Belinda Blake and the Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by Heather Day Gilbert

  I stepped out and slammed my door shut, but before I could fully turn around, a microphone was shoved toward my face.

  A short woman in a pencil skirt blasted me with a question. “Are you an employee of the White Pine Wolf Preserve?”

  “No comment,” I said, pretty certain this was the correct protocol. Sergeant Hardy would be proud of me.

  I walked a few steps, but the cameraman and reporter cut in front of me. The woman jutted out her sharp chin as she spoke, a serious look plastered on her face. “The police haven’t ruled the latest death a wolf-killing yet. Do you have any idea why?”

  That was news to me, but I tried to keep my face serene. “No comment,” I repeated, then jogged over to the gate.

  Of course, the moment I tried the latch, I realized it was locked. And I didn’t have the key.

  The reporters pressed in on me, each question more urgent than the last. I had two choices—climb over the gate, which would probably afford an excellent shot of my derrière for the nightly news—or wade into the tight, brambly underbrush to the side of the gate.

  I chose the underbrush.

  As blackberry vines tore at my sweatshirt, I wished I’d stopped and called Evie, regardless of how traumatized she was. When I felt overwhelmed, I tended to make less-than-ideal choices.

  As the barn came into view, it hit me that I was probably retracing the exact path the lurker in the parking lot had taken. Pushing against a blackberry vine, I was surprised to see something bright blue caught in it. I carefully unhooked the rubber wristband from the thorns. It was one of those personalized unisex bands, and it bore the words: Two Hearts, One Love—The O’Callaghans, 6-18-2016.

  Had the bulky man lost it when he ran away from us? If so, it was a rather sentimental wristband for a man to wear. It must have meant something to him.

  I tucked the band into my pocket. Feeling much the worse for wear, I yanked a final thorn from my sweatshirt and lurched up the driveway. When the reporters caught sight of me, they shouted questions over the gate, but I ignored them.

  Sergeant Hardy stood by his police car, talking with Dahlia. I didn’t have to be a body language expert to observe that they couldn’t stand each other. Dahlia’s hands were on her hips and she leaned in, her tone blistering hot. Sergeant Hardy held his notebook between them like a shield.

  “We’ve canceled tours for the month and given a statement to the reporters—what more do you want from us?” Dahlia demanded.

  Evie blocked the open gift shop doorway, so I figured I might as well settle in to hear whatever news the sergeant had brought. As unobtrusively as possible, I leaned over to fiddle with the shoestring on my boot, edging a bit closer in the process.

  The sergeant’s voice was tense. “As much as I wish this had been a wolf-killing—and trust me, I’d like nothing more than to shut your slipshod operation down permanently—the coroner’s saying it wasn’t. In fact, he’s taken samples from Rich and Shaun and sent them to the toxicology lab. When he didn’t find any mortal wounds on either of them, he suspected they might have been poisoned. So that means the wolves didn’t kill Rich, and it’s entirely possible they didn’t kill Shaun, either.”

  Talk about a bombshell. Dahlia went white, and Evie rushed out to wrap an arm around her.

  “You’re quite positive?” Evie asked.

  The sergeant nodded. “Yes, and what that means is that this is now a homicide investigation. We’ll need to interview everyone properly down at the station—starting with you, Ms. White. I need you to get in the car with me.”

  I almost detected a note of glee in his voice. I was betting he’d been waiting to rake her over the coals since that time one of her wolves escaped.

  Evie spoke firmly, as if she’d overcome her surprise. “I’ll handle things here. You go on with the sergeant, Dahlia. Don’t fret about a thing. Marco’s already here, and Belinda’s just arrived.”

  Evie nodded at me, and Dahlia turned her teary gaze my way. She looked like she hadn’t slept any better than I had.

  “Good.” Dahlia took a deep breath and straightened. “Good. Of course I’ll go down to the station, Sergeant. I have nothing to hide.” She swept toward the police car with all the flurry of a winter storm.

