seep into the water system.”
“You're sounding very logical, Nancy,” Alice said
with a sigh, “but Rusty doesn't respond to logic. Things
have gotten so bad with him that he taunts us all the
time. That little antic you girls just witnessed is a
perfect example.” Alice frowned as she searched for
her next words, then added, “Somehow, his behavior
has become more sinister lately.”
Nancy bit her lip. Alice and John must not have
been thrilled to move to Wyoming to get away from a
crowded city only to find a very unpleasant man
practically living in their backyard.
Alice slowed down as she navigated a sharp curve in
the road. A driveway opened suddenly on the right,
with a green-and-white sign nailed to an open gate. A
drawing of an elk appeared on the sign above the
words Elk River Ranch.
After turning into the driveway, Alice drove up a
long avenue of pine trees. A quarter of a mile later, the
pines opened onto wide fields where herds of cattle
stood in knee-deep snow, huddled together for
warmth. Then the cattle range changed to a horse
pasture enclosed by a post-and-rail fence. Inside were
six horses in an assortment of colors: bay, chestnut,
gray, black, roan, and palomino. Steamy breath rose
from the horses' nostrils into the cold blue air.
As the Jeep reached the top of a slope, the lodge
appeared at the end of a huge snow-covered lawn. It
was a large, handsome, two-story log building with a
wraparound porch that had railings made of white
birch. Lamplight glowed from several windows, looking
to Nancy like friendly eyes welcoming the travelers in
from the cold.
“Well, here we are, girls,” Alice announced. “Elk
River Ranch itself.”
After unloading her suitcase and skis from the Jeep,
Nancy stood on the porch for a moment, taking in her
surroundings. On either side of the lawn, gorgeous
pine forests stretched into the dark, mysterious
wilderness. Craggy mountains rose beyond those, while
in front of the house a river unfolded like a golden
ribbon in the valley below, reflecting the lowering sun.
Two red barns and an unpainted wooden structure
on the left completed the picture of this ranch far re-
moved from the world's hustle and bustle.
Stamping the snow off her feet on the front door-
mat, Alice opened the door of the lodge. A handsome
gray-and-white husky with one blue eye and one brown
eye bounded outside. Wagging his tail furiously, he
sniffed the girls.
“Stop that, Grover boy, don't be rude,” Alice told
him, taking hold of his collar as she tried to drag him
back inside. “These are our new friends, Nancy, Bess,
and George.” Grover looked at the girls beseechingly
before scurrying in through the door.
Bess giggled. “What a friendly personality he has,”
she declared. “He looked as if he wanted to invite us
inside.”
“Grover loves visitors,” Alice said. “Unfortunately,
he's got so much love in him, he's not much of a
watchdog.” Shrugging, she added, “Though we don't
really need a watchdog in paradise.”
A tall, robust man in his late sixties stepped outside
the front door. When he saw the new arrivals, his
mouth curved up into a delighted smile.
“You must be Nancy, George, and Bess,” he said
heartily, extending his hand for each girl to shake. “I've
heard so much about you from Alice. Now, let me
guess who's who.”
After he identified each girl correctly, Alice excused
herself to do some household chores before preparing
afternoon tea.
George asked, “So, are you John Marshall?”
The man chuckled. “No, I'm Dody Warriner, a guest
at the lodge. But I'm flattered that you mistook me for
John, since he's probably twenty-five years my junior.”
Nancy studied Mr. Warriner as he helped them
carry their bags inside the lodge. He looked amazingly
fit for his age, as if he spent all his time skiing or
sailing. His twinkling blue eyes were striking in his
tanned face, and he moved with a spring in his step.
Even so, Nancy thought, he looks as if he wouldn't turn
down a good meal, judging from the snug fit of his
trousers.
Once inside the living room, Nancy took it in curi-
ously. The room was enormous, as deep and wide as a
barn. A cheerful fire blazed inside a huge stone
fireplace, and beautiful Oriental carpets with rich
colors and intricate designs decorated the floors. A
number of antique sofas and armchairs with luxurious
velvet cushions invited guests to recline, read, talk, or
play a variety of board games stacked on tables around
the room. Lamps topped with fringed and tasseled
shades bestowed a soft golden glow, and a mounted
elk's head gazed down loftily from its perch above the
fireplace.
A young, brown-haired guy around nineteen or
twenty popped up from the sofa in front of the fire.
When he saw the girls, he tucked his chin down shyly,
then glanced up at them with soft brown doe eyes.
“This is my son, Dexter,” Dody explained. “He's a
little shy with girls.”
Dexter blushed bright scarlet under his tan. “Oh,
Dad,” he said, sounding extremely irritated. He im-
mediately sank back into the sofa, disappearing behind
its high back.
