“I’m glad I got to know them, too,” I said. Quite honestly, if something tragic happened to me in Greenwich, the only ones who would even notice right now were the Fentons and maybe Red.
As I hung up with Mom, I made a mental note to get out and try to make more friends.
The only obstacle was that I literally hated attending social functions. Stone the fifth had taken me to a polo match, and I’d stuck out like a sore thumb in my not-Greenwich-enough clothing. I’d visited some churches, but they had felt as empty as the pews inside them. I did enjoy the library, but that was only because I didn’t have to talk to anyone there if I didn’t want to.
Of course, there were plenty of people who shared my social class in Manhattan, but I needed a good reason to take the long train ride into the city on any kind of a regular basis. Maybe I could call Dietrich sometime, see if he knew of any hip parties in Brooklyn.
I chuckled at the thought. As if he would know anyone I would connect with. Dietrich was an artist (one whose artwork I couldn’t appreciate), and he was still far above me socially because he’d grown up in Greenwich. We were mutual friends with Stone the fifth, and that was all.
I could get friendly with Evie, but I wasn’t sure if she was friend material, especially with her penchant for suddenly dropping off the radar at work.
Nope. I’d stick with the handful of friends I already had. Besides, if anything tragic did happen to me at the wolf preserve, I knew at least one person who’d make for dead sure the wolves would never harm anyone again.
My sister.
* * * *
When I arrived at Ava Fenton’s, she greeted me warmly at her door, wearing diamond chandelier earrings that would’ve been over the top on anyone else. Ava was a tall, bigger-boned blonde woman who wore nothing but the best designers. While she could’ve easily come off as queenly and imposing, her genuine acceptance of me—despite my peasant status in comparison to her wealth—was reassuring. She never spoke down to me, and I really believed she saw me as an equal.
I complimented her long navy wrap dress, and she said it was one of her favorite Ralph Laurens. Without further ado, she led me straight to her gourmet kitchen, which I’d discovered was the central hub of this home.
As I perched on a steel barstool, Ava busied herself with an appetizer dish. “How’s work?” she asked.
I shared how Rich and I had stumbled onto Shaun’s body. The slight tremor in Ava’s hands was the only giveaway of how much my story had disturbed her.
“And you’re still working there,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
I helped myself to the cheese and grapes she pushed my way. “Yes, but I’ll get out of it as soon as I can. For now, I feel like they really need my help.”
“What was the name of that wolf preserve again? Who runs it?” she asked.
“The White Pine Wolf Preserve—Dahlia White is the manager.”
“That sounds familiar.” Ava’s brow furrowed as Adam walked into the kitchen. “Honey, do you remember hearing something about a White Pine Wolf Preserve or a Dahlia White?”
Adam, whose perpetual tan and dapper clothes always made him look like he’d participated in a regatta, stepped over and shook my hand. He plopped down next to me on a barstool and crunched into a piece of celery.
“Let’s see,” he said. “Remember that time a wolf escaped and showed up behind the Andersons’ guesthouse, maybe a couple of years ago? Wasn’t that from that place?”
Ava pointed at him and nodded. “You know, you’re right.” She chuckled. “Wasn’t the wolf drinking from their koi pond or something?”
“It had eaten several of the fish, if I remember correctly,” Adam said.
“Yes, and there was a very public feud that went on after that, between the police and that Dahlia woman,” Ava added. “I think a man named Officer Jacob Hardy in particular was always writing letters to the editor and giving interviews during that time, about how the preserve didn’t have adequate fencing, that kind of thing.”
“Sergeant Hardy,” I muttered. “But the fencing seems more than adequate now—it’s eight feet high, with two locked gates and everything.”
“Might’ve beefed up their security after that incident,” Adam speculated.
“That would make sense, after all the bad publicity the place got,” Ava said. She patted my arm. “How’s Stone the fourth doing these days? And the younger Stone? I haven’t seen them at any of their regular functions. I’m hoping Stone the fourth hasn’t lapsed into his…well, his inebriated ways.”
