Stone Cold Dead

by Catherine Dilts

  “I apologize for abandoning you,” Piers said. “May I walk you to your car?”

  Sparrow materialized at his elbow. “Can you help me with something?” She glanced at Morgan. “Oh, am I interrupting?”

  Sparrow placed a proprietary hand on Piers’s arm and shot a superior look at Morgan.

  “You’re not interrupting,” Morgan said.

  “I’ll be right back,” Piers told Sparrow.

  “But I need—” Sparrow started.

  “In a moment,” Piers said, his tone firm, like a parent cautioning a child.

  “It’s okay,” Morgan said to Piers. “We’ll talk another time.”

  Sparrow’s cheeks flushed a blotchy red, and deep lines creased between her eyes and around her mouth. She was a woman who frowned a lot.

  Morgan attempted a sincere smile. “Thanks for inviting me, Sparrow. It was an interesting evening.”

  As Morgan walked across the deserted park to a stone pedestrian bridge, she mused about Sparrow’s reaction. Piers seemed oblivious to Sparrow’s interest in him, while she was wildly jealous of any imagined competition. Her persona must not have included the free-love attitude of the older generation of hippies. She wanted Piers all to herself.

  Morgan kept to the middle of the bridge. Chunks of ice drifted in the dark water far below, congealing against boulders momentarily before breaking apart and continuing their journey downstream. She shivered, clutching her collar tight with one hand, and grasping her purse and the heavy stainless-steel brownie pan with the other.

  The smell of cigarette smoke cut through the crisp night air. Morgan glanced around for the source. Other than the faint sound of music coming from a Main Street bar, she seemed to be alone. Dense winter-dead bushes crowded the far end of the bridge. Morgan studied the shadows as she neared them, relieved when she stepped off the bridge and onto the walkway.

  Beyond the bushes, between Morgan and the parking lot, a man lounged against a tree, dim in the light of a distant street lamp. A black garment draped his broad shoulders. Like Dawn Smith’s cloak, it looked too thin for the cold night air.

  Piers had offered to escort her to her car. She wished she’d taken him up on it. She wished she’d brought Del’s pepper spray. All that wishing wouldn’t get her safely to her car, and besides, her judgment concerning danger had been proven wrong more than once.

  Morgan’s dress shoes clicked against the paving stones. She tried to keep her steps steady and slow, while her heart raced out of control. The dark-cloaked person flicked a cigarette onto the ground, the glowing red tip dying in a pile of slush. He tugged a ski mask over his face, covering a bushy mustache and goatee, and slouched toward her.

  Veering to the left, Morgan planned to stay out of reach when she neared him. He sped up, his steps matching hers, his route angling toward her side of the walkway. She stopped. He stopped. Certain that his intentions were not good, Morgan spun around. Her chances had to be better returning to City Hall, where people might be lingering after the meeting, rather than facing the strange man head on.

  She heard his loping strides behind her on the bridge. Morgan started to run, but he grabbed her arm, jolting her to a halt. The heavy brownie pan dropped with a clatter. Morgan pawed at the stranger’s hand with her mitten. She tried to scream, but only a whimper pushed past her lips. He gripped both her arms, pushing her steadily to the edge of the bridge. One dress shoe slipped off Morgan’s foot and splashed into the slushy creek.

  “What do you want?” she gasped. “My purse fell over there.”

  He didn’t seem interested in robbery. And if he had sexual assault in mind, why was he pushing her away? Her fear turned to anger.

  “Are you crazy?” It was a rhetorical question. “Let me go!”

  If he did, Morgan realized, she would plunge into the icy water below the bridge. Switching tactics, she hung on to his arm, and wrapped one leg around him like a monkey. He stumbled, and for a moment Morgan feared they would both plunge into the water. Instead, he threw himself toward the bridge, pulling Morgan down with him. The landing was hard, and seemed to stun the stranger for a moment. The collar of his black cloak gapped open, revealing a gargoyle tattoo.

