Belinda Blake and the Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by Heather Day Gilbert

  Unable to locate a doorbell, I rapped on the cherry-red front door. A couple of moments passed, and I was just getting ready to ring again when I heard Dahlia shout, “I’m coming!”

  She must have scrambled down the stairs, because she was out of breath when she cracked the door and peered out into the sunlight. “Belinda?”

  “Hi, Dahlia, do you mind if I come in?”

  “Of course not. Come inside.” She motioned me into the cool interior of the hallway. “What’s going on?”

  “First, I wondered how Carson is doing,” I asked, hoping to ease into the real reason for my visit.

  “His grandfather just called.” She twisted a tissue in her hands. “He said Carson’s fingers are all intact and nothing was severed. Everything should heal in a few weeks.”

  “That was a close call, though. His hand was really messed up.” It seemed that Dahlia could at least acknowledge that her wolves were dangerous.

  “Yes,” Dahlia murmured.

  Maybe what I said next would force her to acknowledge the wolves’ deadly tendencies. “Something else has happened. Sergeant Hardy found Rich in Njord’s enclosure, and I hate to say it, but Rich is dead.”

  I watched her response closely. She clasped her hands to her heart and stared. “What?! No!”

  She seemed genuinely upset, so I rushed to smooth things as best I could. “Sergeant Hardy said we needed to be prepared for the press coverage, so you might need to talk with Evie about how to present the story.”

  “I can’t possibly talk to the reporters.” Dahlia ran a hand through her unkempt hair.

  “Evie’s certainly not in any shape to do it, either,” I said. “But if you two talk it out, maybe you can figure out an angle that will somehow keep your place in business.”

  Dahlia sank into an antique chair. “That’s the rub, isn’t it? No one’s going to want to book tours here now. So what will happen to the wolves?”

  At least she seemed concerned about the plight of her animals.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Hesitating a moment, I decided to plunge ahead with my real question. “Um…speaking of the wolves, I hate to ask, but do you have anyone else who knows how Rich feeds them? I only did the water, and to be truthful, right now I’d feel really uncomfortable going back into their enclosures.”

  Dahlia looked thoughtful. “Well, Veronica has fed them, but she’s so tiny…she couldn’t fight them off.”

  She failed to mention that Shaun had been far from small, and he hadn’t been able to fight them off. Besides, what was I, a looming giant? Far from it.

  She pulled her cell phone from her shirt pocket and scrolled down the list, thinking out loud. “Evie can’t do it; she’s afraid of the wolves. And Carson has always wanted to feed them, but I haven’t felt he was ready, and now…”

  She sniffed and untwisted her tissue to wipe her tears. Suddenly, her finger stopped on a contact name. “Marco! I’ll call him. He’s filled in for Rich before. Maybe you could help him, just with the water?”

  There it was, the question I’d been dreading. Would I risk life and limb to enter the enclosures again? This job certainly wasn’t worth it, no matter how well it paid.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  She nodded hopefully. “I’ll call Marco. Then I’ll talk to Evie.” She pushed a button and put her phone to her ear, so I waved and headed out.

  Back in the sunshine, I inhaled the sweet smell of hyacinths lining Dahlia’s walkway. I wished I could head home and recuperate from seeing Rich’s lifeless body, but I would probably have to take care of all the smaller animals before I left. It was anyone’s guess if Veronica had actually fed the chickens after she shifted their feed around.

  In one final act of kindness, Rich must have fed the wolves before his death, since I’d spotted empty buckets in the wheelbarrow he’d left just outside the gate. As I mulled over the logistics of that setup, I frowned. It wasn’t like Rich to abandon his wheelbarrow only to reenter the enclosure. Had he unlocked the gates just to give the wolves a final petting?

  Regardless of how Rich’s last moments had played out, it was agonizing to imagine how his family was going to react to the news of his death. His daughter was just on the brink of getting married. I couldn’t help but imagine myself in her shoes. Although my dad had seen some close calls as a vet, if he had been killed in some kind of wolf attack…well, I knew what my reaction would be.

