“Very nice.” Angie arranged the drawings on the table by date, then selected one of the landscapes. “These are dated pretty close together, so not much difference in the way of artistic development, but she does use the full range of values, good texture, interesting composition.” She picked up the second landscape. “This looks like the same location. See this tree snag?”
I hadn’t noticed, but Angie was right. Both landscapes had the same distinctive tree, although in one drawing the tree was in the distance while the other featured the tree in the foreground. “I think I see people in this one.” I handed it back to Angie.
“Maybe . . . Yes, you’re right.” Angie gave the drawing to Stacy.
“I think they’re hikin’.” Stacy returned the sketch to the table, pointing. “Those could be backpacks.”
Grace finished her cleanup and joined us. “That drawing looks like two men running in a fog.”
“Or a cloud.” Dee Dee nodded. “Maybe angels? Running to help?”
“Could be.” Angie tapped the sketch with her finger. “But what are these two lines? A path? Road?”
Stacy grinned. “I’d say that’s an unfinished sketch of Jacob’s ladder. You’d just need lines going across the two lines.” She looked at us, then shook her head. “Y’all know. From Genesis. Angels in the clouds.”
“‘Behold a ladder set upon the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven: and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it.’” Dee Dee grinned back at Stacy. “That’s good. Really creative.”
“The whole thing could be an allegory,” Angie said. “I’d love to hear what the artist was thinking.”
“What about the portraits?” I asked. “I think this one might be a self-portrait. But they all seem . . . off. Well, at least the ones I recognize—Sam and Roy—aren’t perfect likenesses.”
Angie studied the four portraits. “Fascinating.”
“What do you see, Angie?” Grace asked.
“You all know that the two sides of your face don’t match, right? If you were to photograph your face, split the image down the middle, mirror one side and then the other, your face would look very different.”
We all nodded.
“There’s more about the face that I find interesting. Studies have shown that true emotion is reflected on both sides of your face equally. Conflicting emotion will come out on just one side. So let’s say you were both angry and frightened. One side of your face will show anger, the other will reflect your fear. Generally, we tend to look at the right side of the face more than the left, and the right side will reflect the ‘public’ emotion.” She reached behind her and picked up a blank piece of paper, then placed it so the right side of Roy’s face was exposed. “His public face.” His eyes crinkled and lips pulled back into a smile. She slid the paper over, now showing the other side of his face. “This is the emotion he is hiding.”
On that side his eye was sunken, skin sagged, and mouth drooped. He looked utterly defeated.
“Oh!” Grace said. “He looks so sad.”
“What about Sam?” Dee Dee asked.
I had a pretty good idea what his face would reveal. Sure enough, his right side was friendly and engaging. The left side sent a chill up the small of my back. His skin was rough, eye open wide, and lip shiny.
“That’s creepy,” Stacy said.
“Schadenfreude.” The word slipped out before I could stop it. Everyone stared at me. I cleared my throat. Might as well finish the thought. “Or the English word epicaricacy. The German word comes from schaden, which means ‘harm’ or ‘misfortune’ combined with freude, ‘joy.’ It means taking pleasure from someone else’s suffering.”
In the silence that followed, Bram entered the room. He stopped when he saw us gathered around the table. “What’s going on?”
Angie caught him up on the drawings.
He moved until he could see the sketches.
“Do you know anything about these drawings?” Angie asked. “We believe this is Shadow Woman’s self-portrait. You knew her—”
“No, never met her, but I can tell you about some of the other drawings.” His hand touched each sketch as he spoke. “These landscapes look like they were drawn near Beryl Creek, east of here. Of course, you all recognize her dogs. Sam, Roy, and . . .” His eyes opened wider. “My boss, the sheriff.” He pointed to the fourth portrait.
“Shadow Woman knew the sheriff?” Stacy drawled.
“Apparently.” Bram’s eyebrows drew together.
