Broken Ground
Copyright© 2026 by Lumpy
Chapter 2
Glacier Falls, Minnesota
Taylor drove into Glacier Falls just after noon. The small Minnesota town, tucked away in a valley surrounded by snow-dusted hills, looked like a painting someone had forgotten to finish. The snow had already melted off the lowlands, but the air was still cool. Much cooler than it had been in DC or Mexico.
Main Street consisted of a few weathered buildings, a hardware store, post office, two bars, and a diner with a blinking “OPEN” sign. He parked his rental car in front of the narrow building with a neon coffee cup in the window and a sign that used to read Mary’s but now said M&J’s with the ampersand painted in by hand. The lunchtime crowd had thinned.
The bell above the door jingled as Taylor stepped inside. Warmth hit him, along with the smell of coffee and fried foods. A handful of locals occupied booths and counter seats, most of them turning to study the newcomer before returning to their conversations.
Small towns.
Milly had a booth near the window. She was in her late twenties now, maybe early thirties, hair darker than he remembered. Her eyes found him, ran over him once, then softened.
“You look the same,” she said as he stopped next to her booth.
“Bad news for mirrors,” Taylor said.
She stood and reached out, hugging him like she was still that little girl her father would bring around. She felt tight through the coat, muscles coiled, and he guessed she hadn’t slept. She sat again as he slid onto the bench across from her.
“I’m so sorry to hear about your dad.”
“Thanks for coming,” she said, giving him a sad smile. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Your dad would’ve done the same for me.”
A waitress approached, coffee pot in hand. “Coffee?”
“Please,” Taylor said.
She filled his cup and topped off Milly’s. “Know what you want to eat?”
“Just the coffee,” Taylor said.
The waitress nodded and walked away. Taylor took a sip of his coffee, black and strong enough to dissolve a spoon.
“So tell me what happened,” he said.
Milly wrapped her hands around her mug. “It’s just like I told you on the phone; I called Dad Sunday morning, like I usually do, and he didn’t answer. After he didn’t answer that night, I got worried and drove up here and he was nowhere to be found. I found out from the deputy that he was dead, but no one would tell me anything about how he died, and the doctor won’t release his body.”
“And they still won’t tell you what happened?”
“That’s the thing, they have. Sort of. After I called you yesterday, Doctor Henley phoned me out of the blue and said they had finished part of their investigation and Dad’s death was ruled an accident, but he couldn’t say what the accident was, where it happened, or anything.” Milly shook her head. “And he still won’t release the body or let me see him, just said that I can pick up the death certificate.”
“He just called?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell them you called someone?”
“No, why?”
“Nothing, just thinking.”
“The thing is, you know Dad,” Milly continued. “He survived thirty years in service and they expect me to believe he just, what? Fell? Bumped his head? Tripped?”
“People have accidents,” Taylor said.
“Maybe, but they don’t hold someone’s body for an accident. Also, I know I said he was the same as always, but that’s not quite true. I think Dad was acting strange the last few times I talked to him on the phone. I’d kind of written it off as my imagination but, with all this...”
“Strange how?”
“Distracted, I guess. Secretive. He wouldn’t tell me what he was up to, just that he’d been ‘busy.’ He’s never kept anything from me. Not since Mom’s death.”
That alone was something. Roy was a straight shooter if ever there was one. The man was too blunt even for the army. It’s why he stalled out at Staff Sergeant. He had a bad habit of saying whatever was on his mind, no matter what.
And he didn’t spook easily.
“Was he worried about something? Any financial problems?”
“Not that I know of. His pension covered his needs. The house is paid for and he always lived simply.”
“New people in his life? Girlfriends? Enemies?”
“You know Dad never dated again, after. And enemies? He was an old man. Who would he have for an enemy?”
“Okay, what about friends?”
“I don’t know. Guys at the VFW maybe. Well, and Harry Dunn. I know he and Dad drank together, especially in the winter.”
“Who’s Harry Dunn?”
“Harold Dunn. I don’t really know him. I met him once, twice maybe. And Dad mentioned him a few times, but that’s it. He always seemed like kind of a drunk to me, but Dad liked him. Said he made him laugh.”
