“Feel free.” Dahlia released Marco’s hand so he could join me.
Marco took my arm and steered me toward the door. Once we were outside the building, he stopped and said, “She’ll be okay. It’s been a shock, but she’s going to pull through. I’ve been thinking that we might be able to spin this with the reporters—maybe say something about how the real animal at the preserve wasn’t a wolf.”
I felt that was a great idea for the headlines, and I said so as we walked into the woods. “But what about hired help? I probably won’t be the only one leaving,” I said. “Do you really think Dahlia can keep this place in operation?”
He nodded. “I think she can, if I can pick up the slack for a while. I’ve already canceled my trip so I can keep feeding the wolves. And although Evie’s shared that she’s planning to move back to England, she just agreed to stick around until Dahlia finds someone to replace her.”
“That’s kind of her.” Kinder than anyone knew, given Evie’s on-the-loose stalker ex. I took a long look at the concerned, sturdy man next to me. “You know, Dahlia’s lucky to have someone like you in her life.”
Unlocking the first gate at Thor’s enclosure, he turned back to me with a steady gaze. “Dahlia is a hard one to pin down. I don’t know if she’s interested in remarrying, but I am ready to propose.”
I wasn’t sure whether to congratulate him or offer condolences, given Dahlia’s apparent inability to take a hands-on approach to her own wolf preserve. I offered him a quick smile, then turned to Freya. The brown wolf was prancing around and yipping sporadically, like she somehow knew this day was significant.
As soon as I got into the fence, I wordlessly knelt and ran my fingers through the soft plume of hair under her chin. When she watched me with those kind, wild eyes, I knew I’d have to return and see her again. And I’d do my part to make sure the preserve didn’t have to close and leave her homeless.
Veronica had given me her number, so I decided to call and tell her about Carson as Marco led me toward Njord’s enclosure. When I tapped in my phone code, a new screensaver popped up—one written in bloodred lettering.
It said: It was a pleasure to kill you, Belinda Blake.
I dropped my phone like it was a hot potato. Marco glanced back at me, and I tried to talk myself down as I bent to pick it up. Carson had assumed he was heading into the cave to kill me. He wrote that as a joke to himself, or to the police, I suppose.
I didn’t find it very funny.
As Marco opened the first gate, I pulled it together enough to pocket my phone and follow him inside.
Njord loped right over to greet us. For the first time since I’d been at the preserve, I leaned down to rub Njord’s white stomach without one iota of reservation.
Marco joined me, giving Njord’s ears a vigorous petting. It was obvious that he was feeling the same sense of relief I was, now that we knew the wolves weren’t vicious human-killers.
When I stood, I wobbled a bit, and Marco noticed. He took my elbow. “I’ll walk you back,” he said firmly. Normally, I would’ve protested, but given that my muscles seemed to have gone rogue, I accepted.
When we arrived at the visitors’ center, Marco pulled out a chair for me because I was shaking again. Had Carson actually injected me with some of the tranquilizer? I hadn’t felt anything. Surely if he’d done that, I’d be out cold.
Uncertain if I should be driving, I phoned Red. Our conversation was brief. The minute I asked if he could pick me up at the wolf preserve, he replied, “I’m on my way,” and hung up.
“You okay?” Marco asked.
I nodded. “I will be. You check on Dahlia—she needs you more than I do.”
Marco headed over to the white house to join Dahlia, and Evie sat down next to me. She said nothing, and I was grateful for the silence.
It didn’t take long before Red pulled up and texted that he had arrived.
Evie stood, extending her hand. “Let me walk you to the car,” she said.
Afraid my legs would go wobbly again, I nodded. I leaned into Evie as we walked, thankful for her instinctual kind of thoughtfulness.
Red greeted us and took my arm, leading me to the open back door of the car. There was a sudden scuffling behind him.
Evie shouted, “No!”
Red and I wheeled around, only to see that Evie’s ex-husband had grabbed her and was holding a knife to her throat.
“You’re coming with me,” Brian said, nearly picking her off the ground. He glared at Red, then at me. “Don’t take another step, or I’ll slash her skinny throat, I swear.”
Red gave a brief nod of surrender and raised his hands. I followed his lead, backing up and sinking into the car seat.
“You know I could never forget you,” Brian O’Callaghan said, turning back to Evie. He gave her a wet kiss on her face, and I knew she was trying not to cringe.
“There’s no need for the knife,” Evie said. “I’ll go with you peaceably, Brian.”
The man blinked rapidly, as if surprised. “You would?”
Evie nodded, but the hectic pink flush on her pale cheeks belied the honesty of her statement.
Brian took a step backward, dragging Evie along with him. He took another step backward but stumbled, and the knife blade jutted toward Evie’s face for one heart-stopping moment.
“Put the knife down,” Evie repeated. “Otherwise you might hurt me.”
Taking a glance at Red, who was still standing with his hands in the air, Brian wrapped his knife arm around Evie’s waist, so the blade lay flat against her stomach. After a few more hesitant steps backward, he turned to see where he was.
In that split second, Red pulled his gun from an ankle holster, aimed, and shot—right at Brian’s head.
