Belinda Blake and the Wolf in Sheep's Clothing Page 2

I didn’t meet his eyes. “Yes, it is. This is the address I gave you, right?”

  He didn’t even bother to answer my question. “Will you be working directly with wolves? This job sounds too risky.”

  “I don’t know the details yet,” I answered honestly. “And the owner said they’re perfectly safe.”

  “Of course she would,” Red muttered into his coffee cup.

  2

  “Please keep driving,” I said firmly.

  Red finally gave a half-hearted nod and gently pressed the gas. As we neared the end of the long, paved drive, the White Pine Wolf Preserve began to resemble the tourist destination it was. An extended, renovated red barn bore a Visitors’ Center sign. Behind the barn, I caught a glimpse of a white farmhouse with fresh new siding. Red pulled into a space in the good-sized parking lot adjacent to the barn.

  He seemed to struggle for words, like he was hoping I’d back out of this, but his chauffeur decorum won out. “What time should I pick you up?” he asked briskly.

  “I’ll text you.” I couldn’t allow myself to chicken out, uneasy as I felt. Dahlia was counting on me, and I knew she’d never find anyone else on such short notice.

  Since no one had appeared to greet me, I gave a brief, hopefully confident nod to Red and stepped out of the car. I shouldered my purse and strode toward the barn. The outside bore a glossy coat of apple-red paint, and plum and lemon colored pansies had been painstakingly planted in the window boxes.

  I pushed open the rustic wooden door. The inside of the visitors’ center was just as carefully kept. The walnut plank floors and massive overhead beams emphasized the spaciousness of the barn. The shop was well organized, and I didn’t find myself bumping into display tables like I usually did in places like this. Although there were the predictable wolf trinkets and T-shirts, it was the homemade items such as natural stone jewelry, handmade soaps, and unusual jellies that drew my eye. Burning wax melts and small twinkle-light grapevine trees lent the place a welcoming air.

  “Good morning.” A chic woman with a British accent stepped from behind the natural wood counter and made her way toward me. “How may I help you today? Were you interested in a tour?”

  “Actually, I was looking for the owner, Dahlia White. I’m supposed to be helping with her animals.”

  The woman smiled, adjusting the silk scarf knotted around her slim neck. With her dark pixie haircut and flawless makeup, she looked like she belonged in an upscale art gallery, not working the cash register at a wolf preserve.

  “You must be Belinda!” she said, extending a hand. “Dahlia had to motor into town before her trip, so I was instructed to have Shaun give you a tour around our facilities. I’m Evie Grady, by the way—Dahlia’s administrative assistant.”

  Evie pulled a cell phone from her pocket, punching in a number to call Shaun, whoever he was. After a brief conversation, she returned her attention to me.

  “He’ll be here in a moment. Shaun Fowler has worked at White Pine since it opened three years ago, and he’s one of the best tour guides out there. He puts the tourists at ease with his sense of humor, which is important for their first encounter with the wolves.”

  I still found it hard to believe I was gearing up for my first wolf encounter. “That’s wonderful,” I murmured.

  Oblivious to my discomfort, Evie launched into a brief tour of the visitors’ center, which boasted a kitchen area where employees could get coffee and take lunch breaks. She also pointed out a hand-drawn, framed map of the preserve that hung over the mantel of the stone fireplace.

  “We have a thirty-acre fenced area for the packs,” she said, gesturing to a thick green border line on the map.

  There was more than one pack?

  Evie rolled on with her monologue. “Shaun will be able to tell you more about each of the animals and how they came to us. I’m sure it won’t take you long to acclimate to the routine, given that you specialize in exotic pets?”

  “I should be able to pick things up quickly,” I said. “I’m good with animals.”

  And not just any animals. The truth was that I’d built my business by watching the animals other sitters didn’t want to touch. The wealthy tended to buy unusual pets, and they didn’t like to leave them unattended when they went on trips. It was usually a win-win for me when the pets were easy to care for, like hermit crabs or turtles. Wolves had never factored into my consideration before, but I reassured myself that I would be well-compensated for whatever I was required to do on the preserve.

  An oversized fellow bumbled into the door. He wore a neon-green vest that had the preserve name emblazoned on it in white reflective lettering.

  “Hi, I’m Shaun,” he said, giving me a relaxed smile. “I take it you’re Belinda Blake?” His eyes traveled over my hair, then slowed as they reached my face. His freckled cheeks flushed. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be the Belinda Blake who’s a game reviewer, would you? You kind of look like her.”

  I was surprised, but flattered. I beamed at him. “I’m that Belinda, yes.”

  His eyes widened. “I read your reviews every month. You’re one of the best.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I couldn’t help warming to a kindred gamer spirit.

  I’d been reviewing video games in my free time for years, but since I’d landed a regular column at a bigger magazine early last year, I’d picked up substantially more followers. In fact, I was about to launch my own Twitch stream, where gamers could watch me live-play some of the newest releases.

  “Let me get you a vest,” he said, rushing into the kitchen and retrieving one. As he handed it over, I pretended to shield my eyes from the green glare.

  “It’s quite loud, but it keeps the employees visible,” he explained, then gestured toward my right pocket. “There’s a pepper spray in every vest, just in case of emergencies.”

  I patted at the canister in my pocket and raised my eyebrows.

  “It’s standard at wild animal preserves like this,” he said. “Trust me, I’ve never used mine.”

