Wild Spirits

by Rosa Jordan

  “Any particular reason?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Kyle said hurriedly. “I just wanted you to know, it might be as late as two before I get in.”

  “Have a good time!” she said sarcastically, and slammed down the phone.

  Wendy tried to work more on the accounts, but found it impossible to concentrate. After a while she turned off the computer, pulled on a parka, and went outside. There was a big harvest moon, a romantic moon, she thought bitterly, although she had nobody to be romantic with.

  She wandered from one enclosure to the next, lingering near the llamas because they gave off a warm smell that was comforting. Velvet was lying down, too, but when she saw Wendy, she leaped to her feet and trotted to the fence. Wendy reached through the wire to scratch her head. Velvet promptly began sucking Wendy’s fingers.

  “Velvet,” Wendy murmured, “you’re getting too old for this nonsense.” But she let the fawn suck for a few minutes anyway because it made them both feel better.

  Next Wendy walked past the cat enclosures. Zari the serval, Kenya the caracal, and the two bobcats, BB and Lucky, were in asleep in their dens. If they knew she was there and couldn’t be bothered to stir from their warm beds. But as Wendy neared the last enclosure, she saw that Namu was wide awake. He had come out of the carrier and now lay on the flat roof of his den. He turned his big shaggy head in her direction and sniffed the air.

  Oh yes, Wendy thought. You know I’m here, don’t you?

  Later, as she was walking back to the house, she realized that because he was a Canadian lynx, native to a cold climate, the cool night air probably felt good to him. And, being blind, it didn’t matter to him that it was dark. He was studying his new environment with his nose, not his eyes.

  • • •

  When Kyle got home at two in the morning, Wendy was still up, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of hot chocolate.

  “Got any more of that brew?” Kyle asked.

  “On the stove,” Wendy said, not bothering to get up and get it for him. “Might not be a full cup. I didn’t think you’d want hot chocolate on top of however many beers you had with your pals out at County Line.”

  “Half a beer,” Kyle said. “And I didn’t go with my pals. I went alone.”

  “More fun than coming home, I guess.”

  Kyle didn’t answer, just stood by the stove waiting for the leftover cocoa to heat. When it was steaming, he poured it into a cup and sat down across from her at the table.

  “Wendy,” he said. “I didn’t go for fun. I’m still doing detective work.”

  “Seriously?” Wendy’s blue eyes flashed up to meet his.

  “Frank has a friend who said he heard somebody out there was asking if anybody knew the name of the blonde who worked at the bank three or four years back. I thought maybe if I hung around awhile, late in the evening, when customers were starting to get a buzz on and tongues were wagging, I might hear something.”

  “Did you?”

  Kyle shrugged. “Not much. The bartender did remembered two guys. He said one was asking about you.”

  “By name?”

  “No, it was your name they wanted.”

  Wendy sighed. “And in a small town like this somebody would’ve said, ‘Oh you mean Wendy Marshall. Only her name’s not Marshall anymore. She married the cop, Kyle Collins.’”

  “But do they know where we live?” Wendy could feel her panic rising again.

  “We don’t know what they know,” Kyle said. “But I think I’ve got a line on who they are. I got pictures of both of them, mug shots sent from Florida. I’ll show them to you in the morning.” He reached across the table and took one of Wendy’s hands. “I also bought you a cellphone. I want you to carry it with you from now on, everywhere. Even out to feed the animals.”

  “Okay,” Wendy said meekly. Her hand felt cold inside his big warm one. For the first time that evening, the knot of fear in her stomach relaxed.

  30

  RADAR

  It was just after lunch on Sunday when a car turned off the main highway on to the dirt track leading up to the house. Wendy’s heart lurched, as it always did these days when a stranger, or a strange vehicle, came too close. But she relaxed when the VW stopped out front and she saw that it was two women. Even before she got a clear view of the driver’s face, Wendy recognized the mop of wild red curls. She stepped out onto the porch and called out, laughing, “Karen Kennedy! What on earth are you doing here?”

