Belinda Blake and the Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by Heather Day Gilbert

  Veronica stood and shoved her empty container in her lunch bag. For someone so tiny, she must have a hollow leg, given how fast she’d devoured three tacos. “I’m going to head out to the goat pen,” she said.

  I hurried to pack up my half-eaten lunch. “Um—you want to just stay outside the pen until I get there? I’ll meet you in a minute.”

  Veronica shrugged. “Okay.” She left through the kitchen door.

  I turned back to Dennis and decided to go out on a limb. “Say, you haven’t been over to that bakery in Stamford—The Apricot something or another—have you? Seems like I’ve seen you somewhere else.”

  I couldn’t make out the expression in his eyes, but he didn’t seem overly annoyed with my question. “Sure. It’s a fantastic bakery. Croissants to die for. My Madeline would have approved—she had French blood in her.”

  I probed further. “I was thinking I might have seen you there with Dahlia?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “No way on earth would I ask that woman into any restaurant with me. If she walked in, I’d walk right out—as soon as I could.”

  That level of distaste was hard to fake, so I had to assume he was telling the truth. I cleared my trash and stood. “Of course. I understand. Maybe I’ll see you around there sometime.”

  He gave me a sharp, knowing look. “Does that mean you’re not planning to be here long?”

  I didn’t see how that was any of his business. “I’m not sure.”

  He laughed and smacked his knee. “That greedy witch runs everyone out, sooner or later. Don’t feel bad, sweetie.”

  Cringing at his overly familiar “sweetie,” I gave a brief wave and headed out the kitchen door.

  The more I hung around Dennis Arden, the more it seemed he was the one running his family off, not Dahlia. He seemed to have disdain for everyone, save his deceased wife, and it was decidedly possible he had painted their relationship in a way that reflected well on himself.

  As I walked along the rock path to the goat pen, I tried to sort through what I’d learned so far. First, it could have been Rich who’d met and argued with Dahlia at The Apricot Macaron. But why?

  I revisited the idea that Dahlia might be using her wolf preserve for nefarious purposes, given that Rich had said she wasn’t really invested in the wolves’ well-being. Dahlia’s relationship with Marco, who had ties with unsavory characters, might back up that idea, but when I’d eavesdropped on those two, they hadn’t mentioned anything illegal.

  Then there was Sergeant Hardy, who had been the one to discover Rich’s body. His sister had died of a dog attack, so he might have snapped if he suspected Dahlia’s wolves were a danger to tourists…and more specifically, to his girlfriend, Veronica.

  I still couldn’t rule out Veronica, difficult as it was for me to consider her a serious suspect. As I approached the goat pen, I slowed to watch her interaction with the animals. Although she stayed outside the fence, she reached over to pet a friendly kid on the neck. She gave me a hearty wave when she caught sight of me.

  “Hi! Isn’t this little one cute? What do you call the goat babies?”

  “Kids,” I said.

  “Aw. They’re so adorable with their little tiny bleats. And those eyes—freaky!”

  One of the goats nibbled at Veronica’s jeans. “Don’t let them grab your keys,” I instructed. “I’m sure you already know this, but they’ll eat anything.”

  Veronica obligingly stepped back from the fence. “How much feed do I give them?”

  For the next little while, I showed her how to feed and water the goats. Veronica paid close attention to what I said, and when she fed the animals, I could tell her confidence was growing.

  “How’s your thesis coming along?” I asked.

  She smiled. “Really well. I don’t have much more to write. I just need another example or two.”

  I was jolted back into reality as I stared at her exultant face. It was all too easy to insert “another death or two” for “another example or two.”

  Surely no one in their right mind would consider killing just to score high on their thesis.

  But who was I to determine if Veronica was in her right mind?

  20

  By the time I left for the day, Bluebell’s leather seats had soaked up so much sunshine, they felt like they were melting my arms. Cranking the air conditioner, I whisked away from the preserve, wishing I didn’t have to return.

