1 Death on Canvas

by Mary Ann Cherry

  Arvid nodded his head. "Me too." He looked at the form. "The application asks height and weight; guess that's so you know if someone can lift a patient if they need to?"

  "Yeah, and Travis seemed strong as hell for someone so skinny. Some of them wiry guys are like that."

  "How about hair? Guess I know that one already, dark brown," Arvid scribbled. "Eye color?"

  "God, who'd notice? Blue or grey, I guess."

  "You wouldn't have a picture, would you?"

  "Nah," Jensen said. "Well, yeah, there's a tiny one in the back of his folder. Take a look." Arvid flipped to the back page and looked at a miniscule picture so blurry it was almost unrecognizable as human.

  "Oooo-kaay," Arvid said in a disappointed tone, "Well, I'll go talk to Travis's landlord. See if he can add anything. I've already talked to most of Cassy's friends. Nobody's heard from her."

  "And Cassy's mother is her landlord," Jensen said, "Or maybe she's her mom's landlord. Don't know."

  Arvid snapped the papers under the clamp on his clipboard. This is starting to look like a can of worms, he thought.

  "And, oh boy, Cassy's mom is a piece of work," Jensen said warming to his subject. "She came by here ranting and raving about me maybe firing her 'little girl'. I think she was more concerned about the money she gets from her than the fact her daughter is missing. She acted like I might've had Cassy locked in the back room or something."

  "Hey, that reminds me. All the EMTs have lockers, don't they? Can I take a look at the missing EMTs' assigned storage space?"

  Jensen scratched his head. "Well, I guess so. Come on back."

  "You have the key?"

  "Heck, nobody locks their lockers."

  He led Arvid into the room where Rick sat, one leg thrown over the side of the loveseat, a thick sandwich in his hand, eyes still on the ballgame.

  The room held a battered trestle table and benches, refrigerator, microwave and a row of metal lockers similar to high school gym units. Jensen walked to a locker with a white label that read 'Adams', the name written in thick black marker. Underneath the label was a drawn happy face. The locker's only other decoration was a shiny, silver padlock.

  "Well, I'll be damned," Jensen said in surprise. He looked at Arvid.

  "Well, I guess some do lock their lockers. I take it you don't have a key?"

  "No," Jensen said.

  "If it takes too long to locate Cassy, we may have to saw through that padlock."

  Jensen nodded assent. "Fine with me. Hey, she might just be a little shy about being the only woman firefighter or EMT here." He gave an embarrassed laugh. "Might have some female stuff she wants to keep private." He looked back at the locker. "Padlock's new, though."

  "Good to know. So, how about Travis, what else do you know about him? Anything important that's not on his application form here?"

  "Nah," Jensen said. "Oh, wait. Yeah. The guy wore an ankle holster. Pistol."

  "You're kidding. Did you ask him why?"

  "Heck yeah, I asked him about it. I noticed it when we were working at the nursing home the other day and he was squatting down by this old fellow who'd had a heart attack. He said he couldn't help it, he was paranoid, and to please keep it under my hat. He did say he had a concealed carry permit. That's another reason we all thought he was a little paranoid. The ankle holster . . . it made him seem like a bit of an oddball."

  "Huh," Arvid said. "I'd guess so."

  "Good paramedic, though. I like him okay, I guess. Don't get me wrong. I hunt, and I own guns myself. But he was one of those quiet people. Lot of people like that would make you a little uncomfortable when you see a gun strapped on his ankle like that. Kind of give you the creepy crawlies, you know?"

  "Shoot," Arvid said. "I know a lot of folks with concealed weapon permits, but I never saw anybody with an ankle holster, either. So, did Travis give you that creepy feeling?

  "Well, no. I have to admit that until today when you came in here asking questions, he never did. Now, with Cassy disappearing the same day he left, and now finding out he probably doesn't even have a father, let alone one with a heart problem . . . well, now I don't know what to think." Jensen scratched his head thoughtfully.

  Arvid nodded and told Jensen he might have other questions later.

  "Can we take a quick look in his locker?"

  "Guess so," Jensen said. He walked over to the locker labeled 'Simpson' and yanked it open. A single EMT shirt hung on the hook inside. "Nothin' but the spare shirt we all got."

