1 Death on Canvas

by Mary Ann Cherry

  Jessie took the man's hand again. "Did Father Michael take the paintings somewhere else after that, Mr. Running Bear? Town, maybe?" she asked.

  "I told the priest where the paintings were—under that old bat's bed— and he moved 'em. I don't know where. But I know the priest didn't want to go to town to put 'em in the bank or try to sell 'em."

  "Why not," Arvid asked.

  "Too dangerous, that's why. The influenza was terrible in town by then. People were sick, dying. Father Michael was afraid he'd bring the germs back to the school. When we were down to almost nothing but venison my dad brought, and needed supplies—flour, salt, that kind of thing—he rode out, saying he had to take a chance on going to town. Said he'd pick up his mail and get groceries. He never came back." He coughed, the effort racking his withered body. "School ended early that year."

  "What do you think happened to the paintings, Mr. Running Bear?" Jessie asked.

  "I thought about it some. Thomas Moran sent a fellow out to ask about them when they heard Father Michael was dead. The only place the priest could have put them was in the old white cupboard in the classroom, but nobody asked us kids, and the cupboard had been taken somewhere." He plucked at the blanket again. "You sure look like Kate," he said. "I used to see her in town when she was all grown up and teaching at the new school. Poor Kate."

  "What about the body they found on the reservation, sir?" Arvid asked. "Minna Heron Woman said it was the real nun, Sister Mary Campbell."

  John Running Bear didn't meet Arvid's eyes. He plucked at the blankets nervously. "It was. Some Blackfoot couple on the reservation found the body several miles downstream of the school. She'd have been mortified if she knew she'd been found dead in nothin' but her undershorts and crucifix. The couple who found her were so afraid of the Sheriff, they covered the body with rocks and never told anyone until after the other nun left us kids high and dry. Guess they felt guilty for not coming forward earlier. Only way people were sure it was Sister Mary Campbell was the cross necklace. We kids thought the second nun might've killed her."

  "What an odd story. Did they ever figure out why she came to St. Benedict's?" Jessie asked.

  "No, but I know who she was, the fake nun. I saw her and her little boy when I went to a pow-wow in Browning years later. She came to the rodeo at the gathering wanting to buy an appaloosa horse my friend listed for sale. I didn't realize who she was at first, and she didn't recognize me. She was too busy trying to get a cheaper price on the horse. I was a grown man by then. But I never forgot those mean piggy eyes. They were just as green as grass. When I saw him talking to her and saw them eyes, I took my friend aside and told him to tell her the horse was already sold. Too late. He'd already made the deal."

  "You said you know who she was, though? Her name and all?" Arvid asked.

  "Yup. When she left, I asked my friend what name and address was on her check. Her name was Virginia Grayson. I looked up her address. She had a fine spread way out of town. I always wondered where she'd got the money. Somethin' like that, you don't pay for with old snuff cans and bubble gum wrappers."

  "You ever tell anyone, Mr. Running Bear?" Arvid asked, as the elderly man's focus seemed to fade.

  The elder man's eyes again slid away from Arvid's gaze. "What'd be the point? Nobody believed me when I was a boy, they sure weren't going to believe I recognized her so many years later." He shook his head. "And there wasn't any way to prove she killed Sister Mary, even if she mighta." Running Bear's eyes were drooping.

  "You're probably right, sir," Arvid said. "You've been very helpful. I think we'll let you get some rest now."

  "You want to ask me anything else, come again." Then John Running Bear roused and cackled. "And if you see that Minna, you tell her I still think she's a pistol."

  Chapter 29

  Sage Bluff, present day

  Lenny bypassed the gasoline pumps and pulled under the metal carport where loud rock music filled the Get and Go parking lot. He got out of the patrol car and went resignedly into the convenience store. Last time he'd tried to talk to Duane it had been as easy as herding ducks, and he didn't expect it to be any different today.

  He walked in and plunked the photos of Travis Simpson and Cassy Adams down in front of the skinny kid behind the counter and turned them toward him. The kid looked worse than usual, Lenny thought. His face was an acne farm, his shirt had seen cleaner days, and a lump was purpling to impressive blue-black on his cheekbone. He looked like a kid who'd get sand kicked in his face at the beach, if Sage Bluff had sandy beaches instead of amber waves of grain.

