Stone Cold Blooded Read online

  “They can’t be that busy. I hope they’re okay.”

  “I sure want to find out what’s going on before somebody official kicks us out,” Del said. The tall cowboy scanned the growing crowd in the cul-de-sac. “There’s Search and Rescue. They might tell me something. Hey, Rolf!” Del hurried toward a large sandy-haired man in a Pine County Search and Rescue windbreaker.

  “I don’t see any other reporters,” Kurt said.

  The noise level increased with the arrival of a helicopter.

  “Granite Junction news.” Kurt shielded his eyes from the July sun. “Great. They’ll see first hand what’s going on before I can pry any information out of the police.”

  Morgan called the rock shop again, but no one answered. Dread filled her as she considered that something could have happened to her brother and his wife.

  “I’d love to get these folks some bottled water, coffee, and sandwiches,” Lorina said, “but I’m afraid they won’t let us back in if we leave.”

  Official vehicles nearly hemmed in Lorina’s truck. The cowgirl was right. She wouldn’t be allowed back in the cul-de-sac. Morgan couldn’t stick around. Her brother and his family might be in trouble. She climbed out of the bed of the pickup, but before she could begin the walk down Hill Street to the rock shop, Lorina shaded her eyes with one hand and pointed.

  “Here comes a car.”

  “One of the neighbors?” Morgan asked. “Or another police car?”

  “Neither,” Lorina said. “Looks like the county coroner.”

  Just as the vehicle reached the cul-de-sac, Morgan’s phone rang. The caller ID showed the rock shop’s number. When Kendall spoke in his booming televangelist voice, Morgan breathed a brief sigh of relief before her anger kicked in.

  “I called three times,” she said. “Where have you been?”

  “I never appreciated how busy parenting keeps a person.” Kendall’s delight with his new status as an adoptive father was obvious in his tone. “Marissa had an appointment with the pediatrician.”

  “So you’re okay.” Morgan tried to cut the conversation short. “Kendall, I have to go.”

  “Marissa is doing great. I assumed you saw us leave. Allie was certain you could see the parking lot from the shooting range.”

  “I couldn’t.” Morgan held the cell phone hard against her right ear and pressed a hand against her left, to block out the noise of the helicopter making another pass. “Especially after the explosion—”

  “A truck just towed a cabin into the parking lot,” Kendall interrupted. “The driver claims you purchased this cabin, and he needs to get into the pasture behind the barn.”

  “Yes, I bought it. The old tourist resort is selling them off cheap. I totally forgot about the cabin delivery in all the excitement. Kendall, can’t you hear—”

  “I certainly hope you got it cheap. The cabin looks fit for firewood, not habitation.”

  “I had to act fast,” Morgan said. “Those cabins might not be around much longer, depending on who gets elected to City Council. And I need a place to live now. The cabin is cheaper than renting an apartment, assuming I could find a place I can afford to rent in Golden Springs. I’ve looked.”

  “I still don’t see why this was so urgent you couldn’t consult with me first.”

  “Can you unlock the gate and show the delivery truck where to drop the cabin? I can’t leave right now.”

  “This is your project. Where are you, by the way? At Kurt’s, again?”

  Kendall had not been on good terms with Kurt before leaving on his mission trip to the Central American jungle. Morgan’s brother did nothing to disguise his disapproval of her budding relationship with the newspaper editor.

  “No,” Morgan said. “I’m outside our neighbor Eustace Day’s ranch. Didn’t you see the traffic going up Hill Street?”

  “We just returned.”

  “That’s why I kept calling,” Morgan said. “I was worried about Allie and the baby.” She purposefully left Kendall off the list of people warranting her concern. “We heard gunfire and explosions. There’s a S.W.A.T. team here, and the coroner just went up the driveway.”

  “Oh. I hear the helicopter now. Good Lord. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but I suspect Mr. Day isn’t.”

  The plaintive cry of an infant erupted on Kendall’s end of the call.

