Dungar zoomed in, but the image quality deteriorated. “Baseball cap, loose jacket, and pants. They kept their head lowered so the hat’s brim is hiding their face.”
“And here again, Wednesday at almost the same time.” I pointed to another frame showing what appeared to be the same figure. “They’re establishing a pattern, possibly timing their intrusion around security rounds or shift changes.”
Dungar grunted. “We need to catch them next time.”
We compiled a list of everyone who might have seen something suspicious, including maintenance staff, tour guides, pottery class participants, even delivery drivers who regularly came to the town. By mid-morning, we were ready to begin interviews.
Our first stop was the general store, where Aunt Inla was arranging a display of handcrafted soaps. Her face brightened when she saw us.
“My favorite couple,” she called out, making heat rise in my cheeks. “What brings you by?”
“We’re investigating some concerning activity around the luminook pens.” Dungar kept his voice neutral despite the knowing twinkle in his aunt’s eyes. “Have you noticed anyone unusual hanging aroundrecently or heard anyone mention tourists near the restricted areas?”
Aunt Inla’s frowned. “Now that you mention it, Mary did say something about seeing someone near the back fence when she was cleaning the windows in the pottery barn. Said they looked like they didn’t belong.”
“When was this?” I asked.
“Two, maybe three days ago? You should ask her about it. She’s over at the saloon now, cleaning before they open.”
We thanked her and headed to the Red Fang, where we found Mary polishing glasses behind the bar. She looked up as we entered, her gray ponytail swinging with the movement.
“Sheriff, Deputy,” she said.
We sat at the bar.
“Are you looking for something to eat?” Mary asked. “Greel’s in the kitchen talking with Lavon. Want me to get him for you?”
“We actually came to speak with you,” I said.
“Oh. Um, sure.”
Why did her face blanche?
“Aunt Inla said you may have seen someone suspicious near the back fences a few days ago,” Dungar said.
Mary paused, a glass halfway polished in her hands. “Oh, that. Yes, I was cleaning the windows at the Pottery Barn, and I noticed someone walking along the back fence line. I thought it was odd since tourists don’t usually go back there.”
“Can you describe them?” I asked.
“They were wearing one of those fancy hiking outfits. Khaki with all those pockets. What do you think they put in there, anyway?” Her smile rose. “Maybe they collect rocks or something. Anyway. They were moving strangely, sort of crouched low, stopping to examine the fence in places.”
“Man or woman?” Dungar asked.
“I couldn’t tell for sure. They wore a baseball hat pulled low, and they were pretty far away.”
“What day was this?”
“Tuesday, I think? I was doing the Pottery Barn windows before lunchtime. We had another sick call.”
We thanked Mary and continued our interviews throughout the morning. Most people had nothing useful to report, but a pattern began to emerge. There had been several sightings of someone in hiking gear examining the fences, always when activity in that area was minimal.
Our next stop was the Pottery Barn, where Hail and Allie were setting up for a class. Clay-covered aprons hung from hooks along one wall, and the rich, earthy scent of wet clay filled the air.
“Lum-lum-luminook trouble?” Hail asked when we explained why we were there. “We haven’t seen anything unusual.”
Allie, arranging glazes on a shelf, paused. “Actually, that’s not entirely true. I went to the back shed for some firing supplies yesterday afternoon. We keep the rarer glazes there since they need temperature control.” She plopped amound of clay in front of a high stool on a work table and carried the bucket to the next spot. “While I was digging through boxes, I noticed someone through the window.”
“Someone by the luminook pens?” Dungar asked, instantly alert.