“Actually, I’m happy to report that he’s kicked his alcoholism, from what I’ve heard. He’s been traveling into Manhattan more often to manage his business, getting ready to hand it over to Stone the fifth.”
“A wise move,” Adam said. “That boy’s a natural hedge fund manager. I’ve used him for several of my own transactions.”
I hastened to explain. “Well, Stone the fifth is out of town right now. He’s overseas at a retreat.”
Ava gave me a knowing look. “When’s he coming back, dear?”
I shifted uncomfortably on my stool. “No one really knows.”
9
Later that night, after I’d taken a long soak in the bath, my dad called. He said he wasn’t familiar with wolf pack behavior, but he recommended that I watch some online documentaries on the topic. Why hadn’t I thought of that already?
Although it was getting late, I curled up on my bed and booted up my laptop. It didn’t take long to find a documentary on YouTube about the wolves of Yellowstone Park. One particular black wolf showed extreme ingenuity in how he infiltrated an enemy pack. I watched as his entire life story unfolded, from the triumphant moment he started his own pack to the adorable litters he spawned. When the program wrapped up with the wolf’s death, I started sobbing like a baby.
Of course, Jonas picked that exact moment to call.
I would have let it go to voice mail, but maybe he needed to share something urgent about his upcoming trip. After wiping my nose and eyes with a tissue, I finally picked up.
“Yes? Hi!” I tried to sound upbeat.
“Belinda? You okay? You sound like something’s wrong.”
So much for that. There was no reason to hide my stupid sob fest from Jonas; besides, I didn’t want him worrying about me. “Yeah, I was just watching this video about a wolf and he was so smart and he had the cutest litters of pups, but then he died.”
Jonas seemed to make sense of my disjointed explanation. “Sad nature show—gotcha. Are you really getting attached to those wolves?”
“I don’t know. I can’t shake the impression that they’re actually welcoming and not truly dangerous, no matter what happened with Shaun. There’s this one scarred-up wolf, Freya, and she seems determined to be my friend.”
“Maybe she is, and maybe those wolves do seem welcoming, but one thing I’ve learned being a dairy farmer is that even the calmest-tempered animals can fool you. One of my sweetest Jersey cows nearly stomped me to death when I tried to bring her calf inside last winter. And unlike cows, remember that wolves are wild.”
Why was it Jonas and Katrina were nearly always on the same page?
By the time I hung up with Jonas, I was certain of two things. The first was that the man could read me like a book, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. The second was that I should continue to proceed cautiously in the wolf enclosures, even when the animals seemed friendly.
I didn’t want to let my guard down just because of some moving wolf documentary and become victim number two.
* * * *
It was so warm the next day, I was able to wear short sleeves and roll down Bluebell’s window for some fresh air. The April weather had certainly been a bit schizophrenic, but I was thankful for the sun.
When I reached the driveway to the preserve, I h
ad to dodge parked vehicles emblazoned with various news station logos. Reporters streamed up the drive, eager to get the scoop. As I pulled up behind the mid-drive gate, several cameramen seemed to be recording footage of the visitors’ center.
I jumped out and crept between them until I could try the gate. It was locked.
How was I supposed to get to work? My overactive gamer imagination pictured the reporters and cameramen morphing into zombies, then streaming like a flood over the top of my car, banging on my windows until they broke, pulling me from behind the wheel…
I hurled myself back into Bluebell and frantically called Evie. “I’m outside the gate and I can’t get in!”
Evie didn’t seem too concerned. “Righty-o. I’ll head down and open it, then you can drive in.”
“But the reporters are everywhere! I don’t know how I’ll get around them!”
“No worries, love. I’ll shoo them off.”
True to her word, Evie zipped down the drive in a golf cart. I hadn’t seen the green cart before, but it was quite striking, with a gray wolf’s head stenciled on both sides.
