Stone Cold Dead

by Catherine Dilts

  “Kendall, someone tried to push me off a bridge.” She gave a quick rundown of the stone bridge incident. “Do you know if anyone wants the rock shop badly enough to kill for it?”

  “Morgan, I’m so sorry you got mixed up in all this.”

  “What haven’t you been telling me?” Morgan asked. “Or maybe the question is, what have you ever told me? The rock shop is half mine. You could have let me know if you were having problems this serious.”

  “Sam was sick when this all started. Do you really think you could have handled more stress during that time?”

  Morgan didn’t have an answer.

  There was a pause, and when Kendall spoke again, he sounded bone tired. “It was after Sam got sick. Allie and I had given up all hope of having children. We were caught up in the legal issues surrounding the rezoning proposals when Allie realized something was different. She thought she was going through menopause.”

  Kendall spoke to someone in Spanish, then returned to the conversation with Morgan.

  “People need the phone,” he said. “I’ll have to rush this. Allie found out she was pregnant.”

  Another miscarriage, Morgan thought.

  “Oh, Kendall. I’m so sorry.”

  “Let me finish,” Kendall paused. “Just let me get through this. She wasn’t very far along when she was driving home from a City Council meeting one evening. It had been a particularly passionate meeting. Allie got into it with Sparrow Plinkton—”

  “Sparrow!”

  “Allie crashed into the irrigation ditch. She thought a car ran her off the road, but it happened so fast, she only remembered headlights, then waking up in the hospital. If Del hadn’t happened by, Allie might have died. She wished she had, when she lost the baby.” There was another pause. “Maybe she would have lost the baby anyway. She’d had miscarriages before, you know. But she just didn’t want to be there after that.”

  “You never told me,” Morgan said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I am too,” Kendall said. “About a lot of things. But not about moving. I know it was the right decision.”

  Kendall spoke in Spanish again. Morgan was going to lose him.

  “Wait,” she said. “Does ‘Thumbelina’ mean anything to you?”

  “The fairy tale?” Kendall asked.

  “It has something to do with the murder,” Morgan said.

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” Kendall said. “I have to go.”

  Kendall hung up before Morgan could ask more questions.

  Sales were nearing what Morgan estimated were necessary for the shop’s survival. It had taken a “miracle” to draw that many customers. Rather than making her optimistic, Morgan realized the dim likelihood of sustaining that level of sales. She was musing over the possibility of joining Kendall’s cult in the jungle when Bernie called.

  “Morgan, can you come to town?” Bernie asked. “You have to see this.”

  “I’ve actually got customers today,” Morgan said. “I don’t think Cindy can manage without me.”

  “Did you get the Internet hooked up?” Bernie asked.

  “Yes. Just this morning.”

  “Then I’ll scan it and send it to you,” Bernie said. “Give me your address.”

  Morgan recited her email address.

  “Call me when you get my email,” Bernie said, and hung up.

  By the time Morgan had her computer on and her email up, Bernie’s message hit her inbox. She opened the attachment.

  Someone had photo-shopped a picture of Houdini and Adelaide, placing wings on their backs and haloes over their heads. Morgan called Bernie.

  “Where did that come from?” Morgan asked. “It’s adorable!”

  “Kurt Willard, of all people,” Bernie said. “He said he’s going to run it on the front page of a special edition of the Gazetteer, coming out tomorrow morning.”

  Make hay while the sun shines, Cindy had said.

  “I’ve got to call Kurt,” Morgan said. “I have an idea. Are we on for tonight?”

  “You bet!” Bernie said.

  When she called Kurt, he was more than happy to let Morgan use the image of the donkeys for a T-shirt.

  “I’ll want credit for the photo, of course,” Kurt said. “And the name of the paper somewhere on the shirt.”

  “That’s fair,” Morgan said. “I was planning to have the name of the rock shop printed above the picture of the donkeys.”

  “Why don’t you let me work up a design?” Kurt asked. “I know Mike and Hannah at the T-shirt shop. I’m sure I can negotiate a good deal, and we can split the cost of the shirts.”