“Any idea where I can find him?”
“I have no idea. Dad didn’t keep a Rolodex or anything, and he never got rid of his wall phone. Detested the idea of a cell phone, so it’s not like I can look through his call log.”
“So no idea?”
“Uhhh, well, I know he was always at the bar he and Dad drank at. I think that’s where they met, at Corky’s. I picked Dad up there a couple of times. It’s on the east side of town.”
Taylor nodded, thinking.
“I feel guilty,” Milly said suddenly. “I should have visited more. I only came out on weekends when he wasn’t hunting. Now he’s gone, and I don’t even know what happened to him.”
“You’re here now,” Taylor said. “That counts. Do you want to head back home? Do you have to go back to work?”
“No. I’m not leaving until I can get answers. Until I can bury Dad.”
“Fair enough. Give me your number and the address where you’re staying.”
Milly wrote down her information on a napkin. “What do you think happened to him, Taylor?”
Taylor pocketed the napkin. “Don’t know yet. But I’ll find out.”
“If someone hurt him...”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Could be exactly what they’re saying, an accident.”
Taylor didn’t believe that any more than Milly did. The whole thing smelled bad. He could feel it.
“I’ll call you later,” he said, standing up.
Milly nodded. “Be careful. If Dad was into something ... well, just be careful.”
Taylor headed for the door.
The clinic occupied a squat brick building three blocks from the diner, its parking lot empty except for a decade-old Buick and a newer Ford pickup. Taylor pushed through the glass door into a waiting room that smelled of disinfectant and old magazines. The receptionist’s desk sat empty, though there was a bell perched on the counter with a handwritten note that said, “Ring for Service.”
Taylor ignored the bell and walked past the desk into the hallway beyond, checking doors until he found one marked “Dr. D. Henley.”
The door stood slightly open. Taylor knocked twice and entered without waiting for a response.
Doctor Henley sat behind a cluttered desk with a framed photo of a smiling woman and two kids next to his computer monitor, at which he was peering through wire-rimmed glasses. He looked up at the intrusion, his pale blue eyes widening slightly. The man had the soft build of someone who spent too much time sitting and the nervous energy of someone who worried about everything.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Doctor Henley? My name is John Taylor. I need to ask some questions regarding Roy Breyer.”
Henley fidgeted with a pen, clicking it twice before stopping. “Yes, well, it’s a complicated situation. There’s a ... a lot of paperwork. Are you with the family’s legal counsel?”
“I’m investigating his death,” Taylor said, deciding to be as nonspecific as he could and let the doctor fill in his own facts. “The family has questions regarding his death, and were only recently told it was accidental. Is that your official finding as county coroner?”
“The preliminary finding, yes.”
“Preliminary? So you’re waiting on a full autopsy report?”
Henley’s eyes darted away, toward the window that looked out on a brick wall. “That’s the thing ... you see, I mean, well, the autopsy hasn’t been performed yet.”
Taylor let a moment of silence pass. “Mr. Breyer died over the weekend, maybe as early as Friday, and it is now Tuesday. Why hasn’t an autopsy been performed on a death you’re already calling accidental?”
“The sheriff’s department put a hold on it,” Henley said the words quickly, as if hoping to push them past Taylor without inspection. “Until Sheriff Brody gives the clearance, my hands are tied.”
“That’s an unusual procedure. In most jurisdictions, the medical examiner or coroner operates independently of law enforcement. They determine whether an autopsy is required, and when it’s performed. It is a medical decision, not a police one. Most jurisdictions actually have requirements, I believe, for how long you’re allowed to wait until that determination is made. Especially when there’s no active criminal investigation.”
Henley’s face flushed. The pen in his hand was now being rolled between his thumb and forefinger. “Well, this is Glacier Falls, not Minneapolis. We have our own way of doing things. Sheriff Brody requested we wait.”
“Why? Did he give a reason? If he suspects foul play, then you shouldn’t be calling it an accident. If he doesn’t suspect foul play, then he has no reason to interfere with your duties. Which is it, Doctor?”
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