Maybe I could ask for that bear bell and wear it to hide the sound? Come to think of it, a bear bell would have been handy during our outing. Wyatt mentioned how careful they were with garbage. If bears had been a problem in the past, we would have been given bells, or someone would have been armed to warn them off.

The lack of concern for bears was possible evidence that this bear had been deliberately lured close. Why?

Don’t assume the worst. When a bear needed to be live-trapped for relocation, the strong odor of sardines or tuna was the perfect bait. “Would the Department of Fish and Game be live-trapping a rogue bear?”

Angie stopped and turned. “Why would you think that?”

I shrugged and feigned indifference. “Just a thought.” A thought that sent a chill down my arms. What if it wasn’t the Rinaldis’ son who trashed the art room? What if someone did that to make sure we’d go to the pond, where a can of sardines lured in a bear?

That didn’t make sense. Roy had suggested we go up to the pond. Why would he be trying to frighten or hurt his guests? And just leaving out a can of sardines didn’t mean a bear would wander by. Right. Then why was my neck itching?

*  *  *

Bram pulled out of the parking lot and headed over to secure the fire scene for the fire marshal. His boss may have wanted that welfare check first, but he was close to the ranch and securing the scene wouldn’t take long.

From the county road, the burned-out shell of the barn was easy enough to spot. A quick interview with the owners made it clear they hadn’t seen or heard anything, and the livestock that had been in the building got out safely. The barn itself was falling down, and insurance would pay for a new structure. The owners seemed almost grateful for the fire.

As he surrounded the building with crime scene tape, he thought about that. Could the arsonist be up for hire—get rid of old buildings for the insurance money? Not particularly original, but possible.

The fire marshal arrived by the time he was done stringing the tape. This was a new guy. “Hey there.” He held out his hand. “Deputy Bram White, thanks for being so prompt.”

“Deputy. I’m Tom Meyer.” The young man shook Bram’s hand.

“Could I ask you a few questions about our pyromaniac?”

“Sure, but I don’t think you have a pyromaniac. That’s extremely rare.”

Bram let go and waited for the other man to continue.

“Pyromania is a mental illness. Most fires are set deliberately as a criminal act. The arson might be motivated by insurance, or some cause, or anger or vengeance. Possibly even impaired judgment. Or it might be a cover-up.”