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.
Chapter 6
Adrenaline flooded my body. I was rooted to the ground, unable to move, to think.
The bear sniffed the air, huffing slightly.
The sound shot through me. Do I run? Play dead? Climb a tree? I couldn’t remember. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t unstick my limbs.
A woman screamed, the shriek ripping up my spine.
The bear reared. He towered over six feet tall.
I spun away. Too fast. Too fast! My prosthetic leg didn’t react fast enough. I fell.
The two women raced away down the path toward the resort. I pushed against the ground to rise, glancing over my shoulder.
The bear had dropped to all fours.
Scrambling upward, I faced the charging grizzly.
Branches snapped. His huffing grew closer, his body larger. I was going to die. Again.
A blur of brown and black flew past me.
I turned.
Maverick, hackles raised, flew directly at the bear with a flurry of snarls and teeth. Holly flanked him, barking wildly.
The bear roared at the dogs, then took a swipe at Maverick. The huge dog dodged the paw and continued his barrage.
Holly got close enough to nip his leg.
He spun and swatted at her, allowing Maverick to get in a bite of his own.
The grizzly had enough. He turned and loped into the trees.
Holly stopped barking and trotted over to me. I hugged her. “Oh, you beautiful girl! You brave, beautiful girl.”
Maverick continued to bark, albeit more intermittently, as if to be sure the bear got the message.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Wyatt arrived, rifle in hand.
Behind him was Angie, panting from the run, face pale. “Dee Dee and Grace told us about the bear.”
“I’m fine.” I continued to pat Holly. “Let’s just say if I had the hiccups, they’re gone now.”
“We usually don’t have a problem with black bears.” Wyatt swung his rifle over his shoulder by its sling. “We’re very careful with food and garbage.”
“I don’t think it was a black bear. It was brown—”
&n
bsp; “Black bears come in brown, cinnamon, tan, and a variety of other colors.” Wyatt smiled and waved me toward the resort. “He was probably just warning you off. We should have sent everyone out with bear bells.”
Or a loaded rifle. That wasn’t a black bear. I wasn’t going to argue with them, but I recognized that distinctive hump over the shoulder, broad head, and size. Only a grizzly has that body structure. When I used to trail ride my horse, I had to know the difference. Black bear = run fast. Grizzly = run for your life. I turned away from them and patted my leg to get Maverick to come closer. I felt the three rocks Scott had given me. I should have thrown them at the bear. Ha! That would have just made the grizzly mad.
I called Maverick’s name. The dog remained at a distance but stopped barking.
Angie started walking down the trail with Holly and me behind. Wyatt brought up the rear. Maverick slowly followed.
After a step, I heard it. My prosthesis had a tiny squeak. Great. Just what I needed. Maybe no one would notice.
Squeak.
Holly perked up and sniffed my leg.
Squeak.
I winced. There goes my career as a cat burglar. I hoped a small amount of plumber’s tape on the pin would help. I wouldn’t be able to get it adjusted until I returned to civilization.
Maybe I could ask for that bear bell and wear it to hide the sound? Come to think of it, a bear bell would have been handy during our outing. Wyatt mentioned how careful they were with garbage. If bears had been a problem in the past, we would have been given bells, or someone would have been armed to warn them off.
The lack of concern for bears was possible evidence that this bear had been deliberately lured close. Why?
Don’t assume the worst. When a bear needed to be live-trapped for relocation, the strong odor of sardines or tuna was the perfect bait. “Would the Department of Fish and Game be live-trapping a rogue bear?”
Angie stopped and turned. “Why would you think that?”
I shrugged and feigned indifference. “Just a thought.” A thought that sent a chill down my arms. What if it wasn’t the Rinaldis’ son who trashed the art room? What if someone did that to make sure we’d go to the pond, where a can of sardines lured in a bear?
That didn’t make sense. Roy had suggested we go up to the pond. Why would he be trying to frighten or hurt his guests? And just leaving out a can of sardines didn’t mean a bear would wander by. Right. Then why was my neck itching?
* * *
Bram pulled out of the parking lot and headed over to secure the fire scene for the fire marshal. His boss may have wanted that welfare check first, but he was close to the ranch and securing the scene wouldn’t take long.
From the county road, the burned-out shell of the barn was easy enough to spot. A quick interview with the owners made it clear they hadn’t seen or heard anything, and the livestock that had been in the building got out safely. The barn itself was falling down, and insurance would pay for a new structure. The owners seemed almost grateful for the fire.
As he surrounded the building with crime scene tape, he thought about that. Could the arsonist be up for hire—get rid of old buildings for the insurance money? Not particularly original, but possible.
The fire marshal arrived by the time he was done stringing the tape. This was a new guy. “Hey there.” He held out his hand. “Deputy Bram White, thanks for being so prompt.”
“Deputy. I’m Tom Meyer.” The young man shook Bram’s hand.
“Could I ask you a few questions about our pyromaniac?”
“Sure, but I don’t think you have a pyromaniac. That’s extremely rare.”
Bram let go and waited for the other man to continue.
“Pyromania is a mental illness. Most fires are set deliberately as a criminal act. The arson might be motivated by insurance, or some cause, or anger or vengeance. Possibly even impaired judgment. Or it might be a cover-up.”
Bram nodded. “The FBI profiler said as much but didn’t correct me on the pyromania. The way the owners reacted made me wonder if the arsonist isn’t someone up for hire.”
