Belinda Blake and the Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by Heather Day Gilbert

  Njord sat just behind the second gate, his golden gaze fixed on us. Although his fur looked a bit cleaner—probably from Rich’s brushing yesterday—it was still discolored enough to remind us of what he’d done. I was relieved when he trotted behind Rich toward the food bowl.

  I walked straight toward the spigot. On my way, I noticed that the other two wolves in this enclosure—standard timber wolves, I’d guess—resembled each other so closely, they could be related. Maybe some family packs were allowed to stick together in captivity.

  I was about to ask Rich about them when Njord snarled and snapped at the others. Rich backed up from the food bowl to give the animals space, but he didn’t appear nervous. Sure enough, all three dove into the meat like it was their personal kill, with Njord commandeering the lion’s share.

  Rich walked over to me and hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. He gave me a keen look. “How are you really doing with all this?”

  I thought about it. “Okay, I think.”

  For the moment, I actually believed it. Aside from their recent little spat over food, the wolves had seemed calmer and more satiated today. In fact, they were already meandering off without having eaten all their meat.

  Then it hit me that they had probably eaten their fill of Shaun the day before. Bile rose in my throat.

  “They’re not even hungry,” I said bitterly.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Rich agreed, not picking up on my disgusted tone. “I mean that they were so ravenous yesterday. I fed them after the police left, and they seemed abnormally hungry.”

  “Probably like they said, it was a sort of feeding frenzy.”

  “That really doesn’t explain it. It’s almost like there’s an underlying cause—something I’m missing.” Rich backtracked toward the gate, so I turned off the water and tagged along. As I passed Njord, he actually bumped his wet nose against my hand, but I couldn’t imagine petting the same animal that might have killed Shaun. The wolf sat down as we went out the gate.

  How likely was it that a wolf that had just tasted human flesh wouldn’t turn around and try to attack another human? That he would act calm the next day, as if nothing had happened?

  Like Rich said, something seemed off about the whole situation, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

  7

  Once again, Rich seemed to open up as we tromped through the woods. He began to elaborate on the misgivings he was having about the wolves’ diet.

  “I’ve been considering easing the wolves over to a feast-or-famine diet—it replicates what they would eat in the wild. What I’d do is haul in an animal carcass every three to five days and let them have at it. But after seeing how ravenous they were yesterday—Njord’s pack, in particular—I won’t be doing that anytime soon. There’s no sense trying to treat them like they’re in the wild when they’re not. Most likely, they wouldn’t even be able to survive out there.”

  I nodded, remembering what I’d read about wolves that had been bred in captivity.

  “Anyway, as long as they’re not getting overweight with our daily feeding schedule—which they aren’t—I’ll stick with that.”

  It sounded like Rich had done more than his share of wolf diet research. Of all the people who worked here, he seemed the most informed as to the wolf psyche, if there even was such a thing.

  Things were quiet back at the visitors’ center—too quiet, with all the tours canceled. Of course, canceling was the wisest course of action, but I wondered how this tourist lull would impact Dahlia’s bank account.

  Rich waved me on and said he was going to water the smaller animals, if I wouldn’t mind feeding them after lunch. I agreed, then ducked out of the now-blazing sun into the cool semidarkness of the gift shop. A few candles flickered on tables, and it smelled pleasantly like a floral shop.

  Evie walked over to greet me, looking just as primped as she did this morning. She motioned to a frosted glass drink dispenser and asked if I wanted a glass of lavender lemonade. She confessed she’d been so bored with no foot traffic, she’d gotten Dahlia’s permission to use her ingredients to make her family-recipe lavender lemonade.

  “You should see Dahlia’s kitchen. Top-of-the-line everything,” Evie gushed, seemingly back to her cheery self. “She remodeled it when she moved in—with her rich ex’s money.” She gave me a grin and poured my lemonade.

  After I took my first sip, I couldn’t help but sigh. “This is amazing!”

  Veronica strode out of the kitchen, and I forced my smile not to falter. I didn’t want to let my bad feelings for the grad student show.