  Morgan grabbed for the heavy brownie pan, clutching it tight with her mitten. Her first blow hit the stranger on the side of his head. She jumped up and grasped the pan with both hands, swinging it repeatedly at his face. The man curled up in a ball, his arms cradling his head.

  “Hey,” a voice called. “What’s going on?”

  Piers and Elrond ran across the park. The stranger jumped to his feet and sprinted toward the parking lot. Morgan lobbed the brownie pan at him. It bounced off the back of his head, hitting the bridge with a clatter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  After Golden Springs Police Chief Bill Sharp responded to Piers’s cell phone call, Morgan had to convince him that she didn’t need to go to the emergency room.

  “If anyone needs an ambulance,” Piers chuckled, “it’s the man who attempted to assault Morgan.”

  “What happened to Mrs. Iverson was no joke,” Chief Sharp said. “I’ll need statements from all of you.”

  “I really have very little to report,” Elrond said, “other than witnessing the flight of Morgan’s assailant. Would tomorrow afternoon be a suitable time?”

  “No,” Chief Sharp said. “I want to talk to you tonight. Right now. Follow me to the station.”

  “I’ll drive you, Morgan,” Piers said.

  The man on the bridge shared the same gargoyle tattoo Dawn Smith wore. The gargoyle that nested in a bed of velvet in a display case at Faerie Tales.

  “I’ll ride with Chief Sharp,” she said.

  Morgan spent the next hour at the small police department inside City Hall, telling her story several times over.

  Knowing how fast news traveled in Golden Springs, Morgan told Del about her incident on the stone bridge as soon as he arrived at the shop Thursday morning. Then she had to convince him that she needed the Rock of Ages sign worse than she needed a bodyguard. Del reluctantly loaded the finished sign into the car and drove to Gerda’s.

  When the phone rang, catching her in the middle of sweeping the floor, she grabbed the receiver. “Hello,” she said, in a tone that was definitely not customer friendly.

  “Nice to hear from you, too,” Kendall said. “I’m glad I caught you before you headed home.”

  “You caught me in the middle of trying to straighten out your mess. Excuse me if I don’t sound happy.” Morgan paced up and down the empty aisles. “I can’t leave until I get my car repaired. Look, Kendall, Sarah asked me to do what I can to hang on to the land, but I don’t see how we can. Unless things turn around soon, we need to seriously consider selling the place.”

  “That’s not an option.”

  “Tell that to the IRS. When were you going to let me in on your tax evasion scheme?”

  “When were you going to tell me about Pastor Filbury and the murder, and the fact that you’re right in the middle of it all?”

  “You’re in the jungle.” Morgan stopped beside a table and grasped a geode with her free hand. “I didn’t think you’d hear news from home.”

  “You’re not the only family member I talk to.”

  Morgan set the geode down. She had shared the story with Sarah, but hadn’t told Dave anything. Morgan’s son was too busy studying to return her calls. Or maybe he was avoiding her. She couldn’t tell Sarah about the stone bridge assault, at least until the murderer was captured.

  “When were you going to tell me about Piers Townsend and his campaign to put us out of business?” she asked. “You could have warned me I was walking into a bear trap.”

  There was a pause, and for a moment Morgan thought they had lost connection. Then she heard Kendall exhale slowly.

  “Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair of me. I was desperate to get away, but I didn’t want to give up the land. I figured you wouldn’t want to run the place if you knew how hard it
was going to be. Allie and I just got so weary of it all.”

  “Weary of what? Working for a living?”

  “No, Morgan. Weary of the unending uphill battle to make the Rock of Ages survive.”

  “Excuse me, but it doesn’t look like you were working all that hard.”

  “We were, in the beginning. That was when things were good. Then all the other crap started. The constant bickering and maneuvering, the petty politics. I was on City Council for one term. We went to meetings. Allie deserves a law degree for all the work she’s done deciphering proposed ordinance and zoning changes. Maybe I thought you’d have a fresh take on things, or maybe I thought you’d get along with people better than Al-lie and me. Or maybe we just gave up.”

