Roy spotted me. “Darby, you were here when I got in. Did you see anyone around? Hear anything?”
I thought about the sullen Riccardo roaming around last night. “I saw Mr. Rinaldi jogging in the distance. No one was around the lodge when I got here and I didn’t hear anyone in here. You might, however, talk to Riccardo.”
Roy walked closer. “I . . . we’d appreciate it if you don’t mention this or the dead raccoon to the other guests.”
“Of course.”
“Angie,” Roy said in a soothing voice, “why don’t you grab up some sketchbooks and take a short hike to the pond. Do some of that . . . what’s the word?”
“Plein air.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll get the room cleaned up. No one any wiser. We’ll look into the vandal while you’re gone. And we’ll keep this room locked up from now on.”
“Thank you, Roy.” Angie ran a hand through her hair. “This is just all so . . . upsetting. You need to catch the man who did this.”
“Or the woman,” Roy said. “I’ll go make an announcement.”
I turned to leave.
“Darby?” Angie bellowed. “Could you help me find the sketchbooks and drawing supplies?” Apparently she didn’t have a volume control on her voice.
“Of course.”
She picked up a black wire-bound book and held it so I could see it. “The sketchpads look like this.” Another quick glance around the room and she lifted a metal tin beside an overturned chair. “Pencil set.”
Lifting a nearby chair, I found two more sketchpads.
“Roy tells me you’re in law enforcement.”
I turned so she couldn’t see my expression. “No.”
“Oh. I wonder why he thought that.”
I shrugged.
“He could use a good investigator.” She stopped searching for art supplies for a moment. “Wait. Are you a private investigator?”
“No.”
“Oh well, just asking. I’m concerned about Roy. He’s had a lot of bad luck lately. Or what may seem like bad luck.”
“Really?” I would need to pursue several topics Angie had brought up, such as why she believed me to be an undercover investigator and what she meant by “bad luck,” but before I could ask, she started for the door.
“Thanks. There are ten in the class, so this should be enough for everyone.” She took one last look around the trashed room. “Let’s find the group and head out. At least this day won’t be a complete waste.”
* * *
Bram arrived in Targhee Falls, where Sam met him outside the store. “Thanks for the horse and wagon, Sam. Do you want me to unhitch him?”
“Nah. I got it. The sheriff left word for you to call her when you got here.”
It must be important or the sheriff would have waited for him to call on the radio or when he got into cell-service range. Bram headed toward the store but paused at the parking lot. All the Mule Shoe guests had parked in the lot. On impulse, he jotted down the license plates. His interest in Darby was pushing him into borderline-unprofessional behavior. Even when he’d tried to track down his family history, he’d been scrupulous not to use confidential documents.
On entering the store, he spotted Julia flirting with Liam, the deliveryman. She noticed him and sashayed over. “Hello, Bram.”
He nodded at her. “I need to use the phone.”
She frowned, pointed to the office, then stalked over to Liam and draped one arm around his shoulder. Her gaze shot to him to see if he was paying attention.
If jealousy was what she intended, she was wasting her time. Liam was a far easier target for her amorous advances than he was. She was hardly in Bram’s pool of potentials for marriage bliss. She’d been married three times already. Or was it four?
Liam’s eyes opened wide, then he grinned and put his hand on her waist.
If Liam was looking for a girlfriend, Bram wasn’t about to get in the way. Liam’s mother was Bram’s boss, the sheriff.
He sat behind Sam’s desk and dialed. “You wanted me to call.”
“Yes. I didn’t want this to be overheard on the radio.”
“I got the message from the fire marshal—”
“Oh? Why did he call you?”
“He couldn’t get hold of you. He asked me to secure the barn and he’ll go ahead and do the investigation.”
“He should have waited to get my go-ahead. We have protocols—”
“I think the insurance company asked him. Anyway, I’ll run over—”
“I need you to do a welfare check.” She gave him the address.
“Not a problem. I’ll go right after I secure the barn. Did a note arrive?” The arsonist had written taunting notes to the sheriff after each fire, a fact the department had withheld from the public.
“Yes, and it’s being processed, as usual. I need you to do the welfare check first. I can send someone else out on the arson. Again, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. Sam told me what happened with the dogs you were sent to take care of.”
Bram shifted and cleared his throat. “I . . . um—”
“Next time I send you out to do something, just do it. Don’t get involved in conflict resolution. You could have put the sheriff’s department in a lot of hot water. Do you even know if those dogs are vaccinated against rabies? What if they bite that woman . . .”
He made a point of loosening the tight grip he had on the phone receiver as his boss continued her rant. She finally finished and hung up.
Bram stayed seated. He knew his face would reflect the tongue-lashing he’d just received and he didn’t want the sheriff’s son to report the reaction to his mom.
