"Yeah, I've known Minna Heron Woman for a lot of years."
"How often do you always take her groceries?"
"Once every two weeks. I take turns with her niece. She's too healthy and too stubborn to go to a nursing home, and it's important for her to feel independent."
"Must be hard for elderly people like that, especially with her bad eyesight. Do you realize how beautiful she must have been once?"
"Minna?"
"Yes, she has wonderful bone structure, and so much character in her face. I'd love to paint her portrait. I wonder if she would let me take photos, or paint her while she sits in that big armchair of hers."
"Ask her sometime. I bet she'd at least let you take a few pictures."
"Speaking of painting, I'm still trying to get some done so I have inventory for next week, and I have to plan the workshop portion of the competition. I'm running behind." Jessie looked at her watch. She needed to call the gallery before they closed.
"Hey, 'behind' is my middle name."
"I'm so curious, though. Do we have time to go talk to John Running Bear before I get back to work?"
"Let's take time," Arvid said.
The architect who designed High Butte Senior Apartments, the assisted living facility in Sage Bluff, was originally from the deep South. The white building sprawled across half a city block and looked like a transplanted Georgia plantation house, complete with tall round columns. Elderly men and women sat contentedly in rocking chairs on the wrap-around porch, staring at Jessie and Arvid as they navigated the steps, crossed the wood porch and walked through wide, double doors with leaded glass windows.
A receptionist sat behind an antique mahogany desk with curved Queen Anne legs; a desk whose provenance no longer mattered because of the large hole drilled through the top to accommodate a snarl of computer cords. The bored looking, middle-aged woman looked up as the two visitors came in. Her face broke into a wide smile.
"Arvid!" she crooned. "How the heck are ya?"
"Good, Sally." He introduced Jessie and asked, "Is this a good time to visit one of your residents, John Running Bear?" Arvid asked.
Sally pushed a button on the desk intercom and buzzed another station, then looked at Arvid and Jessie with an apologetic expression as a male voice said, "I'm sorry, but I just helped Mr. Running Bear to bed and he's resting. He had a morning visitor for a change. It tired him. If it's really important, I can wake him, but if not. . . "
Arvid shook his head. "No, it isn't that important. Never mind. We'll come another time."
The receptionist smiled. "Regular visiting hours are from 2:00 until 4:00, and 6:00 until 8:00," she recited. "And Arvid, thank your wife again for the free piano concert last week. It's kind of Esther to come and play the old songs for the folks here. They look forward to her sessions, and every rocker on the porch fills when they know she's coming. They sit outside and watch for her," she shook her finger at the big Norwegian, "and you'd better watch it, Arvid. At least half the men propose to her. They just love her."
"So do I," Arvid laughed. "So maybe I'd better pick up a box of chocolates on my way home tonight, huh? Gotta keep myself in the running." Arvid turned away from the desk and then swiveled back. "Say, Sally," Arvid said, "you didn't happen to see who came to visit John Running Bear, did you?"
"Don't know who she was but, yeah, I saw her. A young woman. Lot of curly blond hair. Big hair, the kind you see on women in honky-tonks. Cute little bit of a thing not more'n five feet tall."
Jessie stepped up on the running board of Arvid's pickup and heaved herself in. "So, at least we know she's in the area and alive. But she never checked in with the police. I wonder if she's called her grandmother or Jack and Shelly Reynolds yet."
"I'll call Amber's parents and ask, and I plan to ask again about Amber's other friends, too. See if anything has come up." Arvid looked at his watch. "I wanted to tell Sally that it was police business and maybe she could forego the rules, but old people like their routine and need their naps." Arvid yawned. "Heck, sometimes I need a nap, young and robust as I am."
"Don't get me started," Jessie said, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Shall we get together later this evening and try our visit again? I'll go back to the station and get some work done after I drop you off. Why don't you meet me at our house about six o'clock? I'll introduce you to my better half."
"Good plan. In the meantime, I'll get a quick 8x10 painted and then look for the other journal. In fact, I'll pull the art studio inside out like an old sweater."
"Go for it," Arvid said. "Doesn't seem likely it'll be around after all these years, though."
