Stone Cold Dead

by Catherine Dilts

  “Apparently if you wait long enough,” Del said, “he’ll be back to steal the fairy tale thingy.”

  “This is serious.”

  “Darn right it’s serious,” Del said. “I leave for a couple hours, and you let in a thief and a drug addict, and serve him lunch, no less.”

  “He has more pieces to the puzzle.” Morgan tapped the table with her index finger.

  Del released a big sigh.

  “What?” Morgan asked.

  “I won’t feel right letting you out of my sight until this whole deal is cleared up.”

  “I did okay,” Morgan said. “Now if you’re done scolding me, let’s see if we can figure out the clue Trevin was looking for.”

  In between waiting on customers, Morgan and Del spent the afternoon brainstorming. Morgan finally gave up.

  “I didn’t remove anything from Dawn’s body,” Morgan said. “I didn’t see anything that made me think of fairy tales, or even Piers’s store.”

  “Ask Beatrice,” Del said. “She might have heard something. And don’t forget, the kid could have been lying.”

  “I’m sure Trevin was telling me what he thought was the truth. Maybe he was sent to break in to the shop because they wanted him to get caught.”

  “And take the blame for the girl’s murder?” Del tugged at his mustache. “Could be.”

  When they closed the shop at the end of the day, Morgan was grateful that Del offered to accompany her to the barn to tend to the donkeys. Even knowing Del was in the next room that night, she slept restlessly, waking at every noise. Coyotes yipped. The wind gusted, bumping pine branches against the roof.

  What-ifs churned through her mind, dozens of conflicting theories, unanswered questions, and possible suspects. Among the thoughts keeping her awake were: What if the clue meant Faerie Tales? What if Trevin was the murderer, and she had let him walk away free? And most disturbing, what if Dawn might have lived if Morgan had stayed with her instead of running away?

  Then none of this would matter.

  Morgan was certain she slept for stretches of time, but when she woke, she felt exhausted.

  “You should have let me call the police,” Del said. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

  “I keep thinking about Trevin’s clue. Maybe I missed something on the trail after I found Dawn’s body.”

  When Cindy arrived for her afternoon shift, she took one look at Morgan, and shook her head.

  “Cowgirl, you look terrible,” Cindy said.

  “She didn’t sleep last night,” Del said. “The burglar came back.”

  Morgan had to tell Cindy a condensed version of the story, along with a request to keep it to herself.

  “Del, that means you, too.” Morgan yawned.

  “We can manage the shop,” Cindy said. “You should go take a nap.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to sleep,” Morgan said. “What I need is a walk to calm my nerves. I’m calling Bernie.”

  “Before you go walking again,” Del said, “I’m going to have to insist you take that upgrade with you.”

  When Morgan entered the bakery, Bernie sat at a table reading a novel.

  “Slow afternoon?”

  Bernie looked up. “In a fit of optimism, I called Darlene in to work, but it looks like I don’t even need to be here.”

  “Can you take off for an hour or so?” Morgan asked.

  “Gladly. What’s up?” Bernie placed a hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows. “Or should I ask, ‘What’s up this time?’”

  “I need to look for something.”

  On the drive to the Columbine Trail parking lot, Morgan told Bernie about Trevin’s attempted break-in, and the fairy tale clue.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” Bernie asked.

  “Yes,” Morgan said. “Are you sure you want to go with me?”

  “I’m in.”

  The parking lot was empty. They climbed out of Bernie’s SUV. Morgan strapped on Del’s olive-green camouflage fanny pack.

  “I haven’t walked since O’Reily’s.” Bernie zipped up her jacket.

  They headed up and down the gently rolling hills, chatting about the upcoming race, business, and the weather forecast. Their running shoes crunched rhythmically on the gravel. Clouds skittered across the sky, teasing them with glimpses of the sun.

  Morgan slowed when they approached the grove of cottonwoods where she had first seen Dawn. Damp, rotting leaves muffled the sound of their shoes on the trail.

  “Is this the place?” Bernie asked.

