Roy was outside waving to the arriving helicopter. I stayed next to the barn until the copter landed.
Bram was the first to exit the chopper. He was out of uniform but had a holstered gun and carried a leather messenger bag.
My heart thumped a bit harder. Unbidden, Cookie’s comments rose in my mind. We’ve even started a betting pool as to who will get enough nerve to ask you on a date first: Bram or Wyatt. I squeezed my hands into fists. Silly and pointless speculation in the midst of a crisis.
I stepped out of his line of sight. I needed to stay focused on the events, not complicate anything by adding a layer of . . . Go ahead, admit it. Attraction.
If I had a phone, I would call Scott Thomas, my counselor, or caraid, as we called them—Scottish Gaelic for “friend.” I’d ask him for advice. My nightmares were back. I was having panic attacks. I wasn’t sure how well my brain was working. And I wanted to run and hide.
I could talk to Cookie. She’d been through something pretty horrific if she’d ended up on the farm. Clan Firinn didn’t rehabilitate only first responders and law enforcement. They took people who’d reached rock bottom, who’d destroyed their families and careers and were on the verge of ending their lives.
The three stones in my pockets pressed against my legs. Maybe while I’m talking to her I can ask what I’m supposed to do with the rocks.
The medical group from the chopper had entered the barn, so I trotted over to the lodge, my prosthetic leg squeaking with each step.
All the guests and a few staff were seated in the main lodge. Everyone stopped speaking and stared at me as I entered.
Low profile. I did an about-face to leave when Roy came in behind me, blocking my exit. “There you are. I just went looking for you.” Roy turned to the group. “The medivac will take Riccardo and his mother, and Mr. Rinaldi has arranged for a second helicopter to pick him up and take him to the hospital in Idaho Falls. Mrs. Eason, you indicated you wanted to leave with your daughter, Lauryn, as did you, Mrs. Kendig. Mr. Rinaldi has offered seats in his helicopter to all of you. You’ll have to arrange to get your cars from Targhee Falls. Or you can go with Liam”—he pointed to the young man—“who will be taking the supply wagon back to town.”
The chuff, chuff, chuff of the helicopter taking off made speaking difficult for a few moments. When the sound retreated, Roy continued, “We’ll be serving lunch soon, and the art class will resume after that.”
The staff got up and moved to the kitchen.
Someone touched my shoulder.
I spun, almost falling. My leg let out a protesting squeak.
Bram caught my arm and steadied me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you have a minute?”
My face grew warm. “I . . . um, yes.” I was acutely aware of his hand on my arm.
He glanced around the room, seemingly aware of the sideways glances and grins coming from the people around us. “How about the picnic table outside?” He guided me to the grassy area under the pines. Once I sat down, he let go of my arm and moved to the other side of the table. I could still feel the impression of his warm hand.
“Are you here investigating Riccardo’s fall?” I asked.
“Is there something to investigate?” Bram leaned forward. “I spoke to both Roy and Wyatt. It seems it was just a terrible accident.”
My neck tingled.
He straightened. “Is there something I need to know?”
I told him about the raccoon, the trashed art room, the bear, the baling twine caught on new-looking nails.
“Are you here on assignment from Clan Firinn?” he asked.
I was silent for a moment. “Why do you ask that?” Answering a question with a question after a significant pause is a sign of possible deception. I hoped Bram wasn’t an expert in the field. Just because I could recognize deception didn’t mean I was any good at lying.
“From your answer, I would guess you are here to investigate the incidents.”
Flapperdoodle. “Please don’t mention this to anyone. I’m supposed to be checking things out. I do need to interview you on what you’ve uncovered.”
He smiled, showing those perfect teeth, and placed his hand over mine. “Then we need to work together.”
Double flapperdoodle. My brain went blank. The air grew thinner, the day suddenly hotter, my vision much narrower. “Um . . .” I cleared my throat. “What did you need to speak to me about?”
“Your work as a forensic linguist.”
I scratched my neck. “You’ve been investigating me.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Darby. I’m not stalking you. I just need your help.”
I gently extracted my hand. It was too hard to think when he was touching me. “We have a deal. Me first. I was about to get my camera and photograph that baling twine caught on the nails, then bag it for evidence. I was also going to bag any twine found on the floor under Riccardo. Now that you’re here, could you do that?”
“Sure.”
“And tell me if, in the past, you’ve been out here investigating . . . anything.”
Bram stared off into the distance. Birds chirped and twittered, and a chipmunk lectured us from a nearby tree. The slight breeze brought the scent of dried grasses. He finally said, “Here? Not really.” He rubbed his chin. “I mentioned the hikers who fell at Devil’s Pass.”
“Yes. Roy said they were guests.”
“Right. Roy had one of the most popular, and I’m sure most expensive, team-building experiences in the country. Rock climbing, rappelling, wilderness camping, you name it.”
“I was reading a brochure on it. It’s one of the angles I want to look into.”