  It would be about the same as Sergeant Hardy’s—I’d want those monsters put down.

  * * * *

  Once my small-animal chores were finished, I checked in with Evie. After a lot of back-and-forth, she had managed to talk Dahlia into giving a statement this evening to the reporters who were still lined up outside the gate. The intrepid journalists had certainly enjoyed front row seats for the parade of ambulances and police cars today, and it was a given that the White Pine Wolf Preserve was going to dominate the local front-page news this week. I wondered if the bulky man who had scrambled into the woods would be present at the press briefing.

  Evie said Dahlia wasn’t going to answer specific questions—she would just say the police were working on things and the preserve would be closed for a few weeks. Overall, she would attempt to give the impression that things were well under control, which, of course, they weren’t.

  I doubted that Dahlia’s statement would stave off the ravening media hordes for long, but it was worth a shot.

  “Marco will be here tomorrow to help you with the wolves,” Evie said. “Should we still plan on lunch?”

  I figured she was asking me, in a roundabout way, if I was ever going to show up again.

  Since Marco was coming in tomorrow, I figured I’d be safe enough to stick with the job for now. Besides, I could always call if I made some kind of last-minute decision to quit. “Let’s do that. There’s a taco place I’ve been dying to try and it seems reasonably priced.”

  Evie gave a relieved nod. “See you tomorrow.”

  Once I stepped outside, I allowed myself a brief dip in a mental pool of despondency. It was surreal that I would never again chat with Rich at the end of a workday at White Pine.

  As I slid into Bluebell’s driver’s seat, my sadness morphed into an unwillingness to face the news reporters who were gathered on the driveway. I delayed my exit, calling Katrina instead.

  My sister picked up on the first ring, a sure sign she was bored out of her mind. “Tell me you’re not in trouble, because I don’t have the energy to rescue you.”

  I laughed. “Is that how you think of me? Your little sis who’s always in trouble?”

  “Pretty much,” she said.

  I had to admit, her view wasn’t actually that far off. “How’s little Jasper?”

  “Kicking like he wants to get out. I wish he’d just get on with it.”

  “You’re not due for a few weeks. Give him time to incubate in there.”

  “Easy to say, hard to do. Anyway, Mom’s planning to come as soon as I start having serious contractions.” Katrina sighed. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. I hope she doesn’t try to give me herbal vitamins or oils that’ll help with labor. Tyler won’t hear of anything that’s not on our birth plan.”

  Katrina’s husband, Tyler, happened to be an obstetrician, and he had probably run into more than his share of my mom’s naturalistic remedies during this pregnancy.

  “I’ll bet.” I sounded morose, even to myself.

  Katrina’s voice sharpened. “What’s up? Are you at work?”

  “I’m about to head home.” I took a deep breath. “Kat, there’s been another death in that same wolf enclosure. But this one wasn’t a mauling, like the other. In fact, he didn’t seem to have a scratch on him.”

  “Then how did it happen?”

  That was the question that was tormenting me. I
f the wolves hadn’t killed Rich—which seemed impossible without leaving marks on his body—then what had killed him? Natural causes didn’t seem to fit at his age.

  “I don’t know.”

  A protective edge crept into her voice. “It’s not safe there anymore. You don’t have to stay.”

  I knew that, but the more I pictured Njord in that enclosure, standing over Rich’s body, the more I was convinced that something was very off about the whole scenario. Rich had said he’d been there at Njord’s birth. It seemed extremely dubious that a wolf would turn on someone who’d been in his life from day one. More than that, it was the way Njord had been standing next to Rich’s body. He’d never entertained the slightest notion about laying a tooth on the man, I was certain.

  My grip tightened on the phone. “You remember with those murders last year, how I knew something wasn’t right? How I suspected it was a frame job?”

  “Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

  “This feels the same.”

  Katrina groaned. “But it’s the wolves that have been killing people. They’re the murderers, BB.”

  I turned the key in the ignition. “That’s the thing. It feels like—I know this sounds impossible—but I think someone’s framing the wolves.”