  Karen waved back. “Visiting you, of course.” As she spoke, Karen went around the car to open the door for her passenger.

  Wendy did another double-take when the second woman got out. “Mrs. Armstrong! Come in, come in, both of you!”

  She reached out to hug Mrs. Armstrong, but the elderly woman stiff-armed her away. “Careful, Wendy! You don’t want to squash Tripod.”

  “Mrs. Armstrong, you can’t be serious! You mean that ferret is still alive?”

  “As alive as I am,” Mrs. Armstrong said tartly, and held her frayed safari vest open for Wendy to see a brown — now rather greyish-brown — ferret head poking out.

  Wendy touched the little animal’s head and turned to Karen. “Do you know she got that ferret when I was only fourteen? That makes him at least ten years old! I didn’t know ferrets lived that long.” She waved her forefingers between Karen and Mrs. Armstrong. “And I didn’t know you two knew each other!”

  Mrs. Armstrong looked surprised. “Naturally I know Karen. She’s my granddaughter. The one that lives in Memphis.”

  “Normally Grandma comes to visit us because it’s hard for us to get away,” Karen explained. “She’s told me any number of times about how she and this girl named Wendy rescued Tripod when he got caught in that trap Uncle Ed set in the henhouse, but I never realized she was talking about the same Wendy who saved me that day I was going crazy with those lion cubs out at Red River Ranch.”

  “Two years ago!” Wendy exclaimed. “How’s college?”

  “Discontinued due to having met the man of my dreams,” Karen beamed. “You’ll never believe this, but I married a guy who raises exotic cats. That’s what we do for a living.”

  Wendy raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Not lions, I hope.”

  “Never!” Karen made a face. “Of all the cats they had at Red River, the only ones I liked were the servals. I decided I wanted one, and that’s how I met my husband, Ken. He’s a serval breeder.”

  “Oh, I love the servals, too,” Wendy said. “In fact, I’ve got one out back that I can show you later. But first come in, and let’s play catch-up.”

  “Well.” Karen grinned mischievously. “It just happens I’ve got one I brought along to show you, too. If you’re interested.”

  “You’re kidding!” Wendy squealed. “Of course I’m interested.”

  Karen returned to the car to get whatever she had brought along, while Wendy led Mrs. Armstrong into the living room. The old lady looked around, tapped her cane on the polished hardwood floor, and said, “A very pretty place you’ve got. Is Lover Boy treating you all right?”

  “Oh, he is, Mrs. Armstrong. And I know you’ll believe me when you see how many animals I have out back. With no complaints — well, not too many complaints — from him.”

  “Excellent!” Mrs. Armstrong said. “Especially in light of what Karen brought you. We would have phoned first but your number’s unlisted. I tried to get it from the police department, but Kyle wasn’t there and they wouldn’t give it out.”

  “Uh, right,” Wendy said. She turned to Karen, who was just entering, and saw that her hands were cupped around a tiny gold and black kitten with enormous ears.

  “Ohhhhhh,” Wendy breathed. “A baby serval!”

  Karen passed it to her and stood smiling like the nurse in a maternity war
d who has just handed a newborn infant to its mother. “You like?”

  “Oh, yes,” Wendy breathed. “Those huge ears, and the way they swivel them, like little radar stations. They say servals have such keen hearing they can hear a snake slithering through the grass.”

  The kitten snuggled itself against her chest and looked up with wide blue eyes. “So what are you doing out in the big world, so far from your mommy?” Wendy baby-talked to the kitten.

  “Mommy doesn’t want anything to do with him,” Karen said. “He’s got a bad hind leg, and you know how some animals are — they totally reject any offspring that show some sign of weakness. I’ve been bottle-feeding him, but I still hate that chore. My husband wants to get rid of him because it’s bad for business to have one around that’s defective. It might make people think we aren’t doing responsible breeding.”

  Mrs. Armstrong gave Karen a stern look, and said to Wendy, “And there they were, my favourite granddaughter and her lover boy, ruining my visit by fighting about it. So I said, ‘Why don’t you give him to Wendy Collins? When it comes to animals, that girl has the patience of Job and Jesus put together.’”

