Stone Cold Dead

by Catherine Dilts

  “Barton said he was going to run today,” Morgan said. “Is his name on the list?”

  They found Barton, Lucy and Paul, and Chuck and Vonne from the running club. The sun struggled through the pine trees for a brief time, warming the aid station.

  Finally, they heard the peculiar sound of snowshoes on the trail. The first runner charged past at an amazing speed, considering the aluminum and web contraptions he wore on both feet. He ignored their offer of refreshments.

  “Did you get his number?” Bernie asked.

  “Two forty-two,” Morgan said.

  “Joey McCormick. I wonder if he’s any relation to Teruko?”

  Two minutes passed before the next runner went by. He was followed closely by two more. The rest of the runners seemed to travel in groups of three or more. Most accepted a half cup of water or sports drink, gulping down part of it, and tossing the rest, with the cup, on the side of the trail.

  In between clusters of runners, Morgan and Bernie picked up the cups.

  “Look!” Bernie cried. “I think it’s Barton.”

  There had been more than a few full beards run through the aid station, but this one’s bib number matched Barton Potts’s.

  “Hi, Barton,” Bernie called.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Barton slowed to a brisk walk. “Water, please.”

  Morgan handed him a cup. He gulped it down while walking, then tossed it aside. “Gotta go!”

  Rolf checked on them, as promised, riding up on his ATV an hour and a half into the race.

  “How are you doing?” he asked. “Everything okay?”

  Bernie consulted the clipboard. “About half the runners have gone by.”

  “Do you need anything?” Rolf asked.

  “A fireplace, an easy chair, and a hot toddy,” Bernie said.

  Rolf laughed. “Maybe we can arrange that later.”

  A cluster of runners approached as he drove away.

  “Hi, Lucy,” Morgan said. “Hi, Paul. You’re doing great.”

  “Better than we thought we would,” Lucy said.

  “We got a late start.” Paul gulped down a half cup of sports drink, then grabbed a half cup of water. “About ten minutes after the race started.”

  “That’s the price of being a volunteer,” Lucy said.

  “Wow!” Bernie said. “Then you’re doing fantastic.”

  “Gotta keep moving.” Paul tossed his paper cup in Bernie’s trash bag.

  “See you at the end,” Lucy called.

  Morgan watched Lucy and Paul disappear down the trail. Bernie held out her hand.

  “It’s snowing again.”

  Morgan looked up. Fluffy flakes spiraled down through the branches of the pine trees.

  “Is it me,” Morgan asked, “or is it getting colder?”

  “It’s getting colder.” Bernie wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. “I’m freezing.”

  The snowshoe racers stomping past the aid station traveled at slower speeds as the morning wore on. There were still twenty-three names on the checklist when Rolf returned, followed by Sharon. Her ATV was loaded down with a table, five-gallon beverage containers, backpacks, and a volunteer. Another volunteer trotted behind the ATV on snowshoes. Sharon didn’t stop, but Rolf pulled off the trail and parked.

  “Hi, ladies.” He climbed off his ATV. “How are you doing? Staying warm?”

  Bernie’s green eyes sparkled. “We’re doing fine. How much longer do you think we have?”

  “I can take you back now,” Rolf said. “We’re packing out the aid stations that are finished. I’m sure we can get someone to run your aid station if you want to call it a day.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” Morgan said. “We know how it feels to be last. I want to be here for every runner.”

  “But seriously,” Bernie said, “what do you think, Rolf? Another thirty minutes?”

  “Last year,” Rolf said, consulting his clipboard, “the last runner crossed the finish line at twelve forty-five.” He looked up at Bernie. “It’s almost noon now.” Rolf climbed onto the ATV. “Last chance!”

  “We’re fine,” Bernie said. “Go ahead.”

  Before I change my mind, Morgan thought.

  “I’ll be back to pick you up,” Rolf said.

  He roared down the trail.

  “Forty-five minutes,” Bernie exclaimed. “I need to use the restroom.”

  “You could have left with Rolf,” Morgan said. “I’m glad you stayed, though.”

  “I didn’t want to look like a quitter,” Bernie said. “Do you have any TP in your survival bag?”

  Morgan dug out a roll of toilet paper and handed it to Bernie.

