“Excuse me.” I placed my napkin on the table, picked up the book, and stood. “I need to use the powder room.”

Teddy politely rose slightly in his chair, and Nona gave me a half smile. “See you in class.”

I slipped from the room. Neither Roy nor Angie were in the lobby, but I could hear voices coming from the art room. I quietly followed the sound.

“Who would do such a thing?” Angie’s high-pitched voice conveyed outrage. “I can’t start class. I don’t even know where to start!”

The art room door stood open. From my position in the hall, I could easily see the upended tables, overturned easels, paper-strewn floor, and tubes of paint and brushes strewn across the front table.

Chapter 5

Roy spotted me. “Darby, you were here when I got in. Did you see anyone around? Hear anything?”

I thought about the sullen Riccardo roaming around last night. “I saw Mr. Rinaldi jogging in the distance. No one was around the lodge when I got here and I didn’t hear anyone in here. You might, however, talk to Riccardo.”

Roy walked closer. “I . . . we’d appreciate it if you don’t mention this or the dead raccoon to the other guests.”

“Of course.”

“Angie,” Roy said in a soothing voice, “why don’t you grab up some sketchbooks and take a short hike to the pond. Do some of that . . . what’s the word?”

“Plein air.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll get the room cleaned up. No one any wiser. We’ll look into the vandal while you’re gone. And we’ll keep this room locked up from now on.”

“Thank you, Roy.” Angie ran a hand through her hair. “This is just all so . . . upsetting. You need to catch the man who did this.”

“Or the woman,” Roy said. “I’ll go make an announcement.”

I turned to leave.

“Darby?” Angie bellowed. “Could you help me find the sketchbooks and drawing supplies?” Apparently she didn’t have a volume control on her voice.

“Of course.”

She picked up a black wire-bound book and held it so I could see it. “The sketchpads look like this.” Another quick glance around the room and she lifted a metal tin beside an overturned chair. “Pencil set.”

Lifting a nearby chair, I found two more sketchpads.

“Roy tells me you’re in law enforcement.”

I turned so she couldn’t see my expression. “No.”

“Oh. I wonder why he thought that.”

I shrugged.

“He could use a good investigator.” She stopped searching for art supplies for a moment. “Wait. Are you a private investigator?”

“No.”

“Oh well, just asking. I’m concerned about Roy. He’s had a lot of bad luck lately. Or what may seem like bad luck.”