“I wasn't expecting someone as cute as him to be
here,” Bess whispered to Nancy. “But I don't blame
him for being annoyed at his father. I wonder if he'll
ever get up the guts to talk to us after being embar-
rassed like that.”
“I'm sure you'll find a way to draw him out,” Nancy
told Bess in a low voice.
“Dexter and I have just finished some terrific skiing
today,” Dody explained. “The slopes got a fresh coat of
powder last night, and the sky was so clear, I could see
for miles. My wife would rather stay in San Francisco
and shop, but I'm addicted to the outdoor life. Thank
goodness Dexter likes to come with me, so I don't have
to ski by myself.”
Nancy didn't think that a gregarious man like Dody
Warriner would have trouble finding people to ski with
him, but she was glad Dexter had come along. She
liked the idea of having a new person around, and
Dexter seemed like a nice guy.
A broad-shouldered man with jet-black hair entered
the room, his arms full of firewood. Nancy judged him
to be in his early forties. He wore blue jeans and a
flannel shirt of gray and blue plaid, which accentuated
his pale gray eyes. He gazed quietly at the newcomers
before turning to place the wood on the fire. Once
finished, he turned back to the girls and shook hands.
“Hello, there, I'm John Marshall, Alice's husband,”
he announced.<
br />
The moment the girls introduced themselves, Johns
gaze wandered toward a far doorway. “Excuse me. I
have work to do,” he said bluntly. “I'm the cook in this
joint.” His mouth curved into a tight smile before
leaving the guests to themselves.
“Alice and John are so different,” Nancy commented
to Dody in a low voice. “She's so sweet and friendly,
and he's so gruff.”
“Well, you know the expression—opposites attract,”
Dody said with a shrug.
Grinning mischievously, Bess cupped her hand
against Nancy's ear and murmured, “Speaking of op-
posites attracting, I'm going to challenge Dexter to a
game of backgammon.”
“Hey, girls,” Alice said, hurrying up to them with a
steaming pot of tea and a plate of brownies on a tray.
“I'm sorry, I had to abandon you to prepare afternoon
tea, which I dutifully promise to all our guests. Anyway,
I've got a free moment now. Why don't I show you to
your rooms?”
“I'm going to do some laps in the heated pool,”
Dody announced. “That way I'll feel I've earned my
brownies.”
Nancy and George followed Alice while Bess slid
over to Dexter's sofa. “Don't worry, guys,” Bess told
Nancy and George, “I'll find our room later. Right now
a cup of tea and a brownie sounds great.”
After putting their skis and boots in the downstairs
sports equipment closet, Nancy and George picked up
their suitcases and followed Alice up a large staircase
made of dark polished wood. On the second floor, six
doors opened off a wide hallway with a large window
facing the river, through which the setting sun poured
a stream of light.
Alice led them to two doors at the front of the hall.
“We've only got two extra rooms, so two of you girls
will have to double up,” she said. “Jenny and Paul have
the two rooms facing each other at the back of the hall,
then Dody and Dexter have the next two rooms, and
you girls are in these two at the front. John and I have
our own suite downstairs in a wing of the house.”
“George, why don't you and I share?” Nancy sug-
gested. “Bess will like having her own bathroom,
anyway, so she won't feel rushed with her make-up.”
“Good point, Nan,” George said, following Alice into
the room.
As the sun slid farther down the horizon, a beam of
sunlight shot through the window like a laser, lighting
up the corner of the hall. A small reddish object there
caught Nancy's eye.
She stepped to the corner and stooped down. It was
a red Swiss army knife with two crudely etched letters,
RM, marking its surface.
Nancy's mind flashed back to Alice's description of
Rusty. Hadn't she said his last name was Marconi?
Nancy thought for a moment. She couldn't think of
anyone staying at Elk River Ranch who had those
initials. Was Rusty Marconi stalking the Marshalls in-
side their own house?
3. Crash!
“Alice?” Nancy said, following Alice and George into
the bedroom. “I found this Swiss army knife in the
corner of the hallway. It says RM on it, and I thought
the M might stand for Marshall. But who in your family
has the first initial R?”
Alice took the knife from Nancy and studied it. “No
one. I have no idea who this belongs to.”
“There's no way it could be Rusty Marconi's, could
it?” Nancy asked her.
Alice stared at her, alarm spreading through her
light green eyes. “What an awful thought, Nancy. No, it
couldn't possibly be his. He may be a weird old coot
who's territorial about his own property, but he
wouldn't stalk us on ours. At least, I don't think he
would.” A sudden look of relief flashed across her face
as she cried, “I know! This knife must belong to Ross
Minkowski, our ranch hand. Thank goodness I
remembered him—the thought that the knife could be
Rusty's really gave me the creeps.”