I’d rolled my windows up, leaving only the slightest crack, but Evie’s British accent rang out loud and clear as she unlocked the gate. “Fall back, you tossers, so things don’t get argy-bargy!”
The reporters, probably uncertain what language Evie was speaking, began to shuffle out of my way as I edged Bluebell forward. Evie slammed the gate shut behind my Volvo and locked it again, throwing out an enigmatic “Cheers!” to the annoying crowd.
After parking, I caught up to Evie, who had turned off the golf cart and was striding toward the visitors’ center.
“So the news broke?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes, but thankfully Dahlia got home last night. She’s actually inside—I’m catching her up on things.”
Evie pushed open the barn door and sure enough, Dahlia had sunk into a chair next to the cash register. Dark circles stood out under her eyes, and her light, frizzy hair looked like she hadn’t even run a comb through it. I suspected this wasn’t the first day she’d worn her rumpled outfit.
Evie, who had also dressed more casually than usual, walked past me. She wordlessly took a notebook from Dahlia and sat down next to her.
Dahlia’s voice was shaky. “Belinda, I hope this hasn’t been too horrible for you. I’m so pleased you didn’t jump ship. You’ve certainly lived up to your reputation as a fearless pet-sitter.”
She seemed so genuinely pleased to have me around, I couldn’t think of any good way to find out if she was actually going to start helping Rich, as she’d planned to do before her trip.
“I’m doing okay,” I said. “Rich has helped me so much. He’s amazing with the wolves.”
“Mm-hmm,” Dahlia said, glancing at the paper Evie had handed her. “I really need to get caught up, but be sure to check in with me later today, okay?”
“Oh, of course. I’m glad you’re back.”
As I went into the kitchen to grab my green vest, I overheard Dahlia lamenting how she’d probably have to talk to the media. “Maybe you could speak for me, Evie?”
“No, I can’t do that.” Evie’s voice was unusually abrupt.
Dahlia sighed. “If Sergeant Hardy didn’t have it out for me, the press wouldn’t even know. We could still be giving tours.”
“He’s put off telling the media as long as he could, so you had time to return,” Evie said. “And it’s not exactly the kind of death you can cover up, then carry on as you were before.”
I quietly opened the side door and walked outside. It was clear that Dahlia would be distraught for a while, at least until the media coverage of Shaun’s death subsided. I doubted she was going to be able to help Rich when she would have a huge struggle just making the preserve look safe for tourists.
After taking quick glances into the red building and around the smaller animal fences, I realized Rich must have already gone out to the wolf enclosures. He had probably loaded the meats while I was delayed by the front gate.
I decided to take the long way around, a reversal of our usual route. I needed to ask myself some serious questions, like whether I was truly prepared to stay for the duration of my contract if Dahlia didn’t step up to the plate to help Rich. She had the most endearing way of truly believing in my exotic pet-sitting abilities, and I hated to disillusion her by leaving both her and Rich in the lurch.
The sunshine was restorative, as were the calming sounds of spring birds and the burbling creek. I stopped for a moment and closed my eyes, surprised to find I was wishing myself back home to Larches Corner.
I let my mind drift. My ideal day at home would start with one of my sister’s cinnamon rolls and a cup of coffee from The Coffee Shoppe downtown—I’d choose the flavor of the day, since I rarely had the same coffee drink twice. Then I’d swing by Jonas’s place to talk with him and his mom about anything from flowers to philosophy to the actual ages of movie stars. Then I’d ramble home through my parents’ woods, maybe take the four-wheeler out for a spin. After some of my homemade lasagna (I was a better cook than my mom), we’d relax on the porch awhile. The peachy sunset would fade into a velvety navy sky spangled with stars, and I’d fall asleep with my window open, listening to the peepers outside.
Something interrupted my blissful musings of home—a prolonged shout. More like a scream?
I froze in place, waiting to see if I’d somehow imagined the sound.