  “And you’d better take this.” Morgan handed Bernie the walkie-talkie.

  “In case I need to make an important call?” Bernie asked with a smile.

  “I’ll be at the table,” Morgan said. “Search and rescue can find me.”

  “Good point.” Bernie stuck the walkie-talkie in her jacket pocket. She marched off toward the boulders Morgan had used as a restroom earlier.

  Three more runners straggled past the aid station. Morgan had no trouble reading their bib numbers. After checking them off the list, Morgan looked toward the boulders. Bernie was certainly taking her time. Morgan wondered whether she should check on her friend, but didn’t want to bother her at an inconvenient time. Morgan pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. No signal.

  A chill wind blew cups of water and sports drink over. Morgan attempted to mop up the mess with paper towels, but the liquid froze to the table.

  After the next runner, Morgan decided she had better check on Bernie. She watched a person laboring up the trail with the grace and speed of a box turtle. No bib number. The runner’s bulky coat must have been buttoned up over it. And no snowshoes, either. Maybe he or she was a volunteer, trying to beat the storm by leaving their aid station early.

  Then Morgan saw her face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Sparrow.” Morgan flipped through her clipboard, pretending to study the sheets. She knew Sparrow wasn’t a participant or a volunteer. “I don’t see your name on the list.”

  “There’s a blizzard coming.” Sparrow’s raspy smoker’s voice was harsh. “They sent me to warn people. I’m taking you back to town.”

  “I can’t leave yet,” Morgan said. “There are still runners out there. And Rolf is coming with an ATV—”

  “Ralph sent me,” Sparrow pronounced his name incorrectly, convincing Morgan she didn’t know Rolf. “Come on!”

  Sparrow was dressed like a thrift-store lumberjack, in a plaid wool jacket, a cap with earflaps, and baggy olive-green insulated pants. Trevin hadn’t been able to tell whether a man or a woman was following Morgan and Bernie on the Columbine Trail. Now Morgan knew why.

  “But I can’t—” Morgan started to say she couldn’t leave without Bernie, but reconsidered. “I have to get my backpack.” She walked toward the table. Morgan needed to think fast, but she could feel her brain congealing like the spilled sports drink.

  Sparrow trudged across the snow, following Morgan. “Ralph will get your backpack.”

  Morgan stepped behind the table, keeping it between her and Sparrow.

  “I have to wait for search and rescue.” Morgan spoke loudly, hoping Bernie could hear. “I can’t leave with you.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” Sparrow tried to reach across the table, but Morgan stepped back.

  Sparrow hadn’t made it onto Morgan’s suspect list. She doubted the hemp-store owner had been considered by the police, either. If not for Kurt and Anna’s research, Morgan probably wouldn’t be making the connection now. Sparrow had as much motivation as Piers to push through the zoning changes. Maybe more.

  “You killed Dawn,” Morgan said.

  “That girl was on a path of self-destruction. She wasn’t long for this world.”

  “So that gave you the right to take her out?”

  “What’s this? A Sun
day-school lesson in morality?” Sparrow angled left, then right, but Morgan stayed a step ahead of her.

  “Are you the one who talked her into making that false charge against Pastor Filbury?”

  “Who said it was false?” Sparrow asked.

  Morgan concentrated on goading Sparrow into a confession, while playing keep-away around the small folding table.

  “If you coerced Dawn into making a statement against the pastor,” Morgan said, “then the only reason you’d kill her is if she backed out. Dawn knew the truth would come out in court.”

  “That brainless boyfriend of hers is the reason Dawn is dead,” Sparrow said. “If he’d left her alone, she’d still be among the living.”

  “So you did kill her.”

  “Did I say that?” Sparrow grinned. “Ha. You really take me for a fool, don’t you?”

  “Then it must have been Piers.”

  Fury flashed in Sparrow’s small gray eyes. “Don’t drag him into this.”

  “Dawn had a gargoyle necklace,” Morgan said. “She had to be his student. Or maybe something more?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Sparrow growled. “She was just a trampy kid. Piers doesn’t go for that type.”

  Sparrow bobbed left, then right. Morgan could anticipate the larger woman’s slow movements. If Sparrow got her hands on Morgan, it would be a different matter. Morgan reached into her jacket pocket for the pepper spray.