  “Allie needs help,” Kendall said. “Marissa is crying, and there’s no one else to run the cash register. You need to come here and deal with this delivery.”

  * * *

  As Morgan walked the quarter mile down the gravel road to the rock shop, a news van pulled beside her. She wasn’t about to help Kurt’s competition. She gave a vague answer about hearing loud noises from the neighbor’s place. They’d have to find out the rest on their own, and hopefully well after Kurt had learned the whole story.

  She was sweaty and dusty by the time she reached the pasture, and the impatient driver of a huge diesel truck with Riley Conway & Son – Moving and Hauling printed neatly across the cab doors. The dilapidated cabin that was potentially Morgan’s new home rested catawampus on the flatbed trailer. The driver rolled down his window and gave a gruff introduction.

  “Riley Conway. I assume you’re Morgan Iverson?”

  “Yes. I got here as quick as I could.”

  “I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes to drop this delivery.” Riley opened the door and stepped to the ground. He was not much taller than Morgan, but he was broad-shouldered and sturdy. “I should charge extra for my time.”

  A younger man with a similar stout build joined Riley. He had to be the & Son advertised on the door of the truck.

  “I’m sorry,” Morgan said. “I didn’t know my brother was away from the shop, and I left to see what was happening up the hill.”

  “I noticed the police cars and such,” Riley said. “They find a meth lab in the woods or something?”

  “I don’t know,” Morgan said. “Chief Sharp wouldn’t let us up there.”

  When Morgan gave Riley a few interesting details, he seemed to forgive her tardiness. Folks in Golden Springs enjoyed knowing other peoples’ business.

  “Old man Day is a character. I delivered a couple shipping containers to him a few years ago. You know, those big metal boxes they load on ocean going ships?”

  Morgan had a vague idea. She nodded.

  “These survivalist types like ‘em for storing end of the world gear,” Riley said. “Some even bury them to make bomb shelters. Well, not many folks are worried about The Bomb anymore. Maybe more like zombie apocalypse shelters.”

  “I guess this cabin wouldn’t be much protection from zombies,” Morgan said.

  “Not unless you put some steel shutters on those windows,” Riley’s son said. “And even then, they might get through the vent hole for the wood stove. For being undead, zombies can be pretty clever.”

  Lorina wasn’t the only person with a vivid imagination.

  “So where do you want it?” Riley asked.

  Del had run the tractor blade across a plot of ground to level it out. That didn’t help when the cabin itself was lopsided. As she watched, Riley and his son used a frame contraption and crane to lift the cabin into place. Morgan wished someone else had been there to witness the amazing feat.

  “I can’t believe it held together,” Morgan said.

  “Dad’s the best,” the younger Conway said.

  “I was surprised they let me pick up the cabin,” Riley said, “what with the brouhaha about those darn birds and all.”

  A developer had planned to buy the out-of-business camping resort, until a nest of birds was discovered in the trees. A biologist from the University of Colorado at Granite Junction determined the birds were neither rare nor endangered, but opposing forces had already waded into the fray. Now the election of a n
ew member to City Council would decide whether citizens approved development of the neglected property, or preferred to purchase it for a bird sanctuary.

  The cabin was in place and Conway & Son gone by the time Kurt, Del and Lorina came bouncing across the pasture. Lorina parked her truck in front of the cabin.

  “Darn police ran us off,” Del said. “We weren’t getting in their hair.”

  “Del, honey.” Lorina patted Del’s arm. “Chief Sharp was polite about it. He said the feds were threatening to run him off, too.”

  “Federal agents?” Morgan asked.

  “Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms,” Kurt said. “It was printed on their jerseys. Apparently explosions bring them out.”

  “It’s been quiet for hours,” Lorina said. “Maybe those shots were ammo going up in a fire. If Eustace Day’s place burned up, that could have touched off the explosions, too.”

  “No telling what Eustace had up there,” Del said. “Must have been a whole arsenal.”

  “What about the shouting?” Already the morning’s events were becoming scrambled, but Morgan was certain she had heard voices. “It really makes you wonder about your neighbors.”