  “Yes.”

  Bernie wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. “It’s gloomy. Where was she?”

  The brush where Dawn had lain was thoroughly trampled.

  “Here.” Morgan stopped. “And then across the meadow, the police found her the second time.”

  Bernie followed Morgan as she circled around the area, lifting branches, kicking over rocks, and digging through matted leaves and snow.

  “I don’t see so much as a gum wrapper,” Bernie said.

  “If the donkeys hadn’t escaped that day,” Morgan said, “or Adelaide hadn’t chosen this trail, or if it’d been an hour earlier, or an hour later . . .” Morgan shrugged. “It just seems like I was supposed to find her. But I feel like I failed her. I ran away.”

  “You did what your CPR training told you to,” Bernie said.

  “Not knowing,” Morgan said. “That’s what really bothers me. Did I do the right thing or not?”

  They followed the trail to the meadow.

  “The burglar came back.”

  “What!”

  Morgan told Bernie the story while they walked.

  “You held a potential murderer at gunpoint?” Bernie asked. “And fed him lunch at the same time?”

  “I’m convinced he’s not the killer,” Morgan said.

  “And you let him go, instead of letting the police decide whether he was a killer or not.” Bernie walked slowly uphill, stopping at the crest of the hill. “He could be out here. We should turn around. It sounds like you could be a target.”

  “Del upgraded my pack.” Morgan patted the fanny pack.

  Bernie stared at the camouflage pack, then at Morgan. “Upgraded? What do you mean? Do you have the gun with you?”

  “He made me bring it.”

  Bernie grabbed Morgan’s arms. “This isn’t the Wild West, and you aren’t Annie Oakley,” Bernie exclaimed. “You can’t just walk around with a gun in your pocket. You need a permit to carry a concealed weapon.”

  “Del didn’t mention a permit.” Morgan heard rustling in the dried leaves clinging to the scrubby bushes. “Shh! What’s that?”

  “Probably a squirrel. You also need a license to shoot them.”

  They continued to walk, and Bernie continued to scold. Morgan kept one ear on the conversation, and the other on the bushes. Then a louder noise competed with the rustling leaves. Morgan heard the familiar whine of an ATV engine in the distance. It faded, then came within range again, growing louder.

  Bernie pulled the cuff of her jacket sleeve back and checked her watch. “We’ve been out for thirty minutes,” she said. “We’d better turn around.”

  “Not yet,” Morgan whispered. “I think there’s something behind us.”

  “It’s just the wind,” Bernie said, but she kept walking. “What are we going to do?”

  “I hear an ATV, too,” Morgan said. “We keep walking until we run into the ATV, then ask them for help.”

  “What if the ATV isn’t on this trail?” Bernie asked. “What if we don’t run into them? What if the murderer drives an ATV?”

  Morgan hadn’t considered all the worst-case scenarios.

  “I can hear it now,” Bernie whispered. “Not on the trail. In the bushes. Let’s stop, and see if it stops.”

  Bernie grasped Morgan’s coat sleeve. They stood still, listening.

  “Nothing,” Morgan whispered. “Now start walking again.”

  After a f
ew paces, the rustling resumed.

  Morgan unzipped the fanny pack slowly. She reached inside. Her fingers folded around the textured grip of the handgun.

  “Slow down,” Morgan whispered. “Maybe they’ll show themselves.”

  “Is that what we want?” Bernie asked. “I’d rather they—”

  A magpie burst out of the brush, flapping its wings and squawking furiously. It skimmed just above Morgan’s head. She threw her arms up to protect her face, dropping the gun on the trail.

  Bernie screamed. Morgan lowered her arms and caught a glimpse of long ropes of matted brown hair disappearing across the trail.

  “Trevin!” Morgan called.

  He crashed through the brush. Morgan crouched down. Her hand shook as she grasped the gun.

  “I can’t believe I dropped it,” Morgan said. “I feel like such an idiot.”