  “I had you pegged from day one,” Sparrow ranted. “You’re just as bad as your crazy brother. In case you haven’t figured it out, Piers isn’t interested in you. He’s only after your land.”

  Sparrow grabbed the table and flung it aside. The water and sports drink containers crashed to the ground. Paper cups scattered across the snow. Morgan ran behind a pine tree. She grasped the pepper spray, concealing it with her glove. Del had assured her there was plenty of spray left, even after her ill-fated encounter with Barton. Morgan figured she had one good shot. If she missed, Sparrow might go berserk. It had to be dead on.

  “Golden Springs could be the perfect New Age retreat if it weren’t for people like you.”

  “You killed a girl over a failed business plan?”

  “Everything would have worked out,” Sparrow wheezed, “but you had to play the Good Samaritan.”

  “I saw a person lying on the trail. Some of us don’t turn away when people need help.”

  “Who are you kidding?” Sparrow asked. “You ran away.”

  Morgan realized the crashing in the brush that day had not been a deer. Sparrow had been watching her.

  “So you were there. You could have helped.”

  “You were too late,” Sparrow said. “All this mess, for nothing.”

  “Dawn was already dead?”

  “You were as good as dead the minute you chose to meddle in something that was none of your business. What’s the problem with you? With your whole damn family? Can’t leave well enough alone until somebody makes you stop.”

  “Like Allie? You ran her into the ditch, didn’t you? Just like your pal Slice nearly ran over me. But it’s all over, Sparrow. Dawn left a clue. The police have it.”

  “You’re bluffing.” But doubt creased Sparrow’s brow. “Quit wasting my time. We’ve got to get out of here—” Sparrow stopped. “What the—” She looked past Morgan, toward the boulders.

  Bernie ran across the snow, waving the walkie-talkie in the air.

  “I called search and rescue,” Bernie yelled. “Whoops!”

  She slipped and fell. The walkie-talkie flew from her hand, disappearing from sight as it sank into the snow.

  “Bernie,” Morgan yelled, and ran toward her friend.

  For the first time, Sparrow moved swiftly. She grabbed the back of Morgan’s coat and yanked hard. Morgan fell on her backside.

  Sparrow jerked Morgan to her feet and grabbed the collar of Morgan’s coat, attempting to get her hands around Morgan’s throat. Morgan wrestled with her, struggling to aim the pepper spray in Sparrow’s face. Sparrow grabbed Morgan’s arm, slamming her right wrist against the trunk of a tree.

  Morgan yelped in pain and anger as the pepper spray flew out of her hand. Bernie grabbed Sparrow’s arm. When Sparrow released her grip, Morgan fell on her side, cradling her wounded wrist against her body.

  Morgan watched as Sparrow elbowed Bernie in the gut. Bernie doubled over. Sparrow grappled with Bernie, finally getting her fingers around the heavy chain of Bernie’s religious medallion.

  Ligature strangulation.

  Bernie thrust her mitten-covered hand under the medallion, grasping Saint Elizabeth and a fistful of chain. Sparrow jerked hard on the chain, squeezing Bernie’s hand against her throat.

  Morgan struggled to her feet. She beat her left fist against Sparrow’s back, but it was as effective as punching a boulder. She threw her good arm around Sparrow’s neck and yanked back as hard as she could. Sparrow reached around with one hand and pushed Morgan away.

  Morgan stumbled backward. She threw her hands down to break her fall. Pain shot through her wrist. Stars danced before her eyes, and ringing filled her ears.

  “Bernie,” she gasped, and forced herself to sit up.

  Enraged inhuman sounds erupted from Sparrow’s throat. Purple splotches colored her cheeks as she throttled Bernie. With one hand, she twisted and jerked the chain, and with the other she tore at Bernie’s protective hand. Bernie went limp in Sparrow’s grip, her grasp on the medallion weakening.

  Morgan rose to her hands and knees. Her right arm buckled and she rolled in the snow, hitting something hard with her shoulder. Morgan groped for the object, hoping for a sharp, heavy rock. She wrapped her mitten around it and struggled to her feet.

  The pepper-spray canister.

