Belinda Blake and the Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by Heather Day Gilbert

  3

  As we drew closer, Evie wiped chocolate from her mouth and smiled. I felt a flash of jealousy. Of course she could eat fattening foods with no obvious side effects, unlike me. My mouth watered as I thought of my favorite sweet—my sister’s fluffy cinnamon rolls. Every time we got together at our home in Larches Corner, New York, Katrina would bake nonstop, and I’d gain at least five pounds.

  It was always worth it, though.

  Evie must have shoved half of that croissant into her mouth the moment Dahlia had driven up, because she hadn’t been in the kitchen when I walked out of the barn. I was pondering the reason for Evie’s façade when Dahlia motioned for me to sit down.

  “Belinda, again, I’m sorry to have to ask for your help on such short notice, but an unexpected opportunity came up,” she began. “I’ve been corresponding with the owner of an Arizona wolf preserve for a year and a half, and he has some unusual ideas I’d like to integrate at White Pine. He recently asked if I’d like to do on-site observations, and I initially refused, but soon after that, I stumbled across a fantastic deal on flights. I decided to go for it at the last minute.”

  “Sounds like a good opportunity,” I said, stealing a glance at Evie. She had already polished off the croissant and appeared to have drained an entire cup of coffee, as well.

  Dahlia rubbed at her temples as if stressed. “I do hate to put you on the spot like this, but Rich’s oldest daughter is getting married right after Easter, and he can’t stay late for chores, since he’s trying to refinish some of the floors in the older house she just bought. I just needed an extra pair of hands to lighten his load while I’m gone.”

  I nodded. Rich’s attempt to refinish his daughter’s floors sounded exactly like something my dad would try to do for me.

  She continued, “Your jobs will include helping Rich feed the wolves—I suspect you’d just have to take care of their water supply, since Rich enjoys feeding the animals himself. Then we also have chickens, peacocks, and goats that will need to be fed.”

  She fell silent, and I realized she was waiting for some kind of response.

  “Sure. Yes, I’ve fed goats and chickens before.”

  She gave a quick smile. “Good. It’s hard to find people who are familiar with these kinds of chores. And as far as the wolves go, I knew you wouldn’t be frightened since you’re no stranger to out-of-the-ordinary pets.”

  I hoped she was right. What I’d seen of the wolves today hadn’t been frightening—but I hadn’t been inside their enclosures yet.

  Dahlia brushed a crumb from the table. “Now, Evie will run the business end of things while I’m gone, and between her and Carson, I figure things will go smoothly. Even though Veronica is a natural with the wolves, I plan to keep her on tour guide duty so she can stay more impartial as she writes her thesis. As a guide, she can watch the way the wolves interact with both guests and caretakers.”

  “That makes sense,” I said.

  Dahlia turned to Evie. “Would you mind printing the contract?”

  Evie stood and placed her mug in the sink. “I’d be happy to.” She strode out.

  Dahlia glanced at her watch. “I’ll just go over it with you, but then I’d better get finished with my packing.” She began to chatter on about the Arizona wolf preserve, but I only half-listened. After volunteering at my dad’s veterinary clinic for years, I’d developed a talent for sifting animal conversations through the filter of what was actually relevant, and most of what Dahlia was telling me was inconsequential.

  Evie returned and placed the contract and a black pen on the table. I started reading, feeling my eyebrows inching upward as I turned each page.

  The contract was far from standard. It listed injuries I agreed not to hold White Pine Wolf Preserve liable for—including death—and it read like one of those commercials detailing the horrible side effects from certain medications.

  Dahlia twisted at her ring. “I realize it looks daunting, but I’m sure you understand that most of those things will never happen. And we only need you until next week, as you can see from the dates. I’ll be back then to help Rich.”

  I took a moment to digest the word Dahlia had used—most. Most of the things wouldn’t happen. But if I signed the document, I was acknowledging that at least one of those injuries might occur, and why would I agree to that?