  Remembering the band in my pocket, I rushed over to Sergeant Hardy. “I forgot to tell you that Veronica and I saw a burly guy hanging around the parking lot yesterday when the gate was closed. He could’ve been a reporter, but he looked suspicious and bolted into the woods the minute we saw him.” I pulled the blue wristband from my pocket and handed it to him. “This must’ve gotten yanked off when he dodged into the blackberry brambles.”

  I sensed Evie inching closer to my side, so I glanced at her. She was blinking rapidly, and she placed a clammy hand on my arm, as if to steady herself.

  “I’m ready to go now,” Dahlia yelled impatiently from the open police car window.

  Sergeant Hardy sighed, balling the band in his fist. “I’ll look into it. Thanks for the heads-up. If you see the man again, call me immediately. Evie has my direct line.”

  Evie gave a weak nod. Once the sergeant drove off with our boss in tow, I turned to the visibly shaken administrative assistant.

  “What’s going on?”

  * * * *

  Evie shook her head. “I’m not ready to talk about this yet. I need to make a call first. But I promise I’ll explain more over lunch.”

  “Of course,” I said, wishing I hadn’t distressed her even further.

  As she grabbed her phone from the desk, I went into the kitchen and donned my green vest, figuring I might as well get to work. I peered into the off-white fridge. The meat supply was definitely lower, and I had no idea where the vitamins were that Rich always added to the wolves’ food. Who was in charge of ordering the meat in the first place? I was betting that had been Rich’s job, as well.

  I sank into a chair, feeling numb. Beyond the troublesome technicalities of trying to feed the wolves properly, I had a larger issue burning a hole in my brain. If Njord and his pack didn’t kill Rich and maybe didn’t even kill Shaun, then who did? Sergeant Hardy had said one or both the deceased could have been poisoned.

  Which meant that the murderer might be an employee at the preserve. Although the bulky man from the parking lot could have crept into the woods at two different times to kill both men, it seemed highly unlikely. The murderer had to have been familiar with the gate system, not to mention the wolves themselves, since Rich and Shaun were found inside the enclosure.

  A chill ran up my arms. Was I working with a murderer?

  The door swung open and Marco walked in, wearing slouchy jeans and a green vest. He threw open the fridge door and started grabbing meats.

  “Are you going to feed the wolves right now?” I asked.

  He grunted his affirmation.

  “Do you need some help with that?” I offered.

  He gave me a measuring glance. “You’ve done this before?”

  “Yes, I helped Rich a few times,” I said. “I did the water, but I helped move the meats, too.”

  “Great. Then sure, load ‘er up.”

  We worked in silence until the buckets were full. Things moved more quickly, because Marco was solidly built, hefting far more weight than Rich had been able to. Once we were done, I was relieved to see Marco adding the vitamin supplements to the food.

  He gave me another once-over with his dark eyes. “Are you okay to go into the enclosures with me? If you could handle the water again, I can do the meats.”

  I hesitated, but only for a moment. Although I could hear Katrina’s voice screaming at me in my head, I nodded. “Sure. I know the drill.”

  “Great.” Marco pushed the wheelbarrow off toward the woods, and I trailed behind.

  It was a risky move, sure, but if there was a murderer running around like Sergeant Hardy
had said, I might actually be safer inside the wolves’ enclosure than out.

  15

  As we approached the first enclosure, Freya trotted right up to the gate to meet us. She ignored Marco as he walked over to distribute the food, and instead she followed me to the watering trough, as if following some well-established routine.

  It was endearing, and I couldn’t resist patting her head. I noted that one of her ears had a tiny notch, like something had once bitten a piece out of it. She rubbed around my legs, then flopped into a heap at my feet, waiting for a tummy rub.

  As the water filled the trough, I glanced down at her smiling golden eyes and her chocolate-brown coat. Her tongue lolled out to one side, and she had a contagious kind of happiness that lifted my spirits. I rewarded her with a thorough petting.