  The ATV roared into view. It skidded to a stop, sending a shower of dust and gravel into the air. The rider wore a full-face helmet, but Morgan recognized the tall, lean form.

  “Stand back, ladies.” Del flung his helmet off, grabbed his shotgun, and waded into the brush.

  Morgan followed. Branches clawed at her jeans. They climbed a steep hillside. Del sent showers of gravel and dirt into her face, then plunged down the other side. Morgan stopped at the top of the hill. At the bottom, Trevin stood with his hands raised. The old cowboy struggled to breathe as he aimed his shotgun at Trevin’s chest.

  “I caught him,” Del gasped. “And wearing my jacket.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Trevin,” Morgan asked. “Why were you following us?”

  “I wasn’t following you,” Trevin said. “I was following the guy who was following you. I might have caught him, too, if the geezer patrol hadn’t stopped me.”

  “Was there someone else?” Del asked Morgan.

  “I didn’t see anyone,” Morgan said, “but maybe Bernie did.”

  “You left that girl alone?” Del asked.

  Morgan had assumed Bernie had joined the chase, but her friend was not in sight. It wouldn’t be the first time Morgan had left a woman unattended on the trail. She spun around without answering Del and scrambled down the hill on her backside. Morgan burst onto the trail, adrenalin pounding through her veins.

  Bernie perched astride the ATV, grasping the handgrips. “I’ve always wanted to ride one of these.”

  Morgan doubled over, her hands on her knees, struggling to catch her breath.

  “I thought”—wheeze—“you might”—gasp—“be in trouble.”

  “I was just fine, knowing the guns were on the other side of the hill.” Bernie swung her leg over the ATV and slid off.

  Trevin pushed his way through the brush and onto the trail. Del struggled to keep up with the young man.

  “Is this the fella who was following you?” Del asked Bernie.

  “I saw you run across the road,” Bernie said to Trevin, “but you were chasing someone.”

  “See?” Trevin said. “Always picking on the black man.”

  “Get over yourself, Trevin,” Morgan said. “Who were you following?”

  “And why?” Bernie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Trevin said. “I was hanging out in the coin laundry last night, trying to warm up, and I read an old newspaper that told where Dawn was found.” He paused. “I wanted to see where—”

  He stopped.

  “So you came out to the trail,” Morgan said. “Then what?”

  “I was looking for the clue,” Trevin said. “I thought maybe it was still where you found Dawn.”

  “Did you find it?” Del asked.

  “No,” Trevin said. “But I did remember what Dawn told me. Thumbelina was her favorite fairy tale when she was a kid.”

  “You’re looking for a fairy?” Bernie asked.

  “He’s getting you sidetracked,” Del said. “Get back to the part where you were following the two ladies.”

  “I saw you hiking,” Trevin continued. “Then I noticed someone following you. So I started following him.”

  “It was a man?” Del asked.

  “I never got a good look at him,” Trevin said. “I guess it could have been a woman.”

  “One of your drug buddies?” Del asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Trevin said. “Can you aim that thing somewhere else?”

  “Del, let him go,” Morgan said.

  “You believe him?” Del asked. “After we catch him sneaking around the woods, following you?”

  “Apparently, you were following me, too,” Morgan said. “Or did you just happen to be riding the ATV on this trail at this particular time?”

  “You took off for a walk after telling me you missed a clue on the trail,” Del said. “It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out.”

  “Would you put the shotgun down?” Morgan said.

  “What if he’s the murderer?” Bernie asked.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” Del said.

  “Why?” Trevin asked.

  “Morgan wants me to quit pointing my gun at you,” Del said. “That requires that you put your hands behind your back.”

  Trevin complied. Del handed his shotgun to Bernie, apparently not trusting Morgan to keep it trained on Trevin. Bernie stood with her legs wide apart, both trembling hands gripping the shotgun, the barrels aimed in the general direction of Trevin. Del pulled zip ties out of his back jeans pocket and bound Trevin’s hands. He took the gun from Bernie.

  “Get on the ATV.” Del waved the gun at Trevin. “Back seat.”

