Stone Cold Dead

by Catherine Dilts

  “From your claim?” Del asked.

  “Yup. There’s an old cabin that attracts a lot of attention. People have no respect for another man’s property.”

  An ironic statement, Morgan thought, considering she’d met Barton trespassing on her hill.

  “Have they found the mine?” Del asked.

  “Not yet,” Barton said. “But hikers take everything that’s not nailed down, and I’ve had poachers, too.”

  “That’s a pity. Ruins the hunting, and on your own stomping grounds, too.”

  “What do you hunt?” Morgan asked.

  “Elk, mostly,” Barton said. “Some deer. Del, I dug this up.” Barton reached into his front jeans pocket and pulled out a rock. “You can see why I need to keep quiet about the claim’s location.”

  Del plucked the rock off Barton’s palm and held it up to the light. He whistled.

  “Nice topaz.”

  Del handed it to Morgan. It looked like a rock to her, with a brownish crystal embedded in the side.

  “That doesn’t look anything like what I’ve seen in jewelry stores,” Morgan said.

  “They clean up nice,” Barton said.

  “Any more like this one?” Del asked.

  “Could be. It’s slow going, though. Any time I spend digging, I have to spend that much time and then some covering it up and hiding my tracks.”

  “Why would you do that?” Morgan asked. “If it’s your claim, can’t you dig holes if you want to?”

  “Claim jumpers,” Del said. “You can’t be too careful, or people swarm your mine like ants on a picnic the minute you’re gone.”

  “Especially if they find out you’re mining topaz,” Barton said.

  “Sounds like the Wild West.” Morgan yawned as she handed the rock back to Barton. “Maybe you need to post a keep-out sign.”

  “And advertise my claim’s location?” Barton said. “Even Del doesn’t know where my mine is. If I told you, I’d have to shoot you. Ha ha.”

  Barton’s comment was more effective than the three cups of coffee Morgan had consumed.

  “You know I’m not a threat. I can’t even aim straight.” Morgan attempted a casual laugh. “But suppose somebody ran across your mine by accident. And they maybe found some topaz lying around. And maybe took it. Would you really shoot them?”

  Barton stared at her. Del tugged at his mustache and frowned.

  “What are you getting at, Morgan?” Del asked.

  “Barton’s the one who said he’d shoot somebody.”

  “I was just kidding,” Barton said.

  “Where were you last Saturday?” Morgan asked.

  “On my claim.”

  Del held up a hand. “Morgan, you’ve either had too much coffee, or not enough.”

  “How close is your mine to where they found the dead girl?”

  “What dead girl?” Barton asked.

  “The girl I saw and then lost, and then the police found her again. How could you not know? It’s been on the news.”

  “I don’t keep up with the news.” Barton looked confused.

  “First you try to pepper-spray the man, and now this.” Del shook his head.

  “I just asked a simple question. Hang on. I’ve had a lot of fluids this morning.”

  Morgan ran to the restroom. When she came back, Barton was gone.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “You were obviously hot on his trail,” Del said. “Maybe he figured he’d better flee before you made a citizen’s arrest.”

  “It’s not like I accused Barton of murder.”

  “Let’s get this straight,” Del said. “I’ve known Barton for years. He’s a good guy.”

  “I just thought, well, he was in the area where they found the girl.”

  “So is anyone who was outdoors on the day you found her a suspect? You don’t even know how she died. It could have been a drug overdose, or exposure.”

  “It’s the not knowing that’s driving me crazy.” Morgan placed her elbows on the display case and rested her forehead in her cupped hands.

  “Leave it to the police,” Del said.

  “I hope they figure it out soon,” Morgan said. “Because I won’t get a decent night’s sleep until I know what happened.” She looked up at Del. “Is Barton upset?”

  “I smoothed it over with him. And he gave me a good deal on this.” Del held a rock between his thumb and forefinger, admiring it at arm’s length.

  “Del!”

  “What?”

  “You bought a rock?” Morgan waved a hand around. “We have ten thousand rocks. I would have given you one for free.”

