Immortal Prey

by Diana Ballew

  “Back on over here. Now, watch the mud, Miss.”

  She followed behind him.

  He called over his shoulder, “When I came out this morning and saw the tracks, I followed them. Took me here.”

  He stopped abruptly and Erin nearly bumped into his back. “Inside this grave’s a young woman. Died just a few days ago — buried yesterday.” He jutted his whiskered chin forward. “I found what was left of her under that maple over yonder.”

  “What was left?” Erin suddenly felt parched as her gaze followed in the direction of his bony finger.

  “Yep. She’d been chewed up to pieces. I tossed my breakfast putting her back in the grave and filling the dirt back in.” He grimaced and quietly said, “Sorry about the gruesome details.”

  The contents of her stomach curdled. “So, what you’re telling me is that the wolf, or wolves, dug her body out of the ground and … ate her?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Only it wasn’t just her — there are two more. All buried within the last three days.”

  She noticed three large mounds piled high with fresh, brown dirt. “What about the caskets? How could they get through those?”

  “Metal caskets seem to be safe. Looks like it’s the plain wood ones they can sniff out and claw and chew their way through. All of them dug up corpses were six feet under in simple pine boxes.”

  “Wouldn’t that be hard for a single wolf to do? Have you seen more than one? A pack, perhaps?”

  Mr. Avery’s thin lips twisted with contemplation. “I can’t rightly say for sure. I know I’ve seen one wolf, a big one, and I think it’s the same one each time.” He rubbed his nose and coughed. “But there’ve been a night or two when I had a little too much fun down at the saloon. I thought I saw more than one on them nights. Was the beer, I told myself, but now I wonder. Still, this is the first time around here wild animals have taken to diggin’ up and eating the dead.”

  Dizzying nausea threatened. Erin drew a cotton handkerchief from her pocket and held it to her nose. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Avery. If you don’t mind, I’d … I’d like to walk around the grounds and take notes for the newspaper.”

  The darkly clad figure she had spotted earlier came into view near the Rucker Tomb. It appeared to be a man, a tall man, in a heavy coat or cloak. “By the way, who is that man over there?”

  The caretaker spun around. “Huh? What man is that?”

  “The man over there by the pyramid.” She looked again, but the man was gone.

  “Sorry, Miss. Best I can tell, nobody’s here right now but us.”

  Erin glanced again. Sure enough, no one was there. She cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Good grief. I suppose these long days of work must have me seeing things.”

  A crooked grin spread between the caretaker’s lips. He removed his cap and scratched the top of his balding skull with long, yellow fingernails. “I best get on back to work. You take your time and get all you need.”

  “Thank you kindly for your time, Mr. Avery.”

  Erin walked the path, looking for missed clues, thinking about the familiar people buried here. William Mescher. He’d requested that his body be entombed in his couch after his death. Her father had sent a clipping of the article to her in New York. Then there was poor Margaret Quinn, shot in the street by her drunken husband. Her murder had caused quite the scandal as women rallied in support of dry laws, followed by the bungled execution of her husband. There were graves of people she remembered reading about just this past March. The Wellington Avalanche victims. Ninety-six killed. A real tragedy. Worst avalanche in United States history. During a fierce snowstorm, while passengers slept in the rail cars at the depot waiting to get through on the track, the huge avalanche struck without warning.

  “A magnificent tomb, don’t you agree?”

  Erin gasped and spun toward the deep voice.

  The tall man wearing a dark coat took unhurried steps toward her. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

  Her heart thumped like a drum against her chest. “Sir, I … I didn’t know you were there.”

  “Again, I apologize if I frightened you.” He angled his chin toward the tomb, his gaze fixed upon hers. “I’ve been admiring this granite tomb. It’s unique.”

  “Yes, yes it’s quite impressive,” she said, finding it hard to regain her composure after such a start.

  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” He held out his hand.

  Struck by the intensity of the sapphire blue eyes gazing into hers, she instantly felt off balance as she inched her feet forward and offered her hand. “Erin Richland. I’m … .I’m with the Everett Messenger.”