  “It is amazing,” Veronica said, draining her glass. “Could you hit me up with another glass, Evie?”

  As Evie poured, Veronica’s gaze swept over me. Dressed in my work clothes, I felt about ten years older than the fresh-faced Veronica, who was in reality probably in her mid-twenties, like me. Well, I was turning twenty-seven in July, but I still felt younger.

  “How’s your second day going?” Veronica asked.

  I wanted to say that she’d know if she ever turned her hand to some real work, but I dialed it back a little. “Pretty good so far. I’m surprised you came in today, since all the tours were canceled. Can you research without watching the wolves interact with the tourists?”

  She nodded, sipping her icy lemonade.

  Evie had fallen silent. She stared out the window again. Seriousness had replaced her previous buoyant mood. Her covert manner made me think she was about to stop, drop, and roll behind her desk.

  “Yes, I can still take notes without tourists,” Veronica said, drawing my attention back to her. “As a matter of fact, Rich said he would take me to see the wolves sometime this afternoon, in order for me to observe how they behave after…” Her voice trailed off.

  “After they killed someone, you mean?” I asked bluntly.

  The kitchen door slammed shut before Veronica could answer. Instead, she said, “Don’t tell me—it’s Carson. The guy has a sixth sense of when I’m around.”

  I leaned back and glanced into the kitchen, and sure enough, Veronica was right. I gave her a subtle nod, suddenly feeling like her conspirator.

  Carson sauntered out, shoving his phone into his back pocket as he approached us. “Hi,” he said gruffly.

  I had no doubt his awkward efforts to socialize were entirely on behalf of Veronica, who had picked up an insulated wolf tumbler and was examining it carefully.

  As Evie politely offered Carson a glass of lemonade, the visitors’ center door swung open. We all turned to stare at the dark-haired, dark-eyed man in his forties who walked toward us.

  Carson’s lips twisted downward. It was intriguing that someone other than Veronica had actually garnered a response from him.

  “Marco!” Evie called out, stepping out to meet him. “Come and have a glass of lavender lemonade.”

  The mysterious Marco helped himself to a glass, glanced over each of us, then extended a wide hand to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said. “I’m Marco Goretti. I’m the one who facilitated most of Dahlia’s wolf rescues.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  Veronica abruptly smacked the wolf tumbler on the table, handed her empty lemonade glass to Evie, then stalked out without another word. She had doubtless wearied of Carson’s hawk-like observations of her every move.

  Carson had the good sense to give Veronica a couple of minutes’ head start, but as expected, he charged out the front door not long after her dramatic exit.

  I glanced at Marco and Evie, but they had fallen into a deep conversation. I wanted to know more about Marco Goretti, and Carson’s irritated response to the man’s appearance warranted investigation. I pushed the wooden gift shop door open and followed Carson.

  “Hold up,” I shouted at his back. He was rushing along toward the red storage building, so Veronica had pr
obably headed that way.

  He turned, peering at me through his clear plastic frames as if I were a complete stranger. The dude was completely distracted by Veronica. I’d certainly never been so hotly pursued by a guy. What on earth was it about Veronica, aside from her obvious good looks, that attracted him so strongly?

  “Yes?” he asked curtly.

  “I saw how you reacted to Marco,” I said, jogging up to his side. “What’s up with him?”

  Carson huffed. “If you must know, my mother made his acquaintance at a charity event years ago. He’s the one who encouraged her to build the preserve with his sob stories about the abandoned wolves.”

  “Wasn’t that a noble thing to do, though?”

  He gave a short, shrill laugh. “What my mother didn’t know is that Marco has numerous connections to the underworld of wolf breeding and fighting.”

  “How did you find that out? Have you told your mom?” I demanded.

  Just then, Veronica zigzagged up the hill toward the wolf enclosures, like she’d been watching for her chance to escape the storage building. Carson didn’t even bother to respond to me; he simply scurried off after her. I actually felt sorry for Veronica. It had to be nearly impossible to get much research done with her dogged admirer.