  Contractually, I only had four days left to work for Dahlia. And no one was holding me to it—if I determined I was walking out tomorrow, I could. But there was some kind of deeper loyalty to Shaun and Rich that was driving me to stay.

  After all, if Sergeant Hardy was the killer, who was going to suspect him? I was pretty sure Dahlia didn’t. Evie had been quick to obey his every command, probably hoping he’d boost his efforts to protect her from her ex.

  And if Veronica was the killer, Sergeant Hardy likely wouldn’t even investigate her, since he was dating her.

  Maybe I could get closer to Dahlia tomorrow and try to probe a bit more into her motivations. It seemed most likely it was Rich who had publicly clashed with her at The Apricot Macaron, in which case, something Dahlia had said or done must have made him very upset.

  I dropped by Whole Foods for a California roll, since sushi seemed light enough fare for tonight. As I pulled up at the Carrington estate, Val, the head of security, waved me over from his perch in the glassed-in booth. He leaned out as I rolled down my window.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Just wanted to give you a heads-up that you have a friend here to see you—Dietrich Myers.”

  Dietrich was one of Stone the fifth’s friends, but he had grown on me, as well. An acclaimed artist, he lived in the trendy section of Brooklyn called Williamsburg. He often dropped in for Stone’s billiards parties, but since Stone wasn’t around, my curiosity was piqued.

  Dietrich was riding around on my bike as I pulled into my drive. He began to teeter as he braked, and I didn’t want to think what would happen if the bike toppled over. Dietrich was dangerously thin, giving the impression that the smallest injury might do him in.

  “Belinda, angel! This bike is so extra, with its darling paint job, wouldn’t you say? Where’d you find this gem?”

  “Someone gave it to me,” I said, taking my sushi roll and shutting my car door. “Did you enjoy your ride?”

  “Immensely,” he said, parking the bike and walking over to me. He clasped his thin fingers around my arm, his gaze intense. As usual, his clothes emanated cigarette smoke. “Now, I know what you’re thinking—why has Dietrich showed up at your whimsical Greenwich cottage out of the blue?”

  I smiled. “You read my mind. But I’m happy to see you again. When was the last time you were here? December?”

  “Yes, at our final billiards party, before Stone absconded to Bhutan.”

  “Easy for you to talk about absconding—you were the one who suggested the trip to him!”

  Dietrich sighed. “I did, although I hated to see him go. But darling, I’ll tell you that the yoga retreat set me on the path of the artist, so it was worth the exorbitant fee I paid for it.”

  I didn’t want to argue with Dietrich, but I’d seen his outlandish artwork, and I thought perhaps the yoga retreat could have led him on a more edifying career path. His paintings featured misshapen people rendered in colors that brought to mind violent stomach viruses. I could hardly stand to look at them.

  Yet strangely enough, he’d carved out a following that was eager to pay the high prices he set for his work. As my grandma would say, “Sometimes there’s no accounting for taste.”

  “I’m glad you got to go there,” I said.

  He clapped and gave a little hop, as he often did when he was excited. “Now, I’ll tell you why I’m here. Stone called and asked if I c
ould find one of his documents and snap a picture of it for him. His dad’s been working long hours in the city, so he thought I could drop in for that little errand and give the house a quick once-over, just to make sure everything’s clean. They haven’t hired a new housekeeper yet, so one of the local teens has been filling in. Stone wants to see if she’s pulling her weight.”

  I unlocked my door, shaking my head. “That house is probably a bear to keep up with—I mean, given the sheer number of rooms, not to mention that sprawling, plant-filled conservatory. But why are you so happy about being sent on an errand just to check on his house?” I set my sushi roll on the kitchen counter.

  “I’m dropping by my parents’ house while I’m in Greenwich, so I’m multitasking.” He withdrew a slim cigarette from the pocket of his slim-fit jeans, lit it, and took a deep puff. “But don’t you see? He’s coming back to us soon, I’m simply convinced of it.”