  Morgan sat on the aspen bench. “After all that effort? The place is a mess, the books are an invitation for an IRS audit, and nobody knows we exist.”

  “I had a sign ready to put up.”

  “Del found it.”

  “I was digging the post holes when Piers bought out the shop on the corner of Hill and Main. That was the end of that.”

  “I’m sorry, Kendall. For yelling. I know how difficult Piers can be. I tried to get permission from him to put the sign on that very corner, but I guess you know how that went.”

  “It’ll only get worse now that Pastor Filbury’s influence on City Council is diminished. Piers will get his zoning proposal pushed right through.”

  “That explains why he’s so eager to buy the rock shop,” Morgan said. “With the zoning change, he’d make a fortune off our land. I have good news, though. Del is putting up a sign, as we speak.”

  “You’re kidding,” Kendall said. “I can’t believe he convinced Piers—”

  “Not Piers,” Morgan said. “Gerda Kruger. She told Del to put a sign for the rock shop on her lot.”

  “That’s so far from the turnoff,” Kendall said.

  “It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Morgan heard a jungle bird in the background. Their connection was tenuous. She didn’t want to waste a phone call. She couldn’t be certain there would be another.

  “Kendall, if you really want to keep the land, why did you spend the tax money?”

  “Money’s not the important thing now. We’ll come up with a way to pay the taxes. I’m worried about you. Have you talked to anyone? I mean besides the police.”

  “People won’t leave me alone. Del makes me carry a stuffed survival pack. Beatrice has me on her gossip speed dial—”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Kendall said. “Have you spoken to anyone about how the trauma of the event affected you? There are people at the church who are very good at listening.”

  “They’re kind of in a state of turmoil right now.”

  “Morgan. You know Pastor Filbury didn’t do anything to that girl. I’m not just calming your parental fears because Dave and Sarah were in the summer camp. I have no doubts about this whatsoever. Pastor Filbury is innocent.”

  “Thanks.” Morgan took a deep breath and released it slowly. She wiped her sweatshirt sleeve across her eyes. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear you say that.”

  Kendall spoke in Spanish, then said, “I have to get off the phone. Do I need to come home?”

  “No,” Morgan said. “I can take care of myself. And if I can’t, there are a dozen people standing in line for the job. Anyway, I would think you and Allie are in more danger than I am.”

  “It’s a tight community here,” Kendall said. “People are watching out for us.” He laughed. “The local ladies have taken Allie under their care. They’re trying every home remedy they know to cure her infertility. Allie’s just humoring them. I mean, what are the chances, at our age?”

  Morgan thought she detected a trace of bitterness in her brother’s voice. Her heart ached for him.

  “I really have to go now. This is the only phone in town. I’ll call back as soon as I can. Give our love to everyone.”

  “Wait. When are you coming back? I need to know—”

  Kendall began speaking in Spanish and hung up.

  Morgan replaced the receiver slowly. The shop was empty. She didn’t feel like doing any more data entry. But if she didn’t keep busy, her mind would continue spinning over the same territory. Taxes and finances and small-town politics.

  And murder.

  She looked out the window at the empty parking lot. Heavy flakes began to drift from the gray clouds.

  A delivery truck pulled into the Rock of Ages parking lot Friday morning. Morgan unpacked her laptop computer, while Del left to finish installing the sign at Gerda’s place. Cindy had just arrived for her shift when Del threw the front door open and marched in like a conquering hero.

  “Where are all the customers?” he asked with mock drama. “Haven’t they seen the big sign for the Rock of Ages?”

  Morgan laughed. “Not yet. But I’m guessing they will.”

  “The sign is up?” Cindy asked. “Yee-haw!”

  She climbed onto her stool. In apparent anticipation of bad weather, Cindy wore maternity jeans, snow boots, and a down vest.

  “I finished right before it started snowing,” Del said. “I think we’ll end up replacing the concrete this spring. But it looks pretty good for now.”

  “Kendall called,” Morgan said.

  “How are they?” Cindy asked.