"Well, if that doesn't turn it up, much as I hate to bother him on his honeymoon, I guess I'll call Dad. He might have an idea where to look for it. There could be something in it that helps us find the paintings now that we can add Amber's research to the notes in the journal."
Arvid paused. "Heck, my priority is to catch who killed Amber. But—I'd love to find the paintings. Do you mind if I read both of them journals myself? That is, when and if you find journal number two?"
"Not at all, Arvid. You're more than welcome to take a look."
"It would be nice to find out what happened to the Morans before anyone else gets killed over those damn canvases."
"It isn't like the Moran paintings were responsible for people being murdered, Arvid. Art doesn't kill people."
"No," Arvid replied with a serious expression. "But greed can. And greed does."
"It sounds like Amber had information on one of the oldest unsolved murders in the county, doesn't it, Arvid? That poor nun's murder. But, it's probably nothing to do with the Morans."
"Huh. Let me tell you, a case doesn't get much colder'n that. I hope the photos Amber told Minna Heron Woman about turn up."
"Yeah. And if they do, I hope to heck we can figure out why they're important."
"Me, too," Arvid said. "Why on earth would someone kill a nun?"
Chapter 24
`
Sage Bluff Sheriff's Office, present day
Blanche knocked on Arvid's office door and pushed it open without waiting for a 'come in'. An overweight, middle-aged woman only half Blanche's height strolled in with her. Her hair was over-permed, resembling nothing so much as a child's stuffed animal, and still reeking of the beauty parlor smell. Arvid recognized her and groaned inwardly. It was Violet Adams, Blanche's sister.
"You know, Mrs. Adams, like I told you on the phone yesterday, Cassy is a grown woman." He gave Mrs. Adams a look of sympathy. "Maybe she just took off on a trip she wanted to keep quiet? Boyfriend, perhaps? Girls don't always want their parents to know."
Blanche and Violet both glared at him. Then they settled in like wet bags of concrete into Arvid's extra chairs, their ample thighs flowing over the chair seats and draping like plush pillows over the edges. Arvid sighed in resignation.
"I'm telling you, my daughter is responsible about her job. But she hasn't showed up for work for two days. Two days. Eric Jensen, her boss, called me. 'If she doesn't have a good reason for missing work', he says 'tell that girl she's fired'. Fired. Instead of wondering if she's in trouble. That's the kind of boss she has. Fired. What a jerk." Violet tightened her mouth into a line as thin as a pencil mark.
"Huh." Arvid said.
"That girl of mine helps me out with grocery money and rent," Violet Adams said. "How am I supposed to make ends meet if Cassy doesn't come back? Why, I'd have to go to work! At my age! You do something about this, Arvid Abrahmsen. You find her."
"Oh, all right." Arvid said grudgingly. "She probably just wants a bit of time away, but I'll help you fill in a missing person form. I'll have to find one. It sure isn't something we need in town much," Arvid said, digging in his desk drawer. "I'll start checking into it and I'll fill Russell in when he gets back."
"Isn't he taking an awful long lunch?" Blanche asked, her bulldog face set in a disapproving scowl.
"No. He isn't. Th
e poor guy didn't even get any lunch, Blanche."
"Why not?"
"Aw, some kid was driving with beer in his truck. Middle of the afternoon. No license and no common sense. Shame you can get one without the other." Arvid located the missing persons' form, patted his empty pocket hunting for something to write with, then rummaged in his desk drawer for a pen. "He's taking the teenager home so he can read the parents the riot act."
"Well, that shouldn't take him long, and when he gets back, maybe he can help you look for my niece," Blanche said.
Arvid pulled out the gnawed stub of a pencil. "Let's get started. Go ahead. Give me her cell phone number, list of her good friends, whatever you can think of. Guess I'd better have a photo, too, although nearly everyone knows Cassy. Still, I think you're worrying for nothing."
Blanche smiled sweetly at Arvid, her wide face wrinkling into folds. She got up and waltzed out, saying, "You start, Violet. I'm going to go get us all some coffee before I go back to my desk. Just made a fresh pot."
Violet and Arvid looked at each other in dismay. Arvid groaned and said quietly, "I'm glad to help you, Mrs. Adams, but I've got to tell you, swallowing your sister's coffee goes beyond the call of duty."