  Dahlia looked at me expectantly, her hands clasped almost as if in prayer. Or was it desperation?

  I was seriously considering bolting out the door and running down the long driveway when Evie piped up.

  “Thus far, no one has been injured at White Pine,” she declared, her British accent lending an air of authority. “Everyone has trepidation when they sign, but please know that the contract had to be drafted to allow for every possible event, however unlikely.”

  I examined the dates again—as Dahlia had promised on the phone, they only needed me for eight days. Surely I could handle that short a period of time and walk away uninjured. Besides, if I didn’t help Rich, he would have to work overtime at the preserve, and then he couldn’t come through for his daughter.

  I literally felt like I was signing my life away, but I scrawled my name on the blank line and slid the contract back to Evie.

  “Thank you so very much,” Dahlia said, patting my hand. “You won’t regret your time with the wolves. They’re quite intuitive, you know. They have a way of lifting the spirits.” She stood. “Evie, I feel like we need to go over my schedule one more time.”

  Evie nodded, then turned my way. “See you in the morning, say around seven-thirty, Belinda?”

  I knew I had been dismissed, so I agreed and said my good-byes. I made my way outside, texting Red as I walked. He said he was actually not far away and he would arrive in about ten minutes, so I settled into a rocking chair, wishing the sky hadn’t turned so gray and overcast.

  In no time at all, Red pulled the shiny black car up next to me and parked. He jumped out to open the door, giving me a raised-eyebrow look that spoke volumes. I didn’t feel like explaining why I’d be returning to this place, so I slid onto the cool leather seat and stayed silent all the way home. Red seemed to respect my privacy. The only thing he asked was if I’d need a ride in the morning. I reluctantly said I did, so we set up a pickup time.

  I unlocked my front door, then dropped my boots on the mat. I hung my sweatshirt on a peg in the hall closet. Trudging down to the bathroom, I shoved my mud-splattered socks and jeans into the laundry basket.

  After pulling on a pair of yoga pants that were probably more comfy than flattering, I knew I had to talk to someone, since I was about to burst.

  And there was only one person I felt like talking to.

  My sister, Katrina, was one of the most insightful psychologists out there, and she had a knack of knowing exactly what I needed to hear in nearly every situation. Although I tended to balk at actually taking her advice, she was the one I called when I felt overwhelmed in life.

  Katrina listened none too quietly as I explained about White Pine and my contract, interjecting hmphs and growly noises as I spoke. I wasn’t sure if she was upset about my situation or just uncomfortable since she’d been placed on bed rest a week ago.

  “Hang on,” she said. I heard her fingers flying over her laptop keys. “I found a couple more recent instances of wolf fatalities—both from wolves in captivity, BB.”

  I appreciated her concern—evident by the use of her favorite nickname for me—but I could also tell when she was blowing smoke.

  “Define more recent,” I said.

  “Well, you know, in the grand scheme of things, they’re recent,” she hedged.

  “When?” I demanded.

  “The eighties and nineties for the ones in captivity.” She rushed on. “The point is that sometimes they attack in captivity. Why do you think that contract was so extensive?”

&nb
sp; I sighed. “I’ll watch my back, sis. After all, they did give me pepper spray, so I won’t be totally helpless. But I can’t back out of this now. They’re counting on me.”

  “They always are,” she said, grunting like she was shifting positions. “Just think of the wolves as wild, not pets. Anyway, you’d better be alive when this baby arrives, so you can spoil him rotten.”

  I grinned as I thought of the little guy who would soon come into the world and take on the name his parents had chosen—Jasper Drew Morris. Drew was our dad’s name, and he was beside himself when he’d found out Katrina and Tyler were naming his first grandson after him.

  “Oh, I’ll be around,” I promised. “Besides, who else is going to teach Jasper how to snowmobile?”

  * * * *

  By the next morning, I felt more stoked about the adventure at hand. I’d done my own online research, and the majority of wolf killings seemed to occur in cases of starvation or rabies. Yes, there were the odd wolves-in-captivity attacks, but they certainly weren’t the norm.

