Stone Cold Dead

by Catherine Dilts

  Morgan had hung the Buick’s extra key on a key-shaped pegboard on the office wall. Del stepped inside the office, returning a moment later.

  “Can I get you anything from Granite Junction?”

  “Actually, I’m thinking of taking a break at the bakery,” Morgan said. “Until we get a sign up, I don’t think we’ll be missing out on many sales. You can drop me off in town.”

  “I might not be back for a while.”

  “That’s okay,” Morgan said. “I’ll walk back.”

  “You’re not afraid of running into monsters?”

  “I’m getting used to them.” Morgan had made a fool of herself in front of Del once. There was no holding back now. “I thought I saw another one yesterday. Hang on a minute and I’ll tell you about it.”

  Morgan went through the door to the living area behind the shop. She grabbed her coat, purse, and a canvas bag. Del helped her lock up the cash register, not that there was any money in it, and front door, not that they expected anyone to drive up the hill and to their door.

  She began her story about her hike on the trail behind the shop as Del pulled the car out of the garage. Halfway to Main Street, she reached the part about Barton Potts saving her from a tumble down the hill.

  “Did he see the monster?” Del asked.

  “Of course not,” Morgan said. “I didn’t see one either, this time.”

  “So you almost pepper-sprayed a guy, and he believed you that it was over a raccoon?”

  “One more person in Golden Springs who thinks I’m crazy,” Morgan said with a sigh. “But it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been following me.”

  “Barton is a reclusive man, a little odd, I’ll grant, but he’s not a stalker.” Del slowed at the stop sign on Hill Street and Main.

  “What was he doing on my hill?” Morgan asked. “Who is that guy?”

  “Barton is a real outdoorsman,” Del said. “A kind of modern day mountain man. He spends a lot of time in the wilderness.”

  Bernie was busy with a small lunch crowd. Morgan enjoyed a sandwich and a cup of tea while she waited. When the customers were all tended to, Bernie joined her at a table, bringing a pot of hot water and more tea bags.

  “What’s new?” Bernie pulled off her pink and white striped chef’s hat.

  “I met a new person today,” Morgan said. “On the trail behind the rock shop. It didn’t go well.”

  “This sounds good.” Bernie rested one elbow on the bistro table and placed her chin in her cupped hand. “Go on.”

  “I’ll admit that my imagination was in overdrive again,” Morgan said, “and I thought I saw something that wasn’t there. But I had gotten a grip on myself until I realized I was being followed. So I ran.”

  “You ran?” Bernie asked. “Lucy would be proud of you.”

  “The trail was on the edge of a steep hill,” Morgan said. “I might have fallen, but this man appeared out of nowhere and grabbed my arm.”

  “A stranger rescued you?” Bernie asked. “How exciting! Who was he?”

  “Barton Potts,” Morgan said. “Del told me he’s a mountain man.”

  “I know him,” Bernie said. “He’s only a part-time mountain man. Barton started a computer software company that’s become quite successful. They make electronic maps. GPS stuff.”

  “I nearly pepper-sprayed him,” Morgan admitted.

  Bernie slapped a hand on the table and laughed. “You tried to pepper-spray Barton Potts?”

  Morgan cringed as every bakery patron turned to stare.

  “It was confusing,” Morgan whispered. “Everything happened at once. Del claims the guy isn’t the stalker type, but how would I know? I’d never seen him before. Anyway, I didn’t hit him with the pepper spray. Which might be a good thing under the circumstances, but it doesn’t make me feel confident about my self-defense skills.”

  “That would be like the princess assaulting the knight in shining armor who rescued her from the fire-breathing dragon,” Bernie said with a giggle.

  “You make it sound so much better than it was,” Morgan said, “and at the same time, so much worse.” Morgan stirred a packet of sugar into her teacup and added more hot water from the ceramic pot. “So Barton spends a lot of time outdoors. He runs on the trail behind the shop. I wonder if he was hiking the day I found the girl?”