Angie covered the public side of the sheriff’s face, exposing only her private emotions—an eye narrowed, slight furrow in her brow, tension in the jaw, mouth tightened. “To me, she looks worried.”
“Upset. Unhappy.” Grace nodded. “What do you see, Bram? You know her.”
“All I can say is she’s in the middle of a serial-arsonist case, you know,” Bram said. “So I’m actually not surprised.”
I frowned at Bram. All I can say meant there was more to be said. You know meant a sensitive topic. Actually was an unnecessary word, usually for comparing two or more items. What was he holding back?
No one else seemed to notice Bram’s evasion of the question.
Angie indicated the drawing of the older woman. “So we still don’t know if this is Shadow Woman’s self-portrait, but it seems like a good guess.”
I lifted the sketch. Julia, the clerk at the store, had said something was wrong with Mae’s face. This drawing showed a woman in deep shadow, with a small chin, short nose, thin upper lip, and flattened midface. I passed the sketch to Grace.
“Whoever this is, she looks like she has fetal alcohol spectrum disorder.” Grace gave the drawing to Dee Dee. “That might explain her lifestyle. And her nickname of Shadow Woman. FASD can cause a whole range of difficulties throughout life. Antisocial behavior, mood swings, poor judgment are just a few of the problems.”
“Julia mentioned her anger issues,” I said slowly. “She left her dogs and mule to fend for themselves, then wrote a check that bounced.”
Dee Dee took the sketch from me and placed it on the table, then covered the public side of her face with her hand, displaying her private emotions. Shadow Woman’s eyes twinkled and the corner of her mouth curved slightly upward. “I see happiness. A sense of humor.”
“Why would she hide that?” Grace said.
We silently contemplated the question.
“She would have been looking in a mirror when she drew herself. This side is what she is concealing.” I placed my hand over the other side. The woman’s iris looked small in the white of her eye. Her mouth was slightly open, the skin taut against her cheek. It was the look of absolute terror.
Chapter 12
The drawing of Sheriff Turner bothered Bram more than he wanted to say. She’d never mentioned a word about knowing Shadow Woman when she’d ordered him to shoot her dogs. And neither Sam nor his chief had asked him to look into her bounced check. Under Idaho law, if Shadow Woman were convicted of false pretenses, she could spend up to three years in prison and be fined as much as fifty thousand dollars.
The dogs yipped, followed immediately by the earth trembling.
Bram checked the time. The supply wagon would be leaving soon and he needed to get the water sample to the lab. He could delay Liam for a little bit, but if he waited too long, the road wouldn’t be safe. “Angie, would you wait for me in Roy’s office? I’ll be right there.”
She nodded.
He headed for the kitchen, where he figured he’d find Liam mooching. He was right. Liam had a bowl of ice cream and was leering at one of the waitresses.
“Liam, I need you to delay leaving for a bit.”
Liam pointed his spoon at Bram. “I thought you left in the last helicopter.”
“Obviously I didn’t.”
Liam gave the waitress a slow smile. “No way do I mind at all. Take all the time you need.”
Bram shook his head. Liam must be working on having a woman at every sto
p. He grabbed a cup of coffee, then made his way to Roy’s office.
Angie was pacing as he entered. “Please sit down, Angie.”
She sat, but her leg bounced rapidly. “This has been a disaster! The room trashed, the bear, the Rinaldis’ son, now the contaminated water. I think someone hates me.” Her voice filled the room.
Or Roy. Or anyone who drank the water. Or even the Rinaldis. He decided not to mention the horses currently racing loose. After sitting behind Roy’s cluttered desk and placing his messenger bag on the floor, he pulled out a small notepad. “Who usually fills the water and coffee in the art room?”
“I have no idea. One of the waitstaff. Sometimes Roy himself if the others are busy.”
“Is the art room secure?”
“Locked? Didn’t used to be, but after this morning, we did lock it.”
“Who has a key?”
