“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 wa
sn’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?
Chapter 10
Bram watched Darby walk off to her cabin. He’d hoped for expert help but understood the line she had to walk. He drummed his fingers on the picnic table. She hadn’t looked at him when he confirmed he was persistent. He hoped she hadn’t noticed his double meaning.
What if she had? What if . . .
He slammed his hand down on the table, then stood. He had a job to do on the arson fires and no time for idle thoughts and useless speculation.
He didn’t need to wait for the supply wagon to head to town. Roy had mentioned a second helicopter would be taking one of the parents to Idaho Falls. He’d ask them to drop him in St. Anthony.
Roy stepped out of the barn.
Bram waved to him, rose, and trotted over. “Would it be okay if I take a look at where the accident occurred?”
“Sure. Are you thinking it could be anything other than a terrible accident?”
“Just being thorough.”
“I’d appreciate it. What bothers me is I know my staff. None of them would be careless enough to leave a pitchfork on the ground.”
“You’ve already asked them?”
“All the ones who would have reason to be in the barn.”
“All right. Can you make out a list of your staff? And what about your guests?”
“Of course, although I can’t see any of them messing around in the barn—”
“Riccardo was.”
“So he was,” Roy muttered. “I’ll get you that list. Let me show you where it happened.” In the barn, he led the way to the end of the hall. Bloody hay, medical packaging, and a pair of blankets lay underneath an open trapdoor to the loft. A pitchfork, missing three tines, leaned against the wall.
Squatting down, he shifted the hay, looking for lengths of baling twine. If any had been there, they were gone now.
“Do you think he could have slipped backward off the ladder?” Roy asked.
Bram stood, stepped over the blankets and other debris, grabbed a rung, and climbed to the loft. “The wood has been worn smooth and could possibly be slippery.” He looked down at Roy. “But he would have had to step over the pitchfork and know it was there.” He surveyed the landing area and hall. “There’s a lot more hay directly below here, which makes me think he fell through this opening rather than off the ladder.”
He climbed up another rung and looked for the nails and baling twine thread. The nails were there, but no orange fibers. He took out his phone and snapped a few photographs anyway.
“What are you looking for?” Roy asked.
“At this point, just looking.” He climbed down. “Who handled the pitchfork?”
“The medical staff, of course, when they cut the tines. Wyatt. Um . . . me. Probably all the outside staff at one time or another.”
Interesting. Roy didn’t ask him why he wanted to know.
The older man dry washed his face. “I did it, finally. Took the offer.”
“Offer?”
“To buy the place. Today was the final straw. I think the new owner will keep the staff on. I hope so. I haven’t told anyone so far. I don’t want them to be angry or get their hopes up.”
“Who bought it?”
“I don’t know. Quite frankly, I signed all the paperwork a month ago and left it with the real estate agent. The money’s in escrow. I just had to give the final yes. I just kept hoping things would change, get back to . . . well, you know.”
Bram patted the man on the arm. “You should have a tidy nest egg to retire on.”
“Yeah. Right. Nest egg. More like retire before this place kills me.”
* * *
The art room had been neatly placed back into order. A swift look at the backpack in my locker showed my wallet and Shadow Woman’s drawings undisturbed. Five sets of supplies mutely spoke of the absence of the Rinaldis, Mrs. Kendig, and the Easons.
I took my place at a long table.
Angie held up a plastic tub. “You’ll need water, so fill your tub three-quarters full. Be sure the water is cool, not hot. Hot water isn’t good on your brushes.” She pointed to the side of the room where a wide shelf ran underneath the windows. “Speaking of water, remember to stay hydrated. It helps prevent altitude sickness. Those carafes hold decaf, coffee, and hot water for tea. Cold drinking water is in the pitcher.”
Everyone lined up at either the sink to fill buckets or the ledge to get refreshments. I poured a glass of water and started to take a drink.
The water smelled of boggy plant life.
I moved the glass away from my face and sniffed the room. A hint of turpentine mixed with a pine cleaner. I smelled the drinking water again. It reeked of the pond, filled with the parasite giardia.
“Stop!” I shouted.
Angie sloshed the bucket of water she’d been carrying to her table. “What is it, Darby? You scared me to death!”
“Don’t drink the water in the pitcher. I think it’s from the beaver pond.”
Grace dropped her glass, shattering it on the floor. Dee Dee raced to the sink and vomited. Angie dashed to the pitcher and sniffed. Color drained from her face.
