“Um . . . mosquito.” I flicked the imaginary bug’s carcass off my hand. That certainly broke my chain of thinking.

Bram, still watching me with a puzzled expression, moved to another table and spread out the files from his messenger bag. He bent over the paperwork.

There was something I could do.

He glanced up as I approached him. “Do you need someone to bounce ideas off of?”

He pointed to a chair. “I was just going over all the events, trying to figure out who was where, what someone’s motive might be for the murders, who has alibis, and so on.” He’d written the names of everyone at the Mule Shoe on Post-it notes—orange for staff, yellow for guests. Index cards had the events—the murders of the two staff members were on blue cards, and Cookie’s and Angie’s attacks on pink. He tugged the collar of his shirt. “Yeah, I know, on television the police place the clues on a wall, neatly color coded, and with a map and studio photographs. This is the best I could do.”

“Looks pretty color coded to me. And you used two different pens—”

“Ran out of ink.”

“Oh.”

“Whoever got off the second helicopter is likely our perpetrator. If Spuds—uh, Kevin, is involved, then the two of them are out there. It makes sense that someone who knows Mule Shoe would be involved—someone who knew where the guns and radio were, and probably with a grudge against Roy.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” I spread out his notes.

Bram reached out to straighten them, paused, and shuffled the index cards into a neat pile.

“As soon as we can get out of here and call for help, we can identify the extra passenger on the helicopter.” He started to rearrange the notes into his original order.

I touched his hand to stop him.

He jerked it away as if burned.

Flying solo. “Um . . . what if the plan is for no one to get out of here alive?”

“That’s a pleasant thought. If that’s the case, we’re stuck with why? And the pilot could still ID the passenger.”

I stared off into space. Holly’s barking brought me back. The earthquake rattled dishes and caused a few sleepers to grumble.

A gem of an idea formed in the back of my brain. “Let me try a few what-ifs.”

“Okay.”

“First a question. Would the helicopter from Idaho Falls fly over Devil’s Pass?”

“Maybe.”

I nodded. A few puzzle parts dropped into place. “So now a non sequitur. We just had two earthquakes fairly close together.”

“If you’re starting with the eruption of the Yellowstone caldera . . .”

“No. I mean, it may blow, but I was thinking more about my two dogs barking every time an earthquake is about to start.”

Bram placed his elbows on the table and raised his eyebrows.