“Well, that’s the thing. Only the office, gift shop, and art room can even be locked. The keys are on a panel in the hall that leads to here. They’re labeled, but you do have to know where to look.”
Bram tapped his pen against the notepad. “Who knows about the keys?”
“Everyone. Everyone on the staff, that is.”
Someone tapped on the door.
“Come in,” Bram said.
Roy entered with a sheet of paper. “The list of staff and guests.” He placed it in front of Bram.
“Thank you.” Bram looked at Angie. “You can go now. Would you send Darby in next?”
Angie rose and hurried from the room.
Bram reached for the list of names but paused. A small pile of unopened mail rested on the edge of the blotter. The top one had a red stamp across it saying Final Notice. He glanced at Roy.
The older man snatched up the mail and dropped it into the trash container. “It’s nothin’. At least I’ll be able to pay everyone off now,” he muttered.
Bram picked up the list of names. “I see you’ve listed Liam Turner as staff.”
Roy let out deep breath. “Yeah, um, he fills in part-time when I need extra help. Corporate retreats with team-building exercises, for example, take extra staffing. I’ve even hired townspeople like Sam at times. At one time he was military.”
“Do you have employee records I can look at?”
Roy moved over to a file drawer and began pulling files.
While Roy’s back was to him, Bram took the opportunity to look at the pile of papers on the desk. Several were overdue bills. “How goes the roundup?” he asked casually.
Roy stacked the files in front of Bram. “We caught a few. Wyatt’s going out with the assistant wrangler and handyman to round up the rest.”
* * *
Angie signaled to me. “Bram wants to interview you. He’s in Roy’s office. Go through the gift shop, through the door on the far side, down the short hall to the room at the end.”
I paused at the door.
“How goes the roundup?” Bram was asking Roy.
“We caught a few. Wyatt’s going out with the assistant wrangler and handyman to round up the rest,” Roy said.
I nudged the door wider. “What’s going on with your remuda?”
“We think the helicopters spooked them.” Roy gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Though they should have been used to the sound by now. Don’t worry about it. I have my wranglers out rounding them up. Wait, weren’t you a champion rodeo rider?”
My hands became sweaty. “More like O-Mok-See games and trick riding, and I’m rusty.”
Roy’s gaze had drifted to my left leg. “Never mind. I don’t really need an extra wrangler to catch the horses. I understand.”
I wanted to say I’d try—that I wasn’t the disabled has-been he thought me to be. I could handle it. Instead, I just shrugged.
“Darby,” Bram said. “What can you tell me about the contaminated water?”
“Not much to tell. I didn’t see anyone deliver the water. I just recognized the boggy smell.”
“Okay,” Bram said to Roy. “Who assigns the various tasks?”
“Me. Or Cookie. Sometimes Wyatt. We maintain a whiteboard in the kitchen with job assignments. We’ll put a name next to who’s doing the work.”
Bram stood. “Let’s go see—”
“Already did. There’s a check next to ‘Take coffee, hot water, fresh water to art room. 12:45.’ That means someone did it. Doesn’t say who.”
Bram slapped his hand on the stack of files. “Let’s start in a new direction. Roy, who could have gone up to the pond this morning to get water? Was everyone accounted for?”
“I’m afraid that won’t help you,” Roy said. “The lodge and cabins are on a gravity-fed well system. We pipe the pond water to the outside faucets to irrigate the lawns. All of them are labeled non-potable water, of course.”
“Would your waitresses know that?” I asked. “English isn’t their first language. It could be just a mistake.”
“We make the water situation very clear to all our staff,” Roy said stiffly.
“At this point,” Bram said, “I’ve gotten about as far as I can here. I need the computer and internet back at my office. If you’ll let me take the employee records with me, I’ll do a background check and get the water over to the lab.”
Roy nodded.
Bram placed the records in his messenger bag and stood.
Wyatt poked his head through the doorway. “Cookie said you’d be here. I’ve rounded up most of the horses. I’m going out after the three I haven’t found. The gate’s been repaired.”