  Thor had finished gobbling his food, and he tactfully sat down at Marco’s feet, not even begging for a pet. The pack leader seemed to know something was amiss, and I was hit with a fresh wave of grief that Thor’s best human friend was dead.

  “Let’s move on,” Marco said, wheeling the buckets toward the fence.

  I nodded and shut off the water, giving Freya a final scratch under her chin. She was the loving kind of animal that seemed like she’d make a good pet, yet that kind of thinking had led to the ultimate abandonment of most of these wolves. People had thought they could tame the wolf out of them, but at some point they’d had to admit it was impossible.

  Marco rolled along in silence. I attempted a little small talk, since I’d have to be working with him for several more days.

  “So you’ve known Dahlia for a while?” I asked.

  He shot me an unreadable look over his shoulder. “Yeah. She had big dreams, you know? And she’s come so far—building up this place, redoing the barn, advertising—you name it.”

  I noted the pride in his voice. Obviously, he’d bought Dahlia’s savior-of-wolves story. Were Rich and I the only ones who had noticed that she was never in the enclosures with her beloved animals?

  “You were the one who located the wolves for her, right? How did you go about doing that?” I asked.

  Marco plodded along, his back to me. “That’s not important, and it’s not something I share with Dahlia or with anyone. The point is, I always know she’s going to get those wolves healthy and take good care of them.”

  I remembered Carson’s accusation that Marco had ties to the black market of wolf fighting, and Marco’s response did little to dispel that notion.

  I tried another tack. “Why doesn’t Dahlia let Carson help with the wolves?”

  Marco slowed, violently bumping the wheelbarrow tire out of a muddy area and back onto the path. “She protects him like a little baby. I’ve told her to make him carry his own weight around here. But she says Carson has to pursue a more intellectual line of work since he’s gotten his fancy geology degree. Seems to me that degree ain’t worth the paper it was printed on.”

  I had to agree. Carson seemed unmotivated, stagnant in the life his mom had foisted on him.

  “His grandpa agrees with me,” Marco continued. “He wants Carson to come and work at his construction company. It would be office work—nothing really labor-intensive. But Dahlia will have none of it. She can’t stand the thought of her son working for her ex’s dad.”

  Based on my only run-in with Dennis Arden, I figured he wasn’t champing at the bit to employ his grandson, either.

  At the gate of Njord’s enclosure, Marco whipped out a key and inserted it in the new lock. Njord and the sibling wolves saw us and rushed toward the second gate, forming a loose line in front of it.

  I hoped my apprehension didn’t show as I pushed the gate open for Marco to wheel through. While this pack might not have killed anyone, they’d undeniably chewed on Shaun and attacked Carson’s hand. We were stepping right into an enclosed space with these animals.

  Marco didn’t waver as he rolled the wheelbarrow straight toward the food dish. I followed his example and walked directly to the spigot. Unfortunately, Njord ignored Marco and sidled alongside me, frisking about like he’d done for Rich. I tried not to focus on the sharp teeth in his open mouth. Instead, I murmured, “You’re a good wolf, aren’t you, boy?”

  Njord gave a little yip and my stomach nearly dropped to my feet, but I kept my back to him and ran the water. Once the trough was full enough, I walked over to the gate, thankful to see Marco standing there waiting for me. He was holding something in his hand and I took a second look at it.

  It was his canister of pepper spray.

  I’d never even thought of pulling mine out—in fact, I’d all but forgotten each green vest was equipped with one.

  Marco held up the canister and shrugged. “Can’t be too careful. I know these wolves, that they’re good animals, but they’re still wolves. Doesn’t hurt to have some protection at the ready.”

  I nodded my agreement, walking ahead of Marco so he could lock the gates behind us. As we exited the final gate, Carson rudely speed-walked past us without saying hello. He was heading deeper into the woods and was clearly in a hurry.

  “Do you mind if I take a minute?” I asked Marco.

