Dee Dee Denim and Golden Girl Grace were standing under a ponderosa in deep discussion with Angie. I could have easily heard Angie’s powerful voice, but Grace did the talking. Were they discussing the bear or reviewing the deeper meaning of relative values? Or something more sinister? Now I’m getting paranoid. I wandered closer to eavesdrop.

“Yellowstone’s incredibly fragile geothermal pools and geysers,” Grace said, “can be destroyed or altered by man. For example, people routinely throw pennies, garbage, even soap into geysers and pools. This can change the direction of a geyser or . . .”

Grace seemed to relish the subject of natural disasters. I caught a glimpse of someone near the barn before the figure dodged out of sight. Returning to my cabin, I kept an eye on the barn. When I reached the porch, I had a good view of an opening where two windows lined up. This time I saw him.

Riccardo Rinaldi, the teenage son of Teddy and Nona. The one who’d been restricted to his cabin for sneaking out last night. Obviously he’d decided to ignore his punishment.

“Well,” I said to Maverick. “You already know what I’m going to say.”

Maverick paused midchew and squinted at me.

“Right. It’s none of my business to get involved with teen discipline.”

A horse whinnied in the barn.

Maverick glanced at the barn, then at me.

“No. He wouldn’t be so foolish as to try to leave. I doubt he even knows how to bridle a horse, let alone cinch a saddle.”

Both Maverick and Holly jumped to their feet and faced the barn.

“I suppose . . . I could interview him, although I doubt I’d get him to say he trashed the art room.”

Holly whined.

“You’re laying it on pretty thick.” I stood. “You save me from a bear, I check on a wayward teen. Is that it?” I sauntered toward the barn, muttering, “Who’d have figured my two dogs were the cruise directors for a guilt trip?”

The nearest door of the barn opened to the milking stanchions, all spotless. The rich odor of hay filled the air, and light streaming in from the window highlighted a ginger-colored cat sprawled in the warmth.

Thump!

It sounded like a bale of hay had been dropped from the overhead loft. A half door opened to a hallway, with a ladder attached to the wall in front of me leading to an overhead trapdoor. The feed trough for the stanchions lined one side. The hall continued to my right, dimly lit. At the far end was a small pile of hay and something blue. I moved in that direction. Slowly the image became clearer. A second ladder to the loft was open at this end, allowing a shaft of light to illuminate the hay. The blue turned out to be jeans.