Halfway down the gravel road, a black SUV with tinted windows passed her going up. It looked like a cross between a Humvee and a jeep. She thought she saw a Mercedes Benz logo on the hood, but that didn’t seem right. Maybe Mercedes was in the SUV market now. If so, the driver surely wasn’t a customer for the Rock of Ages, Morgan thought. Unless the driver was in need of a Triceratops brow horn.
Morgan turned and watched the vehicle, trailed by a cloud of dust. It slowed as it passed the rock shop’s dinosaur sign, then sped up.
They had to be visiting one of the neighbors farther up the hill, where the road dead-ended. Morgan continued her trek to town, walking carefully down the steeper sections of road where her slick-soled sneakers refused to grip the gravel.
She ran through the argument she would present to Piers, to convince him to let the Rock of Ages put a sign on the corner of Main and Hill Streets. Morgan might have to smooth over past offenses delivered by her opinionated brother, but she would not apologize for him. She might think her brother was crazy, but family stuck together.
When Morgan neared the bottom of Hill Street, she heard a car behind her, engine racing, tires scattering gravel. She looked over her shoulder. The black SUV already took up more than its share of the narrow road, but it seemed determined to crowd into Morgan’s space, too.
Or run her down.
For a brief moment, she debated crossing to the other side of the road. The vehicle was coming too fast. Maybe the driver hadn’t seen her. Through the windshield, Morgan glimpsed dark glasses and a shaggy goatee. She waved her arms. Instead of correcting its course, it veered closer to her side of the road.
The wide tires scrabbled on loose gravel. Morgan teetered on the edge of the ditch. She flailed with her arms, struggling to keep her balance. The SUV barreled past her. Morgan’s feet slipped. She pitched down the steep bank and fell, landing in the slushy, ankle-deep water on her hands and knees.
Furious, she scrambled up the bank. The SUV raced past the pockmarked stop sign at the bottom of Hill Street without slowing. Morgan tried to read the license plate. It was a Colorado plate, green and white, but the cloud of dust kicked up by the SUV obscured the letters.
Morgan retrieved her bag from the ditch. She debated continuing to town, or heading back to the shop. Town was closer, and downhill. Her shoes squished with every step.
Piers’s be-back-in sign, the clock framed with glittery fairy stickers, said he would return in an hour. More time than Morgan had intended to spend in town.
Standing in front of his store, her jeans soaked from her knees to her sneakers, she regretted her decision to walk to town. Then she noticed the traffic rolling up and down Main Street. If she could put up a sign, some of those customers might drive the few blocks up the hill to the Rock of Ages.
She walked west on Main Street, smelling the bakery before she saw the pink and white striped awning. The teenage girls were not behind the counter today, but it didn’t look like Bernie needed help. Only two customers sat near the large bay window, sharing a bistro table.
“Hi, Bernie,” Morgan said.
“What happened to you? You’re all wet.”
“I walked from the rock shop. A car ran me into the irrigation ditch.”
Bernie’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding. Are you hurt?”
“No, just wet.”
“You need to call the police.”
Morgan shrugged. “I didn’t get the license plate number. It was probably a case of someone changing a CD or lighting a cigarette.”
Bernie shook her head, making her pink striped chef’s hat wobble on her head. She looked more like an old-fashioned icecream vendor than a baker today.
“Or drunk. You really should report this.” Bernie picked up the phone receiver from the wall-mounted phone behind the counter. “I’ll call Bill.”
Golden Springs had a two-man police department that resided in a small office inside City Hall.
“Okay,” Morgan said, “but I’d rather call Officer Sanchez in Granite Junction. She already knows me.”
“You’ve been here less than a week, and you have your own personal police officer?”
Morgan shrugged. “They came by yesterday to ask about my report to search and rescue.” She dug the business card and her cell phone out of her bag.
The two customers left as Morgan settled at a table by the window. Officer Sanchez asked several questions that Morgan couldn’t answer, such as the license plate number. The description of the driver, wearing sunglasses and sporting a goatee, was probably no help. At least Officer Sanchez seemed to take Morgan seriously.