  He clasped her hand longer than she deemed appropriate, and she heard the breath hitch within his throat.

  “Derek Rudliff. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  Where had she heard that name before? “Wait. Rudliff as in Rudliff Land and Timber?”

  He smiled and released her hand. “Guilty as charged.”

  “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Rudliff.” She surveyed the handsome stranger from head to toe, her gaze pausing at the brilliant smile below a smooth, neatly-trimmed mustache.

  My, my. Derek Rudliff. Up until now she had thought the owner of the giant company was nothing more than a phantom, just another investor or corporation from outside Washington State. While she had never laid eyes upon the attractive Mr. Rudliff before today, the name was certainly a familiar one within the city. Names like Hill, Weyerhaeuser, and Rudliff — these were the Northwest’s great timber barons, and with their vast land holdings and bustling sawmills along the waters came immense wealth and prestige.

  He cocked his head. “And what brings you to a cemetery on such a cool, drizzly day, if I may be so bold to inquire?”

  “Oh, yes.” She paused, still captivated by the unique shade of his eyes. “I’m working on an article for the newspaper, but I could ask you the same thing.”

  He smiled and arched an eyebrow. “I must confess, I enjoy cemeteries, day or night.”

  She frowned. “That’s rather macabre, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Perhaps.”

  His eyes narrowed to indigo slits, and her breath instantly caught deep inside her chest. He watched her as though studying every inch of her face, every pore upon her skin, even her every breath. His gaze moved leisurely to her mouth, her throat, settling upon her covered breasts.

  He cleared his throat, and his gaze snapped toward the tomb. “You must admit there is beauty in such a piece.”

  She silently cursed her burning cheeks. “Um, yes. It is beautiful.” She joined him at the wall of the thirty-foot tomb and placed her hand upon the cold granite. “This is the Rucker Tomb. Two local men had it built to honor their mother.”

  He turned to face her, his vibrant gaze holding her in place against the wall like an invisible embrace. Unblinking, she watched as his tongue leisurely moistened his full lips, how the hint of evening stubble accentuated his masculine chiseled facial structure, how —

  “And what story would lead you to this cemetery on such a day?”

  His question breaking the spell, she blinked and said, “Oh, yes. I’m hunting wolves.”

  He coughed and fingered his coat collar. “Excuse me? Hunting … wolves?”

  She smiled. “Well, not actually hunting wolves. It’s an article — for the newspaper.”

  A dazzling white smile brightened his face. He dipped his head and leaned toward her, his gaze narrowing. “I’m relieved, Miss Richland. For a moment there I thought I might have to flee for my life.”

  Erin laughed louder than she had intended, but the man had a way about him that made her deliciously giddy and nervous all at the same time. As was her nature in conditions that felt out of her control, she rambled, saying, “Oh, yes, I can imagine a man of your stature must occasionally need to play the part of a wolf. Or, so, I would imagine … in your business dealings, that is.”

&nbs
p; His eyebrows jumped. “This is true, more than you know.”

  Her lashes fluttered uncontrollably, and she cast her gaze downward. “And how long do you plan to stay in Everett, Mr. Rudliff?”

  A long pause filled the near silence, causing her heart to stop dead in her chest. She peered up, meeting his soulful eyes.

  “I hope to stay a good while. You see, the construction on my home here was recently completed.”

  “Is that so?” She cleared her throat. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around town, Mr. Rudliff.”

  The edge of his mustache curled upward, and he took a step forward. “Please, Miss Richland, call me Derek.”

  A surge of heat rushed across her neck and cheeks. “Ah, yes. And where in Everett do you plan to reside … Derek?”

  “My home is on Grand Avenue. I’ve just recently moved in.”

  She recalled seeing a lovely home on Grand under construction during the course of the last year. “Is it the new one — the one practically hanging over the cliff overlooking the bay — that house?”

  He placed a hand in his trouser pocket and cocked his head. “It is. You know of it?”