Roy turned to Bram. “Let me see if anyone else wants to go to town with you. Dee Dee may want to be checked for giardia by a doctor.” He walked to the door, his shoulders slumped, and left.
Before Wyatt followed him, he gave me a wink and tipped his cowboy hat.
My face grew warm. I charged from the room before Bram could see me blush, again wishing Cookie hadn’t mentioned Bram’s and Wyatt’s interest.
Roy aimed toward the art room and Wyatt sauntered to the lobby. I followed Roy.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Roy said to Angie and the art students. “The supply wagon will be heading to Targhee Falls within the hour. If any of you would like to leave today, let me know and we’ll bring your luggage over.” His voice trembled slightly.
I slowly walked to the lobby. The air was pungent with lemon wax cleaner. One of the female staffers was just leaving the room with a plastic bin of cleaning supplies. Sunlight streamed in the windows on one side, and the ginger tabby cat had moved from the barn and now sprawled in the sunbeam lighting the floor. The distant clatter of dishes came from the closed dining room.
I stopped. Everything seemed so ordinary and calm. It was hard to believe that not long ago, a young man clinging to life had to be airlifted out. Things could have been going wrong here for months, and the remote beauty of the place would have lured people to doubt their conclusions.
With the contaminated water, I now had actual physical evidence that someone was actively working against Roy. Or it could have been Riccardo’s plan to head home. I wished Bram had been able to recover something from the barn.
Maybe it was time to head back to town and make my report to Clan Firinn.
I still had to dig into the paperwork in the packet. At this point, did it matter?
I was scheduled to be here for five days, and it was hard to believe less than twenty-four hours had passed. If I stayed, maybe I’d see Bram again. Maybe . . . “Shut up!”
“Are you okay, Darby?” Cookie had entered the room, a handful of stamped envelopes in her hand.
“Sorry, Cookie. I didn’t realize I spoke out loud.” I walked over to her, still making the slight squeak. Flapperdoodle. Yet another problem. “I’m thinking about heading to Targhee Falls, but maybe I could ask you something.”
“Sure, ask away.”
“What can you tell me about the rocks?”
She turned and placed the envelopes neatly on a nearby table. “What di
d you want to know?”
I pulled them from my pocket and held them up. “What did your counselor say to do with them? Or maybe more precisely, what did you do with yours?”
She approached and stared at the three pebbles in my hand. “You remember I left a long time ago. All I can tell you is at that time they didn’t give us rocks or other types of gifts.”
“Funny gift. They just make my pants sag.” I slipped the rocks back into my pocket.
She studied my face for a long moment. “I take it your PTSD is rearing its ugly head and that’s why you want to leave. I can’t say I blame you.” She held her hands out in front of her. They shook slightly. “Look at me. Shaking like a leaf and I’ve been away from Clan Firinn for over ten years.”
“You said you’re still having PTSD moments. What do you do to get through them?”
“I have a dear brother I can talk to. How about you? Family?”
An unexpected lump formed in the back of my throat. “Um, well, I just adopted a couple of four-legged dependents. They seem to be good listeners. As long as they don’t start to drink out of the toilet, we’ll get along famously.”
Cookie grinned. “That’s good. So you’re heading home?”
“I’m not sure I’m leaving for good. I just want to report in and see what Clan Firinn wants me to do next.”
“Whatever you feel is best. You’ll be taking today’s supply wagon to Targhee Falls then?”
“Yes.”
She patted my arm. “The next wagon won’t be back until tomorrow, so you might take your things with you. That way, if your PTSD gets too overwhelming and you change your mind about returning, you’re set. Your cabin will remain yours until you let us know.”
“Good idea. And thank you.”
The dogs spotted me as soon as I emerged from the lodge. Holly flew at me as if I’d been gone for years, circling me with a wiggling, tail-wagging, openmouthed greeting. Maverick stood still, and for a moment his tail waved gently. I grinned. Silver lining?
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