  Still a bit confused as to Marco’s current role at the wolf preserve, I returned to the visitors’ center to grab a quick lunch. Marco and Evie were nowhere in sight, so I made my way to the kitchen, washed my hands, and pulled out my food. I’d packed leftover cheese tortellini and a chopped salad, and the hearty meal tasted good after the long morning.

  I continued to ponder. Why had Marco stopped in while Dahlia was out of town? Had he found a new animal for her to adopt?

  And where were Evie and Marco, anyway? The silence stretched thin and seemed to balance on the dusty threads of sunlight that converged on the table.

  I cleaned up, then grabbed a final glass of lemonade before heading back out. Evie stood in the parking lot, waving good-bye to Marco, who was sitting behind the wheel of an older red truck. Whatever business he’d come about must have been concluded, then. Surely he and Evie weren’t in on some kind of scheme together?

  * * * *

  I walked around to start my other chores, but they didn’t go as smoothly as they had yesterday. The chickens were fractious, the male peacock would not get out of my way, and one of the goats actually head-butted my thigh so hard, I was going to wind up with a huge bruise.

  I felt beat down by the time I headed back to the visitors’ center, but I wanted to check in with Rich before I left for the day. As I stepped inside, the gift shop was empty, so I walked over to check the kitchen. No one was around. Had Evie already gone home?

  I reluctantly trudged toward the woods, figuring I’d find Rich there. Although he wasn’t at the first enclosure, Freya loped down toward the fence as I passed by. She sank onto her front paws, her tail wagging, as if inviting me in to play.

  I had to admit, she was hard to resist. If I had the keys to the gates, I’d be tempted to drop in and hang out with her a little.

  “Aren’t you a sweet girl,” I murmured as I walked by.

  Playful yelps and the sound of a man’s voice greeted me as I approached the second enclosure. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find Rich inside, frolicking around with Njord, but I was.

  Rich called out to me and motioned me closer, so I went through the first gate and stopped. He was crouched next to Njord, petting the wolf’s ears. Njord leaned in closer to his caretaker and give him a nose-kiss. The white wolf then politely sat down, waiting for more petting.

  That wolf-kiss floored me. It was pretty obvious that the recognized alpha in that enclosure wasn’t Njord, but Rich himself.

  Had the wolves viewed Shaun as an alpha, as well? Or even all humans? If that dynamic was in place, what could have possessed them to attack Shaun?

  8

  “They’re so fascinating, aren’t they?” Veronica’s voice piped up behind me.

  I turned, taking in her disheveled ponytail and the dry leaf clinging to her leg. It almost looked like she’d had a fling in the woods—which seemed unlikely, given that Carson was the only one roaming around.

  Ignoring my perplexed silence, Veronica brushed the leaf off and straightened her ponytail. “I managed to lose that freak,” she said. Her dark eyes sought and held my gaze, almost challenging me.

  Was she protesting Carson’s attentions too much?

  Rich, who’d been cavorting around with the two wolves that looked like litter mates, stood and made his way toward us. “I like to put my time in with them,” he explained, locking the gate behind him. “They’re sort of like kids—if you show them you truly like them, their loyalty knows no bounds.”

  Veronica scribbled something in the notebook in her hand, probably copying Rich’s direct quote.

  “Do you ever go into the fence?” I asked Veronica.

  She shrugged. “Sure. I’ve gone into both enclosures. My favorite wolves are the two Rich was just playing with. They’re a sister and brother—Saga and Sigurd. Siggie for short.”

  “Who came up with the Norse name theme?” I asked. I’d read some of The Sagas of Icelanders myself, back when I’d learned my dad had a few Norwegian ancestors.

  Rich piped up. “That was my suggestion, and Dahlia thought it was a good one. I figured the forsaken wolves needed names that they could grow into, you know? Names that represented power and a sort of wildness.”