  Marco’s gaze traveled to Carson’s retreating back. “Go ahead. Just don’t let him near the enclosures. You saw what happened to him yesterday when he decided to pet the wolves.”

  “Right. Thanks. Are you heading home soon? If so, I can feed the smaller animals.”

  He nodded. “I had planned to check the meat supply, then I should get going, since I’m in Manhattan. Dahlia seemed confident you could handle the hobby farm animals alone?”

  “Definitely. I really appreciate your making a trip in to help out. See you tomorrow.”

  As Marco rolled the wheelbarrow down the path, I walked to the top of the small hill. Cupping my hands together, I shouted, “Carson! Could I talk to you just a minute?”

  Carson was nearly out of view, but he stopped and turned. “What?”

  I shouted louder. “Could you come here a minute?”

  He gave a reluctant nod before backtracking to meet me. “I’m kind of in a hurry,” he said, cradling his bandaged hand as if it hurt terribly.

  I wondered what was propelling his urgency. I hadn’t seen Veronica today, but maybe she’d gone out on a morning jaunt and Carson was trying to catch up to her.

  “How’s the hand?” I asked.

  He adjusted his glasses. “The doctors say it’s a miracle those beasts didn’t take off a finger.” As he spoke, he didn’t even look at the wolves in question.

  Unlike Carson, I couldn’t help stealing a glance at Njord and his gang. They were curiously watching Carson’s every move.

  I refocused on the conversation, which was actually a type of private interrogation. “Can you tell me what happened again? You were trying to explain things yesterday, but I was focused on getting you back to the visitors’ center.”

  I’d just given him a prime opportunity to offer me some thanks, but he didn’t. Instead, he launched into his traumatic tale with relish. “Yes, I was trying to pet the white wolf, Njord. He’s always seemed so friendly with Rich. I had just petted Njord—through the fencing, mind you—when next thing I knew, the freaking wolf had my hand clamped in his jaws. I had to use my other hand to pull it out, but by that time the other wolves had gathered and they’d started nipping at me, too. You saw what they did to my hand.”

  I nodded. “I’m so sorry. The wolves were definitely behaving strangely with you. They’re not normally like that.”

  Carson sniffed. “I hate my mom’s uncontrollable wolves, but I can’t talk her into getting rid of them.”

  Why had he tried so hard to pet wolves he didn’t even like in the first place? He must be desperate to prove his competency on the preserve.

  I shrugged. “Maybe you could move away—you know, get a job elsewhere.”

&
nbsp; He tucked his Oxford-cloth shirt into his jeans. “I haven’t found one suited to me yet. I have a Yale degree, you know? I’m overqualified for most things.”

  I struggled to hide my surprise. Carson’s degree was from Yale? Why wasn’t he working some big-time job? “And what is your degree in?” I asked, acting like Marco hadn’t already told me that Carson had a geology degree.

  “Geology. I haven’t decided if I want to go back and get my master’s yet. Veronica keeps encouraging me to do it.”

  “Getting your master’s would likely mean you’d have to leave home, so your mom would have to manage the preserve on her own,” I said.

  “Yeah…” He cast an anxious glance into the woods. “I have to go now. Oh, by the way, how’d you like Marco?”

  “He seemed nice enough,” I said.

  Carson gave a twisted smile. “I see he’s fooled you, too. He’s a con man, if you ask me.”

  “You have any proof?” I asked.

  Carson was already walking away, but he turned. “No, but maybe I can get some,” he said enigmatically.

  16

  I was nearly back to the visitors’ center when Veronica approached in the golf cart, driving far too fast. I jumped out of the way as she ground to a halt.

  “I’m sorry, Belinda! I’ve only driven this once before, and as you can see, I don’t have the hang of it yet.”

  She was so apologetic, I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it.” I glanced at the dashboard, which was extremely basic. “You want me to give you a few pointers?”

  She shot me a grateful look and slid into the passenger’s seat. “Would you? Have you driven this before?”