I wasn’t crazy. This was deliberate. Again.
* * *
Bram took his place with the other passengers awaiting the chartered helicopter. The chuff, chuff, chuff of the whirling blades drowned out any conversation with Mr. Rinaldi or Mrs. Eason. Bram turned his head to keep the flying debris out of his eyes. When the copter-driven wind slowed, he looked back at his ride. The pilot nodded at him and the copilot gave a salute.
Darby burst from the lodge, waving her arms frantically.
He ran toward her. Conversation was impossible over the noise. He pointed to the lodge. Once inside, he asked, “Change your mind?”
“No. I think someone tried to poison the guests.”
Bram’s chest tightened. “What happened?”
“Come with me.” She led him to the art room. Angie was rubbing Dee Dee’s back as she bent dry heaving over the sink. Grace was frozen over a mess of shattered glass. The remaining two members of the class, Peter and Stacy, were seated at their table holding hands. Darby pointed. “Someone put water from the beaver pond into the drinking pitcher.”
The clatter of the copter blades increased.
I need to ask them to wait. Bram bolted from the room but was too late to catch the pilot’s attention. He returned shortly.
“I’m sorry,” Darby said. “I made you miss your ride, but I thought this was important.”
“I’ll catch the supply wagon. What makes you think it’s not fresh drinking water?”
“Smell it.”
Bram picked up the pitcher, held it to the light, then sniffed. It did smell like a stagnant pond. He turned to Angie. “Do you have a sterile jar or container of some kind?”
She nodded and left the room, returning with a jar and lid. “Will this work?”
Bram grimly nodded, then poured some water into the jar. “I’ll take this with me for testing. I’d like to speak with each of you individually, starting with you, Angie. The rest of you should remain here.”
Darby caught his gaze and mouthed, Twine?
He shook his head, then turned toward Dee Dee. “Did you drink the water?”
She nodded.
“The good news is giardia is pretty easy to treat. Did any of the rest of you take a drink?”
No one spoke.
“Okay. I’ll find Roy, update him, and see if I can borrow his office.”
A search of the lodge turned up cleaning staff at work and Cookie. He debated telling her but decided to wait until he’d spoken to Roy. He finally found Roy standing next to Wyatt at the fenced field.
Roy’s face was pinched and he was compulsively opening and closing his hands.
“What’s wrong?”
“Looks like the he
licopters must have spooked the horses. They pushed through the gate. A couple of us are going to go after them.”
“Including the Belgian that pulls the supply wagon?”
“No. He was in the barn. I thought you were leaving with the second copter.”
“Something came up.”
Roy turned to leave, then stopped. “What do you mean, ‘something came up’? What now?”
Chapter 11
As soon as Bram left to find Roy, Angie began pacing and gnawing on a fingernail.
“Please sit down, Angie,” I said.
“I can’t sit. First my art room is trashed, then the bear, now this! Someone is out to get me.”
I wanted to point out that the bear was out to get me, but she didn’t look in any mood to be corrected. Her agitated movements were upsetting the others even more. Dee Dee seemed loath to leave the sink, Grace still hadn’t moved from where she’d dropped the glass, and Stacy had buried her head in her husband’s shoulder.
I wasn’t here as a first responder, but if I didn’t calm them down, I’d never be able to get any evidence or information from them. Address their needs. They needed to feel safe, to express their emotions, and to know what would come next.
Angie stopped pacing for a moment. A fat tear ran down her face.
“As Bram said,” I began in a low, soft voice, “even if you did take a sip, you’ll be fine. It’s normal to be upset and frightened, but Bram will find out how it happened. For now, let’s take a few deep breaths.” I demonstrated.
Everyone followed suit.
Change the focus, ground them in the present. Pull out pencils and get everyone to start drawing? Angie’s a basket case. Suggest a hike? Bear. Okay, something that would engage all their minds for a time. What about . . . art, drawing, paintings . . . An idea struck me.
I moved to my locker and removed Shadow Woman’s drawings. “Angie, maybe you can help me. You mentioned at lunch that people may put a message, feeling, or story into their art. These drawings are by a woman named Mae, the original owner of the dogs. Some people called her Shadow Woman. What do you see?”
Angie had stopped pacing with the breathing exercise. She approached the drawings, which I’d spread out on an empty table. Dee Dee released her death grip on the sink and joined her, as did Stacy and Peter. Grace found a dust pan and broom and began sweeping up the glass.
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