Bernie brought a tray with two teacups, a teapot, and two plates with lemon squares to the window table. She poured steaming water into the cups.
“Now tell me about the car.” She passed a container of tea bags to Morgan.
As she described the incident to Bernie, Morgan considered that it might be easier to start a blog than to keep repeating every Golden Springs experience ten times.
“I’m already the lady who imagines bodies on trails. I’m afraid people will think I’m a paranoid lunatic.”
“I believe you,” Bernie said. “I’ll keep an eye out for that SUV.”
“It looks like business is as slow for you today as it is for us,” Morgan said, hoping to change the subject. “We’re at a complete standstill. How do you survive the off season?”
“I’m fortunate to have a loyal following of local customers.” Bernie dunked a tea bag in her cup. “I work like the dickens during tourist season, and save for that rainy day. Or around here, that snowy day. Businesses are more likely to go under during the winter. That’s when Piers snaps them up. In Golden Springs, it’s not so much keeping the wolf from the door as keeping Piers from the door.”
Morgan tried to imagine the handsome metaphysical shop owner as a ruthless businessman. The image didn’t fit. Even if it was true, if other Golden Springs business owners ran their shops as lackadaisically as Kendall, maybe they deserved to go under.
“I’ve had time to do some serious cleaning,” Morgan said. “There’s no end to the to-do list.”
“It’s hard work, but there are so many perks to being your own boss.”
The bell over the door tinkled. Lucy entered, dressed in New West style, with jeans and western boots, a pale green silk blouse, and a black jacket. Morgan felt plain and dumpy in her baggy jeans and faded Washington Warriors sweatshirt.
“What happened to you?” Lucy asked, pointing to Morgan’s wet jeans and soaked sneakers.
As Morgan retold the incident, she tried to remember every detail. It had happened so fast.
“Do you suppose this has anything to do with the missing body?” Lucy asked.
“Why would someone try to run me down just because I saw a body?”
“There must be a dozen reasons,” Bernie said. “Maybe they thought you stole the body.”
“I just came from the rock shop,” Lucy said. “I brought some new jewelry to show you, but Cindy said you were in town. I didn’t see a black SUV.” Lucy sold her handmade jewelry on consignment at the rock shop. It was one of the few displays not gathering dust.
“Do I need to come back to the shop?”
“Cindy took care of me.” Lucy pointed at Morgan’s lemon square. “I might get one of those.”
“They turned out really nice,” Bernie said. She slid open the display case and retrieved a lemon square with a pair of tongs. “But you can tell me what you think.”
“Are we on for tonight?” Lucy asked as she took a bite of lemon square. “Mmm, this is good.”
“Tonight?” Bernie asked.
“O’Reily’s Runners.” Morgan must have looked as lost as Bernie, because Lucy added, “The running club.”
Morgan and Bernie spoke at the same time. “Oh.”
“It’s supposed to be a nice night,” Lucy said. “Clear skies, temps in the thirties. Great for your first time.”
“Firs
t time?” Bernie asked. “That implies there’ll be another.”
“I’ll give it a try,” Morgan said, “if you will, Bernie.”
“Okay. I guess it won’t kill me. But I’m not running.”
“Great,” Lucy said. “It’ll be fun.”
“Only someone as young, thin, and healthy as you,” Bernie said to Lucy, “would consider running around Granite Junction in the dark fun.”
Lucy laughed, apparently thinking that Bernie was kidding. Morgan was sure she was not. Lucy stood and turned to leave. She froze, her eyes glued on the window.
“Uh-oh.”
Morgan followed her gaze.
“Houdini and Adelaide!” Morgan cried.
The two donkeys trotted up the middle of Main Street.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Vehicles slowed for the donkeys, who negotiated traffic with a remarkable lack of concern. Their hooves tapped on the asphalt in an easy rhythm.
“I’d better get Del.” Morgan flipped open her cell phone and hit speed dial for the Rock of Ages. The signal dropped before anyone picked up.
“Use my phone,” Bernie said.