  I wasn’t sure how Dietrich had connected taking a picture of a document and checking up on housekeeping with Stone’s imminent return, but I nodded. “Okay, well, that’s good.”

  Dietrich blew a smoke ring into the air, then let his inquisitive gaze rest on me. “I assumed you’d be overjoyed—weren’t you and Stone an item?”

  That was the problem. I never really knew with Stone. Had we kissed? Sure. But had it meant anything to him? I was completely uncertain.

  Trying to divert Dietrich’s attention, I opened the sushi container. “Would you like half a California roll?”

  He shook his head. “Mother has an elaborate meal planned for me, and she’s also invited a lineup of eligible and pedigreed Greenwich bachelorettes for me to peruse. She’s determined to get me married off before I hit thirty.” Taking my hand, he gave me an intense look. “Don’t give up on him yet, Belinda. I know he’ll return more focused than ever.”

  I nodded, dropping my eyes to hide my doubts. Sure, Stone would come back more focused…but what if he had no intention to focus on me?

  * * * *

  That night, Mom called to get an update on Jonas’s visit, and I filled her in, letting her know I planned to come up for Easter.

  “That’s wonderful,” she said. “You and Tyler can help me set up my new wind turbine. Your father thinks I can’t do it.”

  As she explained all the benefits of her turbine, all I could think of was how dark the house was going to be on the days it wasn’t windy enough to generate much power. Although Mom assured me her latest off-grid effort would provide ample electricity, I was pretty sure my dad would put his foot down when she actually got to the point of calling the electric company to cancel service.

  Once, when I’d asked Dad how he felt about Mom’s constant schemes to get back to nature, he’d said that although he would never stand in her way, he might reroute her path once in a while so that she wound up at the right place.

  Katrina called not long after I hung up with Mom. I hadn’t told her the latest, and when she heard that Rich and maybe even Shaun weren’t killed by wolves, she immediately dug into the psychological aspect of things.

  “Two murders? This isn’t random, sis. Either someone had a motive for killing those specific employees, or someone could be a psychopath. We can’t rule that out. Someone might have gotten a taste of killing with Shaun, then realized they liked it. They were more obvious the second time—leaving him in the wolf enclosure, but maybe more for show than to point at the wolves—sort of like a staged crime scene. The murderer is actually controlling the evidence he leaves behind. And Belinda, if it is a psychopath, then the murders will probably escalate.”

  She shouted at Tyler, who must have been in the other room. “Hon, would you mind bringing me some of those chocolate-covered almonds? They’re in the cabinet!”

  Returning to the conversation, Katrina said, “I can’t get enough of those things. Now, pay attention—just watching your back might not be enough. The murderer might be clever, even charming. You can’t trust anyone.”

  “You’re always telling me that.”

  “It’s because you don’t listen! You just go charging into things.” She crunched at her almonds. “Oh well. I can’t warn you any more than I already have. How was Jonas? Mom told me about Mrs. Hawthorne—it’s so sad. She used to give me fresh strawberries.”

  We swapped memories of Naomi Hawthorne until I realized we were acting as if the kindly woman were already dead. I was about to point that out when Katrina suddenly got irritated with the way Tyler was sorting laundry, so she said a curt good night and hung up.

  I looked up psychopaths online, and what I read was chilling. They actually enjoyed violence—it made them feel calmer—and they were skilled liars. Just about anyone on the preserve might fit that bill, and I wouldn’t even know.

  Although Sergeant Hardy and Dennis Arden weren’t always around, they both had strong motivations for seeing the White Pine Wolf Preserve permanently shut down. Veronica had a motive to gather case stories to back up her thesis. Evie and Carson…I wasn’t sure. Maybe Marco had some underworld deals he couldn’t afford to expose. I couldn’t imagine why Dahlia herself would torpedo her own business, but if she was a psychopath, maybe there didn’t have to be a reason.

  Was this whole thing some kind of elaborate mind game? Had someone used the wolves to mask Shaun’s murder, then decided they wanted the credit themselves?