  Bernie leaned across the small table. “You can’t be thinking Barton had something to do with that poor girl’s death,” she whispered.

  Morgan shook her head. “Until I know what happened to her, I’ll suspect everyone. I’m getting so paranoid, I can’t leave the shop without pepper spray in my pocket.” She thumped her fist on the table. “But I refuse to give in to fear. I’m going to keep hiking.”

  Bernie leaned back. “Good for you. I’m still sore after the night with O’Reily’s Runners. But I don’t want to give up, either.”

  The bell over the bakery’s front door chimed. Lucy negotiated the door, wrestling a stroller ahead of her. From somewhere inside a bundle of blankets, Danny sang a song involving the repetition of the phrase “bing bong.”

  Lucy wove the stroller between tables and pulled a chair beside Morgan. After liberating Danny from a few layers, she pulled a sheet of paper out of her canvas shopping bag. “Bernie, can I post a flier in your window?”

  Bernie accepted the paper and studied it. Lucy handed one to Morgan. “Run for Amanda,” curved across the top of the flier in bright pink. Beneath the words was a photo of a young woman seated in a wheelchair.

  “I’m always happy to advertise for a good cause,” Bernie said.

  “Mommy!” Danny cried. “Out! Out! Out!”

  Lucy reached into the stroller and unbuckled Danny’s stroller harness. He scrambled out and ran across the wooden floor, trailing fleece blankets behind him.

  Lucy turned to Morgan. “Amanda Palmquist is a Golden Springs high school student. She had just gotten her driver’s license, and was going down the pass to Granite Junction. She was driving slowly during a snowstorm, when a gravel truck back-ended her.”

  “Is she still in the hospital?” Bernie asked.

  “No,” Lucy said. “She’s out, but her mother took a leave of absence from work to take care of her. The family’s been hit hard financially.”

  “Did they have insurance?” Morgan asked.

  “Sure,” Lucy said, “but there’s always so much insurance doesn’t cover, like the mother’s lost wages. They aren’t the kind of folks to sue the truck driver or the gravel company. No one did anything wrong. It was just an accident.”

  Bernie sighed. “Things happen.”

  “Mommy, Mommy!” Danny cried. He pressed his face against the pastry display case.

  “Let me give him a cookie,” Bernie said.

  “You spoil him,” Lucy said. “Just don’t give him anything too sweet or he’ll be bouncing off the walls all afternoon.”

  Bernie went behind the counter and retrieved a shortbread cookie for the toddler.

  Morgan studied the flier again. All proceeds would go to the Palmquist family.

  “Why not just take up donations for the family?” she asked. “Why have a race?”

  “These fundraising runs do really well,” Lucy said. “People feel like they’re doing something to help others, and they get to enjoy a race.”

  “Is it here in town?” Bernie asked.

  Lucy nodded, and pointed toward the bakery’s bay window. “The race will start in Mineral Springs Park and follow the creek to a turnaround, then back to the park.”

  “That’s just a couple blocks from here,” Bernie said.

  “Which brings me to another question,” Lucy said. “Are you interested in participating?”

  Bernie threw up her hands. “I barely survived O’Reily’s.”

  “And we didn’t even go the entire route,” Morgan said.

  “Lots of people walk in charity events,” Lucy said.

  “It’s just a five K, right?” Bernie asked
. “Three miles?”

  “A little over three,” Lucy said. “The same as the O’Reily’s run. If you get tired, you can turn around early. But your time won’t count.”

  “Count for what?” Bernie asked.

  “Any of the age group prizes.”

  Morgan laughed. “I don’t think we’ll be in competition for any prizes.”

  Bernie turned to Morgan. “Will you still be here?”

  Morgan gave them a quick rundown of her car problems.

  “So I’ll be stuck here until I can figure out what to do with my car.”

  “That’s too bad,” Bernie said, “although I’ll admit I’m glad you’ll be around longer. That will give us more time to convince you to stay.”