  Staggering like a drunk, Morgan stumbled toward Sparrow. She held the canister in front of Sparrow’s face and hit the trigger. The spray seemed to have no effect. Sparrow gripped the chain of Bernie’s medallion tighter. Bernie slumped to the ground.

  Awareness penetrated Sparrow’s rage. She shrieked, the sound echoing through the snowy hills. Pressing her gloves to her face, she careened blindly, slamming into trees and stumbling over rocks. Sparrow fell to her knees, wailing and cursing as she rubbed handfuls of snow in her face.

  The forest had been silent all day except for bird song, the wind sighing through the trees, the crunching and squeaking noises of snowshoes, and her conversations with Bernie. Now the discordant sounds of Sparrow’s pain cut though the crisp air.

  That, and the engine of an ATV. Bernie’s walkie-talkie call to search and rescue must have gone through. Morgan struggled through the snow to her friend’s side, dropping to her knees. Bernie rolled to face Morgan.

  “Help is coming,” Morgan told her. “Hang on.”

  Across the trail, snow cascaded off bushes. Muffled curses erupted, as a man thrashed his way through the thick branches. He stumbled onto the trail, shaking snow off his black cloak.

  The man from the stone bridge glared at Morgan.

  “We have unfinished business.”

  He took a step toward her. Sparrow wailed, drawing his attention away from Morgan. The man spun around, pointing a gloved finger at Morgan.

  “Did you hurt my cousin?”

  “Sparrow is a murderer,” Morgan said. “And you tried to kill me.”

  “If Piers hadn’t stuck his nose into things, I might have finished the job.” The man tried to help Sparrow up. “This whole mess is his fault.”

  “Piers killed Dawn Smith?” Morgan asked.

  “Yeah, sure. It was Piers.” He didn’t speak the words with conviction.

  “Nooooo!” Sparrow wailed. “Not Piers.”

  “Shut up, cousin.”

  He managed to get Sparrow to her feet. The sound of the ATV grew louder. Maybe there was more than one.

  “We gotta get out of here,” the man said.

  “Can’t see,” Sparrow muttered. “I can’t see.”

  She tripped over a s
now-covered rock and went down, taking her cousin with her.

  Rolf’s ATV went airborne as he raced over the hill. He skidded to a stop, sending up a shower of snow, then hopped off his ATV and raced toward Sparrow and her cousin.

  “Not them,” Morgan yelled. She looked down at her friend, who was clutching her throat with a mitten-covered hand and gasping for breath. “Sparrow tried to kill Bernie!”

  “Oh, God.” Rolf ran to Bernie’s side and knelt in the snow. “Bernie!”

  He looked panicked for an instant, then switched emotional gears as he unzipped a large fanny pack.

  Another ATV roared into the aid station and headed toward Morgan.

  “Stop them.” She waved her good hand toward Sparrow and her cousin, who were struggling their way across the trail. “Don’t let them get away.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  It was past midnight when Lucy brought Morgan home from the emergency room, but the lights were still on at the Rock of Ages. The comforting smells of wood fire and coffee wrapped around Morgan as they entered the kitchen. Beatrice set her playing cards face down on the table and hurried to Morgan’s side, grasping her good arm.

  “I was beginning to think they were going to keep you overnight,” she said.

  “Well, look at you.” Del laughed. “We’re a matched set!” He raised his cast. “Ow.”

  Beatrice led Morgan to the easy chair. Lucy placed a pillow on the wide arm of the chair and rested Morgan’s splinted arm on top of it.

  “How bad is it?” Beatrice asked.

  “It’s a closed fracture,” Lucy said. “Definitely broken, but she probably won’t need surgery. Just a splint and ice for now.”

  “I have to go to the doctor on Monday,” Morgan said. “Unless it swells, and then it’s back to the emergency room.”

  “Here are the instructions.” Lucy handed Beatrice a sheet of paper. “And the pain medicine.”

  Beatrice examined the bottle. “Over the counter?” She looked dismayed. “Is that all they gave you?”

  “You’d think a broken arm would warrant something more than ibuprofen,” Morgan said, “but that’s all I get.”

  “So we heard the Reader’s Digest version of the story when you called,” Del said. “How about we hear the whole thing now?”