Stone Cold Dead

by Catherine Dilts

  Morgan retold the story she had already related to Chief Sharp, Officers Sanchez and MacKenzie, and Detective Parker.

  “Are you ready to get your concealed weapons license?” Del asked. “You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you’d been packing.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Morgan said.

  “How’s Bernie?” Beatrice asked.

  “Strangulation is a tricky injury,” Lucy said. “They’re keeping her overnight as a precaution, but she should be okay.”

  “If she hadn’t been gripping her Saint Elizabeth medallion,” Morgan said, “Sparrow might have gotten enough pressure on Bernie’s carotid artery to kill her.”

  “If you hadn’t pepper-sprayed Sparrow,” Lucy said, “she might have finished the job.”

  “I don’t see how she figured to get away with it,” Del said. “The woods had to be crawling with people.”

  “Sure, at the beginning,” Morgan said. “Bernie and I didn’t see people for long stretches toward the end.”

  “How’d she get there?” Del asked. “Sparrow’s not exactly the athletic type.”

  “They found her car,” Lucy said. “Sparrow’s cousin Slice had driven it up a jeep road just behind the hill where Morgan and Bernie’s aid station was situated.”

  “That dilapidated old hippie van?” Del asked.

  “No, a black Mercedes Benz SUV,” Lucy said.

  “She’s the one who let the donkeys out,” Del exclaimed.

  “Maybe not,” Morgan said. “Slice drove Trevin up here for the first break-in. Trevin never met Sparrow. Slice had his own little gang of teenage followers.”

  “I have to admit,” Del said, “that woman really had me fooled. I believed she was poor as a church mouse.”

  “It was just a disguise,” Morgan said. “Sparrow had enough money to buy up a third of downtown Golden Springs.”

  “I’ve got to run home,” Lucy said, “but don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

  “Don’t worry,” Beatrice said. “We’ve got things covered. I’m staying until these two can take care of themselves.”

  “Thanks so much for waiting in the emergency room with me,” Morgan said to Lucy. “And I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Lucy asked. “That’s what friends are for.”

  “But you missed the awards ceremony.”

  “They postponed it,” Lucy said. “With the police and all the excitement at the end, the race committee decided to move the ceremony to tomorrow night. You have to come.”

  “We’re not exactly mobile,” Del said, wiggling his fingers from the end of his cast.

  “You don’t want to miss it,” Lucy said. “The ceremony is going to be really special.”

  Beatrice went to church Sunday morning, returning to the rock shop with a chicken dinner.

  “Who gave the message today?” Morgan asked.

  “Some young pastor from Cañon City.” Beatrice reached into the kitchen cupboard for plates. “He was very excitable. I didn’t care for him too much.”

  “Any word on whether Pastor Filbury is coming back?”

  “I expect he’ll be back soon,” Beatrice said.

  “Why is that?” Morgan shifted in the rocking chair. “Do you have some news?”

  “Have they wrung a confession out of that Plinkton woman yet?” Del asked.

  “They don’t need to.” Beatrice placed three plates on the kitchen table. “My nephew heard that the computer memory thing Morgan found contains a statement from Dawn Smith. It absolves Pastor Filbury of any wrongdoing. Dawn said she was put up to the whole thing by Sparrow. She even recorded her conversation with Sparrow using a camera on a computer. That’s on the computer memory, too. Sparrow said she’d kill Dawn if she backed out of the case against Pastor Filbury. My nephew thinks the police will have a strong case, in spite of any high-dollar attorneys she may hire.”

  Del nodded. “That’ll be a tough one to fight, especially when she tried to kill Bernie the same exact way. I have to admit, though, I’m kinda disappointed they couldn’t pin it on Piers Townsend.”

  “That man will face his own reckoning,” Beatrice said. “His finances are so tangled up with Sparrow’s, he could lose everything. Apparently, she wove quite the elaborate web in her attempt to buy his affection.”

  “But she had enough money to buy a third of Main Street,” Morgan said. “She’ll just buy her way out of the murder charge and bail Piers out of his problems, too.”

  Beatrice shook her head, a satisfied smile on her lips. “Her wealth was a house of cards, built with creative financing and shady business deals. It’s all about to crumble now.”

  That evening, Beatrice drove Morgan and Del to City Hall. Rows of utility tables covered with white plastic tablecloths filled the community room. The aroma of the catered spaghetti dinner scented the room with garlic. Beatrice placed her oatmeal cookies on the potluck dessert table while Morgan and Del settled at a table with Lucy and her family.

  “Is this seat taken?” Barton asked.

  “Squeeze in,” Del said. “I’m taking up more than my fair share of room with this contraption.”

  Bernie arrived, causing a scramble to set up a small table to accommodate her enormous tray of petits fours. Kurt took photos of the desserts, the trophies, and the audience. Bernie sat next to Morgan, across from Del.

  “How do you feel?” Bernie croaked.

  “How do you feel?” Morgan asked. “You sound like you have a bad case of laryngitis.”

  A thin band of purple bruise wrapped around Bernie’s neck. She adjusted a silk scarf in an attempt to cover it.

  “I’ll heal before you do.” Bernie’s voice was painfully raspy. “I’m so glad you both made it to the ceremony.”

  “I’m not feeling glad right now,” Morgan said. “I’d rather be sitting in my rocking chair.”

  “It’ll be worth it,” Barton said. “Trust me.”

  “I’m glad we had a late lunch,” Morgan said. “Spaghetti might possibly be the worst food to eat with a broken arm.”

  “No,” Barton said. “That would be tacos.”

  Beatrice led Morgan and Del through the buffet line. Spaghetti was as difficult to manage as Morgan had expected. She spilled more food on the table and floor than she got in her mouth. As they finished eating, a lean young man in a black fleece jacket with reflective silver piping stood at the podium.