  “Great!” Lucy said, as though the discussion was settled. “Fill out the entry form on the back, and get it to me in a couple days. The event is next Saturday.” She stood. “The Run for Amanda came together so quickly, we’re behind on getting announcements out. Can you help hand out fliers?”

  Lucy pulled a stack of fliers out of her bag and handed half to Bernie and half to Morgan. She bundled up Danny and was gone before Morgan had a chance to react.

  Bernie stared at the fliers in her hand. “What happened? One minute we’re enjoying tea, and the next we’re volunteers for a race.”

  Morgan stood. “I’d better head back to the shop.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got my pepper spray. I’m armed, but apparently not dangerous.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The deceptively bright winter sun did not warm the chilly air. Morgan wrapped her scarf around her neck. She clutched her canvas bag, now full of fliers and a loaf of bread, close to her side as she walked along the boardwalk. There was no pressing reason to return to the shop. Still, Morgan was supposed to be managing a retail operation.

  She saw fliers posted in every shop window she passed.

  Except Faerie Tales.

  Morgan opened the door and stepped inside. The fountains in front of the checkout counter bubbled gently, adding moisture to the dry Colorado air. Piers stood at the cash register, huddled over an open book with a white-haired lady. He glanced up and nodded at Morgan.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said.

  “No hurry,” Morgan replied.

  She walked slowly alongside a bookcase, reading titles. Herb gardening. Drying herbs. Cooking herbs. Herbs for healing. Herbs for making amulets.

  Morgan pulled out Attracting Hummingbirds and thumbed through photographs of the tiny iridescent birds hovering over colorful flowers.

  Piers seemed to listen patiently as the elderly woman chattered about the empty space in her life since her husband passed away. Her expensive wool coat and stylish yet sensible snow boots spoke of a comfortable retirement, while her new interest in meditation spoke of a discontent with that life of leisure.

  Piers concluded his explanation of a meditation book to his customer, and began ringing up the purchase.

  “What an unusual piece of jewelry.”

  Morgan glanced up. The woman pointed at the display case. Her hand was weighted down with a large diamond ring that had to be worth more than the entire contents of the case.

  “I designed it myself.” Piers opened the back of the display case and pulled out a tray.

  Morgan tried not to be obvious about listening.

  “How much is it?” the woman asked.

  “I don’t sell my gargoyles,” Piers said, with one of his dazzling smiles. “I present them to students who have achieved certain milestones in their studies.”

  Morgan thought about the gargoyle-turned-magpie, and how it had flown off the girl’s body with something in its beak. A glittering chain, like the silver chains on Piers’s gargoyle necklaces. Morgan gripped the hummingbird book tightly. She wondered if the dead girl had been his student.

  “And what would that milestone be?” the older lady asked.

  “Read this.” Piers placed the meditation book inside a shopping bag and patted it. “Then perhaps you might be interested in joining our discussion group.”

  Morgan imagined the woman’s attention would be pulled in some other direction long before she earned a necklace. But her curiosity about an object that could not be purchased might be strong enough to entice her into spending a lot of money in the shop first.

  With effusive thanks, the woman exited the shop. Piers turned his attention to Morgan.

  “How may I help you?”

  He glanced at her hands, clutching the hummingbird book. Morgan had not intended to purchase the book, but she felt obligated now.

  “I’ll take this book,” she said, approaching the checkout counter. “But I came to ask you about posting a flier.”

  While Piers rang up the book, Morgan pulled a sheet of paper out of the canvas bag hanging from her shoulder. She handed it to Piers.

  He studied it for a moment, then set it on the counter with her change. Piers managed the entire transaction without touching Morgan’s hands.

  “Competition is contrary to my philosophy of cooperation.”

  “This isn’t a competition,” Morgan said. “It’s a charity run. A fundraiser.”

  “There are prizes.” He pointed at the flier. “It’s competitive.”

  “Surely you can overlook the awards,” Morgan said. “The main purpose of the run is to help this young woman and her family.”

  “I believe in karma,” Piers said.

  “I don’t understand what that has to do with a charity race.”