  “I’d like to see the design before you take it to be printed,” Morgan said. “And I want to get some shirts made as soon as possible.”

  “Absolutely. Do you have email?”

  “I do now,” Morgan said.

  “Give me your address. I’ll email you when I have something ready.”

  When Morgan hung up the phone, Cindy pointed to the window. Another carload of donkey fans pulled into the parking lot.

  “I wish Del were here,” Cindy said. “He’d love to see this.”

  Morgan was happy to let Kurt take charge of the T-shirt project. She had enough to do, dealing with the celebrity donkeys. Besides, she was changing her opinion of Kurt Willard. As annoying as the newspaperman could be, when faced with an emergency, Kurt had jumped into action without hesitation.

  Unlike Piers.

  It only took Kurt a couple of hours to design the T-shirt. Despite her growing respect for him, she had feared the design might turn into a glorified advertisement for the Gazetteer. Morgan was pleasantly surprised that the newspaper logo was the same size font as the rock shop’s name.

  Cindy studied the image on the laptop screen over Morgan’s shoulder. “I’ll need seven.”

  The cowbell clanged.

  “I’ll get that,” Cindy said.

  Morgan called Kurt.

  “I like it,” Morgan said. “Could I get some shirts printed right away? I don’t know how long Houdini and Adelaide will be attracting this attention.”

  “Can you come to town?” Kurt asked. “I think we should both be there to order the shirts, plus I have something interesting to show you.”

  Morgan parked the Buick in front of the Gazetteer. Anna sat at the receptionist’s desk.

  “I heard about Del,” Anna said, “and your adventure with the donkeys.”

  “Kurt saved Del’s life,” Morgan said.

  “Oh?” Anna arched her brows in surprise.

  “He didn’t tell you?” Morgan asked. “When I got Del and the donkeys to town, Kurt was photographing Main Street. He led us to Doctor Drewmoore just in time.”

  Kurt came to the door of his office. “Come on in, Morgan. I want to show you what Anna and I have been working on.”

  Kurt pointed to a map of Golden Springs pinned to the wall of his office.

  “I decided to investigate what you said about Piers Townsend buying up property,” Kurt said. “Small-town rumors become fact with the retelling, but Anna spent a day in City Hall pouring over real-estate sales records since Piers moved here.”

  “It was dull work,” Anna said. “Kurt owes me a steak dinner. But when I started to see the pattern, then it became exciting.”

  The half city block taken up by the retirement home was outlined in blue. The rest of Main Street was a checkerboard of colors.

  “What do the colors mean?” Morgan asked.

  “Ownership,” Anna said. “But that was a little trickier to determine than it seemed. Notice the yellow?”

  Anna pointed to rectangles of yellow highlighter.

  “Those belong to Piers Townsend.”

  “Only four,” Morgan said. “So it’s not true?”

  “That’s what I thought,” Kurt said. “But see the pink?”

  Rectangles of pink marked every third building in downtown Golden Springs.

  “Those are owned by Sparrow Plinkton.”


  “Sparrow!” Morgan said. “She owns all that property? How?”

  “She’s hiding behind a development company,” Kurt said, “but she’s the owner of the company, and therefore, the properties.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed Sparrow had the resources to buy a third of Main Street,” Morgan said.

  “When you told me that Sparrow was in Piers’s apartment Saturday morning,” Kurt said, “it occurred to me that they might have some business connection, as well as a personal relationship.”

  “Do you think Piers is bankrolling her acquisitions?” Morgan asked. “Hiding behind her?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with buying property that’s for sale,” Kurt said. “I don’t understand why he’d think he needed to cover up his real-estate acquisitions.”

  “Notice something else?” Anna asked.

  She pointed to the newspaper office on the map. Except for Kurt’s newspaper, the entire block was marked with pink.

  “Sparrow’s development company owns everything on this block?” Morgan asked.

  “This is hitting a little close to home for my comfort.” Kurt picked up a printout. “We’d better head to the T-shirt shop before it gets any later.”