  If that were the case, it made sense that, like Katrina predicted, they’d kill again—this time making it obvious that it was their doing, and not the wolves’.

  21

  I woke to an early and persistent knocking at my door. Stumbling from my bed, I glanced down to make sure my pajamas were decent. I was wearing a retro Castlevania T-shirt and striped pajama pants I’d owned since high school—not the height of fashion, but not as risqué as some of my more holey T-shirts.

  Trying to finger-pick my curls, I peeked out the front window. Red stood outside in his chauffeur hat and jacket, and he was holding some kind of box.

  I opened the door and attempted a hearty welcome, but I hadn’t had coffee, so my greeting sounded flat. Red didn’t seem to notice as he extended the box toward me.

  “For you, from Susan,” he said. “I visited her place this morning, and she insisted I bring you a couple of her Scottish-recipe scones. She saw on the news that there’s been a second death on that wolf preserve?” His jaw hardened, and he shifted into an almost protective stance.

  I wished I could have Red tag along with me to work, bringing along whatever weapons and skills he possessed. However, I couldn’t afford to employ him. He’d be like kryptonite to an overconfident psychopath, anyway.

  And I wanted that murdering psycho to make some kind of disastrous mistake that would take him out of circulation and land him in prison.

  With only a handful of us working at the preserve, the killer was likely to try again. I couldn’t see any reason why he’d try to eliminate me, but I’d make sure the pepper spray was safely situated in my green vest before I went out to feed the wolves. No one had been murdered with a gun or knife yet, so hopefully the pepper spray would surprise the killer and allow me to get away.

  But if he happened to be an employee, he would anticipate that I’d go for my pepper spray first. Maybe that’s what had happened to Shaun and Rich. Had the killer somehow slipped the pepper sprays from their pockets before murdering them? Or had he poisoned them first, so they were incapacitated? I wondered if Sergeant Hardy would tell me if either of the men had a spray in their possession when they died.

  Snapping back to Red’s question, I responded, “Yes, there was another death. The police are all over it, though. No need to worry.”

  “Will the job be over soon?” He couldn’t disguise the concern in his voice.

  “Definitely. Just a few days now. Oh, and Red—did you get Evie’s things over to her? I forgot to ask her yesterday, but I assumed you ha
d.”

  He nodded. “It was no problem. I cleared the area before I went in and didn’t find anyone lurking outside, but there were plenty of vantage points where a would-be stalker could hide out and keep tabs on her. You were right to get her out of there.”

  A shiver crept up my arms as I pictured Evie trying to fight off the larger-sized man I’d seen in the parking lot. It was a fight she couldn’t win.

  “I appreciate your help so much,” I said.

  Red gave me a no-nonsense look. “Call me if there’s any trouble. I’m never too far.”

  “Thank you,” I said, knowing he meant every word. “And please tell Susan thanks for the scones.”

  He nodded and walked over to his car. After waving good-bye and closing my door, I headed into the kitchen and cracked open the scone box, which was charming in and of itself. The same delicate shade as a fuzzy peach, the box had an overstuffed gold macaron stenciled on the lid. Unable to resist the buttery scent of the scones, I took the largest one out and bit into it. The texture was perfect, but the plain scone seemed to beg for more flavor. I went directly into the kitchen, retrieved some of Jonas’s honey, and slathered it on.

  Sitting down at my table to enjoy the honeyed scone and coffee, I rehearsed my plans for the day. I’d meet up with Marco, feed the wolves, then I’d make a little detour before lunch and drop in at Dahlia’s to do a little snooping. I couldn’t get around the feeling that she might be hiding something—something Rich might have confronted her about.

  I wasn’t sure how to finagle my way into her house, but maybe I could use the excuse that Evie wanted me to whip up another batch of lavender lemonade.

  I suddenly realized that I hadn’t seen Dahlia or Carson at all yesterday. Surely if they’d left town, Evie would have let us know? Besides, Sergeant Hardy would have instructed them to stick close since Rich’s death was now an official homicide.