The man’s knife clattered to the ground just before he fell into a heap behind Evie. Letting out a piercing scream, Evie ran toward us, hands flailing.
By this time, Marco and Dahlia had made their way into the parking lot and stood, dumbfounded, as Red charged the fallen man, pinning him to the ground. Although there was a little blood on Brian’s head, he struggled to break free of Red’s weight.
“He was going to kill me. I know he was.” Evie began to weep.
Finally grasping the situation, Marco rushed over to help Red subdue the writhing man on the ground. The loyal chauffeur-bodyguard shouted, “Call the cops!”
And I did just that.
* * * *
“Turns out it was just a flesh wound,” Sergeant Hardy reported. “Brian got lucky, given Red’s army experience. But it was a tight shot, anyone would agree. It was a good thing Red took his opportunity.”
Evie sat beside me in the car, still shaking. Dahlia had offered her tea or brandy, but Evie had refused, so Marco had decided to take the even-more-distressed Dahlia back to her house.
I wrapped an arm around Evie’s shoulders. “Red will be back soon. He just has to give his statement. Then he’ll take you straight back to the Fentons’ place.”
“Th-thank you,” Evie said. “I don’t know why I’m still blubbering like a fool. I’m finally free of that nightmare. There were so many witnesses who saw how he threatened my life, he’ll never survive in court this time. Thank goodness for your chauffeur.”
Red opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. He placed the key in the ignition like it was just another day at work.
“That was amazing, Red,” I said.
The chauffeur-bodyguard gave me a rueful look in the mirror. “I meant to take him out,” he said.
“It was probably best that you didn’t. You might have lost your job,” I said. “As it is, I won’t tell either of the Stones about this, if you don’t.”
Red nodded and hit the gas. When we arrived at the Fentons, I walked Evie up to the door and briefly explained her harrowing showdown to Ava. I deliberately
omitted my own personal traumas of the day, knowing we could talk about that later.
Ava immediately went into comforting mother-figure mode, so I left knowing Evie was in the best of hands.
Red whisked me back to the Carrington estate. My stone cottage had never looked so inviting. Susan was sitting on the front step, two small bowls stacked beside her.
When Red opened the car doors, she rushed over and hugged first Red, then me. She focused on me. “Good heavens. Red texted something about how you were nearly killed, or maybe he was saying he nearly killed someone. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, so I brought two bowls of today’s lobster bisque, one for each of you.”
Red smiled—a wide smile of weary relief and happiness. He gave Susan a peck on the cheek. “That sounds just right.”
As I trudged to my front door, Susan grabbed one of the bowls and handed it to me. “Do you want me to come in and fix you some herbal tea, honey? Maybe get you all snug with a blanket?”
Although the sun was shining, I was suddenly aware of the chill bumps on my arms. I wrapped my hands tighter around the warm bowl. “I’ll be okay on my own,” I said. “I just need to wind down. I’m sure I’ll feel much better tomorrow. Thanks so much for dropping by and for the bisque.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure, or are you just saying that to try to be polite?”
I managed a half smile. “I promise—I just need some time to myself. But I really appreciate both of you being there for me today. I can’t even tell you how much.” Feeling a burst of gratitude, I walked over to give Red a huge hug.
Susan, too, gave me a parting hug before I returned to my door. “Okay, well, you’d better call one of us if you need anything, okay? We’ll be here lickety-split.”
“Thank you.”
Susan grabbed the second bowl of soup, then she linked arms with Red and he walked her to her car.
Once I had closed the door behind me, I glanced over the comforting sights of home: my favorite red Indian rug, my Chinese jade mementos, and my bookshelf overflowing with mysteries. My gaze landed on the small pot of pink poppies Jonas had brought me. As I stared at a bud that was about to open, I felt more than a twinge of homesickness for Larches Corner.
I pulled off my boots and flopped onto the couch, trying to process the fact that this could very well have been my last day on earth. I felt a pang, knowing how devastated my parents and my sister would have been, but I realized that Jonas and his mother would have truly mourned me, as well.
Stone the fifth was anyone’s guess.
In what must have been a delayed response, my eyes filled and sobs shook my body. I grabbed a tissue and let myself wail until I felt cleansed.
Once I’d stopped my sniffling, I picked up my phone to call the people who’d been worried about me. They needed to know I was safe.
Realizing I had never called Veronica to let her know the wolf preserve murderer had been caught, and knowing that both Dahlia and Evie were probably too torn up to do it, I dialed her number first.
To say she was astonished when I described my cave encounter with Carson was an understatement.
“You mean Carson didn’t even like me?” she asked, her nose stuffy. “It was all an act? But he was so…simpering, you know? So obsessed, I thought.”
“According to my psychologist sister, psychopaths are great actors,” I explained. “We were all fooled, especially since he was audacious enough to let the wolves chew on his own hand in order to throw suspicion off himself.”
“That’s messed up.” She gave several hacking coughs. “Well, this just throws my thesis off-kilter. Now I’m going to have to go at the question another way.”
Secretly, I was glad the wolves had been exonerated. “So, would you say the wolves look at humans as part of the pack, not as prey?”