  “It’s topaz.” Del shook his head. “You’ll see, once it’s polished. It’s a beauty. You have a lot to learn about the rock business.”

  The phone rang.

  “Don’t answer it,” Morgan said.

  Del picked it up. “Rock of Ages.” He frowned. “Hold your horses, gal.” He put his hand over the receiver. “It’s Bernie. She’s going a mile a minute.”

  Morgan took the phone. “Hello?”

  “You need to get down here right away,” Bernie said.

  “Are Houdini and Adelaide out again?” Morgan asked.

  “No, it’s the newspaper. A special edition. Kurt has written the most horrible article.”

  “I can’t stop the free press,” Morgan said.

  “You’ve got to come now. Your name is in it.” Bernie hung up.

  Bernie shook a newspaper at Morgan the instant she entered the bakery.

  “You won’t believe what Kurt printed this time.”

  The three ladies sharing a pot of tea at a window table turned to watch for a moment, then returned to their conversation.

  “Where does he get off?” Bernie frowned at Morgan, seeming to focus on her for the first time. “Morgan, you look like you were rode hard and put up wet.”

  “That colorful, huh?” Morgan yawned. “I didn’t get much sleep.”

  “I’ll get you a cup of espresso.”

  Morgan slumped down on the nearest chair. Bernie brought her a steaming cup. A timer went off in the kitchen. Bernie shoved the paper into Morgan’s hands.

  “Start reading. I’ll be right back.”

  By the time Bernie returned, the window ladies had left, and Morgan had made it halfway through Kurt’s front-page article. She was ready to join Bernie in her paper-shaking tirade.

  “Where did he get all these details?” Morgan asked. “I didn’t let him interview me. Who could have given him this information? I don’t think the search and rescue crew would compromise a potential criminal case.”

  “And he printed your name.” Bernie jabbed a finger at the paper. “It almost sounds like you had something to do with it. He as much as calls Pastor Filbury a child molester.”

  Morgan folded the paper. She leaned back in the small chair. Bernie seemed anxious for her response.

  “What are you going to do?” Bernie asked.

  “What can I do?” Morgan asked. “If he’s printed something he shouldn’t have, I think the police will let him know. Kurt has the right to say what he wants. It’s his newspaper.”

  “Freedom of speech,” Bernie asked, “or freedom to lie? This is slander. He shouldn’t get away with trashing your pastor.”

  “Bernie, calm down. Your face is bright red.”

  Bernie fanned herself with a paper napkin. “My blood pressure must be through the roof.”

  “Let’s take a walk,” Morgan said. “That’ll help you calm down.”

  “You’re right.” Bernie flipped her be-back-in sign to face the sidewalk. “Let’s go.”

  Bernie made a beeline to the newspaper office, towing Morgan in her wake.

  “We’re not going in there.” Morgan held Bernie’s arm.

  “In the Old West,” Bernie said, “we could have tarred and feathered Kurt Willard.”

  “Thank goodness some customs have gone the way of outhouses and kerosene lamps,” Morgan said. “Let�
��s keep moving.”

  Morgan struggled to keep up with Bernie as she marched to the end of downtown.

  “Slow down,” Morgan said. “You need to save something for O’Reily’s tomorrow.”

  “I’m thinking of skipping O’Reily’s,” Bernie said. “We’re walking a five K Saturday.”

  “You’ll recover in time for the race,” Morgan said.

  “My feet still hurt.”

  “Mine, too,” Morgan said. “We both need decent shoes.”

  “Let’s get shoes today,” Bernie said, “or we won’t have time to break them in.”

  Morgan picked up Bernie at two-thirty and drove to Granite Junction to buy running shoes and socks. Morgan’s heart nearly stopped when her total rang up on the cash register.

  Her cell phone buzzed on the way home. The caller ID read “Rock of Ages.”

  Morgan flipped opened her cell phone. “Hello?”

  “Good news,” Del said. “Gerda said we can put a sign up at her garage.”

  “Her auto shop isn’t on Main Street.”