  Del tugged at his bushy gray moustache. “Seems like you’d want to have those kind of folks close by. They’re typically pretty well equipped for any emergency.”

  “A little preparation goes a long ways.” Lorina touched a hand to her pinkish-orange hair in a coquettish gesture. “I have to admit I’m a bit of a prepper myself.”

  “We didn’t call it prepping back in my day,” Del said. “The family that had something extra set back for that rainy day was just plain smart.”

  He and Lorina waxed nostalgic about times when lack of preparation for winter storms caused the snow-bound to boil their boots to stave off starvation. Although Lorina was a good five years younger than sixty-seven year-old Del, she could play the good-old-days card like a certified old timer. Their stories stretched Morgan’s credibility, but it was nice seeing the two as friends, after years of being bitter enemies.

  “I suppose I can let Houdini and Adelaide out of the barn now,” Morgan said.

  “I’ll go with you,” Kurt said.

  Del headed to the rock shop to help Kendall. Lorina left to check on her Western Outfitters and Outfits store, where she sold gear for horses and clothes for their riders.

  Kurt followed Morgan through the open barn doors. His vintage garb usually looked as if he had walked off the set of a 1940s movie, dressed for the role of an intrepid reporter. Today he was a mess. The narrow necktie dangled from his slacks pocket. The white dress shirt displayed splotches of the reddish soil that gave Colorado its name. Sweat trickled down his flushed cheeks from under his ever-present fedora. Morgan liked his rugged look. It suited his solid build and boyish good looks.

  Kurt reached for Morgan’s hand and pulled her into the dim shadows under the hayloft.

  “Alone at last.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The earthy odors of aged barn wood, livestock, and hay mingled with Kurt’s aftershave. When their planned getaway to a bed and breakfast had been side-railed by her brother’s abrupt return from Central America, Morgan had feared their budding relationship would never blossom into romance. Kurt was remarkably patient, or perhaps romance between forty-somethings proceeded at a more sedate pace. As usual, their interlude in the barn was interrupted before it got too interesting, this time by pawing hooves.

  “Okay you two,” Morgan said. “The coast is clear. You can go back outside.”

  She entered a stall and crowded her way around Adelaide, who was enormous with the foal Morgan hoped she would drop soon. The poor little donkey’s spindly legs hardly seemed adequate to hold up her body. After freeing Adelaide, Morgan opened Houdini’s stall. He bolted into the pasture at a gallop.

  “He didn’t appreciate being cooped up,” Kurt said.

  Morgan watched the donkey send up dust clouds in his furious race across the grass.

  “No, he’s after an intruder.”

  A deer jerked its head up. Four-tined antlers crowned the buck’s head. He whirled around and bounced toward the fence, leaping over it effortlessly. Houdini continued his pursuit. Morgan gasped, but Houdini must have remembered at the last instant that he was a short donkey and not a leggy deer. He skidded to a stop, his nose inches from the barbed wire fence.

  “I thought he was going to plow right through the wire,” Morgan said.

  Kurt laughed. “He’s too smart to hurt himself.”

  As they walked toward the rock shop, Morgan turned and took several steps backward, watching the hill behind the barn.

  “I can see the cabin from here. Which means I should be able to watch the parking lot from the cabin. That’ll be convenient.”

  “Are you really thinking of living there?” Kurt asked. “With no plumbing or electricity?”

  “It’ll be rough until I can get utilities hooked up, but it will beat sleeping on Bernie’s sofa.”

  “Really?” Kurt raised his eyebrows. “You’re tired of that overstuffed sofa covered with afghans? Not to mention Bernie’s cooking.”

  “Or her twenty pound cat sleeping on my chest and nearly suffocating me? Even when I had possession of the rock shop living quarters, I shared it with Del. I’m looking forward to having my own space.”

  Kurt had heard these particular complaints before, but Morgan continued her rant.