“Me, too,” Nancy said, feeling much easier. “You
wouldn't want that guy in your house.”
“No way,” George chimed in. “He's bad enough a
mile down the road.”
“Well, girls, I'll leave you to unpack,” Alice said.
“But please come down for tea when you're finished.
Relaxing by our fire on a late winter afternoon can be
very pleasant.”
After promising to join everyone later, Nancy and
George lifted their suitcases onto the luggage racks at
the foot of their twin canopy beds and began to
unpack. The room's walls were decorated with an
assortment of eccentric items, including prints of
Montrose when it was a nineteenth-century Wild West
town, and a pair of old-fashioned snowshoes. Brightly
colored Navajo rugs adorned the floors.
“This place is great,” George commented as she
hung up her blue ski parka. “It's really got the atmos-
phere of an old-time western ranch.”
“The only problem with it is Rusty Marconi,” Nancy
said. “I'm thinking that Alice should tell the police he
threatened her with a slingshot.”
“Aiming a rock at someone is serious stuff,” George
said. “Calling the police wouldn't be a bad idea.”
“Let's tell her,” Nancy said. “Maybe after dinner,
when she isn't so busy.”
Ten minutes later Nancy and George were sitting by
the fire, munching brownies as they set up a Monopoly
game. “Hi there,” came a voice from above them.
Looking up, Nancy saw a young woman with wire-
rimmed glasses, freckles, and curly light brown hair
standing beside her and George. She wore blue jeans
and a blue sweater with a snowflake pattern around the
collar. “I bet you guys are Nancy and George. I've
already met Bess.” She nodded in the direction of Bess
and Dexter, who were deeply involved in a
backgammon game, oblivious to the rest of the world.
“I'm Jenny Marshall. I don't know if my mom told you,
but I just graduated from college and I'm living at
home trying to decide what to do with the rest of my
life.”
Nancy laughed. “I'm Nancy Drew, and this is
George Fayne,” she said, drawn to Jenny's friendly,
happy-go-lucky manner.
“My fiancé, Paul Ferrier, is lurking around here
somewhere,” Jenny explained. “He's living at the ranch
while he works on a graduate school project, so you're
bound to meet him eventually.”
“Are you talking about me again, Jenny?” a man's
voice said behind Nancy. The three girls turned to see
a young man walking toward them from a hallway off
the living room. He looks a lot like Jenny, Nancy
thought, with his pug nose, curly blond hair, and
easygoing smile.
“Don't be paranoid, Paul,” Jenny teased. “You know
I only say good things about you. Anyway, this i
s Nancy
Drew and George Fayne. I know you've already met
Bess.”
After Paul shook hands with the two girls, George
said, “You and Jenny probably hear this a lot, but you
guys look enough alike to be brother and sister.”
Jenny laughed. “It's true—a lot of people say that.”
“When Jenny and I get married and have kids,” Paul
added, “we won't have arguments about who the kids
look like. If they look like Jenny, they'll also look like
me.”
“So when are you planning to get married?” Nancy
asked.
“Probably June,” Jenny said. Glancing at Paul, she
added, “Paul wants to finish up his project before
focusing on the wedding. We hope the project will be
done by spring.”
“What's the project?” George asked.
Paul smiled. “I was hoping you'd ask,” he said
eagerly. “This project is so interesting that I love
talking about it every chance I get. I'm creating a
sanctuary for injured wolves who are found in the wild,
plus a wolf education center for the public.”
“Awesome,” Nancy said. “Were wolves your spe-
cialty in school?”
“Sure were,” Paul told her. “I've been fascinated by
them—probably from the first time I read Little Red
Riding Hood or The Three Little Pigs.”
Bess giggled from her armchair, craning her head to
hear the conversation. “But you weren't supposed to
like those wolves. Most kids were scared of them.”
Paul's hazel eyes grew serious. “Part of the reason
people are so frightened of wolves is because of the
stories we learned as kids,” he said earnestly. “It's a
shame, though. We've killed a lot of them because of
our fear, and now they're endangered. But they're
more scared of us than we are of them. At graduate
school I often worked hands-on with wolves and never
felt afraid.”
“Are you getting a degree in biology?” George asked.
“Zoology, which is the study of animals,” Paul
explained. “I've done all my course work, but I have to
complete this project before I can get my degree.”
“Is that where you guys met?” Bess asked. “At
college?”
“Actually, no,” Jenny replied. “We met as kids in
Montrose when Paul spent summers here visiting his
grandmother. She owns Coyote Corners, a nearby
ranch.”
Paul glanced fondly at Jenny as he said, “Jenny and I
The Mystery of the Mother Wolf Page 2