  Arvid peered inside. Then he pulled his cell phone from his belt clip and called Blanche, giving her a terse request to call the hospital with Travis Simpson's particulars.

  "No, we're not calling him a missing person yet, Blanche," He said into the phone. "Probably just a coincidence they seem to have flown the coop the same day. He may have gone home for a family emergency, but if so, his sister says she hasn't heard from him." Arvid didn't mention the sister had hung up on him.

  He heard Blanche muttering to herself, "Dear, dear, merciful heavens. I can't imagine what my sister is going to do. We just don't get these cases here. And now another one missing. It's like an epidemic, and Arvid won't have any idea what to do." She gulped in air and sniffed loudly into the phone.

  "Gee thanks for your vote of confidence, Blanche," Arvid said. "We'll start by checking out all the angles. Ask your sister if Cassy and Travis Simpson ever got together after work. I wondered if it was possible she went along with Simpson and they ran into trouble along the way." He listened, then said sharply, "No, I'm not trying to give you palpitations." More muttering. "Well, I'm not a total boob, Blanche. And yeah, yeah, of course I know the hospital should have called Violet if someone brought Cassy in. Call anyhow. Now listen." He looked at Travis's description in the folder he held and read the particulars aloud to Blanche.

  Poop, she could probably just ask the desk if anyone hauled in an injured bean pole. Bigger and bigger can of worms. Wish I was out somewhere fishing with 'em instead of getting them dumped in my lap.

  As soon as Arvid hung up, his phone buzzed. Before he could say hello, the same woman he'd spoken to earlier said, "Detective Sergeant Abrahmsen?"

  "Speaking."

  "This is Leona Hanfield. I believe someone will be down this afternoon to speak with you and the Chief of Police about Travis Simpson. If someone does not arrive today, make sure that the earliest possible appointment is available for tomorrow morning. Thank you." Again the click of a severed connection.

  "Huh," Arvid grunted into the dead phone staring at the small blank screen. "Someone missed third grade the day they covered telephone manners."

  Chapter 25

  Rural Montana, present day

  Russell steamed as he walked from Miller's house to the patrol car. He hated dealing with anything that involved teenagers. As he slid behind the wheel, he vented his frustration with Tommy's folks by slamming the patrol car door. Damn nitwit parents, he thought. People ought to need a license to have kids, not just to get married or to drive a car. He turned the ignition key just as his cell phone hummed. He answered and heard Arvid's deep growl demanding to know his location.

  "Just heading back from Tommy Miller's now." Russell said peevishly. "What's up?"

  "Didn't want to use the radio. Too many busybodies monitor the channel. Blanche's niece, Cassy Adams, seems to be missing, and that new EMT, the one who was out at O'Bourne's when we found the grad student, seems to have dropped out of sight as well. Cassy might have been gone just a couple days, but it doesn't make me feel too good that this fellow—his name's Travis Simpson—disappeared the same day. He left a message on his boss's cell phone saying his dad had a heart attack and he had to go out of town—"

  "What's the big deal then?" Russell interrupted.

  "The deal is, that story's as fishy as five aces in a hand of poker. One of the other EMTs says Travis never mentioned any family. I asked Jensen if I could look at his employment application. It lists only a sister
for next of kin. Looked like a Billings number."

  "You call it?"

  "Yeah, I called it and got some woman who acted like she didn't wanted to talk to me. The phone call gave me a bad vibe."

  "Weird."

  "But get this, Russell, she made an appointment for someone, 'someone', she says, no name, no info—to meet with us tomorrow morning and she requested the Sheriff to be at the meeting." Arvid laughed. "Tag! You're it."

  "Oh, joy," Russell said sarcastically. "I wish Sheriff Stendahl would get his tail back to work. I assume you're checking on Simpson because he had access to the drugs Jake Ward delivered on his route? Seems pretty suspicious that Simpson disappeared right after Jake was arrested."

  "You got it in a nutshell. But it also seems odd Cassy hasn't come in to work. I can't imagine her being involved in anything shady, Russell, I really can't. But it's too much of a coincidence they disappeared the same time. Could be Simpson's disappearance has something to do with her. Dang it, Blanche's sister, Violet, is going to have a cow when she hears the station is missing a male EMT as well. A big old Hereford cow."