  “Let me explain.” Piers stepped from behind the checkout counter and headed for the cozy sitting area. He settled into a chair, and indicated that Morgan should sit to his right.

  Morgan pulled off her heavy blue coat and tossed it across the back of the chair. Incense and soothing music filled the shop.

  In a singsong voice, Piers presented his philosophy of life. It was much as Morgan had expected: a breezy blend of Buddhism, pop psychology, and New Age ideas such as might be spouted by a daytime television talk-show host.

  “With the proper knowledge,” he concluded, “the forces of the universe may be appealed to, even persuaded to act on our behalf. Imagine, Morgan. Power over the petty irritations in your life. No more fear. No more pain.”

  “Aren’t those part and parcel of a normal life?” Morgan thought of Sam, a good man taken too soon.

  “Why do you think you were the person destined to find that girl on the trail?”

  Morgan must have looked shocked, because Piers continued.

  “That is not my intuition speaking.” He leaned back in his chair. “The news is all over Golden Springs.”

  Morgan shrugged. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess.”

  “There is no such thing as chance. You were placed there for a purpose.” Piers poured two cups of tea from the round jade teapot. “Can you describe what you felt when you found the girl?” He handed Morgan a cup. “What you saw?”

  “I’m not sure what I saw.”

  “The stress of the incident may have clouded your memory. I’m certified in hypnotic regression therapy. If you’d like, we could recapture those memories, and perhaps unlock the reason why you were the one destined to find her.”

  Morgan felt lulled by the incense, the music, the tea. She considered for one instant accepting his offer, then snapped to her senses. Detective Parker and Officer Sanchez would both be horrified if Morgan allowed Piers to tamper with her memories. She stood.

  “Are you sure you won’t post a flier?” Morgan asked.

  “You are single-minded,” Piers said. “If you could focus that energy in the right direction, no force could stop you from achieving your goals.”

  Piers escorted Morgan toward the front door.

  The curtain behind the checkout counter caught her eye as it fluttered back into place. The movement reminded Morgan of the wings of the creature perched on top of the dead girl.

/>   “Is someone back there?” she asked.

  “One of my students,” Piers said.

  Morgan thought she had glimpsed Sparrow’s green hair.

  “I would like to continue this discussion,” Piers said. “Perhaps over dinner?”

  His invitation caught Morgan off guard.

  “Dinner?”

  “The Hot Tomato serves vegan dishes. Would Tuesday be convenient?”

  “I have a previous commitment on Tuesdays.”

  “Ah, well.” Piers opened the door. A chilly breeze swept into the shop. “Perhaps another time then.”

  Morgan was so far removed from the dating scene that she was halfway through the door before she fully realized she had been asked out.

  “Another time,” she stammered. “That would be nice.”

  The door closed behind her with finality. Morgan clutched her canvas bag to her side and headed for Hill Street. She had added a book to the loaf of bread and the fliers.

  Another failed trip to Faerie Tales.

  By the time Morgan returned to the rock shop, Del was test-driving the newly repaired donkey cart in the parking lot. Houdini and Adelaide seemed to enjoy pulling the cart in circles.

  “I’ve still got to paint it,” Del said, “but it’s functional again. Want to give it a try?”

  “Maybe another time,” Morgan said. “I’ve got a quick errand to run.”

  She took a stack of Run for Amanda fliers and drove to the Golden Springs Community Church. Morgan fully expected someone to be around, preparing for the Sunday service. She didn’t expect the crowd, the television news camera crew, and especially not the Granite Junction police cruiser.

  The kitchen ladies clustered in front of the sink like a flock of frightened doves. Teruko clutched a dishcloth in her frail hands. Beatrice spoke in husky whispers while Anna shook her head.

  “What’s going on?” Morgan asked.

  “You won’t believe what’s happened,” Anna said. “It’s a nightmare.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her safari jacket and shook her head sadly.

  “A good man’s name dragged through the dirt by trailer-park trash,” Beatrice said. “It shouldn’t be allowed.”

  “What happened?” Morgan asked.