10
Another screech followed, and I raced toward it. The second wolf enclosure came into view as I topped a little hill. Carson staggered out of the second gate, holding his hand and screaming.
Njord darted away from the fence line, like a guilty child caught in the act. The other wolves weren’t around.
Carson stumbled toward me. Blood was dripping from his hand, and his face had paled to a deathly white.
I steeled myself and sprang into my efficient caregiver mode—something I’d perfected when accompanying my dad to his farm house calls. Quite a few times, I’d wound up murmuring comforting words to the farmers or pitching in to help my dad with the tasks at hand—no matter how stomach-turning they turned out to be.
“Hang on,” I said, hoping Carson wasn’t going into shock. I whipped off my green vest and looked at his bleeding hand. One finger had obviously been gnawed on, and there were a few deeper gashes on it, as well. I wrapped the finger thoroughly, then swathed the rest of his hand with the remaining fabric.
“I’m going to get you back where they can help you,” I said. “Hold on to me.”
Carson listlessly allowed me to drape his uninjured arm around my neck, then we slowly staggered toward the visitors’ center. I wished I had a golf cart, because I surely didn’t care if I disturbed the wolves at this point.
“How’d this happen?” I probed.
“I didn’t know they were so hungry,” Carson said, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “I just wanted to pet them, so I let myself into the first gate, then tried to pet him through the fencing.” He let out a yelp as I stumbled over a rock in the path. “Can’t…remember anything else. Gah! It’s so freaking painful!”
He held his injured hand tightly to his chest, like he feared it would fall off. If I wasn’t so concerned, I would have had to laugh at the nearly theatrical performance the reserved preppie had brought to the table.
As we passed by the first wolf enclosure, it dawned on me that Rich was nowhere in sight. I couldn’t imagine what else he would be doing, if he wasn’t with the wolves or the smaller animals. Maybe he didn’t come in this morning for some reason and Evie had forgotten to tell me? That would mean I’d have to feed and water both packs today. My breathing quickened, and I had to slow to refocus on the task at hand. I adjusted Carson’s arm, which was slipping from my shoulder, and tried to lead him along more quickly.
By the time we
saw the visitors’ center, Carson was moaning loudly. I figured it was for Veronica’s benefit, but she didn’t seem to be around, either.
“We need some help here!” I shouted, hoping someone would aid me with my human burden. Carson’s arm hung like deadweight over my shoulder, and he leaned against me heavily.
Evie rushed out. To her credit, she didn’t even gasp when she saw the bloody vest. I quickly explained what had happened.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” she said, extracting her phone from her pocket. “You two go inside with Dahlia and sit down.”
I gladly complied. Weary of the weight, I gently removed Carson’s arm from my neck, then walked him inside and toward an empty chair.
As he sank into it, his mother ran out of the kitchen, which inspired a fresh outburst of moaning.
“Oh, my poor boy! What’s happened?”
“One of your wolf babies decided to chew on my hand,” he wailed.
I couldn’t really stand to watch more. Although I felt terrible for Carson, he had morphed into some kind of attention hog.
“I’ll check to see how things are coming with the ambulance,” I said.
Dahlia seemed too distracted to register my words. She stooped in front of Carson, her hands wrapped around his good hand. Her skin had blanched to white, and when she swayed on her feet, I rushed to wrap an arm around her. I led her to the closest chair and told her to put her head in her lap. I’d seen people pass out in my dad’s vet office before, and Dahlia was definitely teetering on that brink.
Evie returned and reported, “They should be here in a couple of minutes.” She gave Dahlia a rueful look. “I also called the police, because Sergeant Hardy told me I had to if the wolves exhibited any other violent behavior.”
Dahlia nodded absently, giving further proof of her total preoccupation with Carson. She kept stealing occasional glances at her son’s bloody vest-bandage, but each time, she closed her eyes as if unable to cope.
Belinda Blake and the Wolf in Sheep's Clothing Page 7