Morgan stepped behind the bakery counter and dialed, but got a busy signal.
“The phones are always going out on the hill,” Bernie said. “It used to drive Allie crazy.”
“We can round them up,” Lucy said.
The donkeys had different ideas.
The three women followed Houdini and Adelaide up Main Street, always three paces behind the donkeys. Morgan’s cold, wet sneakers squished as they crossed the bridge to the park, and cut through the open-air penny arcade. They surrounded the donkeys in front of the Winston House, a historic hotel that had been converted into a retirement home. Several seniors relaxed on the wraparound porch soaking up the unseasonably warm sun. Undeterred, Houdini climbed the stone steps. Adelaide followed, her hooves click-clacking across the oak planks.
“What have we got here?” one gentleman asked, a delighted smile creasing his wrinkled face.
He held out a cookie. As Adelaide stopped to accept the treat, Morgan reached for her halter. The donkey snatched the cookie and jerked her head away. She trotted after Houdini, across the porch and down the far steps.
When they headed back to Main Street, several shopkeepers joined the round up. Kurt Willard stepped out of the Golden Springs Gazetteer to snap photos. Morgan considered the humorous scene they made, two donkeys leading a parade of citizens headed by Bernie in her pink and white striped chef’s coat and hat. If she hadn’t been so annoyed, Morgan might have laughed.
“Hey, I think they’re heading home.”
Lucy pointed to Hill Street. It did seem that the donkeys were finally going the right direction. They climbed onto the boardwalk and stopped in front of Faerie Tales. Bernie grabbed Adelaide’s rope halter. Morgan threw her arm around Houdini’s neck. After applauding the successful capture of the donkeys, people hurried back to their shops.
“Where’d Lucy go?” Bernie asked. “I thought she was helping.”
Houdini shook himself from head to toe, nearly breaking Morgan’s hold. Adelaide stuck her muzzle in a wooden half-barrel planter and snuffled her lips across the bare dirt. The smell of sweaty donkey mingled with the sweet incense permeating the air around Faerie Tales.
Piers stepped outside. He shook his head and cast a sad glance at Houdini, then Adelaide.
“You ate those flowers last summer,” he told the donkeys. “There are no more.” Piers pushed his hands inside opposite sleeves of his loose gray tunic. “Your efforts are in vain.”
“She’s not hurting anything,” Bernie said.
“There’s nothing left to hurt.” Piers raised his hands. “They ate my columbines, right before the storefront decoration contest. The flowers had just reached perfection when they were mowed down by your brother’s livestock.”
“I can replace the flowers this spring,” Morgan said.
Houdini stretched his neck, trying to reach the planter. Morgan held tight to his rope halter.
“It was my karma,” Piers said. “I had become full of pride about my beautiful storefront.” He stepped closer to Adelaide, the breeze stirring his wavy blond hair. Adelaide stomped her hoof dangerously close to Piers’s sandal. “I thank you for your generous offer, but I would rather wait until the donkeys are gone before attempting to replant.”
“These donkeys aren’t going anywhere,” Morgan said.
“Livestock is banned under the new city ordinance,” Piers said.
“The donkeys are illegal?” Morgan asked.
“They were grandfathered in,” Bernie said. “Kendall told City Council the donkeys were family pets, and couldn’t be moved from the property without great distress.”
Piers pointed at Morgan’s wet and dirty sneakers. “Did those creatures drag you through the mud?”
If he had the psychic powers he claimed, it seemed to Morgan that Piers should know what happened. Unless he was covering up. Morgan wondered if Piers owned a black SUV.
“No,” she said. “They’re gentle animals. I don’t see what you have against donkeys.”
“I hold no grudge against these two,” Piers said. “They and their offspring may remain at the rock shop, but no new livestock may be introduced within city limits.”
“They don’t have any offspring,” Morgan said.
“Thus they will be the last donkeys in Golden Springs.”
Houdini turned his mournful expression from Piers to Morgan, his big brown eyes nearly brimming with donkey tears. She wondered how much the donkey understood.
“I don’t know how they got out,” Morgan said. “I checked the gates before I left.”