  Morgan walked beside Kurt down the boardwalk.

  “I want to thank you,” Kurt said.

  “For what?” Morgan asked.

  “I was so busy playing small-town reporter,” Kurt said, “I forgot what it meant to actually be one. There’s more to being a newspaperman than sticking a press card in your hat band.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Mike and Hannah were delighted to receive business during the off season. They waived the charge for rush orders. Printing miracle donkey T-shirts would be a pleasure, Mike assured them.

  On her way back to the rock shop, Morgan passed Faerie Tales. She slowed the Buick, then pulled into a parking space. When she walked in, it was apparent that the metaphysical shop was enjoying spillover from the miracle donkey crowds.

  Morgan wound her way through the bookcases and clothing racks until she found Piers.

  “Hello, Morgan,” Piers said. “How may I help you?”

  Morgan hesitated. She didn’t want to embarrass Piers in front of his customers when she didn’t have all the facts about Saturday morning.

  “Can I talk to you?” she asked, her voice strained.

  “I sense you are troubled—”

  Morgan grabbed Piers’s tunic sleeve and dragged him past the seating area. Sparrow hunched over a cup of tea, having an animated conversation with the older lady who had wanted to buy a gargoyle necklace. Morgan hauled Piers to a quiet corner of the shop.

  “Damn right I’m troubled,” she said in a harsh whisper. “Why didn’t you come to your door Saturday? Del nearly died!”

  Morgan gave Piers credit for looking genuinely surprised.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t try to tell me you haven’t heard about Del’s accident, and the miracle of the donkeys.”

  “Yes,” Piers said. “What has that got to do with me?”

  “I beat on your back door that morning,” Morgan said. “I yelled for help.” Morgan’s lip trembled. She fought back angry tears. “Del almost died, and you wouldn’t even call nine-one-one. Is that part of your philosophy? Was it Del’s karma?”

  Piers shoved his hands inside his tunic sleeves. “This was the morning of the blizzard?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned toward the seating area. Sparrow glanced their way, shooting daggers with her eyes at Morgan.

  “I was occupied,” Piers started to say, watching Sparrow. He turned to Morgan. “I didn’t hear the door.”

  Morgan looked from Piers to Sparrow and back.

  “Too busy to call nine-one-one?” Morgan asked. “What really makes me angry is that you’re enjoying business because my donkeys have more of a sense of humanity than you.”

  Morgan stormed out, assured that she had disrupted the auras of every patron in Faerie Tales.

  That evening Morgan drove Bernie to O’Reily’s pub, confident her new battery would not leave them stranded.

  “I’m so happy to have a break,” Morgan said. “It’s been crazy at the shop all day.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” Bernie asked. “Customers?”

  “I wish Del were there,” Morgan said. “We need help.”

  “I could see if Emma or Darlene needs extra work,” Bernie said. “As long as you don’t steal them from me.”

  “I have no idea how long donkey mania will last. I’ll manage a little longer.”

  O’Reily’s Runners was becoming a comfortable routine. When Lucy announced the Hopping Bunny Snowshoe race to the crowd of runners, Morgan and Bernie helped hand out fliers. Barton approached, holding out his hand to Morgan.

  “I would like a flier,” he said.

  “Do you snowshoe?” Bernie asked.

  “When need be,” Barton said. “I like to support Pine County Search and Rescue any chance I get. You never know when you’ll need them.”

  “They took Del to the hospital in Granite Junction when no one else could get through.”

  “When is Del going home?” Barton asked.

  “He wants to come home now,” Morgan said, “but the doctors have convinced him to stay another day or two.”

  “I’ll visit him.”

  The run started, and Barton sprinted off.

  Kurt’s special edition of the Golden Springs Gazetteer hit the streets Wednesday morning. Carloads of people drove up the hill to see the miracle donkeys. Most wandered in to the shop to warm up, use the restroom, and, quite often, to make a purchase.

  Morgan called Cindy and asked her to come to work. Cindy arrived with two of her older children, and two teenagers.