  "Duane, seen these two lately? Either gassing up or stopping for snacks? And did you ever see them together?"

  The clerk swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing on his scrawny neck. It reminded Lenny of the chicken necks he'd plucked on the farm where he grew up and, unfortunately, of the thin, lanky, insecure kid he himself had once been. And sometimes still was, deep down. The thought made Lenny scowl fiercely at the clerk.

  "Nuh uh," Duane stammered. "I haven't seen Cassy all week. Don't know the guy. He gets gas here at the pumps but he pays outside . . . never comes in except for a Mocha Grande once in a while. I don't think he's been in for a couple weeks. Leastwise, not while I've been working." He pushed the photos back toward Lenny. "What's up?"

  "Missing, both of them, and we're trying to figure out if there's anything to worry about is all. Cassy normally lets her boss know if she's not coming to work, but not this time. You ever see her with a boyfriend, Duane?"

  The clerk looked uncomfortable, eyes flicking left to right before he answered Lenny.

  "Nah, can't say I ever saw Cassy with a guy except another EMT. Then, only because she was working." He looked away from Lenny. "I'm sorry she's missing, though," he said.

  "When you did see this man, Travis Simpson, did he ever have someone else along?"

  "Don't think so."

  "Travis Simpson drives a blue ford Taurus with a dented fender. You remember seeing someone else gassing one up the past four days, maybe?"

  "Not that I remember." Duane looked at the door as a middle aged man walked through it and made a beeline to the back restroom. "I'm gonna need to get back to work."

  "Yeah, I can see you're real busy," Lenny said sarcastically. He handed Duane one of his cards. "Listen, remember when I came in and asked you if you knew Jake Ward, the truck driver who drove an oil field supply loop? He's in custody up in North Dakota for selling and receiving drugs across state lines. You feel like changing your story on that?"

  "Don't know him. Dude, I told you. Why are you hassling me about him again?"

  "Duane, my name is not 'Dude'. It is 'Deputy'. Now, we were on his truck route. He had to get gas here in town somewhere every trip." Lenny reached into the manila envelope and pulled out a photo of Jake Ward, they'd received from the Williston P.D. that morning. He placed it carefully on the counter next to the images of Cassy and Travis, all the while watching Duane's face.

  The clerk gave Lenny a blank stare. Lenny said. "And don't tell me he might've gone to Anderson's Station here in town. They don't have diesel."

  "But he could've gotten gas in Baxter . . . wouldn't have had to stop here in Sage Bluff," Duane said.

  "More convenient here, though. Closer to the interstate," Lenny said.

  Duane made no reply, but his right eye twitched and he pressed the palms of his hands so tight on the counter the knuckles whitened.

  "Well," Lenny said with a sigh. "Give me a call if something jogs your memory. If you're into something, anything, that concerned Jake Ward, you need some help. Better wise up and get it from the police station."

  "Don't need help."

  "What happened to your face, Duane?"

  "Fell off my bike yesterday on the way in to work," Duane answered. "I might work at a gas station, but I can't afford to fill my tank. I pedal in."

  "Huh," Lenny grunted, and slid the three photos back into their manila envelope. He grabbed two
Twix bars from the candy display, slapped the exact change for them on the counter along with his personal business card. "Call when you're ready to level with me, Duane." He strode out, slid into the patrol car and shook his head. Then he tore open a chocolate bar and began to munch. Poor damn kid is scared to death, he thought. And something happened to his face. That bike spill was a load of bull. Something is going on, even if it has nothing to do with Travis and Cassy. He pulled out onto the road back toward Main Street. He wondered if Baker had any ideas. He'd have to pick her brain.

  As soon as the middle aged man slammed the rest room door and went through the outer door, Duane grabbed his cell phone. He punched in numbers, waited for the call to be picked up and said quietly into the phone, "You told me to tell you if someone came around asking about Cassy or Travis. That weird looking cop was just here again—the one that has the curly hair, looks like a cheerleader on steroids or something. He was asking a bunch of questions. He asked about Jake Ward, too. Asked, did he get gas here, did I remember him—"

  "If you know what's good for you, you'll act deaf, dumb and blind, because if you aren't, don't forget I could make it really happen," said the voice on the other end.