  Karen broke in. “When she said your name, I said, ‘Wendy Collins? The one who used to work at Red River Ranch?’ Grandma said, ‘I don’t know about any ranch work, but I know my Tripod wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for her.’”

  Wendy bowed her head over the kitten. She knew she should look after her guests, urge them to sit down, offer them something to drink, and all that. But she was so smitten with the kitten that she couldn’t stop stroking its soft gold-and-black fur.

  She also knew it was a mistake to feel this way. Karen was not a volunteer wildlife rehabber and she did not run an exotic cat sanctuary. She and her husband were breeders, which meant that to them, a kitten like this was merchandise, something to be sold. Something that could be “defective,” like an appliance. Something people paid hundreds of dollars for because they fell in love with a cuddly cute kitten just as Wendy, at this very minute, was falling hopelessly in love.

  It took all the willpower Wendy had to pull the kitten away from her chest and hand it back to Karen. “It’s … adorable,” she said. “Sit down, both of you, please. What can I get you to drink?”

  “Been sitting,” Mrs. Armstrong said shortly, and thumped into the kitchen behind Wendy. “I’ll take water, straight from the tap. Never did like ice water. Not natural.”

  “Anything wet and cold will do for me,” Karen called after them.

  When they were alone in the kitchen, Mrs. Armstrong leaned toward Wendy and asked in a conspiratorial voice, “You’ll take the kitten, won’t you?”

  Wendy ran the old lady a glass of tap water and handed it to her. “Mrs. Armstrong, we can barely afford to feed and care for the animals we have. I took them because no one else wants them, and they can’t be released. Kyle would kill me if I paid hundreds of dollars for a kitten just because it’s some exotic species.” She shook her head firmly, and opened the fridge to get Karen a can of pop. “It’s for rich people to buy exotic animals as playthings. I figure my purpose on earth is to protect them. Especially the ones no one else wants.”

  Behind her, she heard Karen’s voice. “I know you can’t afford to buy it. Grandma told me that.” Karen gave a wicked chuckle in which Wendy heard echoes of Mrs. Armstrong’s brand of teasing mischievousness. “What Grandma actually said, was, ‘Wendy’s pretty as a picture and she could’ve married rich like you, Karen. But she set her heart on that Kyle Collins and you know what a policeman’s salary is like.’”

  Wendy blushed, and gave Karen the soda. “You want a glass?”

  “No thanks,” Karen handed Wendy the kitten, so she had two free hands to pop the top on the can. She took a long swallow. “Um! Good! So, what do you say?”

  “I’d say your grandmother is right,” Wendy replied carefully, trying not to look into the kitten’s deep blue eyes again. “I can’t afford to buy an exotic cat, and besides —”

  “Hold it!” Karen held up her hand. “Don’t tell me what you think of breeders. We already had this conversation, back at Red River Ranch. And you said if they did it right, and the animal was in danger of extinction in the wild, and, and, and. So let’s not have that discussion again, okay? All I want to know is if you want this kitten. For free. But before you say yes, you’d better look him over. Like I said, one hind leg is not normal.”

  Wendy set the kitten on the kitchen floor and lay on the floor herself to watch it walk around in the klutzy-cute way all baby animals did. It did have one back leg which did not seem to work right, causing him to limp. “He was born this way?” she asked.

  “Born that way,” Karen confirmed. “Peter doesn’t want to invest in some big operation, which would probably cost more than the cat is worth. And young as it is, the anesthesia might kill it. Even if it came out of the operation okay, we still wouldn’t know the cause of the problem. Like, it might be genetic or something and we wouldn’t want to risk a pure-bred from our facility passing on a genetic defect. That sort of thing can ruin a breeder’s reputation.”

  “And you honestly want to give him to me?”