  “He and Allie send their love. Kendall was very happy to hear that his sign was going up.”

  “So are they coming back?” Cindy asked.

  “I couldn’t keep him on the phone long enough to have that discussion,” Morgan said.

  Del tugged at his mustache. “What about the shop?”

  “I can’t head back to Sioux Falls until I get the car fixed.” Morgan made the decision that had been building for the past two days. “It’s more complicated than I thought it would be. I’ll stick around another week or two.”

  “That’s good news,” Cindy said.

  Morgan couldn’t give her false hope.

  “If I sell the place, there’s a lot of work to do to get it ready to put on the market.”

  The cowbell clanged as the front door opened. Four snow-dusted people crowded inside and stomped snow off their feet. A teenage girl made a beeline for Lucy’s jewelry display, while a younger boy found the shark teeth. Cindy caught Morgan’s eye and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  “Hurry up, kids,” the father called. “We don’t want to get caught in the storm.”

  The mother approached the checkout counter. She, along with the rest of the family, had the affluent attire and the fit physique of skiers. “Do you know how long this weather is supposed to last?”

  “And how are the roads?” the father asked.

  “I’ll call the road condition hotline.” Cindy pulled a pen out of her bun of red hair and punched buttons on the phone.

  The man peered into the display case.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “What?” Morgan asked.

  “That bone, or rock, or whatever it is. Are you really asking over three thousand dollars for that?”

  “It’s a triceratops brow horn,” Morgan said.

  The boy materialized in front of his father and pressed his face against the glass. “Awesome!”

  “It’s seventy million years old,” Morgan continued, “and in remarkable condition.”

  “Who would buy something like that?” the man asked.

  “Some people collect coins,” Morgan said. “Some buy fine art. Other people collect fossils.”

  “The roads are wet,” Cindy said. “Driving conditions are good, for now. Where are you folks headed?”

  “Monarch Ski Resort,” the woman said.

  “If it was me,” Cindy said, “I’d try to get some miles put down before it gets dark.”

  “Thanks,” the woman said. “Come on kids. Hurry up!”

  Morgan respected Cindy’s truthfulness, but she would hav
e preferred the tourist family linger. She was sure she’d never convince the dad to purchase the triceratops horn, but the family seemed to have money to blow on impulse purchases. They gathered a pile of rocks, crystals, trilobites, coprolite, and shark’s teeth. The teenage girl selected a string of beads from Lucy’s jewelry display that Morgan had been admiring.

  The mother glanced nervously out the window while Cindy rang up the items.

  “It’s coming down harder,” she said.

  “You’ll make it,” Cindy said. “No problem. And this snow will put a fresh layer of powder on the slopes.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” the boy said. “If it gets bad, I can drive.”

  “You don’t even have a driver’s license,” the teenage girl said.

  “Grandpa lets me drive the tractor every time we visit him.”

  “It’s a lawn mower, you dweeb,” the girl said.

  “I drove it all the way to town last summer,” the boy said.

  The girl placed her fists on her narrow hips and leaned her face close to the boy’s. “It’s three miles from Grandpa’s house to town. No way you drove the lawn mower that far.”

  Dad rumpled the boy’s hair and gave Morgan an apologetic smile. “Kids. What an imagination.”

  “The total is sixty-eight twenty-two,” Cindy said.

  The first significant sale since Morgan had started managing the Rock of Ages.

  “I’m doing a little survey,” Morgan said. “How did you folks find out about our shop?”

  “That sign in town,” the father said. “Robby here is a nut about rock shops.”

  They watched the family pile into their SUV.

  “That boy was quite the character,” Del said. “I could just imagine the little guy driving a lawn tractor down the road.”

  “Oh, he was a taleteller,” Cindy said. “That never happened, I’m sure.”

  Morgan stared out the window at the falling snow.

  “Why make up something like that?” Morgan asked.

  “Little boys want to do the same things big boys do,” Cindy said. “Or sound like they can.”

  “Enough to lie?” Morgan asked.

  “He was just being a kid,” Del said.