He picked up the local paper lying on the edge of the desk. A photo of the latest arson was splashed across the front page. The last paragraph of the story snagged his attention. Someone had started a recall petition for the sheriff due to her lack of progress in solving the case. Whoa. No wonder she was in such a black mood. He refolded the paper, stood, and headed for his parked patrol SUV.
“Bram.” Liam caught his attention as he strolled through the store. “Hey, did you hear the news?”
Bram sighed and glanced at Julia. The woman was pointedly straightening boxes of macaroni.
He really didn’t have time to listen to Liam’s gossip, but he didn’t want to give his boss another reason to chew him out by ignoring what she called “potential information sources.” Especially if the source was her only child.
“What news?”
Liam grinned and moved closer. “About the recall petition for my mom.”
“I just saw it in the paper.” Bram started to leave.
“She’s already looking for a new job. No way we’re staying here.” Liam looked around as if someone might overhear them, then said quietly, “San Francisco or Denver. Someplace big. We’re getting out of this podunk town and state.”
“I take it you would move with her?”
“Yeah. Get me a job that really pays, you know? Get my own place.”
Julia gave up her pretense of work. “You rat! I thought we’d . . .” She stomped into the restroom and slammed the door.
Bram bit back a smile. “And I would guess Julia’s not going to be joining you.”
“No way! You got that right.”
* * *
Roy was just finishing up his announcement as I entered the dining room.
“. . . you’ll return here for lunch. And be sure you fill up those water bottles you received in your welcome bags. As refreshing as the ponds and streams look, you can’t drink the water. Beavers live in the pond and the water is full of giardia, a parasite. We’ll assemble outside in”—he glanced at his watch—“twenty minutes.”
Everyone rose and funneled out to head to their cabins.
The raccoon had been removed, and the dogs were sprawled across my cabin’s small porch. Maverick took up most of the space, with Holly staking out a spot in the corner. The dogs stood at my arrival and trailed me into the room. I dropped off the book, found the water bottle and filled it, then attached it to my belt by the carabiner. Grabbing a lightweight jacket, I looked around the room. My neck tingled slightly. I didn’t like the idea of leaving my things in an unlocked cabin and going for a long hike. Roy may have felt everyone was honest at the ranch, but the condition of the art room proved him wrong. That room, at least, would now be locked.
I tucked my wallet and the letters from Scott Thomas and Roy inside my Mule Shoe bag. Shadow Woman’s drawings were still there.
I checked my watch. Still time to do a little work. Opening a notebook, I started a new page on what I’d learned and seen, along with questions I needed to follow up on. It seemed strange to use a pen and paper rather than my laptop. Once again I went over the materials from Roy—insurance statements, letters from guests, a timeline of events, employee information, and resort reservations. The problems seemed to start in the spring with a wrongful-death lawsuit over a hiking accident. Insurance claims for water damage, electrical problems in the staff building, and injuries from a horseback riding incident followed. A letter from the insurance carrier noted they would no longer cover the team-building activities, and any more claims would result in their dropping Mule Shoe entirely. The final set of papers were various offers, dating back to the first of the year, to purchase Mule Shoe. The offers came from a variety of real estate agencies and appeared to be generous at first, but considerably lower after the lawsuit and accidents. That did raise the possibility of deliberate sabotage, in which case I’d need to find out who wanted to buy the resort.
I closed the notebook, removed Shadow Woman’s drawings from my bag, moved to the table, and spread out the artwork. There were eight drawings, all well rendered and dated.
The drawings the clerk had placed into the old phone book were a portrait of Sam and a rather odd sketch of two men standing on what looked like a cloud with two lines coming out at the bottom.
Sam’s image wasn’t particularly flattering. No wonder the clerk hid this one from her boss.
In addition to Sam’s sketch, there was one of Roy, a woman I didn’t recognize, and a fourth, probably a self-portrait—a face mostly hidden in darkness. All of the portraits were off somehow, capturing enough of the likeness to be identifiable, but not totally accurate when it came to the faces I knew.
The remaining drawings were of her dogs beside a stream, and two landscapes. Underneath all the sketches were a check and note. The check was from Gem Mountain Bank and had a full name and address—Mae Haas, PO Box 12, Targhee Falls, Idaho. Account closed was stamped across the check. Mae Haas. Shadow Woman.
The typewritten note was equally unhelpful.
Sam, Im moved to Pocatello. Heres what i owe you.
Returning the drawings, check, and note to their folder, I added them to the bag. I grabbed up my camera, called the dogs to follow, and tramped back to the lodge. No one had arrived yet. Wandering into the as-yet unlocked art room, I looked for a place to store my things.
All the locker doors had been opened, and many of the Mule Shoe backpacks tossed to the floor. My locker was untouched. I stuffed my things into the backpack and stepped back to see the results. The backpack still looked empty. Perfect. Hiding in plain sight.