“Good. Anyway, even though the two hikers started out here, they were supposed to be hiking to the east, toward Yellowstone Park, not in Devil’s Pass. The maps found on them showed they had strayed miles from where they were supposed to be. The court acquitted Roy and the Mule Shoe of all liability, but it really shook him.”
“I read his insurance carrier withdrew coverage and he had to drop the program.”
“He took a big hit, that’s for sure. He’s scrambling to set up less dangerous programs this summer, hence the art class this week.”
“I hear a but in what you just said.”
He sharpened his gaze on me. “You are good. Does anything get past you?”
“A lot. I don’t usually listen that carefully unless I need to.”
“Roy also started thinking about selling the place and retiring. But”—he frowned—“he seemed to run into more . . . glitches.”
“Now these so-called glitches have taken a nasty, if not possibly fatal, turn.” I adjusted my glasses. “Thank you. Now it’s your turn. How can I help you?”
He opened the messenger bag, pulled out a file folder, and set it on the table. “As you surmised, we do have a serial arsonist. Counting yesterday, eight fires. The fire six months ago killed two men.”
“So it’s more than arson. It’s murder.”
“Probably—”
“Probably? What do you mean by that?”
“We assume the two men died in the fire.”
“Assume?” I pulled my glasses down and stared over the rim at him. “An autopsy would show—”
“There wasn’t an autopsy.”
“Why not?”
“The sheriff can’t order one in this county, although if she asked, I’m sure there would have been one. Anyway, it was clear the two men died when a hot water tank exploded and started the fire.”
I cleared my throat and tried to marshal my thoughts. “If the fire started from an exploding hot water tank, how can that be arson?”
“Someone rigged the tank to explode.” He shifted in his seat. “Anyway . . . the arsonist has sent a series of taunting notes to the sheriff’s office. With your background, I was hoping you could look at the notes and maybe give me some insight.”
“No.”
“But we don’t have any leads—”
“No.”
“Look, I realize you took a trouncing with the Butcher of Sedro-Woolley case, but you were right.”
The name caused my heart to hammer in my brain. I opened and closed my mouth, but didn’t have enough breath to speak.
“You correctly identified the man who physically wrote the notes, Daday. It wasn’t your fault that the author of the notes was writing down what the butcher said to him.”
I wanted to jump up and run, but my muscles wouldn’t respond.
“I also have some idea of all that you went through, but—”
“Do you?” My voice shook. Five years. I’d spent five years battling demons. Learning how to walk again. Discovering my new normal, my new identity. I shouldn’t have been so shaken over Bram’s request.
His eyes had widened at my reaction.
I couldn’t leave him with the idea that I was a wack job. Why not? Did I want to admit that I liked him?
Taking a deep breath, I folded my hands in my lap and looked down. What verse had Scott Thomas sent? This is my command—be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.
I finally looked up. “In your obvious research on my background, you must have read about Clan Firinn.”
He shifted in his seat, then nodded. “A place for law enforcement to recover from their work-related PTSD.”
“That’s how they phrase it, but working in law enforcement today leaves most with emotional and often physical damage, as you well know.”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“Sometimes . . . there’s an issue with . . . reputation. For different reasons. I’ll never be able to work in my field again—at least not on any case going to court.”
“Voir dire.”
“Right. As soon as I tried to qualify as an expert, cross-examination would expose my past. I know it wasn’t my fault that the wrong person was identified, but all any attorney needs to do with any expert witness is create doubt.”
Bram picked up the file folder and tapped it on the table. “So you’re not here at Mule Shoe to investigate. More to . . . observe and advise?”
“Right. If I think there’s more going on—and I do—I’ll step away and let the authorities take over. That’s why it’s better if you collect the evidence and record it. As soon as I write up my findings and get them to Clan Firinn, I’m out of the picture.”
“In that case, would you consider looking over the notes and just . . . advising me?”
“You’re persistent, Bram White.”
“When it’s something I want, yes.”
I couldn’t meet his gaze. I didn’t want my own thoughts to show. “No promises.” I took the file and headed to my cabin. Once there, I leaned against the door. This is my command—be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.
The verse was helping. Maybe I could leave the God part out of it.
As I set the file on the copper-top table, Maverick and Holly’s salvo of barking heralded another earthquake. This time only the overhead lantern swayed slightly.
Opening the door, I found the dogs pacing on the porch. “I know what would soothe your nerves. Kibble.” I returned to the cabin, grabbed a scoop of dog food, and dumped it into their bowls. As I expected, they inhaled the food.
“Okay, dogs. We are not going to be afraid.” Neither dog looked up. “Yeah, jury is still out on that one. So . . . let’s just look at the facts. You know that earthquake? We could be at ground zero of a supervolcano.” Holly wagged her tail but didn’t look up from her food dish. “You do seem pleased by news of a potential existential disaster.” Hearing my own voice helped steady me. Maverick was too busy chasing the last nugget around his food dish to even look up. He captured and loudly crunched it.
I sighed and stepped back inside the cabin. The cleaning staff had freshened the room while I’d been out, replacing the throw pillows on the bed and putting away the coffee cup I’d left on the dish rack.