  13

  A woman stood on my carriage house doorstep as I pulled into my roundabout drive. She had a medium-length auburn shag and she wore a flowered skirt and high wedge sandals. She held some kind of covered plate in her hands.

  I opened my car door and walked her way, certain she must be lost. “Hello. Were you looking for someone?”

  She nodded, batting her long eyelashes. “Belinda Blake. Are you her?”

  Her words dripped with a honeyed Southern accent. Why on earth was this stranger looking for me?

  “Yes, I’m Belinda,” I said hesitantly. “And you are?”

  She stepped down next to me, beaming a wide smile. “I’m Susan Snodgrass. Red told me about you, and I wanted to bring you a little something, by way of introduction.”

  “And how do you know Red?” I asked.

  “We’re dating,” she said, a blush creeping into her cheeks.

  I relaxed, giving her an unabashed grin. “Come on in. Any friend of Red’s is a friend of mine.”

  After unlocking my door, I led her into my living room. She started to unbuckle her sandal straps. “No need to take your shoes off,” I said. I raised the blinds on my back windows to let in more light, then motioned to my couch. “Please, have a seat.”

  She sat down demurely, setting the plate on the coffee table. “I thought you might enjoy some of my homemade lemon pound cake.”

  My mouth started watering. “I’m sure I will. I’m no baker, but my sister is, and fresh-baked goods are my Achilles’ heel. Do you live in Greenwich?”

  “I’m in Stamford, actually. I own a bakery—that’s how I met Red. He has a serious sweet tooth.”

  “He likes his bear claws,” I joked.

  “Oh, honey, yes. I think he’s addicted to my éclairs.” She stretched her tan legs and smiled. “He’s mentioned you quite a bit. I think he worries about you. He said you’re working over at that wolf preserve? I saw the news about that young man’s death. I hope you’re not working directly with those wolves?”

  Something about Susan’s warm hazel eyes made me want to open up. “I am, actually. But so far, I’ve never been alone in their enclosures.” I hesitated, unsure if I should break the news of Rich’s death. I decided that would only worry everyone more. “It’s stressful,” I said finally.

  Susan placed a hand on my own. “Listen, if you need to decompress, Red and I would be happy to take you to the beach, out shopping…you name it. I know you’re all alone in town, and my heart goes out to single girls trying to make ends meet on their own. Why, shoot, I am one!”

  We laughed together, and it was just the catharsis I needed. While I loved Ava and Adam Fenton, Susan was closer to my age, and I already felt like I’d known her for years. Red had chosen a winner.

  Susan shared that she’d moved to Stamford to stay with her ailing grandmother, who’d died last year. She’d decided to take over her grandmother’s restaurant and turn it into a French bakery called The Apricot Macaron, and it had grown into a lucrative business. I smiled as she enunciated the name—she pronounced apricot with a long “a,” like “ape-ri-cot.”

  Her hands, decorated with gold rings on every other finger, fluttered as she spoke. “As a matter of fact, I saw the picture in the paper of the woman who owns the wolf preserve, and I’m certain she visited my bakery not too long ago. She got into a heated discussion with some man.”

  My interest was piqued. “What did he look like?”

  “He had gray hair. Average height. He ate a huge croissant, I remember.”

  “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

  “Something about money was all I overheard. It got busy soon after they started arguing. I almost thought I was going to have to ask them to leave.”

  Did this argument play into the deaths on the preserve? Rich had gray hair, as did Dennis Arden. Was it possible she’d met with one of them to discuss financial issues, then had a serious disagreement?

  Susan glanced at her monogrammed bracelet watch and gasped. “Oh, good gracious, I have to get going. I was supposed to meet up with Red ten minutes ago. But I’ve just had the best time with you. Now, you tell me what you think of that pound cake—I use extra lemon, so there’s a tangy bite to it.”

  I walked her to the door. “I know I’ll love it. You two have a wonderful date. I’m sure I’ll drop by your bakery sometime.”

  “You do that.”

