Abby was puffing by the time she reached the top of the outcropping, which meant she’d spent too much time sitting at a desk lately. Looking across to Gentry land, she noticed lazy curls of smoke rising from two of the Gentry mansion’s six chimneys. Trees hid a good part of the building, giving it an air of mystery.
Abby trained her camera on the mansion and zoomed in to admire the stonework and the massive bulk of the place. Surely a family this powerful wouldn’t sabotage some old guy’s reputation in order to get what they wanted. They already had plenty of holdings in the Portland area.
Standing on the rocky outcropping looking down at the mansion, she wondered why the Dooley land was so important to the Gentrys. Maybe they knew something Grandpa Earl didn’t, like the presence of mineral deposits. Or what if the prize was this very spot? What if they hated the idea that someone could watch them from here?
Fascinated by that thought, Abby began scanning with her zoom to evaluate how much she could see of the place. A cherry red Corvette convertible sat in the circular cobblestone drive, but no people were around. Slowly she panned toward the back of the house, with its formal gardens, neatly trimmed hedges, and a large collection of marble statuary. As she did, she caught a movement in the trees.
Focusing on that spot strained the limits of her little camera, but she managed to identify what looked like a large dog. It behaved more like a wild animal than a domestic dog, though, as it glided through the trees. A coyote, maybe? No, it was too big, and its coat was an unusual pale blond.
The body shape reminded her of a wolf, but that was impossible. There were no wolves on the west coast of Oregon, and even if one had somehow migrated over here, it wouldn’t have been this color. She’d heard of white wolves, but not blond ones. Knowing the Gentrys, she thought the animal could be some sort of exotic hybrid.
Grandpa Earl wouldn’t be happy if the Gentrys had decided to keep dogs on their property. Her grandfather and great-grandfather had always avoided adopting any, because they didn’t want dogs around to scare off Bigfoot. In all her visits to her grandfather’s place, she’d never heard the sound of barking dogs coming from the Gentry estate, either.
She snapped a couple of pictures, even though she knew they wouldn’t be very clear. Grandpa Earl would want to know about this. Maybe the wolf-dog was another tactic to annoy him.
As she considered that, she deleted the pictures. No sense in stirring up her grandfather even more. That wouldn’t fit with the plan that was gradually forming in her mind.
Much as she’d love for her grandfather to stick it to the Gentrys and stay on the land for another ten or fifteen years, that wasn’t in his best interest. His arthritis wouldn’t bother him nearly as much in Arizona, and she sensed that Grandma Olive’s death a year ago had left him lonelier than he admitted.
Therefore she needed to contact the stuffed-shirt anthropology professor and convince him to change his tactics. If the professor would support Earl’s belief in Bigfoot instead of challenging it, everyone might get what they wanted. Grandpa Earl would relax, sell his land, and move to Arizona, and the Gentrys would get her grandfather’s property. Grandpa Earl said the professor was staying with the Gentrys. But Abby didn’t relish driving up to the gate in Grandpa Earl’s ancient pickup with the battered camper shell on the back and asking for admittance to the estate. Too demeaning. But she was a member of Rotary Club International, so she could attend a meeting today at a hotel in Portland, where the guest speaker just happened to be Dr. Roarke Wallace.
Taking one last look through her camera’s viewfinder, she was startled to notice that the blond animal was staring at her. Then he wheeled and ran into the trees, moving with a fluid grace that looked far more wild and wolflike than doglike.
What in hell had she seen down there?
Also by Vicki Lewis Thompson
Chick with a Charm
Blonde with a Wand
Casual Hex
Wild & Hexy
Over Hexed
A Werewolf in Manhattan Page 28