  “I’m getting a lot of static. This phone’s about to—”

  Morgan lost signal. She frowned at her phone.

  “So much for modern technology.”

  “What’s up?” Bernie asked.

  “Gerda said we can put up a sign for the rock shop at her place,” Morgan said, “but I’m not sure that would help any.”

  “Let’s check it out.”

  Morgan drove west, slowing as she neared Kruger’s Auto Repair Shop. Main Street curved south, following a creek and the base of a hill on its way out of downtown Golden Springs. The shop sat at the intersection of Aspen and Palmer. Neither street crossed Main. An odd-shaped strip of dry, weedy land squatted between Kruger’s and Main Street. Strategically placed in the narrow lot was the auto shop’s sign.

  “You can certainly see Gerda’s sign from Main Street,” Bernie said.

  “If I can use large enough lettering, and maybe a simple map, it might work.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  At some point in the past, in a fit of industriousness, Kendall had started creating a sign. Del dug it out of the barn.

  “The wood is sound,” Del said. “But I need to do some sanding. It’s gotten a little beat up.”

  “Finally,” Morgan said, “I feel like we’re making some progress.”

  Optimism spurred Morgan to clean another display cabinet, but her burst of energy faded quickly. She was glad when it was time to close the shop for the day. After a bowl of homemade soup from the slow cooker, Morgan settled into bed, snuggling under the quilt with a romance novel.

  The phone in the kitchen rang.

  “Just when I was comfortable,” she grumbled.

  The phone didn’t have caller ID. Morgan had to take her chances answering calls.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello from paradise!”

  Morgan sat at the kitchen table.

  “Kendall? It’s about time. You’ve been gone for over a week.”

  “Between the phone service in our village,” Kendall said, his voice deep, his words crisp and clear, “and the phone service at the Rock of Ages, this is the first time I’ve been able to make the connection. I don’t have much time. Let everyone know our trip was smooth. Allie had a reaction to the local water, even though we’ve been boiling it, but other than that, we’re doing fine. How are things at the rock shop?”

  Morgan considered unloading on Kendall about her entire experience. She opted for a single terse comment.

  “You never told me Golden Springs was full of so many interesting characters.”

  Kendall rattled off something in Spanish. When had he learned another language? And fluently?

  “En ingles, por favor,” Morgan said in poorly accented Spanish remembered from her college days.

  “Julio said I need to hurry,” Kendall said. “The bus only runs to the jungle twice a week.”

  “Jungle?”

  Kendall spoke again in Spanish, presumably to Julio, then switched to English. “I only have a minute. Give our love to everyone—”

  “This conversation is not over,” Morgan said. “You dumped the shop on me without any warning. Now my car is about to break down, and I’m stuck in Golden Springs. I have a pregnant daughter in Sioux Falls. I have to go home, and I can’t, and it’s your fault.”

  “Sarah has enough in-laws to fill a Viking longboat. She’ll be fine.”

  “That’s not the point. This is my first grandchild. I want to be with her. And another thing. I’ve been looking through the books and accounts. Have you saved any money for the property taxes, or did you pay them already?”

  “Taxes?”

  “Yes, taxes. You know. IRS. April fifteenth. All that fun stuff.”

  “Well . . .” Kendall sounded like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Why would you need that information?”

  “I’m half-owner, remember?” Morgan asked. “When I contact a real-estate agent, they’ll want to know that kind of stuff.”

  “You’re not selling the Rock of Ages.”

  “You threatened to throw the keys across the pasture. I think that means I can do what I want.”

  “Not without my signature,” Kendall said.

  “So now you want to keep the place?” Morgan asked. “Are you coming back?”

  “No.”

  “Then what about the taxes?”

  “We used part of the money for our plane tickets.”

  “Which part?” Morgan asked. “The big part? Let me get this straight. You dump the rock shop on me the year you decide to quit paying taxes?”

  “Allie and I thought it was more important to establish our congregation,” Kendall said in an authoritative televangelist voice. “If the Lord wills, the money will be returned tenfold. The bus is here. I have to go.”