  "You bet," Russell said. "Glad I'm not going to be in before you tell her." He laughed. "What else you find out about Simpson?"

  "Well, he had a small basement apartment. He paid month to month, no lease. The landlord, Michael Ralston, teaches music here in town. He didn't want to let me into Travis's apartment."

  "You get in?"

  "Yeah, he changed his mind when I explained we were also hunting for Cassy Adams and she'd worked with Simpson. It helped that Travis's rent was due last Friday and Ralston was ticked he hadn't received it."

  "Yeah, money changes people's ideas faster than anything. I think the drugs were coming into Sage Bluff way before this new EMT came to town though, Arvid. What else you got?"

  "Well, nothing weird in the apartment. It was neat as a pin. I noticed the last three issues of the Sage Bluff Courier were piled unopened by Simpson's apartment door. I'll fill you in when you get back if I find out anything else. In the meantime, keep an eye out for his car, a blue Ford Taurus with a dented back fender."

  "Sure."

  "And say, call me nuts, but since you're already out that way, can you take a run by the field where the Reynolds girl was dropped? It would ease my mind. I'm worried about Cassy. Some people have no imagination, you know. I just want to rule out a repeat performance, or a copycat."

  Russell swore and did a quick U-turn, tires spitting gravel.

  "Yeah," he said into the phone, "will do." Russell looked at his gas gauge, hovering at the quarter tank mark. "Arvid, maybe you'd better send Lenny back out to the gas stations. Have him ask every clerk if they saw anybody filling up a blue Taurus in the last few days. When I hit town, I'll swing through the drive-in on my way. My stomach thinks I forgot how to eat, it's been such a long day. You want me to bring you a couple burgers?"

  A few minutes later, Russell eased his vehicle onto the shoulder of the road near O'Bournes' hayfield. He sat in the car and looked past the field, staring at the sprawling log house he'd spent so much time in as a pimple-faced teen. He smiled, thinking about all the hours he and Kevin spent shooting baskets behind the barn or fixing fences with Dan. And the welcome sound of Kevin's mother, Hannah, calling them to dinner. Hannah fed him just like she did the O'Bourne youngsters, fussed at him about homework. Hugged him goodbye every night.

  And I missed her funeral. No wonder Jessie is still so mad.

  Russell looked away from the log house. He rubbed his temples with tired fingers. He had been ready to come clean about Kevin's death when Hannah suffered the fatal heart attack, but at the time, he couldn't load more sorrow on top of that. Now, when he finally might act like a man and tell Dan and Jessie what happened, they weren't likely to understand.

  Might not even believe me. God, what a mess. I'm just no good at dealing with people. Why did I leave it so long? His stomach roiled. Lord, I'm not a praying man, but I need some help here.

  Russell shook his head to clear his thoughts. He got out, slipped through the barbed wire fence instead of taking time to open the gate, and power walked to the haystack, examining the entire perimeter of the stack of bales before jogging back to the car. As he was walking around the car to get in, he glanced back again toward O'Bourne's.

  He saw a dust cloud kick up as Jessie sped out of the yard in the red pickup, heading his way. Russell leaned against the car and waited, wishing Arvid had come out himself to check the field. It wasn't in his best interest to see too much of Jessie. He chided himself for wanting to see her so badly his heart lurched even before the battered red Ford pulled up and stopped.

  She must have been out painting earlier. She was wearing another of the old hats he'd left at the ranch, an old brown Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation cap. Like usual, she'd twisted her hair into a ponytail and pulled it through the fitting on the back of the ball cap. He had purposely left two of the hats at the O'Bourne house years ago, liking the idea of her wearing something of his.

  His breath caught thinking of that tumble of red hair, the way she threw her head back when she was happy and the way laughter bubbled from her like clear water from a spring.

  Man, if he'd thought it would complicate things to approach Jessie then, now it would be like K. D. trying to do calculus with a crayon.

  Jessie leaned out of the open window, her face serious. "What's going on, Russell?"

  "Hey, Jess. Just checking for dead bodies."

