Woman in Shadow

by Carrie Stuart Parks

  I turned away quickly. The nearest thing to a family I had now were two dogs, one of which wouldn’t even come near me. “Next thing I’ll need is pâté and crackers with my whine,” I whispered.

  The gift shop, on the opposite side, was open, although no one was staffing it at the moment. I sorted through racks of expensive western wear and read the back-cover copy on a few books before moving to the jewelry case. Mounted gemstone earrings and necklaces were arranged by color in their black-velvet cases.

  Without thinking, I rubbed the ring finger of my left hand, then quickly turned away, crashing into Roy.

  “Looking for someone to show you some jewelry?”

  “I—”

  “Idaho’s nickname is the Gem State.” He moved to the opposite side of the display and opened it with a key.

  “Really? I need to tell you—”

  “This dark red stone is a star garnet.” He pulled out a pendant and held it under a light to show a six-rayed star. “Northern Idaho is the only place you can find it in the United States.” He touched the next piece. “This rare pink opal is also from Idaho, as well as this amethyst and topaz.”

  “Interesting. But I want to—”

  “Only a few gemstones aren’t found here. Diamonds, of course. Rubies. And emeralds.”

  Emeralds. I broke out in a sweat and touched my ring finger. Great. Was jewelry joining darkness and guns as PTSD triggers?

  Roy didn’t seem to notice. He placed a pair of rich, cornflower-blue faceted stone earrings on the counter. “And these beauties are Yogo sapphires from Montana.”

  “And they have my name on them.” An immaculately dressed woman with a soft southern drawl appeared beside me. “Sorry, my dear, but I’ve no willpower when it comes to cut stones.”

  She wasn’t kidding. She positively glittered, from her diamond studs to the rock on her finger. Quite the art class—Golden Girl Grace and Dee Dee Denim was joined by Madam Sparkles. With my lumpy rocks in my pockets, that would make me Dumpy Darby.

  My moment to talk to Roy about the dead raccoon had passed. “The sapphires are all yours.”

  “Done.” Roy beamed at Madam Sparkles as he slid the earrings across the counter to her.

  I’d had a chance to see the price tag. The earrings cost more than my car. I wanted to mentally tut-tut her spending habits, but having just invested in an almost eight-hundred-dollar bag of dog food and two stray dogs, I was hardly a model of frugality.

  Roy pulled out a small book and turned it so I could see. “This is from the International Gem Society and tells you about colored gemstones as well as their value. You’ll learn to appreciate the rare Yogo. You can borrow it. Now, over there”—he pointed with pride to a wall display behind me—“is my collection of raw minerals, and—”

  “Breakfast is served.” Wyatt had entered. While I’d been in the gift shop, the lobby had filled with guests who were now filing into the dining area.

  Roy grinned at me. “I do get carried away. Come, my dear, let me see you to your table.”

  Taking the book, I followed everyone toward the dining room. On the way, I was finally able to tell Roy about the raccoon.

  “Oh dear. I hope you didn’t touch it. Raccoons are notorious for carrying rabies.”

  “No, I didn’t touch it, but you need to look at it. I’m wondering if the raccoon was, maybe, placed there.”

  “That seems far-fetched.” We’d reached the table and Roy patted me on the hand. “We’ll talk later,” he whispered.

  This time I was seated with the couple and their teenage son. The young man stared at the table as if he could make a cell phone appear by sheer will. I was surprised his fingers didn’t automatically scroll down his napkin.

  The father looked like he worked out daily. His neck was as wide as his face and his shoulder muscles strained at his shirt. His olive complexion was a richer brown from a deep tan.

  On impulse I asked him, “Were you out jogging earlier?”

  He nodded at me. “I was. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Teodoro Rinaldi. This is my wife, Nona, and my son, Riccardo.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Rinaldi. I’m Darby Graham.”

  “Please, call me Teddy.” He had a slight accent.

  The waitress brought around coffee and small menus with several breakfast choices. After we’d chosen our meals, Teddy turned to his son and whispered, “Sei ancora punito per essere sgattaiolato fuori la scorsa notte. Rimarrai in la stanza fino al termine della lezione. Ora siediti e smetti di mettermi in imbarazzo.”

  He’d just said to his son, You are still being punished for sneaking out last night. You will remain in the cabin until we finish class. Now sit up and stop embarrassing me.

  An awkward silence followed. My neck tingled with an uneasy itch. I really wanted to ask what on earth the young man hoped to find at night in the middle of an Idaho wilderness. Instead, I concentrated on stirring cream into my coffee so he wouldn’t realize I understood Italian. And I could take this opportunity to start interviewing people.

  “Teddy, is this your first visit to Mule Shoe?”

  “Yes, but I’d heard about it, of course . . .” Now it was his turn to stir his coffee.

  Of course? Perhaps something there. He’d abruptly stopped speaking. Interesting.

  “Have you been studying watercolor painting for long?” Nona asked me after first shooting a deadly glance at both her husband and son.

  “First time.” Breakfast came and ended further conversation.

  Halfway through the meal I caught a glimpse of Bram heading down the road driving the wagon. My quick inhale of air made Teddy look up. I made a point of staring out into the lobby.

  Angie, the art instructor, was crossing the lobby heading toward the dining room. I was about to look away but noticed her lips were pressed tightly together and her hands balled into fists. I surreptitiously watched her as I sipped my coffee. No one else seemed aware of her presence. She arrived at the door, looked around the room, then caught Roy’s attention. He stood and moved toward her. She didn’t wait for him but spun and stalked away.

  “Excuse me.” I placed my napkin on the table, picked up the book, and stood. “I need to use the powder room.”

  Teddy politely rose slightly in his chair, and Nona gave me a half smile. “See you in class.”

  I slipped from the room. Neither Roy nor Angie were in the lobby, but I could hear voices coming from the art room. I quietly followed the sound.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Angie’s high-pitched voice conveyed outrage. “I can’t start class. I don’t even know where to start!”

  The art room door stood open. From my position in the hall, I could easily see the upended tables, overturned easels, paper-strewn floor, and tubes of paint and brushes strewn across the front table.

  Chapter 5

  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 bello
wed. “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 woul
d 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.