  “Wait!”

  The connection disengaged with a click.

  Morgan stared at the receiver in her hand.

  She had been prepared to slip into sound slumber, but now her pulse raced, and the rusty gears in her brain squealed into action. Morgan didn’t have a job to go back to in Sioux Falls. Her daughter wanted the shop and land to stay in the family. Even if they had to sell the place, it would command a higher price if the rock shop was turning a profit.

  Finally getting permission to erect a sign was a step in the right direction. Once the tourists could find them, the trick would be giving them a reason to leave their tourist dollars at the rock shop.

  Morgan grabbed a notepad and pencil. She flipped to a new page. Across the top, she scribbled “rock shop money-making ideas.”

  The next morning Morgan worked for two hours updating the shop’s financial records. When she couldn’t stand typing any longer, she went back to composing her list of ideas.

  “Mornin’, cowgirl.” The cowbell clanged as Cindy walked in the front door. “Or afternoon. I guess we’re right in between the two.”

  Morgan sat on the aspen bench, her notepad and pencil in hand. “Kendall called.”

  Cindy placed a seat cushion on the stool behind the cash register. Between her pregnancy and her long denim skirt, she struggled to get seated.

  “How are they doing?” Cindy asked.

  “They made it there. They were waiting for a bus to the jungle when he called.”

  “Wow,” Cindy said. “The jungle. What an adventure!”

  Morgan didn’t mention that Kendall and Allie’s Great Adventure might cost Cindy her job and Morgan the rock shop.

  “I’ve been coming up with a list of ideas to improve business,” Morgan said. “Have you got any thoughts on how to get people to spend money?”

  Cindy named two things Morgan had already thought of: expand Lucy’s Native American jewelry display, and cleaning up the front of the shop so it looked more like a store and less like a junkyard.

  “How about stocking more tourist items?” Cindy brushed a stray strand of red hair behind her ea
r. “Like coffee mugs with ‘Colorado’ printed on them?”

  “That sounds good.” Morgan scribbled on the notepad.

  “People have asked about postcards, souvenirs, stuff like that. I think we have some catalogs around here somewhere.”

  Del arrived as Morgan and Cindy were studying a selection of western bandanas in a catalog.

  “You’re not scheduled to work today,” Morgan said.

  “I thought I’d get working on that sign. What are you gals doing?”

  “Looking at souvenirs,” Cindy said. “Morgan wants to expand what the rock shop sells.”

  “I’d like to attract more tourists, along with the rock hounds.”

  “We should have stuff for kids,” Cindy said. “Cowboy and Indian toys, plastic horses and stuffed buffaloes.”

  “And donkeys.” Del turned the catalog to face his side of the counter and thumbed through the already dog-eared pages. “They got any stuffed donkey toys?”

  “We have to narrow this down,” Morgan said. “I’m not sure how much we can afford to spend on stock, especially this early in the year.”

  “Kendall always keeps some money set aside for acquisitions,” Del said.

  “He hasn’t told me where he keeps it.” She didn’t feel that now was the time to tell Del about the tax money. “Whatever we get has to be a sure seller.”

  “You never know what people are going to buy,” Cindy said.

  “Like the young fella who bought the coprolite for a gag gift,” Del said.

  It would take selling a truckload of dinosaur dung to dig the Rock of Ages out of its financial problems.

  The shop door opened. Morgan, Del, and Cindy all looked up. Morgan wondered if they appeared as desperate as she felt.

  Beatrice rushed through the door. She was dressed for action in stretch denim jeans and a puffy insulated car coat. Her thick-soled, sensible shoes squeaked across the pine floor. Morgan felt her shoulders slump. She suspected Beatrice had not come up the hill to buy petrified dinosaur dung.

  “I have news.” Beatrice swiveled her gray head around, checking the rock shop for eavesdroppers.

  “Nobody’s here but us,” Del said.

  Cindy placed her elbow on the display counter and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “It’s been deader than a doornail.”