  "I know, I know," Duane said quickly. "I didn't tell him anything. All the same, I didn't sign on for this, none of it. It's gotten really ugly, and I want out. I want out as of today."

  "Oh, for cripes sake, grow a spine. The only way you'll be out, Duane, is if you want to join Cassy and her 'oh, so friendly' fellow. I'm sure they're enjoying one another's company. Is that what you want?"

  "No, no, no," Duane hurried the words. His voice sounded like that of a whimpering kid, even to himself. Tears welled in his eyes.

  "Then are we clear? Hang in there. Or just hang, Duane. We can arrange it, you know. So don't call me here again," the voice said, severing the connection.

  Duane dropped his cell phone back into his pocket. A bead of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his brow furrowed. There had to be something he could do to get away, something that wouldn't get him killed. Maybe he could find someone who'd get word to Jake Ward in Williston . . . let Jake know why Amber was killed. Maybe. Ward had connections. Duane's head nodded up and down as if in time to invisible music. Yeah. Let Jake get even. Thoughts twisted in his head like snakes in a pit, but every option seemed as deadly.

  Chapter 30

  Sage Bluff Sheriff's Office, present day

  Russell stomped into the station, thinking of the smile Jessie had given Grant Kennedy. He glowered at Blanche when she started to speak to him, and headed down the hall to his office. Then he stopped short. A blocky, grey-haired stranger in a business suit and tie sat in a spare chair near his office door.

  Blanche bustled down the hall, her attitude apologetic. "I tried to tell you, Russell. Your visitor has been waiting for nearly an hour." She turned and headed back down the hall.

  "Sorry," Russell said, opening the door and ushering the man in. "What can I do for you?"

  The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a badge, opening it for Russell.

  "FBI?" Russell exclaimed. "You have got to be kidding me. Another FBI agent?"

  "No, Detective Bonham, not FBI," the stranger said, offering his hand. "DEA, Agent Samuelson. We may have a drug enforcement agent missing from your town."

  Russell stood for a second, letting Samuelson's statement register. Then he picked up the phone and dialed Blanche's extension. "Blanche, find Arvid. Get him in here."

  "I already know where he is. He's out talking to Cassy's friends, trying to locate her, Russell."

  "I don't care if he's talking to the Governor. Go call him, Blanche. Now."

  * * *

  Samuelson took a sip of coffee and winced. "Travis Simpson was sent to Sage Bluff over two months ago. The Drug Enforcement Agency had him investigating a lead on the drugs flowing through Montana. He called to notify us his father was ill, but Travis knew he was still required to check in. He did not call in yesterday as scheduled, and we could not reach him."

  "Are you sure it was Travis who called?" Arvid asked. Russell looked at him in surprise.

  "Yes. Our admin, Leona Hanfield, took the call. She recognized his voice. It was indeed Travis Simpson. And, as one might expect when there's a family emergency, he sounded quite upset. She told him to keep us updated. When he didn't call again, Leona called his emergency contact number to check on him and that was when we discovered a major screw up. We got his sister and she informed us her dad had passed away three years ago. Ergo, no father."

  "Uh oh."

  "That about sums it up. Deputy Bonham. I was already on the way to Sage Bluff when Detective Abrahmsen called the office to ask about Simpson."

  Russell and Arvid exchanged glances. "An office number, huh? I am assuming it was not his sister I spoke to on the phone," Arvid said.

  "No. That was Hanfield," Samuelson said.

  "So what kind of lead was your agent following?" Russell asked.

  "He was following fraudulent orders of prescription drugs. Large orders for certain pain killers have been sent to Sage Bluff. More than we feel are warranted for a small town hospital. We had the hospital do a surreptitious audit. The orders didn't come from the hospital, but were made to appear they were ordered and received by Sage Bluff General."

  "The hospital, huh? We have a missing girl that worked part time at SBG," Arvid tapped an index finger on the desk.