  “Why, who around here doesn’t? The house is absolutely beautiful. I’d heard an investor owned it, but I —”

  “Then you must come see it, Miss Richland,” he interjected, his eyes deepening in color.

  He brushed an errant strand of hair from his forehead, and Erin spotted the thick silver ring on his finger.

  “In fact, I’m having a party week after next to christen the new place, so to speak. Mostly close friends and associates of mine. Please, say you’ll come.”

  Erin wondered what Frederick would say about the invitation. With her father’s incessant prompting, she’d felt obligated to see Frederick on more occasions that she liked since her return to Everett. Frederick Dimsdale tended to be more overprotective than jealous when it came to other men, but something told her that he would be more than envious once he laid eyes upon Derek Rudliff.

  “I’ll try to be there.” Her gaze snapped to the ring again. “Will your wife be there, as well?”

  His eyes shifted to the ground, and his broad shoulders curved forward. “My wife … she —”

  Erin took a step forward. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I … I didn’t mean to pry.”

  He lifted his chin and met her gaze. “It’s all right, Miss Richland.” His brow furrowed into a deep ridge. “My wife passed away, but it was long ago.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, though her voice barely rose above a whisper.

  He studied her in the most unusual manner, as though waiting for her to articulate further. Above them, a black raven perched on a high branch of a cedar tree squawked wildly, magnifying the awkward silence swelling between them.

  Derek cleared his throat and checked his pocket watch. “As much as I’d like to stay and talk, I really must be going.” He returned the timepiece and stared directly into her eyes. He raised a single eyebrow and smiled. “I’m not a man who compromises the reputation of a lady. I’ll send you a formal invitation and escort you to the party myself.”

  She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m a modern woman, Mr. Rudliff. I assure you I go where and when I please. An escort won’t be necessary. I’ll be there. You can count on it.”

  “Then I’ll send you the details this week.” He smiled and bowed in an exaggerated sweeping gesture. “Until we meet again.”

  “Indeed,” she said formally, smiling in return.

  He turned to walk away, and a brilliant idea flashed through her mind. “Oh, wait, Mr. Rudliff … I mean, Derek. I almost forgot —”

  He turned. “Yes?”

  “Would it be possible if I arranged for a photograph of you — for the newspaper. I imagine many citizens would be —”

  “No. It’s not possible.” The deep ridge between his brows smoothed. “What I mean is, I prefer no pictures of myself. Privacy is important to me.”

  Erin blushed and waved her hand. “Yes. Yes, of course. You’re right.”

  The large raven on the branch above screeched and took flight in a sudden blast of glossy, black feathers.

  “I’m sorry, but I really must be going, Miss Richland.” He nodded formally. “Good day.”

  * * * *

  THE autumn moon towered high in the sky, and a lace coverlet of fog spread across the water below. From the parlor widow, Erin peered out at the tall ships, schooners, and fishing boats, their lights flickering like tiny floating candles woven into the gray mist.

  “Almost time for dinner,” Maggie called from the back kitchen.

  Erin noticed the dining room had been set for three. “Will someone be joining us this evening?”

  Maggie entered the room and placed a crystal wine decanter in the middle of the long walnut table. “Your father’s invited Mr. Dimsdale to dine with both of you tonight.”

  As if on cue, a swift knock rattled the front door. Erin went to answer it, calling over her shoulder to the servant, “I’ll get it, Maggie.”

  She looked out the peephole. Frederick stood on the porch, top hat in one hand and an oversized umbrella in the other. She sighed and opened the door.

  “Good evening, Erin. It was kind of you to invite me to dinner tonight.”

  She cleared her throat and managed a suitable smile. “Come in. Let me take your coat and hat.”

  Frederick entered and perched his drenched umbrella against the plaster wall in the hallway. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I have something here. I wanted you to be the first to see it.”

  She opened the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “What’s this?”

  Frederick’s brown eyes gleamed, and his thin lips disappeared as though controlling a wily grin. “You’ll see.”