  “I honestly want him to have a good home.” Karen ran her fingers through her frizzy red curls. “You know, we try to screen the people who buy our servals to see they go to good homes, but you can never be sure. With you, I know he’d have a good home.” She grinned. “Otherwise my grandmother would come out here and whack you with her cane. Just like she threatens to whack my husband when she thinks he’s done something to make me unhappy.”

  “Oh, fiddles!” Mrs. Armstrong harrumphed. “I have never whacked him yet. You either, you sassy thing.” Turning to Wendy she said, “All right, we’ve seen your house. Now show us your animals.”

  “Sure.” Wendy pulled on a sweater, scooped the kitten up off the floor, and tucked him inside. Immediately he stuck his head out the neck, and began swivelling his head this way and that, his large ears tuned to this new environment like radar.

  “Radar,” Wendy whispered into one of the big ears. “Can you tell I’m in love with you already?”

  31

  ANOTHER CALL

  Karen and Mrs. Armstrong stayed about an hour. Wendy thought about calling Kyle to let him know about the serval kitten, but decided to wait until he got home. She was pretty sure that Radar would charm Kyle as quickly as he had charmed her.

  Just then the phone rang. That will be Danny, Wendy thought. Calling to tell me how his weekend at Red River Ranch went. She almost snatched up the receiver, then caught herself and waited until the number registered on the display. It was not Danny’s home number, and it was not the Red River Ranch number. It was one she did not recognize. She waited for the machine to record the call.

  “We’re watching you, Blondie,” growled a male voice. “Day and night. If you don’t wanna get hurt, you don’t talk to nobody. I mean nobody!”

  There was a click and the line went dead.

  Wendy’s hands flew to her face, hands that were ice-cold with fear. She turned a circle, wanting to run, wanting to hide, but not knowing where to go. How on earth did they get her phone number? The new unlisted number. The number she had given to nobody! Nobody! Except …

  Just then she glimpsed, out the window, Danny pulling his bike to a stop and leaning it against the front porch. Danny!

  “Danny!” she screamed, banging out onto the porch as he started for toward the steps. “Who did you give my telephone number to?”

  Danny stopped, a stunned look on his face. “Nobody.”

  “Oh Danny!” Wendy crumpled down on the top steps. “You must have! You are the only person except Kyle who had it! Bad enough you told! Do you have to lie about it, too?”

  Wendy folded her head down on her knees and began to sob hysterically. When she looked up
several minutes later, Danny was gone.

  32

  BLACK DECEMBER

  Wendy phoned Kyle to tell him about the call, but the dispatcher said he was out on patrol. She locked all the doors and windows and went to bed, taking Radar with her.

  She woke when Kyle came in, as usual, around midnight. He walked into the bedroom unbuttoning his shirt, and stopped short. “What’s that thing on your head?”

  “Umm, what?” Wendy mumbled, still half asleep.

  It was dim in the bedroom, with just a soft glow of light from the hall. Kyle switched on the bedside lamp and saw that the strange lump on the pillow was a tawny black-spotted kitten curled against the top of Wendy’s head.

  Wendy blinked in the sudden bright light. “It’s a serval.”

  “You’re wearing a serval on your head?”

  Wendy reached for the kitten and handed him to Kyle. “His name is Radar.”

  Kyle cupped the kittens in his big hands and looked into his face. “Hello, Radar,” he said. “Who told you could sleep with my woman?”

  “He cried,” Wendy said sleepily. “So I brought him to bed with me.” She didn’t tell Kyle that she had cried, too, for hours, and it was while she was crying and her head was pounding with a migraine, that Radar had crawled onto the pillow and made himself a nest in her long blonde hair.

  • • •

  The next morning Kyle told Wendy that they had traced the call to a pay phone outside a gas station near the County Line bar. But that was all. Like the earlier call Danny had answered, and the one to the office where Wendy’s mother worked, there were simply no clues for the police to go on.

  Kyle assured Wendy that he had not given the new number to anyone. The police station didn’t even have it, because if they needed to reach him when he wasn’t there, they could call him on his cell. The phone company had told Kyle that there was no way anyone could have got an unlisted number from them.