“Possible, but it’s not as if you can advertise your services.”
Bram chewed on the fire marshal’s words.
Tom cleared his throat. “I’m surprised you haven’t made more progress on this investigation.”
Bram’s face grew warm. “I seem to run into a lot of resistance.”
“From the locals?”
From the sheriff. “Something like that.”
* * *
The resort was a flurry of activity by the time we returned from the pond. “What’s going on?” I asked Wyatt.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” He spotted Roy and angled in that direction. I casually followed.
Roy was repeatedly running a hand through his white hair. He didn’t see me at first. “Wyatt, there you are. I take it no one was hurt?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “More guests are leaving. One said the bear frightened her and her daughter out of her wits. The other was in the cabin that had the dead raccoon. All three will catch a ride with Liam when he brings in supplies.”
“Did they—”
“Ask for a full refund? Of course. We do guarantee our guests will have the perfect vacation.” He spotted me behind Wyatt. His face flushed and he hurried over to me. “There you are, my dear. I hope this little adventure didn’t upset you too much.” He took my arm. “Let’s go into the gift shop and let me give you a little something to brighten your day.”
“That’s not necessary.” I really didn’t want a T-shirt or trinket from China, but Roy seemed insistent on moving me into the main building. He didn’t seem to notice my squeak.
“Some jewelry? Earrings for your lovely ears?” He moved behind the counter.
“Really, I’m fine. Maybe a bone for the dogs—”
“Not so much for jewelry? Maybe a collectable mineral from my collection? I have many fine specimens.” He pointed to a glass case displaying various rocks, all neatly labeled, at the back of the shop. “It’s the least I can do to make this right for you.”
I wanted to say the bear wasn’t his fault, that someone at the Mule Shoe might be luring bears to come closer, but I couldn’t be sure. Instead I held my tongue and made an effort to study the rocks. Most were labeled from Idaho and Montana. Keep him talking. Come up with something brilliant to say about rocks. “Um, what made you become a rock hound?” That’s the best you could do?
“At first guests would show me the rocks they’d found on their hikes and leave a few.” He joined me at the display. “I didn’t know anything about them, but several years ago we had a geologist guest. She identified the various stones and minerals for me. She owned a mining company and came back every year with her employees for our team-building course.”
“I’ve heard that mentioned. Is that stuff like you write something encouraging about someone and put it into an envelope, then open them and share?”
Roy smiled. “Not quite. Here at Mule Shoe we put together programs that address real workplace issues, like reliance on others during violent events, as well as self-reliance in deeply challenging situations. Here are some brochures.” He offered me a handful and I stuck them in my pocket. “Our geologist friend always wanted some kind of rock or mineral component. Before she left every year, she’d always add to my collection and look over the newest crop of rocks.” He unlocked a drawer under the case. Inside were a number of stones—some bland, some with embedded colored crystals. “She was in a terrible hiking accident recently—”
“She wasn’t, by any chance, the one who fell near the Devil’s Keyhole?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Roy’s brows had furrowed and lips thinned.
“I’m so sorry.” I quickly picked up a small, sparkling yellow rock. “Gold?”
“Fool’s gold. Iron pyrite.” His face brightened and he pointed at the different rocks. “I think this is jade, petrified wood, topaz, beryl, agate, and maybe tourm
aline.”
“You know, G—” I almost said Golden Girl. “Um, I think Grace is a former science teacher. Maybe she can help you identify these.”
Roy smiled. “Why yes, that would be wonderful. I’ll ask her after lunch.” He pivoted to leave, then turned back. “Oh, and she’s more than a science teacher. Have you ever heard of Taborcrest Prep School?”
“Near Seattle? The most expensive . . . oh, that Grace Tabor. Doesn’t she also own the Tabor Inns and Suites, Tabor Foods, and Tabor Publishing?”
He nodded. “Her husband did, and when he passed, she inherited it all. She could buy this place in a heartbeat just for conservation purposes. And maybe she will.” He waved toward the dining room. “Lunch should be ready soon.”
Wyatt stepped into the gift shop and signaled Roy.
“If you’ll excuse me?” Roy quickly locked up the collection and followed Wyatt from the shop.
That was weird. I sensed his reason for offering me something from the store was to occupy me. He never asked me if I’d read Scott’s packet or investigated anything. It was almost as if he didn’t want to find out.
Chapter 7
Bram finished up at the arson scene and performed the welfare check before heading to the sheriff’s department in St. Anthony. The route took him from the high mountains of the Caribou-Targhee National Forest to eastern Idaho’s rolling fields and grazing land. The town perched on the Henrys Fork of the Snake River with a population around 3,500. The farming community held both sinners and saints, with thirteen churches juxtaposed against the largest state-run juvenile correctional facility and a correctional work center. Over 65 percent of the town’s population was Mormon.
He never told anyone he’d moved to St. Anthony and later taken a job there to be near his brother, incarcerated at the prison work camp. He thought he’d help his wayward sibling by staying close by. His plan was derailed when his brother committed suicide shortly after his release. His grandmother’s voice rang in his ears every time he thought of his brother. Don’t be like your worthless mother or brother, Bram. It’s up to you. Choose the right road. Make sure you do something perfectly or don’t bother . . .
Woman in Shadow Page 6