Or was I seeing things that didn’t exist? Believing things that didn’t happen? The cleaning staff could have easily and unknowingly moved a few things around.

I needed to talk to someone before my paranoia mounted.

I strolled to the door and opened it. Both dogs trooped in and sniffed around the room, paying particular attention to the bed, sink area, closet, and magazines. Inconclusive. Both sat and stared at me.

“Right. I called this meeting to discuss some recent events . . .” Do you “discuss” when the conversation is one-sided? “Correction. Review, not discuss.”

Holly lay down.

“I won’t be that long. Here’s the deal. I’m pretty sure something is dangerously wrong here at the Mule Shoe. I don’t know if I’m being targeted or maybe just paranoid. If I’m losing my mind, I suppose someone will eventually notice that I’m sitting around with tinfoil on my head.”

Maverick yawned.

“Don’t be so cavalier, Maverick. You’ll be wearing a tinfoil hoodie as well.”

He blinked.

“That’s better. So, bottom line is I need some solid evidence to report to Clan Firinn. Hopefully the twine will be just that. Agreed?”

Holly rolled onto her back and wagged her tail.

“I’m going to take that as a four-paws yes vote to continue. Maverick, are you abstaining?”

The dog yawned again.

“Four yes, one abstain, and I vote yes as well, so we’ll continue our investigation. I would advise you to keep this meeting and vote a secret for now. Are there any questions?” I probably need that tinfoil hat. “I’m going to lunch. You two are on guard duty.” When I opened the door, both dogs bolted outside.

Everyone was seated when I arrived and the servers were busy delivering bowls of soup or plates of salad. The one open seat was at the table with Dee Dee Denim, Golden Girl Grace, and Angie Burton. All three acknowledged my presence with nods, but Angie continued to address the other two. “Art is more than the subject, medium, or application of paint. The artist might be conveying a message, a feeling, a story, maybe their philosophy.”

“Would that be a deliberate message?” Grace asked.

“Maybe.” Angie broke some saltines into her soup.

A waitress moved next to me. “Soup or salad?”

“Salad.”

“Are you saying I need to think about not just what I’m trying to draw or paint,” Dee Dee asked Angie, “but what I feel about it? I’m overwhelmed with just painting something recognizable.”

Angie smiled. “Don’t worry about it. For many artists, your thoughts go into your work without conscious effort. If you know this, however, it makes it fascinating to study art.” She looked at me. “I hope you’re recovered from the bear incident. And I understand you were the one to find poor Riccardo. You’ve had quite a morning.”