  “I didn’t move out of the rock shop for Kendall and Allie, anyway. It was for their baby. If I stayed, Marissa’s crib would be crammed in her parents’ room, or stuck in the dining and kitchen area. So that cabin is looking pretty good.”

  “I have a better idea,” Kurt said. “Move into my guest room.”

  So much for a sedately paced relationship. Morgan surprised herself by giving his invitation serious consideration. After all, Kurt didn’t own a twenty pound cat. Morgan stopped beside an ore cart and rearranged geodes the size of cannon balls.

  “I thought your sons were coming to visit you this month. Won’t they need the room?”

  “I was debating trying something different for this visit,” Kurt said. “Jase and Burke are both nineteen. They’ve outgrown sharing my guest room. I don’t have an alternative to offer them equal to what they’re used to. They each have their own suites at their mother’s house.”

  Kurt’s history was complicated, but Morgan knew he was speaking about his son’s stepmother. As she recalled the story, Kurt’s first wife had died over a decade ago in a traffic pileup on a foggy southern California freeway. A widower with a toddler son, he had been anxious to remarry. That relationship had not worked out. Kurt talked about his first wife with the same fondness that Morgan spoke of her beloved Sam, a victim of cancer. Kurt rarely mentioned his ex-wife. This was new territory.

  “You know.” Kurt waved his hand. “One of those Hollywood mansions. Ridiculously large and pretentious.”

  “Hollywood? Is your ex-wife an actress?”

  “She aimed for that rarified status, but what she landed was a career as a costume designer.”

  Morgan’s only image of a costume designer was a short, plump lady in Sioux Falls her mother’s age who sewed Halloween costumes, prom dresses and wedding gowns.

  “If you need extra room, I would be happy to offer the cabin,” Morgan said. “But it sounds like your sons are used to luxury.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Kurt said. “I was thinking of renting a pop-up tent and parking it in my driveway, but the cabin would be more fun.”

  “Or they might have their own ideas about where they want to stay,” Morgan said.

  Kurt laughed. “I suppose you’re right.” He pulled Morgan’s hands away from the ore cart and held them in both of his. “I hope I’m not being pushy, but I’m serious. You’re welcome to use my guest room as long as
you need.”

  “I appreciate the offer,” Morgan said. “Let’s see whether your sons want to use it.”

  Another vehicle pulled into the rock shop parking lot next to Kurt’s vintage Plymouth.

  “I’d better go help,” Morgan said. “I haven’t seen this many cars all summer.”

  “I’ll bet some of your crowd are curiosity seekers. They can’t drive up Hill Street any further than the rock shop.”

  “Ah, yes. The Golden Springs gossip grapevine. Faster than a speeding bullet.”

  “I’m going back to the cul-de-sac,” Kurt said. “Someone’s bound to be chatty. And if I can’t break the police barrier of silence with my good looks and charm, I’ll head back to the newspaper to write up next week’s headline. I might even publish a special edition.”

  * * *

  Morgan didn’t see Kurt the rest of the afternoon. When business at the shop finally ended for the day, she drove her scarred and dented Buick down Hill Street. The car was not pretty, but the local auto mechanic kept it running.

  Downtown Golden Springs sported as much red, white and blue as it had during the Fourth of July. The competitors for a seat on City Council had papered the five blocks with campaign posters.

  Morgan reached her friend Bernie’s business. Like other shops on Main Street, Bibi’s Bakery had above-the-shop living quarters. Morgan used the key Bernie had loaned her to let herself in the back door. She climbed the narrow steps to Bernie’s apartment. She had a key to that door, too, but Morgan knocked to be polite.

  “Hands are full!” Bernie’s voice was muffled. “Come on in.”

  Delicate fabric and lace covered Bernie Belmont’s shoulder-length brown hair. The muted bridal tones clashed with Bernie’s bright summery Capri slacks and tank top. A slender woman stood on tiptoes, circling Bernie slowly. The woman held up one fabric, then another, placing them next to Bernie’s face. She had to reach. Bernie was tall and had the build one might expect of a person surrounded by pastries all day.