  I’d also remembered that Shaun had said they sometimes allowed wolves to roam around the visitors during tours. While that probably meant Dahlia’s insurance was astronomical, it also meant that she trusted the beasts enough to allow them around random people—maybe even children.

  It had taken some time, but in typical fashion, my spontaneous nature had overcome my misgivings. I was pretty sure that same spontaneous nature also kept my parents up at nights, but I tried not to dwell on it.

  Red exuded displeasure when he picked me up, but he managed to maintain a poker face while driving to the preserve.

  “My Volvo will be ready soon,” I said. “I can walk over to pick it up this evening, so you won’t have to take me to work tomorrow. Thanks for driving me around, though.”

  He glanced at me in the rearview mirror and gave a brief nod. Red was generally talkative, but today he’d taken a page out of my book and remained silent. I turned my attention out the window, noting how green everything was this time of year. I loved the spaciousness of Greenwich, which seemed a rare treat after my years in a studio apartment in Manhattan.

  As we pulled into the parking lot, Rich strode out to meet me, neon vest in hand. He said hello to Red, who seemed to be sizing him up as if they were about to head into the gladiator ring together. After chatting about the warming weather, Red instructed Rich to keep a close eye on me. His tone implied that if Rich failed to protect me, there’d be some sort of retaliation that didn’t fall within the bounds of my contract.

  Rich readily agreed, so Red shook his hand and climbed into the car. As Red pulled away, Evie came outside and joined us. She reported that Dahlia had flown out of La Guardia during the night and would likely land in Arizona sometime within the next hour. She offered me fresh coffee, but since I’d downed two cups to keep my moxie up for this job, I politely refused.

  I pulled my vest on, patted my pocket to make sure the pepper spray canister was there, then looked at Rich.

  He seemed to sense my resolve. “Let’s load up,” he said, walking to a small shed that held the wheelbarrow and buckets. Something inside me was soothed when I saw that the buckets had been thoroughly cleaned.

  Rich stuffed vitamin supplements into a few steaks and loaded them up. Unwilling to touch pounds of raw, unidentified meats with my bare hands, I politely asked Rich if there were any disposable gloves available. I didn’t care if the wolves detected the latex scent; I just didn’t want to smell like food. He didn’t question me and motioned to a box of gloves on the wall. I quickly pulled on a pair, and together we packed the rest of the meat.

  When we finally rolled up to the first double gate, I couldn’t hide my trepidation. My hands were trembling.

  Rich took notice. “All you’ll need to do is water the wolves. I’ve been hand-feeding them forever, and it’s no trouble for me to handle that end of it.” He pointed. “There’s a spigot above the trough, just inside the gate. You can fill the trough about halfway.”

  “Sure,” I said. My voice cracked.

  Rich opened the gate and we passed through, then he closed it behind us with a slam.

  I steadied my hands and attempted to steady my spirit. Without looking around, I walked directly to the watering trough. Rich murmured to the animals, then meat began slapping against a metal pan.

  As the wolves started eating, I could hear them crunching into bones.

  I don’t know what I’d expected—after all, the meats hadn’t been boneless—but it was an unnerving experience nonetheless.

  As water filled the trough, I pivoted so I could covertly watch the action. One thicker-bodied wolf had finished eating, and the other two were vying for the remaining food. The slim brown wolf seemed to be the same one that had observed me from its rocky perch yesterday.

  Rich wheeled over my way, the chubby gray and white wolf playing at his heels. “This one’s Thor,” he explained. “He looks like a bear, but he’s a softie. He’s a German shepherd and wolf mix. His original owners couldn’t handle him. He’s become the alpha of this pack.”

  Thor frolicked his way over to me, took a brief sniff, then returned to the feeding bowl. The other two wolves split up—one heading into the woods, and one moving my way with alarming speed.

  “Which wolf is that?” I asked, pointing to the thin brown one who was charging my way.