  Samuelson acknowledged the comment with a thoughtful nod.

  "And she also worked full time at the Sage Bluff Fire Station with Travis," Arvid said.

  Samuelson's attention went on high alert. "I want to hear all about her. Let's come back to that in a minute." He continued, "We understand you know about Jake Ward, the dealer they picked up in Williston, North Dakota. We've been trying to get names of his associates, but so far no luck, and nailing down all the stops on his route hasn't been easy. Where hasn't he been would be simpler to figure out."

  "I imagine he was supplying Sage Bluff, but you don't think he picked up here, too, do you?" Russell asked

  "Don't be so sure your fine town isn't supplying as well as receiving. We suspect one of the drugs that he picked up in Sage Bluff is Fentanyl. It's a pain killer that gives the user an immediate high."

  "I've never even heard of it," Russell said.

  "Yeah, most folks haven't. And you don't get Fentanyl just anywhere. Someone in the medical field has to be procuring it. Since Travis has some medical training, we had him apply for a part time job as an EMT with your emergency services in town. We also placed him undercover two evenings a week at the local hospital. He's young, somewhat inexperienced, but enthusiastic."

  "We saw him on duty when we first picked up Amber Reynolds after her attack."

  "Yes. When Amber Reynolds was found beaten, he was worried he'd missed something. He was one of the agents that helped arrest Jake Ward, and he recognized Amber Reynolds from a photo Ward had in his wallet when he was jailed. He was taken aback to see her here in Sage Bluff. Anyway, Travis called us right after the ambulance dropped Amber at the hospital. We were all over Jake Ward, trying to discover if she'd been in on the drug deliveries, but he swears not. Could be coincidence, could be he's lying through his teeth."

  Russell said, "We asked Jack and Shelly Reynolds to allow an autopsy on the girl's body. She was clean."

  "Yes," Samuelson agreed. "And we had the autopsy findings double-checked, simply because of the tie in with Ward. It was correct. There were no drugs in her system except those given by your doctor here to stabilize her for the flight."

  "Has it been verified that the head wound actually was the cause of death?" Arvid asked, earning another of Russell's sidelong glances. "Hey, I'm just asking."

  "You Montana cops are a little paranoid, aren't you?" Then Agent Samuelson smiled, and he nodded to Arvid. "Yeah, good question. You're not the only ones with a streak of paranoia. We had the M.E. look for everything. He thinks it was the head inj
ury."

  "He wasn't positive?" Arvid asked.

  "There are ways to stress an injured person, even when one is unconscious. The level of carbon dioxide in the blood was inconclusive. Her eyes were somewhat bloodshot. That also happens with suffocation. However, the victim was allergic to alfalfa, according to her parents. She had been forced into a position that caused her to breathe dust from alfalfa for her entire ordeal. What can you tell me about the EMT who rode in the copter?"

  "Well, we can tell you she's gone. It was the missing girl who worked part time at the hospital—Cassy Adams," Russell said. "We put her on our missing persons list today."

  "Oh, crap," Samuelson said. "Never rains but . . . well, you know the saying. However, we have no reason to suspect that the EMT was involved with the drug route. We need to explore that possibility, though. The money involved is enough to tempt anyone."

  "How about Travis Simpson?" Arvid asked. Russell and Samuelson both smiled. "Hey, call me paranoid, but I'm just asking."

  Samuelson looked quietly around Russell's tidy office. He noticed the photo of the little boy standing by Russell, the drawings tacked on a piece of corkboard. He swiveled and looked seriously at both Russell and Arvid. Samuelson let his breath out in what any horse wrangler would call a snort.

  "No, Travis wouldn't be tempted. He's as trustworthy as the Pope. We think someone else forced him to call our office. Whoever made him phone knew he wasn't calling his sister, or Travis would have played it that way to give us a heads up. They wanted him to plead a family emergency and Travis was a quick enough thinker to come up with the concocted story. He probably relied on me to catch on immediately that the message about his dad's heart attack was bogus." He studied his hands as though they belonged to someone else, then looked up. "I let him down. I think if it was possible for him to get in touch, it would have happened by now. We are beginning to wonder if he's dead."