense to learn firsthand about the on-going recent drama she had been involved in: the mountain man, Carlee’s remains, Bernie’s Big Foot in a Dumpster, Rolf’s close call, and now her own wreck, which was suspiciously similar to Gerda’s. She hadn’t told Kurt about last night’s visit from the mountain man yet, and he listened intently. He didn’t pull out his reporter’s notebook and pencil as he asked lots of questions. Maybe this story wouldn’t end up in the Gazetteer.

  When they finally left the Drewmoores, Morgan asked Kurt to make a stop at the feed store. He carried the bag of dog food out to his trunk, then insisted on picking up lunch at the Hot Tomato, including turkey sandwiches for Del and Trevin. The restaurant staff who knew Morgan expressed concern about the accident, and asked about her injuries. After the communal curiosity had subsided, she and Kurt sat on a bench to wait for their carryout.

  “The Prairie Rockhound show runs tomorrow, too,” Kurt said. “I’ll pick you up this time. I doubt your car will be repaired any time soon.”

  “I promised to drop off more brownies at church in the morning for the bake sale,” Morgan said. “I have to go. They’re having the bake sale for my brother and his wife.”

  Morgan described Kendall’s sudden need for plane tickets.

  “Three thousand dollars?” Kurt asked. “Those are expensive tickets.”

  “I thought so, too, so I checked on line. Maybe they have to pay off a kidnapper or a drug overlord before they’ll be allowed to leave the country. Kendall and Allie are not the types to get involved in illegal activities, but they could have run afoul of a drug cartel.”

  “If it was a ransom situation,” Kurt said, “or someone was in jail, I hardly think he’d be willing to wait so long for the money. He’d head to a US embassy.”

  “I thought that was kind of odd, too. If it’s so urgent, why wouldn’t he want to get out of the country immediately?”

  “He’ll have to tell you eventually. So are they going to move back into the rock shop?”

  “I haven’t figured that one out yet. I just know I’m not leaving.”

  Kurt smiled. “Glad to hear that. I’d be happy to give you a ride to church. You could drop off the brownies, and then we could go to the Rockhound show.”

  “I do want to go to the rock show, but Gerda’s daughter will be at church.”

  Kurt’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “I didn’t know that,” Kurt said. “I must not be as in-the-loop as I thought. I’d like to meet her. She may have answers to some of our questions. Giving you a ride will be a good excuse to get my foot in the door.”

  Kurt’s motivation might be merely predatory, in a reporter-after-a-story kind of way, but the church ladies wouldn’t understand the arrangement wasn’t something more meaningful.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Kurt. I can just imagine the looks on the kitchen ladies’ faces if we walk in together tomorrow.” Morgan laughed. “You know how they like their gossip.”

  Kurt apparently didn’t see the humor in Morgan’s comment. “I can let you out up front,” he said, “then hide in a back pew. Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you.”

  He didn’t speak again until they left the restaurant with their to-go bags and drove up Main Street.

  “Maybe I’ve been a little pushy,” he finally said, “but I do like you, Morgan. And I am fully aware that this is a small town. There is no such thing as casual dating in Golden Springs. I wouldn’t be pursuing this if my feelings were casual.”

  The intensity of his words stung Morgan.

  “My son David might be spending the summer here.” The words stumbled awkwardly off her tongue. “He didn’t handle his father’s death well. I just don’t know if I can complicate things by starting a relationship right before David shows up.”

  As they turned the corner at Piers’s metaphysical store, Morgan could see the splintered remains of the fence stacked in a heap. When they were halfway up Hill Street, Kurt spoke again.

  “Let me ask one question. Is this a very polite brush-off?”

  Morgan thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully this time.

  “A week ago, it might have been. When I went back to Sioux Falls, my family had a healing moment. I let go of a lot of baggage while cleaning out our home, but the feelings are still raw. Maybe what I’m trying to say is I need a little time.”

  The Plymouth passed the dinosaur sign and nosed into a parking space in front of the rock shop. Kurt left the engine running.

  “Slowing down is an option,” he said. “I’d rather do that than drop our relationship before it has a chance to develop. I haven’t felt this comfortable with a woman in a very long time.”

  Comfortable wasn’t a word to sweep a girl off her feet, but then taking it slow probably wasn’t the surest route to a man’s heart. Maybe they were just friends after all. She tugged on the door handle and began to climb out.

  “You’re welcome to come in,” Morgan said.

  Kurt turned off the engine. “I can’t eat all this carryout food single-handedly.”

  Morgan held up her bandaged left hand. “That’s the only way I’ll get to eat.”

  She almost didn’t recognize the dog when it bounded up to her. His matted fur had been shaved off. What was left of his mottled coat was several shades lighter. The white patches glistened, and the reds, browns, and blacks were distinct. His pink and black speckled nose went straight for the carryout bags in Kurt’s hands.

  “Knock it off, boy,” Morgan said. “You have to eat dog food from now on.”

  “This doesn’t look like the dog you described,” Kurt said.

  �
��I wasn’t expecting him to be cleaned up.”

  They entered through the shop door, sending the cowbell clanging.

  “You’re back early,” Del said.

  Morgan held up her bandaged hand. “We never made it to the rock show.”

  “Hi, boss,” Trevin said to Kurt. “Other boss, I mean.”

  Kurt lifted the to-go bag. “I brought you lunch. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

  “I deserve something after cleaning up that dog.” Trevin pointed at his T-shirt, which was damp and bore several paw prints.

  The cowbell clanged again as a customer entered the shop.

  “We’d better eat in shifts,” Trevin said. “Mr. Addison first.”

  Del remembered he was hungry when Kurt opened the white paper bags. Morgan and Kurt gave Del the details of the wreck and Doctor Drewmoore’s assessment of Morgan’s injuries while they ate.

  Del shook his head. “I warned you the roads were slick, but it sounds like your wreck was due to mechanical failure, not weather.”

  “I agree,” Kurt said. “Morgan told me the mountain man was here again last night. Do you think he could have damaged the brakes?”

  Del tugged on his mustache. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Kurt frowned. “Why not? It seems obvious to me.”

  Morgan and Del exchanged a glance.

  “He seemed—” Morgan hesitated. “Benign. He could have grabbed the shotgun and wasted the both of us, but he didn’t. I don’t think he means to harm anyone.”

  “Except maybe Carlee Kruger?” Kurt asked.

  Morgan had to sort through her impressions of last night.

  “It doesn’t make any sense, I know. He might be a crazed killer.”

  “Until he’s captured,” Kurt said, “can you promise me you won’t go to the barn alone?” He turned to Del. “Either of you?”

  “Not a bad idea,” Del said.

  Kurt wadded up his sandwich wrapper and tossed it in the trash. “I’d better be going. What time should I pick you up for church?”

  “Eight thirty,” Morgan said. “Send Trevin in. I’ll spell him for lunch. If I’m going to the rock show with you, we’ll need him again tomorrow.”