  “Welcome to the annual Hopping Bunny Snowshoe race awards ceremony.”

  Instead of handing out awards, he introduced the guest speaker. Then a sponsor spoke. Then a high school coach.

  Morgan was already tired. Somehow she thought that races had three winners—first, second, third. Maybe six, if men and women were awarded prizes separately. She soon learned about age categories. For men and women. The table loaded with over two dozen trophies slowly emptied, while Morgan’s arm throbbed and her head ached. Neither she nor Del could clap when Barton took second place for men aged forty-five to forty-nine. After accepting his trophy, Barton slipped out the side door. Morgan envied him.

  She debated asking Beatrice to drive her home when Rolf walked to the podium. He thumped the microphone with his finger.

  “Is this on?”

  “It’s been on through the whole thing, Rolf!” someone yelled.

  “Ha. Okay.” Rolf rattled a sheet of paper. “We’ve come to the end of the awards ceremony, but before we leave, search and rescue has a special award to give.”

  The double doors opened. Houdini and Adelaide clopped across the wood floor, led by Barton and Kurt.

  “What are the donkeys doing in City Hall?” Morgan whispered to Del.

  “There are so many possible answers to that question.” Del chuckled. “I can’t even begin.”

  “You’ve all read the story in the Golden Springs Gazetteer,” Rolf said, “or heard it firsthand. Houdini and Adelaide saved Del Addison’s life by pulling him down the hill in the middle of the blizzard.”

>   People turned toward their table. Del raised his good arm and gave a little wave.

  “In honor of heroism above and beyond the call of duty, the mayor has stricken the anti-donkey ordinance from city code.”

  When the audience clapped, Houdini showed the whites of his eyes and bared his yellow teeth. Morgan hoped he wouldn’t go into attack-donkey mode.

  “And in appreciation for the money they raised for our volunteer Pine County Search and Rescue crew, we request that Houdini and Adelaide serve as our official mascots.” Rolf looked toward Morgan’s table. “If that’s okay with you, Morgan.”

  She stood, her splinted arm cradled in a sling. “I accept, on behalf of Houdini and Adelaide.”

  Houdini tried to eat the medal Rolf hung around his neck. Adelaide accepted hers with more poise. Kurt’s camera flashed. The donkeys posed. They were used to paparazzi.

  “That concludes this year’s Hopping Bunny Snowshoe Race awards ceremony,” Rolf said. “We’ll see you all again next year.”

  As Barton led the donkeys out of the community room, Kurt headed for their table.

  “Uh-oh,” Del said. “We’re next.”

  “Let’s go,” Morgan said.

  They couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the intrepid reporter. Kurt squeezed in between Bernie and Morgan, and pulled out his spiral-bound notepad and stubby pencil.

  “You’ve had a lot of excitement during your first few weeks in Golden Springs,” Kurt said.

  “Hold on, Kurt,” Beatrice said. “Can’t you give being a newspaperman a rest for one night? Morgan and Del are exhausted.”

  Morgan started to agree with Beatrice, until she remembered how much she and Del owed Kurt.

  “It’s okay,” Morgan said. “I can spare a few minutes for a friend.”

  Kurt smiled.

  “Keep it quick,” Del said. “My pain meds are wearing off.”

  “Do you have any thoughts about recent events you’d like to share with the Golden Springs Gazetteer?” Kurt asked.

  “I don’t know how interesting my thoughts would be,” Morgan said, “but you were right when you told me I didn’t understand small towns. I thought I was moving to a sleepy Old West tourist town, but Golden Springs isn’t what it appears to be.”

  “You can say that again,” Lucy said. “A poor hippie girl is really a ruthless business tycoon and murderess.”

  “The burglar is a sleuth,” Bernie croaked.

  “Our scruffy old donkeys turn into angels,” Del added.

  “What about you?” Kurt asked. “Big city girl moves to Golden Springs and becomes a hero?”

  Morgan raised her hand, fending off Kurt’s praise. “I failed Dawn.”

  “That’s been settled,” Del said. “You couldn’t have saved her.”

  “And you did save Del,” Lucy said.

  “And me,” Bernie rasped.

  “I’d say that makes you a hero,” Kurt said.

  Morgan looked around the circle of new friends, and their encouraging smiles. Del sat on a folding chair. He was fading fast.

  “We need to get home,” Morgan said.

  “Just one more question,” Kurt said. “Are you staying in Golden Springs?”

  “I can’t drive back to Sioux Falls yet. Not until I get this splint off my arm.”

  “Good,” Del said. “That’ll give me time.”

  “Time for what?” Morgan asked.

  She expected Del to announce his plan to create a travel survival kit, complete with parachute.

  “Time to convince you to stay.”

  Morgan didn’t have a clue how she would handle being a long-distance grandmother, or where the money would come from to pay the rock shop property taxes, but she finally knew one thing with certainty. The shop, like a geode, might be rough and homely on the outside, but it concealed hidden treasures whose worth couldn’t be measured in dollars. Treasures she meant to preserve for her family.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To Catherine Dilts, rock shops are like geodes—both contain amazing treasures hidden inside their plain-as-dirt exteriors. Catherine caught mountain fever after a childhood vacation in Rocky Mountain National Park. Determined to give up her flatlander ways, she moved to Colorado. Her husband, a Colorado native, proposed to her as they hiked Barr Trail on Pikes Peak. Catherine works as an environmental scientist, and plays at heirloom vegetable gardening, camping, and fishing. She has published short fiction in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. In her spare time, she attempts to lure wild donkeys to her property in the mountains.

  Visit her website at http://www.catherinedilts.com.