Eric Jensen pushed a copy of the form across the desk toward Arvid. "This is the application we have our EMT applicants fill out. Nothing on Cassy's that most everyone in town don't already know about her. She never even left a message saying she wasn't coming in. Just didn't show up, damn her," he said.
"Never let you know, huh?" Arvid said. "Was that like her?"
"Nah, not really. She was usually reliable as clockwork. And it made me two employees short, not one. Travis Simpson is out of town for a family emergency. Left a message on my cell that his dad had a heart attack. He seemed pretty upset."
Arvid felt a flicker of alarm. He skimmed Cassy's file, flipping pages, then asked. "Travis Simpson—that's the beanpole that was on the scene when we found Amber Reynolds, right? Tall, skinny guy, dark brown hair?"
"Right, Travis Simpson."
"Was he the one that rode in the helicopter when they flew Amber Reynolds to the Billings hospital?"
"No. Cassy Adams rode with her. She's real good at her job. Leastwise, she was until she stopped showing up for work. It was a shame that college girl died on the copter ride. Cassy was pretty broke up about it. Only thing I hate about having a gal for an EMT. They've got to cry at everything that goes wrong. A guy just goes out for a beer."
"Was Travis the kind who went out regularly for that beer?"
"Oh. I got off track there. No, he wasn't a drinker. At least not to my knowledge."
"Did Travis Simpson and Cassy happen to leave on the same day, Mr. Jensen?"
"Yeah. It was the same day, now that I think about it."
"Was Cassy involved with Simpson? Maybe took off with him?"
"Don't think so. They didn't seem involved that way. In fact, I can't remember seeing Cassy with any special fellow. She was a pretty enough girl, but I don't think any of the guys here thought of her like date bait. She was kinda just one of the guys."
"She gay?" Arvid asked. "Maybe I should be looking for a girlfriend."
"Naw, I don't think so," Jensen replied, flushing. He paused, rubbing his chin. "But her mother is right. The girl's been real responsible until now. She was always on time, never missed a day. Neither had Travis. Course, he's pretty new . . . been here just a month or two."
"Huh," Arvid said. "Did you verify that his dad was ill?"
"Heck, I just took the kid's word for it. Well, he's not a kid. I guess neither Cassy nor Travis is that young, but the older I get the more the new hires look like babies. Anyhow, I never pulled his employee info except to grab his cell phone number. Tried it, but all I get is voice mail."
"Oh, yeah? That's kinda odd. Kids these days live with their cell phone on."
"Well, nobody ever picks up," Jensen said.
"You mind if I look at his job file? Just in case Cassy did wind up tagging along with him?" Arvid flipped through Cassy's file. "I see next of kin is listed on your forms. I can try Travis's next of kin and see what they got to say."
Jensen opened a file cabinet and rifled through the contents. He yanked out a thin folder and held it out to Arvid.
"Knock yourself out," he said as Arvid reached out and took it.
"Say, did either of them have access to prescription drugs that might have value on the drug market?" Arvid said, as he opened the blue cover.
"Hey, we all do, but I run a real tight office," he said in a sharp tone, giving Arvid an angry look. "We really screen our new employees, too. Travis seemed like a perfect fit for the team. After we hired him, we realized . . . well, we decided he was a little paranoid, or something, always looking over his shoulder like someone was watching him. A tad weird. But he was efficient. And a decent enough guy."
"Not saying he isn't a great guy. Not implying any of your crew is involved, either. I'm just sayin', we have a lot of drugs coming into town." He looked at Jensen. "And maybe going out of town, too." Arvid looked at the application.
"Not from our Fire Station," Jensen said emphatically. "I'd know."
"Travis Edward Simpson, huh?" Arvid said, ignoring Jensen's comment. "Well, guess his folks had to call him something other than 'bean pole'." Arvid skimmed the resume. "Army medic in Iraq. Fire crew medical team during the summer for BLM. Hospital experience in Helena . . . ."
"Yeah," Jensen said. "And we verify that stuff when we hire. He checked out. Checked out all across the board."