  “Makes sense.” I took a step closer to him, dropping my voice. “Have you ever had any misgivings when you play with them? Especially with Njord?”

  Veronica remained silent, but her pen was poised to record Rich’s response.

  Rich slowly shook his head. “No. I can’t honestly say I have, even after…the incident with Shaun.” He glanced at the wolves, who were romping with each other like excited puppies. “I don’t guess I’ll ever understand what happened to him. I’ve wondered if he was taunting the wolves somehow—maybe offering food, then holding it back. I suppose it would be possible that the wolves could kill to take the food they felt was theirs. But the moment they attacked, Shaun should have been ready with his pepper spray. I wonder if the police have found it yet.”

  Veronica stopped writing for a moment and pinned me with a shrewd gaze. “So, you haven’t told us how you feel about the wolves, Belinda. Do you feel comfortable going in the enclosures?”

  I answered as honestly as I could. “Not yet, but I have to admit, I’m getting there fast. The wolves have been nothing but friendly to me.”

  She didn’t write anything down, but asked, “So would you say wolves see humans as part of their pack? Or as their prey?”

  “It looks like Rich is in their pack,” I said. “He actually seems to be their alpha. As for me…I don’t think they see me as prey, but maybe I’m not part of the pack yet?”

  Veronica scrawled my answer in silence, then capped her pen.

  Rich gave me a smile. “Good answer,” he said.

  I glanced at my watch. “I’ve finished feeding the other animals, Rich. Is it okay if I head out now?”

  “Of course. Just check in with Evie and let her know you’re going. See you bright and early tomorrow?”

  “Will do. Have a great night. You too, Veronica.”

  “Oh, I will,” Veronica said, flashing me the kind of goofy grin that women only get when they’re falling in love.

  She wouldn’t be falling for someone at the preserve, would she? If it was Carson, why had she been so determined to hide their relationship?

  I looked over at Rich. Surely he was too old for her…and too married?

  * * * *

  I put my phone on speaker and called Mom on the way home. I had promised to check in when I’d decided whether I was going to stick with the wolf-sitting job or not. I had bee
n delaying the call because she’d had such a tearful reaction when I told her how Shaun died.

  While Mom wasn’t the type to forbid me from working at the wolf preserve, she was the type who would read up on wolves and come up with at least twenty different methods to protect myself in case of attack. She would also search for an essential oil that had wolf-repellent qualities (maybe garlic? like vampires?), and she’d ship that down to me immediately.

  Mom took her naturalistic, off-grid efforts seriously. In preparation for a nuclear war or a deadly plague—whatever was most imminent—she had even had me plant an herbal-cure flower bed on the property. So far, we had established echinacea, foxglove, poppies, lavender, mint, and calendula. If it were legal, she probably would have added marijuana and magic mushrooms to the list.

  Mom picked up right after her answering machine started playing, so I had to wait for the beep. “Hi, Mom,” I said.

  “Belinda! Your father and I have been worried sick ever since you called last night. Have you left your job yet?”

  “I’ve decided to stay on longer to help one of the employees out, but when the owner gets back, I’ll see if I’m still needed. Is Dad around?” Although I hoped my question would distract Mom, I truly wanted to get my veterinarian dad’s thoughts about wolf pack behavior and the likelihood they would have had some motive to kill and eat Shaun.

  “He’s over at Gerald Klein’s farm—his sow’s off her feed and feverish. You need him to call you?”

  “Sure, that’d be great. Maybe later tonight though, since I’m heading to the Fentons’ place for dinner.” Ava and Adam Fenton’s daughter, Margo, had been murdered last fall, and during the course of the investigation, the bereaved couple and I had become close friends.

  “Oh, Ava is such a sweet lady—she just e-mailed me her recipe for raspberry-ricotta cake. Please tell her I plan to make it for the church picnic. I’m so glad you have someone looking out for you there.”

  Mom would never admit to it, but I was fairly certain she’d befriended Ava Fenton so quickly on her last visit simply as a means of keeping tabs on me from afar.