I took one last look around. Something was bothering me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Returning outside, I found Dee Dee Denim and Golden Girl Grace in deep conversation with Teddy and Nona. No sign of Riccardo. I wondered if he would stay in their cabin as his dad demanded. Somehow that seemed unlikely. Hiding my wallet and other things in the soon-to-be-locked art room had been a good decision.
We were joined by Madam Sparkles and a distinguished-looking older gentleman, both looking like they had stepped out of an REI catalog. Several other class members wandered over.
Cookie joined us and handed out sheets of paper. “After your class, you can take advantage of some of our other activities. This is a list. Look it over and if something appeals to you, mark it, write your name on the paper, and give it to me. I’ll get it all set up for you.”
I read my copy. The first item made my hand sweaty. Horseback riding. I’m not ready for that yet. Gold panning. Nature hike. Target practice. Star gazing. Now I was shaking. Two PTSD triggers on a single sheet of paper. I quietly folded the list and stuffed it in my pocket.
Angie arrived and began handing out sketchpads and pencil tins. “Ready, everyone?” She didn’t wait for a response but set out at a brisk pace along a marked path to the right of the lodge.
I thought the dogs would accompany me, but they opted to investigate the park-like grounds. Maverick marked every tree to stake out their new territory.
The sky was a rich, ultramarine blue, the crisp autumn air filled with the aroma of pine needles, and the landscape worthy of an Ansel Adams photograph. We moved toward the cedar grove on the left side of the lodge. Beyond the fern-like needles, a log triplex appeared. Angie pointed. “Cookie, Wyatt, and I stay there if you ever need to find someone after hours. The rest of the staff are in the bunkhouse behind the lodge.”
The trail dipped slightly downward, then paralleled a burbling stream. The eight-thousand-foot elevation left us all gasping for breath, even at our leisurely pace.
Farther up the trail we arrived at a small waterfall gushing around mossy granite rocks and forming an amber-and-emerald-colored pool. We paused to admire the scene, and I took a couple of photos. The rest of the guests watched me with envy. Their ability to take photos had vanished with their cell phones. We climbed a short distance. The stream originated from a small lake, with cattails at the far side and a pebble beach on ours. Log benches on the beach formed a semicircle, allowing us to sit and admire the view. To my left was a small shelter that probably served as a blind for photographing wildlife. I could have stayed there all day.
Madam Sparkles and the well-dressed man sat next to me. “We haven’t formally met yet. I’m Stacy, and this is ma husband, Peter. Isn’t this the most beautiful place in the world?”
If you don’t count the numerous earthquakes and potential for a massive volcano eruption . . . I nodded. “I’m Darby and, yes, it’s paradise.”
“Miss Darby,” Peter said. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Stacy had replaced her diamond studs with the Yogo sapphires. They matched her deep blue eyes.
“Is this your first visit to Mule Shoe?” I asked.
“Yes, but it will definitely not be our last.” Stacy touched her husband’s arm. “Right, my dear?”
Peter nodded.
Angie walked in front of the impromptu classroom. “After I finish the lesson, feel free to spread out and sketch.” I suspected Roy could hear her back at the lodge. “For those of you new to plein air sketching, keep your drawing loose. Capture the essence of the landscape and don’t be bogged down by details. Think about the whole range of values—”
Stacy raised her hand. “I’m so new to this. What do you mean by range of values?”
“The term value in art means light or darkness and is usually referred to as relative value. For example, if I put my hand on my pants”—she placed her hand on the ample thigh of her dark blue jeans—“my hand is lighter than my jeans.” She rested her hand on her white T-shirt. “But my hand is darker than my shirt. In a successful drawing, you’ll want the full range of values, from lightest light—your white paper—to the darkest dark your pencil will create. This will bring dimension to your work.”
The slight breeze, smelling of boggy plant life, cooled the air around me, making me grateful for my light coat as Angie gave us further instructions. Another puff of wind brought the whiff of fish. I glanced around, but no one else was reacting. The scent came again. Not just any fish. Sardines.
I had to be imagining the smell. I was pretty sure the fish in this pond didn’t reek of canned sardines.
“Okay.” Angie waved her arms. “Find a good spot and start drawing. I need to grab a jacket, but when I return, I’ll be wandering around to help you.”
Everyone stood and wandered around, looking for the perfect angle and view. I opted to locate the source of the smell. I moved to a rocky outcropping near the water. The tang of wet dog replaced the sardine scent.
I stopped and stared at the woods. The dense pines showed only black between the branches, with snowberry shrubs around the trunks. The wet-dog odor grew more pungent, now joined by a scratching sound. Looking around, I checked to see if anyone nearby noticed the sound and smell. The closest to me were Dee Dee and Grace. Both were seated on a log at some distance and intent on their sketches.
Several branches moved and I caught a glimpse of something brown.
I took a step backward.
A massive muzzle poked through the underbrush, followed by two beady eyes peering from an immense brown head. Grizzly.