  It wasn’t easy for Trevin to climb on to the ATV without the use of his hands.

  “Bernie,” Del said, “do you know how to drive?”

  “I’m sure I can manage.” Bernie climbed into the driver’s seat, a smile on her face.

  Morgan turned to Del. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “I’m going to have to override you on this one,” Del said. “We have to turn this kid in.”

  He called the police on Morgan’s phone when they got in cell phone range.

  The police cruiser arrived at the trailhead parking lot at the same time they did. Officers Sanchez and MacKenzie were only too happy to take custody of Trevin. Sanchez asked Morgan and Bernie to drive to the police station right away. Del could ride his ATV back to the rock shop, and come in to give a detailed statement later.

  Bernie started the SUV. Morgan opened the passenger door, then turned to Del.

  “I hope you’re happy,” she spat out.

  “No, I’m not, but I’m not willing to take chances with your safety. If that young man comes back to the shop again, there’s no telling what could happen.”

  “You’ve made a terrible mistake,” Morgan said. “He didn’t kill Dawn.”

  Del nodded his head with a swift jerking movement. “Mistake, huh? I can see you don’t appreciate me saving your royal keister twice.”

  “Twice?” Morgan yelled. “Where do you get twice?”

  “Today was number two,” Del said. “Yesterday was number one. If I hadn’t—”

  “I don’t need protecting,” Morgan interrupted. “Nothing happened yesterday that—”

  “Nothing happened because I made sure you were prepared,” Del said. “You’re too trusting. If Trevin’s innocent—”

  “He is innocent,” Morgan said. “You just sent an innocent man to jail.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see about that.”

  Del pulled his helmet on, mounted the ATV, and gunned the engine. He headed up the trail, spraying gravel behind him.

  Morgan climbed in the SUV and slammed the door.

  “Well,” Bernie said. “That was interesting.”

  “You’re going to tell the police Trevin was chasing a man, aren’t you?” Morgan asked.

  “I’ll tell them what I saw,” Bernie said.

  “Trevin wasn’t after us.”

  “I know,” Bernie said. “That doesn’t make hi
m innocent of Dawn’s murder. But maybe we’d better not talk about it until we get to the police station.”

  “You’re right. We might influence each other’s eyewitness accounts.”

  “I was more concerned that if we talk, you might start yelling at me.”

  After an hour, Officer Sanchez finally put down her pencil.

  “You’ve been remarkably uncooperative,” Sanchez said, “especially considering this man tried to break into your house twice.”

  “He’s innocent of killing Dawn Smith,” Morgan said one last time. “I’m convinced you’ve got the wrong man.”

  “We’re going to hold him for attempted breaking and entering—”

  “He never actually entered the house,” Morgan said for the third time. “And I refuse to press charges.”

  She wasn’t certain she felt that strongly about Trevin’s harmlessness, even if she did believe he was innocent of murder. But the more Del and the police tried to paint Trevin as a killer, the more resistant Morgan became.

  “Mr. Addison also resides at thirty-five Hill Street,” Sanchez said, reading from the police report. “He’s willing to press charges.”

  “Mr. Addison is my guest,” Morgan said. “He’s only at thirty-five Hill Street at my invitation, to protect me from intruders.” Morgan folded her arms across her chest. “He didn’t do a very good job.”

  Officer Sanchez lowered the papers and studied Morgan across the desk. “Look, we’re just trying to get the full story. We might be doing the young man a favor locking him up.”

  “How can you possibly say that?” Morgan asked.

  “Supposing he’s innocent,” Sanchez said, “and he finds the killer before we do? He could end up dead. Or in prison if he decides to enforce his own vigilante justice.”

  “So if he was chasing Dawn’s killer,” Morgan said, “then the murderer is still out there.”

  Sanchez nodded. “That’s a possibility.”

  “Don’t stop looking just because Trevin’s behind bars.”

  “This case isn’t closed yet,” Sanchez said. “As far as I’m concerned, there could still be a killer on the loose.”