  Rich patted the wolf’s back as it raced past him. “Don’t worry—just keep talking with me and don’t look at her. Her name’s Freya, and she’s a survivor.”

  The lanky wolf stopped by my side and started sniffing at my jeans. I ignored her, trying to focus on the conversation. “What do you mean, a survivor?”

  Rich’s gaze darkened. “Freya was bred to fight. Most of her early years were spent chained to a tree. She has more scars than any living animal ought to have.”

  Anger and compassion shot through me, and it was almost as if the wolf picked up on it. She nudged her wet, white-scarred nose into my hand, then dropped onto the ground at my feet and rolled over, exposing her stomach, which was also hideously scarred.

  “She likes you,” Rich said.

  Automatically, I leaned down to pet Freya’s stomach, carefully running my hands over the puckered lines of her scars. The wolf kicked her leg and seemed to give me a side smile.

  Thor and the other wolf had gotten into some kind of tussle over a bone, yipping and snarling. Rich signaled that it was time to leave, so I turned off the water and gave Freya one last pat. She slunk off toward her favored rocky outcropping, and the fighting wolves stopped for a moment to watch her. I zipped ahead of Rich, and we were out of the gate in seconds.

  As Thor and his frisky friend trotted closer to Freya, I hesitated. “Is she going to be okay?”

  Rich chuckled. “Oh, sure. That’s a mild fight—they scrap around nearly every day. Freya can hold her own, trust me.”

  I felt more confident as we made our way to the second enclosure. Rich instructed me to fill the watering trough again, and I appreciated the way he was letting me ease into my role.

  The double gates came into view. Since I was in front, I slowed for Rich to wheel his way closer.

  I glanced at the enclosure, trying to locate the trough. But my gaze settled on something else—something that was utterly disturbing.

  Just inside the second gate, it was plain to see that Njord, the white pack leader, had red stains all over his beautiful coat. He was standing sentry over something—no, someone.

  Someone in a neon-green vest.

  4

  As if drawn by some devilish force, I bolted toward the gates. Rich didn’t waste time dropping the wheelbarrow and racing toward my side. Together, we closed in on the gruesome scene, stopping short outside the first gate.

  The poor person was mauled so badly, I couldn’t even make out the face. But given the larger
size of the body and the tennis shoes I recognized from yesterday, I knew who it was.

  Shaun Fowler appeared to be dead.

  I gave a reflexive gag. Shaun had been so helpful, so openly appreciative of my gaming skills. Why had he gone into the wolf enclosure in the first place? Had he made a habit of petting the animals before tours?

  Rich was already pulling out his phone. “I’m calling for help. There’s no way we can get any closer to check on Shaun. Once a wolf places something in its mouth, that object belongs to the wolf. Even with pepper spray, we don’t want to try to get between the pack and something they think is theirs.”

  I kept an eye on Njord as Rich talked to emergency services. The white wolf had sunk to a sitting position next to Shaun’s body, but the other two wolves had appeared on the scene. The tan fur under their chins also looked darkened and sticky, so I was guessing that all three animals had taken part in the killing.

  I gagged again just about the time Veronica popped over a nearby knoll. She took one look at me and asked, “What’s going on?”

  Before I could answer, Carson, like some kind of bespectacled puppy, came trailing along behind Veronica. He looked over at Rich, who was in an intense phone conversation.

  Carson pushed his glasses up his nose. “Is something wrong?”

  I gestured weakly toward the wolves, unable to put things into words. Veronica stepped closer to the gate and gave a loud gasp.

  Carson followed her, then stopped short and screeched. “Is that Shaun? Shaun Fowler? What happened? He’s here way too early—he didn’t have a tour until later this morning. We have to get help!”

  Rich hung up and motioned for silence. “Carson, the police are on their way. It’s too late for us to help Shaun. But I’m sure you would agree that your mother would want us to stay calm in this situation.”

  I nodded in agreement, hoping Carson would simmer down. His little freak-out was only making everything worse.