“Yes, I’d definitely say that. Although they did chew on people—but that would seem pretty normal if they literally smelled like fresh meat. It’s just so twisted to think of Carson rubbing meat on Shaun and Rich…”
“I know. You just can’t let yourself go there.” I hadn’t even told Veronica about the showdown with Evie’s ex. I figured Evie could tell her that part herself—if Evie and Veronica returned to work—and I didn’t feel like rehashing it. “Do you think you’re going to stick around a little longer at the preserve?” I asked hopefully.
The phone line was silent for a moment, then Veronica answered. “Yes. I believe I will. I feel horrible that I was going to be so slanted in my conclusions, making the wolves out to be ruthless killers.” Her voice took on a fresh resolve. “I’ll definitely hang around, at least until I get my thesis finished.”
As I hung up with Veronica and called my parents, I made a snap decision. I would head home early for Easter. I needed time alone in the fields and woods, time to fish and ride the four-wheeler, and time to visit with Naomi Hawthorne.
* * * *
On Thursday, Detective Watson dropped by just as I was lugging my suitcase out the door. He took it from me and placed it in Bluebell’s open trunk.
“Got yourself in a tight spot, I reckon,” he said, his West Virginia accent strong. “After listening to Carson White’s rambling statement, in which he mentioned you no fewer than ten times, I thought I’d drop by and check on you. He’s not your everyday killer—more like the type that can get into your head—and I hoped he didn’t get to you.”
I thought of Carson’s chilling screensaver message on my phone, which I’d since replaced with a picture of the soothing blue mountains of Dali in China. Just looking at the area in the Yunnan Province brought back wonderful memories of a day trip a friend and I had made there during my Peace Corps days. “I try not to think about him. But I am heading home for Easter, just to take a break from pet-sitting and Greenwich.”
Detective Watson ran a hand through his cropped, graying hair. “Good idea. After sitting snakes and wolves, maybe you ought to look into a different line of work.” He gave me a thoughtful look. “Hey, did you ever think of training to be a police detective?”
My mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”
He smiled. “Of course I am. You’ve helped us apprehend two murderers. Now, maybe you tend to show up at right place at the right time…or maybe you’re seeing some things I’m missing.”
“Or maybe I just attract weirdos,” I said.
He chuckled. “I suppose that’s a possibility, too. But I just wanted to give you something to think about. It’s not easy—you have to work your way up—but if you ever think it’s something you want to pursue, just let me know and we’ll get the ball rolling.”
He shook my hand and strode back to his car. I stood speechless, unable to think what I needed to do next.
Belinda Blake, police detective?
It did have a certain ring to it.
26
Jonas and I sat in a nook at The Coffee Shoppe, waiting for the other book clubbers of Larches Corner to arrive. He’d asked me to meet him early, so we could catch up.
“A detective?” he repeated, taking a sip of his house brew. “Is that something you really want to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, why do I keep stumbling into these murderers? I think it’s because I can’t stop until I figure out what’s going on. It seems like it would be a good fit for me—a real career, you know? But at the same time, I’m looking at four or five years of training and on-the-job experience. Katrina thinks I wouldn’t want to stick it out, and she does know me well. I don’t like feeling trapped in a job.”
“I wonder why that is.” He shot me an amused look.
“What’re you saying, Jonas Hawthorne?” My tone was sharp.
He dropped his eyes, poking at the petals of a hot pink gerbera daisy that sat in a squatty vase on our table. “Just that, well, you know. I mean, your mom—”
<
br /> I bristled. “You’re saying I’m like my mom?”
He looked bewildered. “Why, is that a bad thing? Your mom’s fantastic. She knows how to do just about anything.”
I took a liberal drink of my strawberry frappe, mulling over his observation.
And I realized he was dead right. How had I not seen it all these years?
Although I’d always related most to my even-keeled dad, I couldn’t escape the fact that I tended to hurtle from one idea to the next, trying first one thing, then another. And why? Because I was hoping to settle on something? No. It was because I got bored. I needed to have projects and live fully in the moment, just like my mom did.
Almost in slow motion, Jonas reached across the table and wrapped my hand in his own. It was the first time he’d made that kind of very intentional physical contact, and my hand warmed so quickly, it could’ve peeled the varnish off the table. He gave me an intense look. “Belinda, you never cease to surprise me. You’re so different from—well, from anyone else I know. You’re a delight.”
It sounded like something my grandma would say, but when Jonas said it, a tingle ran through me. Especially when he was holding on to my hand like he didn’t want to let go of it.
His voice deepened, and he leaned closer, his knee resting against mine under the table. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been wanting to talk with you—”
The bell jingled on the door, and Delia Jensen walked in. She was the only Female of Marriageable Age in the book club, and she looked like she could have been the muse for any number of beautiful Renaissance paintings. Her dark eyes flicked our way, and she lit up with a smile.
“Jonas.” She turned from him to me. “And Belinda, lovely to see you’re in town! I’ll grab my coffee and come right over. I’m so looking forward to discussing Gatsby.”
I tried to control the irrational jealousy that always flared when I saw Delia. I didn’t think Jonas was enamored with her—in fact, he seemed rather taken with me at the moment—but I couldn’t be sure.
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