A cheerful round woman in her forties with short, curly hair rose from her seat. “I’m Angie Burton, your watercolor instructor.” Her booming voice echoed around the room. “I invite you to take a peek at the art room before you head to your cabins. Just follow me down the short hall next to the gift shop.” She smiled and strolled from the room. The rest of the diners stood and started to make their way after her. I joined the throng, with Bram in front of me.

Roy approached and caught Bram’s arm. “Got a moment?” Roy asked quietly.

I wanted to pause and listen, but Dee Dee came up beside me. “Are you an artist? You’ll love Angie. She could teach a rock to paint.” She continued to prattle on as we walked.

*  *  *

Bram turned to Roy. “What’s happening?”

Roy waited until all the guests left the room. “The fire marshal called on the two-way. Said the arsonist burned a barn just outside of Targhee Falls on East Canyon Road. No one hurt, and they got the animals out in time, but he wants you to go there tomorrow and secure the place before returning to St. Anthony.”

“Did he mention anything about the sheriff?”

“He said he tried but couldn’t get through. The insurance company called him about the fire.”

“How about you? Have you had any more . . . incidents?”

“A broken pipe in one of the cabins. Those folks left early. A mix-up in registration made two couples cancel out.” Roy rubbed his jaw. “A few other things. Could be simply a run of bad luck. That’s why I decided . . . Well, anyway.” He shook his head, then took a deep breath. “We have a pretty full house this week. I keep hoping.” He turned to leave.

“What’s the story on Darby Graham?”

Roy paused. “What do you mean?”

“She mentioned at dinner that she works for a company, a Clan something—”

“Firinn.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Most of your guests are, quite frankly, stinking rich. Like they own companies like Amazon or Microsoft.”

“The Gateses enjoyed their stay.”

Bram smiled. “I’m sure. But Darby doesn’t seem to fit that mold.”

Roy slowly nodded. “Darby’s special. Her . . . employer is a friend of mine. He sends me, um, guests on occasion. Folks that really need to be here.” His eyes had become unfocused as he spoke. Now he sharpened his gaze on Bram. “This time I asked for a bit of help. Do me a favor. Keep what I just told you under your hat.”

Now it was Bram’s turn to slowly nod. “One last question. What does she do at Clan Firinn?”

“From what I’ve been told, she has something to do with words. Deception through language. Things like that.”

*  *  *