“In retrospect, you know, when she came here, she may have been looking for someone to take her dogs. Like I said, she was upset. She was . . . odd, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. It could be she placed them elsewhere and they ran away. And she could have just turned her mule loose.”

Was this why I was here? To look into an odd woman, a wandering mule, and a couple of stray dogs in the Idaho wilderness? If so, I’d certainly ace Clan Firinn’s graduation test. Probably would graduate magna cum laude in my class of one. “I see. Is there any way I can contact her? Tell her the dogs are safe?”

Roy rubbed his chin. “Not that I know of. I don’t even know her real name.”

“Would anybody know more about her?”

“You might ask Bram. If he doesn’t know, maybe he could find out. And if Sam still has the note and check, that might give you more information. Obviously she didn’t leave a forwarding address or Sam would have tracked her down for his money. He’s rich, but one of the stingiest men I’ve ever met.”

A tinkling chime sounded. “Ah, dinner. Allow me, my dear.” He put out his arm to escort me into the dining hall. The room had several square tables set for four. The two women I’d seen in Targhee Falls, Denim Shirt and her friend, were already seated. I’d barely taken my place when Bram joined us. He’d changed from his uniform into a sharply pressed western-cut shirt and jeans. He’d combed his hair, but an unruly lock tumbled to his forehead. He looked a little like the actor Matthew McConaughey. I tried not to stare. Or drool. Stop it! I had no place in my life for the complications of a relationship. Single, simple, sane. No saliva.

“Hello, I’m Dee Dee Harris.” She held out her hand to Bram. Dee Dee had long gray hair held back by a turquoise and silver clip, denim shirt over a white shell, ankle-length skirt, and enough Native American jewelry to open a store. A very expensive store in Carmel-by-the-Sea. “You’re the policeman from Targhee Falls.”

“Technically, sheriff’s deputy with Fremont County.” He shook her hand. “Abraham White. Call me Bram.”

“Hello, Bram.” The second woman with short gray hair and wide shoulders—bearing a striking resemblance to the character Dorothy Zbornak in the television show Golden Girls, snagged his attention. “I’m Grace Tabor.”

“Ma’am.”

Grace looked at Dee Dee. “Oh, men are so polite here.”

“I told you so,” Dee Dee said.

The two dogs outside started barking. Before I could get up to see what the problem was, the room gave a thump and a shake, sending the hanging oil lamps swaying. Conversation ceased. This earthquake was brief. Thankfully.