My closet door was open a crack. I strolled over and opened it. My suitcase was lying on its side.
My stomach tightened. I was sure I’d left it standing up.
After closing the door, I slowly moved around the room. Nothing else was disturbed. I rubbed, then itched my neck. Keep looking.
My wallet was in the Mule Shoe bag and currently locked in the art room. If someone was looking for money, they would have gone away empty-handed.
I tried to picture the room as I’d left it. No, that isn’t all that useful. Housekeeping had cleaned my room. What would the cleaning staff not disturb, but someone searching inadvertently rearrange? Like my suitcase.
Once more I circled the room.
This time I saw it. The magazines on the lower shelf of the end table were in a different order than I’d left them. I’d been reading about livestock-guarding breeds the night before. Now Rock & Gem magazine was on top.
At some point, maybe when I’d gone out to draw by the pond or been in the lodge, someone had searched my room. Who? Roy had dragged me into the lodge to look at rocks, then released me when Wyatt appeared and nodded at him. Was that the signal the search was completed?
Or was I seeing things that didn’t exist? Believing things that didn’t happen? The cleaning staff could have easily and unknowingly moved a few things around.
I needed to talk to someone before my paranoia mounted.
I strolled to the door and opened it. Both dogs trooped in and sniffed around the room, paying particular attention to the bed, sink area, closet, and magazines. Inconclusive. Both sat and stared at me.
“Right. I called this meeting to discuss some recent events . . .” Do you “discuss” when the conversation is one-sided? “Correction. Review, not discuss.”
Holly lay down.
“I won’t be that long. Here’s the deal. I’m pretty sure something is dangerously wrong here at the Mule Shoe. I don’t know if I’m being targeted or maybe just paranoid. If I’m losing my mind, I suppose someone will eventually notice that I’m sitting around with tinfoil on my head.”
Maverick yawned.
“Don’t be so cavalier, Maverick. You’ll be wearing a tinfoil hoodie as well.”
He blinked.
“That’s better. So, bottom line is I need some solid evidence to report to Clan Firinn. Hopefully the twine will be just that. Agreed?”
Holly rolled onto her back and wagged her tail.
“I’m going to take that as a four-paws yes vote to continue. Maverick, are you abstaining?”
The dog yawned again.
“Four yes, one abstain, and I vote yes as well, so we’ll continue our investigation. I would advise you to keep this meeting and vote a secret for now. Are there any questions?” I probably need that tinfoil hat. “I’m going to lunch. You two are on guard duty.” When I opened the door, both dogs bolted outside.
Everyone was seated when I arrived and the servers were busy delivering bowls of soup or plates of salad. The one open seat was at the table with Dee Dee Denim, Golden Girl Grace, and Angie Burton. All three acknowledged my presence with nods, but Angie continued to address the other two. “Art is more than the subject, medium, or application of paint. The artist might be conveying a message, a feeling, a story, maybe their philosophy.”
“Would that be a deliberate message?” Grace asked.
“Maybe.” Angie broke some saltines into her soup.
A waitress moved next to me. “Soup or salad?”
“Salad.”
“Are you saying I need to think about not just what I’m trying to draw or paint,” Dee Dee asked Angie, “but what I feel about it? I’m overwhelmed with just painting something recognizable.”
Angie smiled. “Don’t worry about it. For many artists, your thoughts go into your work without conscious effort. If you know this, however, it makes it fascinating to study art.” She looked at me. “I hope you’re recovered from the bear incident. And I understand you were the one to find poor Riccardo. You’ve had quite a morning.”
“I’m fine.” As long as they don’t find out about the dog meeting. “How long have you worked here, Angie?”
“This is my first summer.”
The waitress delivered my salad and I casually placed my napkin in my lap. “I suppose this has been the craziest day so far.”
Angie nodded. “Outside of a broken pipe in one of the cabins that made a mess, yes.”
Broken pipe. Dead raccoon. Ransacked art room. Fishy sardines. Pitchfork trap. “Mmm.” I took a bite of salad.
“I, for one, will look on the bright side,” Dee Dee said. “I love Angie and look forward to more one-on-one instruction. The class will be a lot smaller after today.” She looked at each of us as if to challenge us to say anything.
“I would normally agree with you, Dee Dee.” Angie had two bright spots of red on her cheeks. “But I’m paid per student. Roy offers a full refund if anyone isn’t satisfied. The couple with the broken pipe, along with their daughter, the Rinaldis, Mrs. Eason and her daughter, Mrs. Kendig, and another four people who had their reservations screwed up means I’m down eleven people. That’s a chunk of change.”
Now it was Dee Dee’s turn to blush. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Angie. No offense intended. I just . . .”
The waitresses brought our main course, breaking up the awkward moment.
I did a quick calculation in my head. If eleven people were no longer coming, that amounted to eleven thousand–plus dollars a day that the Mule Shoe wasn’t receiving. Roy still had to maintain the staff and other costs.
Was financial ruin the saboteur’s goal? Why? And where else did I need to look?