"Huh. Pretty impressive experience. No wonder you hired him," Arvid said. "The past two or three years he doesn't seem to have had very steady employment, though. Wait a minute, this application just lists a sister as the next of kin. Says no living parents. Thought you said his dad had a heart attack."
Jensen looked startled, grabbed the file from Arvid and took a look.
"Well, for heck's sake," he said in annoyance. "Kid maybe pulled a fast one on me."
"Mebbe," Arvid replied. "Who do you have working today that knows Travis the best?"
Jensen walked over and stuck his head in the break room and motioned with his hand. A stocky young man with brown hair tied back in a ponytail and a day's growth of beard stepped out.
"This here's Rick Hansen. He worked with him on Sundays. Sundays are our slow shifts. More time to chew the fat, so Rick probably knows Travis even better than I do."
Arvid nodded, introduced himself, and shook hands with the EMT. "We're hunting for Cassy Adams, Rick. Is it possible she went home with Travis last week when he said his father had the heart attack? "
"Nah, I saw her Friday evening at the hospital," Rick said. "We both do a few hours a week at the ER there." He thought a minute. "So did Travis. When I heard you got a message about his dad having a heart attack, I was surprised. Travis told me he didn't have any family. I mentioned a fishing trip I wanted to take my dad on and Travis said he envied me. Said he didn't have folks. Maybe he just meant they weren't close."
"Oh, yeah?" Jensen said, grabbing the file back from Arvid and looking down the entries. "Bet he lied about his dad's illness. Damn kid must have an out of town girlfriend."
Rick shrugged his shoulders. "Don't think so. He never mentioned one, anyhow, when I told him about my girl. Travis seems like a stand-up guy to me, too. That all?" His eyes went back to the television in the break room where a ballgame was playing.
"Hold on a minute, Rick," Arvid said. "Do you have any idea where Cassy Adams may have gone?"
"No." He pulled his gaze back from the TV and met Arvid's eyes with a worried expression. "She was stewing over something though, lately. Real out of sorts. Guess I should have asked her if she was okay. You don't think something happened to her, do you?"
"Don't know. Hope not," Arvid replied. "Thanks. If you think of something, give me a call." He handed Rick a card with his cell phone number on it. Rick nodded and returned to the break room, flopping heavily d
own on the loveseat and gluing his eyes to the big screen.
"If you never pulled his application file, I guess you didn't call the sister. Think I'll try her number right now." Arvid reached over and retrieved the folder, took his cell phone from his belt and keyed in the sister's number, noticing the Montana area code. He leaned both elbows on the desk.
"Hello," said a female voice in a clipped tone. "Who are you trying to reach?"
"Ma'am, this is Detective Sergeant Arvid Abrahmsen with the Sage Bluff, Montana Sheriff's Office. I am trying to reach Travis Simpson to request some information. Is he there, or do you know how I can reach him?"
"Regarding?"
"Just an issue here in Sage Bluff, Ma'am. We have a matter we'd like to discuss with him. Travis isn't answering his cell phone."
"We have not heard from Travis," the voice quickly cut in. "I would prefer to first phone the Sage Bluff Sheriff's Office and verify your employment, after which someone may get in touch with you. Your number is now on my caller ID." The phone gave an audible click as she severed the connection.
Arvid took the phone from his ear and looked at it. "Well, I guess that's why the kid is a bit paranoid. The whole famdamily is paranoid," he said.
"So what about Cassy?" Jensen asked.
"I'm beginning to think we'd better put a whole bunch of effort into locating that young woman. And the Simpson kid, too.
"I'll help any way I can, Arvid. Not sure how to help though. I can take care of injured people, but I haven't got a clue how to go about finding one that's gone missing."
"Ayup. Not something I get a lot of practice at, either. Have to fly by the seat of our pants, I guess," Arvid said.
Jensen looked glum.
"Two employees dropping their job at once is quite a coincidence. Maybe if we find one, we find the other. Blanche Michaels and Violet Adams are both on my case," Arvid said. "They're worried because of what happened to the grad student from Denver." I hope this Simpson isn't a psychopath.
"God, I never even thought about a connection with that girl who was attacked," Jensen blurted. His eyes had a worried expression. "I sure hope nothing like that has happened to Cassy."
1 Death on Canvas Page 16