  After she waved good-bye, I headed inside to shower and change. I needed to go shopping for meal supplies, since Jonas would be over tomorrow.

  I found myself singing at the top of my lungs as I conditioned my wet curls. I hated that I was feeling excited about Jonas’s visit in the face of the tragic deaths at the wolf preserve, but his presence would be like a shelter from the storm.

  * * * *

  After a more-than-successful shopping expedition, which I returned from with enough food to feed an army, as well as an embroidered peasant blouse I hadn’t been able to resist, I settled down to a meal of leftovers. I was thoroughly engrossed in the final chapters of The Great Gatsby when my cell phone rang.

  Dahlia was on the other end. “We gave a statement, but I’m fairly certain reporters will be crawling around in the morning to get video footage. Please don’t talk to them.”

  “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t think of it,” I said. “How’s Carson?”

  “He’s back home. Veronica brought him some Chinese food tonight, which was sweet.”

  Sweet, indeed. What game was Veronica playing, first trash-talking Carson behind his back and then catering to him?

  “Are you…coming in tomorrow?” Dahlia asked. “I know Rich was happy with your work—he told me you were an excellent employee. Marco is comfortable with feeding the wolves, so you wouldn’t have any new duties.”

  I realized she was attempting to cajole me into it. Had Rich really told her I was doing good work? I doubted he had even talked to her much, given his clear conviction that she didn’t really care for the wolves.

  It didn’t matter if she was stretching the truth, though. I had already decided to stick with my job for the duration of the contract, in hopes of uncovering something that would shine a light on what had really happened to Shaun and Rich.

  “You can count on me,” I said.

  * * * *

  A nightmare roused me somewhere around four in the morning, and I sat straight up, gasping for breath.

  In my dream, I had watched as dirt-encrusted fingers poked through the ground inside Njord’s enclosure. Instinctively, I realized they were Rich’s hands.
The filthy hands grew larger and larger, grasping for me, trying to pull me back into the depths with them.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d had a dream like this—one that felt like an ominous portent. A few times, my most memorable dreams had eventually played out in ways I couldn’t have seen coming. I was left wondering why on earth I’d been privy to them when I was powerless to change the natural course of events.

  But this dream was no prophecy. Rich was already dead. There was nothing I could do to help him now, to free him from the grave.

  Between the nightmare and my underlying excitement over Jonas’s visit, I was too wired to go back to sleep. Reluctantly, I rolled out of bed, shrugged into a sweater to ward off the chill in the house, and flipped on my game system. It was as good a time as any to get caught up on gaming—and I couldn’t think of a faster way to take my mind off one of the most dangerous pet-sitting jobs I’d ever accepted.

  14

  The alarm sounded far too early. I stumbled into the bathroom and splashed my face repeatedly with warm water in an attempt to force my tired eyes open.

  Once I’d vigorously patted dry with a towel, I headed into the kitchen and brewed a cup of coffee. Leaning against the counter, I helped myself to two pieces of Susan’s rapturous lemon cake, then washed that down with two cups of black coffee. I shoved food in a lunch bag, threw on my work clothes, and trudged out to Bluebell.

  Dew glistened on spiderwebs that laced the neatly mowed manor house lawn. It appeared that a new gardener had finally been hired, since everything looked spit-spot. I felt a pang that Stone the fourth had to take care of the tedious day-to-day issues his wife had previously handled, but he was in the middle of a divorce, and it looked like he intended to keep the house. This was great news for me, because my carriage house had been a real windfall and I didn’t want to leave Greenwich just as I was getting my business established.

  It was a relaxing drive up the back road to the preserve—at least until the driveway came into view. The news crews had multiplied like ants in a kitchen, and the reporters wore anxious looks, as if they were gearing up to pounce on any hint of a story. As I maneuvered my car behind a van to park, a cameraman strode my way. I thought about calling Evie, but I didn’t want to ask her to rescue me with the golf cart again. The poor woman had suffered enough already, and I wouldn’t blame her if she was contemplating her own permanent escape from the preserve.