  "That's not funny after what happened out here."

  "Sorry. Actually, I'm looking for a guy that was part of the EMT team when you found Amber Reynolds out here. The tall skinny guy."

  "You think he just stuck around or something, Russ? Thought he'd hang out for a week or so?" Jessie asked.

  "Now who's being funny?" Her expression became grave. "You aren't kidding, are you? The EMT is missing? And you expected to find him here?"

  "Two. Two missing EMTs. Cassy Adams and Travis Simpson. They were both on the scene when Amber was found. It was Arvid's idea I check out here at the same place we found Amber. It was a hare-brained long shot, and thankfully, there's nothing here." Russell started to reach for his car door handle. "Sorry to have alarmed you."

  "Oh, no you don't, Russell Bonham. I needed to talk to you anyhow. Follow me back to the house. I've had a break in at the barn."

  Jessie pointed to the broken window of the Greyhawk door and a series of impressions in the dust of the barn.

  "They aren't my footprints. My feet aren't nearly that big. I'd been out painting this afternoon and I needed to grab some more supplies from the studio upstairs," she said. She had pulled the cap off and now gestured with it toward the shattered glass.

  "Someone broke the window so they could open the door, and whoever it was has been through everything, all the cupboards, even the art supplies. I checked the studio upstairs and the door was hanging off its hinges. Same thing there. Things were pulled out of shelves, dumped on the floor and stuff."

  "Take anything?"

  "That's what's weird. I don't think they took a darn thing. At least, I don't see anything obvious missing. I never noticed the damage to the Hawk until a half hour ago."

  "The Hawk? Oh, the camper?"

  "Yeah," Jessie said.

  "Well, it could just be kids, thinking your dad left the place empty. But then I think we'd be seeing vandalism, spray paint, probably a case of empty beer cans."

  "I think so, too."

  "Was the barn door padlocked?"

  She shook her head. "No, there's no lock. Dad never thought we needed one."

  "Geez," Russell said. "Guess I knew that. I don't think most people around here even lock their houses."

  "I'm going to the hardware store tomorrow morning though, grab a nice big one," Jessie said angrily, slapping her cap against her leg.

  He looked at the footprints. She was right. The footprints were as large as his own. Squatting down, he took a photo of the prints wi
th his cell phone. As he stood, his eyes traveled from her tennis shoes, up the long slim legs, the almost boyish curves hidden under a denim apron with stenciled writing that proclaimed "Paint the Town", and to her worried blue eyes surrounded by waves of now loose coppery curls. His eyes came back down to the "Paint the Town" area.

  No, not boyish, not boyish at all. His breath quickened. Concentrate, Bonham. This is serious.

  "Take a good inventory Jessie, of everything you can. And how about the house? Anything been disturbed in the house?"

  Jessie shook her head. "No, and I had locked the house. I've been spending time in a lot of big cities. It's gotten to be a habit for me to lock up whenever I go out."

  "I'm going to assume neither you nor Arvid is way out of line about how valuable those two Moran pieces were. Maybe someone knows you picked up Amber's research in Denver. Maybe thinks you have something that might be a clue to their whereabouts."

  "How could they, Russell? Unless someone at the police station . . ." Her voice trailed off.

  He looked at her with worried eyes. "Keep the barn and house locked when you aren't here. In fact, lock it when you're here. Keep your cell phone with you . . . and hell, if someone breaks into the barn, and you're up in the studio, does the studio door lock? Jess girl, maybe you shouldn't be out here at the ranch by yourself."

  "Yes, but Russell, I don't want…"

  "Jessie, everything isn't about you. Your dad would die if something happened to you. He'd just die. So don't be careless. Someone obviously thinks your family has something valuable. Maybe valuable enough to kill for. Have some common sense."

  "I've got plenty of common sense, thank you very much," Jessie said with irritation.

  "I'll be out tomorrow to install a hasp and padlock on the barn door. And maybe get someone to come out and stay with you." He bit his lower lip. "Maybe you could have Blanche come out or something."

  Jessie's chin shot up and her eyes shot fire. "I can put my own damn lock on, thanks, and I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself. You can't dictate to me, Russell. You aren't my father. OR my brother."