  She unfolded the paper. It was a signed business agreement showing Mr. Frederick Dimsdale as the new owner of a company.

  Frederick twisted the ends of his bristly mustache to waxy points. “You’re looking at the new owner of the Northwest Tugboat Company. I have plans to make it the largest fleet in all the Northwest.”

  Erin patted his arm and hung his coat and hat. “How lovely for you, Frederick. You must be very proud.” She gestured for him to have a seat on the parlor sofa.

  He stood in place, his brow deeply ridged. “But, I thought you would be —”

  “Ah, Frederick, so glad you could make it, my boy,” Edward said, descending the staircase from the second floor.

  Frederick hastened past her. “Hello, sir.” The two men shook hands. “I wouldn’t miss an evening with such charming company.”

  Erin felt Frederick’s narrow, predatory eyes seeking hers. She cleared her throat and turned on her toes toward the dinner table. “Shall we, gentleman?”

  Maggie lumbered through the swinging door and served bowls of clam chowder and a basket of fresh baked bread. She poured white wine into the crystal glasses before heading back to the kitchen.

  Frederick sat and clutched the lapels of his jacket. He thrust his chest forward. “Sir, I was telling Erin that the sale is finally complete. I’m officially the new owner of Northwest Tugboat Company.”

  “That’s delightful, Frederick.” Edward eyed his daughter. “Did you hear that, Erin? A proprietor of his own company — and a large one at that. Let’s have a toast, shall we?”

  They clinked wine glasses, and Edward said, “To Frederick, may your new business venture be prosperous and your life full and rich.”

  Frederick held his glass up and eyed Erin over the rim. “Hear, hear.”

  Judging by the lump in her throat, Erin wondered if she were swallowing the entire loaf of bread whole. She sat silent, fidgeting with her cloth napkin under the table while the two men talked at length.

  After what felt like an eternity, Maggie removed the soup bowls and returned with plates of stuffed, roasted chicken and vegetables.

  “Did you have a chance to tell
Frederick the story you’re working on for the paper?” asked her father.

  “No, no, I haven’t.” She took an extra-long sip of wine and turned to Frederick. “You see, Father has graciously allowed me additional work at the paper.”

  “That’s lovely. What sort of work?”

  “Well.” She looked at both men who sat hanging on her every word. “I went to Evergreen Cemetery today working on —”

  “That dismal place — what on earth for?” Frederick interrupted, before shoveling a fork-full of chicken in his mouth.

  Edward waved his hand dismissively, “Oh, I told her it would be dreary there today with all the mud and rain and Lord knows what else, but you know her, Frederick.”

  “Both of you, I’m not a child,” she said. “There’s a story there, a mystery, really, and I find it terribly exciting.”

  Frederick grunted. “A cemetery? Exciting? Well, I certainly find that hard to believe.” His thin lips twisted in a smug smirk.

  Erin hemmed in closer to the table. “You can poke fun all you want. Apparently, there’s a bloodthirsty wolf in the city — perhaps even a pack — and it’s not the first time the footprints have been spotted in the cemetery.”

  “All wolves are bloodthirsty, my dear,” Frederick declared.

  Erin willed herself not to laugh at his asinine statement. “That’s true, I suppose. But it’s the first time corpses of the recently buried have been dug up.”

  Frederick gasped, and his eyes bulged wide. “Dug up?”

  Erin’s gaze narrowed, and she summoned up her most dramatic persona. “Yes, dug up, ripped to shreds, and then devoured.”

  Frederick dropped his fork on his plate. The sound echoed across the wood beams of the tall ceiling. He turned to her father. “Pardon me, sir, but you’ve allowed Erin to romp recklessly through a cemetery with wolves on the loose?”

  Edward Richland raised his hands. “This is her choice. I’m tired of fighting with her.”

  Frederick’s gaze snapped to hers. “Erin, this isn’t safe. Tell me you’re done with the story and moving on to something more —”

  She sucked in her cheeks and took a deep breath. “More what, Frederick? More ladylike? More what exactly?”