  “You remember my Matthew and Ruth,” she said. “And I brought Robin and Martin. They need credit for their home-school life skills class.”

  “I made this.” Robin had taped the photo-shopped image of the donkeys from the newspaper to a sun-tea jar, with a handwritten sign, “Donate to Search & Rescue.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Morgan said. “You can put it on the counter next to the cash register. What do you two know about working in a shop?”

  “Nothing,” Robin said. “I’ve only ever babysat.”

  “And I’ve mowed lawns,” Martin said. “I’ll do anything, if you’ll sign my sheet saying I learned a life skill.”

  “I’m sure I can keep you busy,” Morgan said.

  The donkey celebrities needed a bodyguard to protect them from the paparazzi. Morgan put Martin on first shift supervising Houdini and Adelaide’s photo ops. The rush order of tourist trinkets arrived. As quickly as Morgan could enter them into inventory, Matthew and Ruth placed them out for sale, while Cindy and Robin rang them up on the cash register.

  Morgan was halfway through the box of trinkets when Cindy rapped on the office door.

  “I can’t keep up with you,” Morgan laughed.

  “Someone wants to talk to you, cowgirl,” Cindy said. “You’d better come here.”

  Trevin stood in the shop doorway. Morgan recognized the dreadlocks immediately. His clothing had changed dramatically, though. In place of the goth black, he wore baggy blue jeans and a baby-blue T-shirt under a clean fleece jacket. The ring was missing from his eyebrow.

  “I came to fix the back door,” Trevin said. “Think of it as my community service, to pay back all the trouble I caused. If Del hasn’t done it already.”

  “Did you hear about Del?” Morgan asked.

  “Yeah,” Trevin said. “I was hoping he’d be here.”

  “He’s still in the hospital. He’ll be home in a few more days.”

  Trevin held the door for a family equipped with cameras.

  “I heard about the donkeys, too,” Trevin said. “Something about a miracle?”

  “Come on in. I’ll tell you all about it, but then you have to tell me what happened to you.”
r />   “Okay,” Trevin said, “but I need to tell my ride I’m staying.”

  Morgan watched through the window as Trevin dashed to a passenger car and spoke to the driver. It had to be Trevin’s father, judging from the family resemblance. When he came back inside, Morgan led Trevin through the door to the living quarters. She told him the details of Del’s accident and rescue while Trevin took measurements for a new pane of glass.

  “It does sound like a miracle,” Trevin said. “I’m glad Del made it, even though he turned me over to the police.”

  “I tried to stop them from keeping you,” Morgan said.

  “It turned out okay. My folks picked me up when I got released. They let me move home for a while. It’s kind of like jail, but with better food.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Morgan said. “The part about moving home, not the jail part. Since the police let you out, I’m guessing you were cooperative?”

  “Officer Sanchez convinced me I wasn’t getting anywhere on my own, and that I might as well tell them what I know. It didn’t help them much.”

  “You said your old friends held you prisoner. Couldn’t the police stake out the house?”

  “That was the one thing Sanchez got excited about,” Trevin said. “But it was just an old abandoned house, and somebody torched it.”

  “Good way to get rid of evidence,” Morgan said. “What about the car? You said they drove you here in the black SUV.”

  Trevin shrugged. “I didn’t get the license number. And Slice, the guy behind the wheel, didn’t own it. He sure enjoyed driving it, though.”

  Someone rapped on the door dividing the living quarters from the shop.

  “Mrs. Iverson,” Robin called. “Telephone.”

  Trevin followed Morgan back into the shop.

  “It’s Hannah from the T-shirt shop,” Cindy said, handing her the phone.

  Trevin’s parents seemed to find reasons to call or text-message their son several times as he ran errands with Morgan, but Trevin didn’t complain. The hardware store in Golden Springs had the window repair supplies they needed, as well as plenty of free advice. Next they picked up the T-shirts. Morgan took a half-dozen shirts to the Golden Springs Gazetteer. Trevin studied the old newspapers framed on the wall while she spoke to Kurt in his office.