“They run freely in the streets on a frequent basis,” Piers said.
Morgan looked to Bernie for confirmation. The baker shrugged.
“This is the second time in the past year,” Bernie said. “I don’t see what the problem is. When tourists come here, they’re looking for Old West charm, and what’s more charming than Houdini and Adelaide?”
“Speaking of tourists,” Morgan said, “people would slow down if they saw a sign pointing them toward the donkeys. They’d notice your shop, too. Maybe this is a bad time, but can I talk to you about a sign?”
“An omen?” Piers asked, a glint of humor in his summer blue eyes. “Or a premonition?”
“Ha ha,” Bernie said without enthusiasm.
“You know what I mean.” Morgan waved a hand at the corner. “A sign, to let people know our shop is up the hill.”
“Kendall’s proposals did not meet my criteria.” Piers crossed his arms. “We have been unable to reach an agreement.”
Houdini lifted his tail. He deposited a gift on the boardwalk. It splattered onto the wood in a glorious alfalfa-green pile.
Piers raised his hands. A strangled sound caught in his throat.
“I’d save that if I were you,” Bernie said. “It’ll be good for your flower planters.”
“And on that note,” Morgan said, “I’d better get them home.”
Morgan and Bernie tugged on the donkeys’ halters, leading them off the boardwalk and away from Faerie Tales. When they reached Hill Street, Lucy joined them.
“You’ve got customers,” she told Bernie. “I can help Morgan.”
“Gladly!” Bernie relinquished Adelaide’s halter to Lucy and hurried to her shop.
“I can’t wait to tell my friends in Sioux Falls about the donkey roundup on Main Street,” Morgan told Lucy. She grasped Houdini’s halter. “It would be a shame if Houdini and Adelaide are the last donkeys in Golden Springs.”
“You have Piers to thank for that ordinance,” Lucy said.
“Ordinances can be changed,” Morgan said.
“Trying to negotiate with Piers is pointless. There’s only one way, and that’s his way.”
Houdini jerked his halter out of Morgan’s grip and snatched a mouthful of dried grass alongside the ditch. Morgan wrapped her fist tig
htly around the rope halter and dragged him up the road.
“Piers seems like a nice enough guy.”
Lucy rubbed Adelaide’s neck with her free hand as she walked. “Piers wants you to think he’s just a harmless guy selling crystals and hoodoo to gullible people, but he has an agenda.”
“Agenda?” Morgan couldn’t keep the smile out of her reply.
“He’s buying up property in Golden Springs.”
“I’ve heard something about that.” Morgan didn’t mention his interest in the Rock of Ages. “But if people are selling, he’s got the right to buy, doesn’t he?”
“Legally, I suppose so. But just because something is legal doesn’t make it right. I don’t know if Kendall and Allie told you, but he’s after the rock shop.”
“The Rock of Ages isn’t exactly a moneymaker.”
“It sits on a lot of land. Close to town. Golden Springs doesn’t have much room for expansion. We’re surrounded by national forest. And Piers usually gets what he wants. It’s like he’s cast a spell over City Council.”
Adelaide stopped, pulling Lucy to a halt. Morgan almost thanked the donkey for the chance to catch her breath.
“Adelaide must be out of shape,” Lucy said. “She’s sure moving slow.”
“She’s old,” Morgan said. “It’s sad to think they’ll be the last donkeys in Golden Springs.”
“Thanks to Piers’s ordinance,” Lucy said.
Morgan hesitated. “It keeps coming back to Piers.”
“Do you think I’m being unfair?” Lucy asked. When Morgan didn’t reply, Lucy continued. “I can see that it might look that way. I used to sell jewelry at Faerie Tales, until Piers started offering to align my chakras or give me a massage. I quit selling jewelry at his shop, but every time he saw me, he asked me to come back. It was a business relationship—nothing more—but he made me feel as though something inappropriate had taken place.” Lucy shook her head, sending her long black braid swinging across her back like a pendulum. “Or could, if I’d just cooperate. Paul warned Piers to leave me alone or else.”
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