  Shaun headed outside, so I followed him. It was a good thing I’d worn a hoodie, because the fickle April temperature had dropped since morning.

  Shaun led me up a wide trail into the woods. A tall, chain-link fence came into view.

  “It’s eight feet high, just to be on the safe side,” he explained. “We have to pay close attention after storms, because if a tree falls on the fence, those wolves can climb right up and out. They’re very resourceful.” He sounded like a doting father, proud of his child for doing something like punching the class bully.

  “How’d you get interested in wolves?” I asked, my Doc Martens sinking into yet another puddle.

  “I met Dahlia when she toured the nature center I used to work at in Stamford. She told me she was going to open a wolf preserve in Greenwich, and she said she was looking for outstanding tour guides, like me. I started working here the first day White Pine opened—about four months after we’d met.”

  I wanted to know more about my new employer. “So Dahlia already had experience with wolves?”

  Shaun ground a sprouting blackberry vine underfoot. “Nope. Not a bit, actually. She was coming off a divorce, and she wanted to use this property in hopes of making a difference in the world. After reading up on wolf and wolf-dog breeding, she discovered that many of those animals wind up abandoned or euthanized because they’re so uncontrollable—not surprising, because they’re wild, right? Anyway, she dedicated herself to providing a shelter for them.”

  “That’s admirable,” I said, nearly running into Shaun’s wide back as he paused to toss a rock from the path.

  “Yeah, and Dahlia’s also the one who puts in long hours to make sure each new wolf is integrated into a pack. We have two packs here, and at the moment, each pack has three wolves. Creating packs isn’t easy—it can be brutal, like The Hunger Games. See, in the
wild, packs form naturally around animals from the same bloodline. But in captivity, wolves can resort to serious infighting to establish dominance. I hate to say it, but omega wolves sometimes get killed in the process.”

  I slowed. So I’d signed up for an eight-day job, working with beasts who even killed their own kind? Maybe I should get out now, while the getting was good.

  Shaun hiked past a double-gated entrance set into the fence line. A slight movement caught my eye, and I peered into the enclosed area. A gangly brown wolf with a black face was perched on a rock, her eyes fixed on me. It was quite mesmerizing. I actually started walking toward the fence, but Shaun didn’t notice and kept plowing forward on the trail. I hurried to catch up and realized he was asking questions about my latest game review.

  He finally stopped when we came to a second gated enclosure. After opening the first set of gates, Shaun led me toward the second. A large white wolf loped our way, shoving its nose through the chain links. Shaun gave the animal’s nose and part of its muzzle a thorough petting, and I could swear the wolf was smiling.

  The wolf turned its butterscotch colored eyes to me. I wasn’t sure how to mask my fear, but I knew enough not to stare right into its eyes. The wolf sniffed at the air, and I took a brief glance at its face.

  It appeared that the animal was merely curious, not hostile.

  “This one’s named Njord,” Shaun explained. “He’s the only wolf that’s been bred in captivity on the preserve, and he’s the alpha of this pack.” He reached out, and the wolf approached his hand again. “And as you can see, he’s about as tame as a wolf can be. He’s my favorite to take into the crowd when I give a tour.”

  Njord licked his lips, and the sudden sharpness in his look made me antsy. “Is he hungry?” I asked.

  “Might be. That’s not my job—Rich O’Brien handles that end of things. We’ll catch up with him today so he can show you what’s what.”

  Leaving Njord lingering at the fence line, we headed out of the enclosure and back onto the trail. Shadowy forest branches filtered the sunlight, and we walked alongside a full, rippling creek that probably supplied water to the wolves. If Shaun wasn’t with me, I’d be tempted to grab a book and a blanket and plop down on one of the rocky overhangs. The extensive grounds really seemed like the perfect place to be alone with nature and one’s own thoughts.

  A wolf’s howl broke the silence, triggering a chorus of howling responses, but Shaun only grinned. “They talk to each other and sometimes to us. It tends to make the tourists nervous, but howling doesn’t always mean wolves are on the prowl for food.”

  I was going to have to take his word for it, because to my ears, the howls sounded more than a little ominous.

  The visitors’ center eventually came into view, and I realized we’d made a complete loop around the property. A man emerged from the side door of the barn, loading something into a bucket in a wheelbarrow, and Shaun shouted to him. “Rich! I’ve got the new girl here.”

  Rich, a slim man in his mid-fifties, walked my way, but didn’t extend a hand. “I have meat on my hands—loading it up for the wolves—but it’s nice to meet you. Belinda, was it?”

  “Yes, that’s me. Belinda Blake.”

  Shaun gave me a quick grin. “It was great hanging with a gamer legend like yourself. Sorry if I geeked out a little. I’ll catch you later.”

  My face colored a bit as Shaun lumbered off. Rich politely ignored my discomfiture and went back to raiding the off-white refrigerator in the kitchen. I made a mental note to store my lunch in the other fridge that had a sign marked Staff Use.

  I held the side door open as Rich returned to deposit handfuls of raw meat into the bucket. Why didn’t he bother wearing gloves for this messy operation?

  “I like to use the wheelbarrow because it’s less disruptive than the golf cart,” Rich explained as he continued his back-and-forth. “And I don’t touch the meat with gloves, so it smells more natural to the wolves.”

  I was impressed with the way Rich seemed to put the wolves first in his caretaking. It was the same way I tried to operate as a pet-sitter. We’d probably get along fine as I helped him…although it was beyond me how I would feed raw meat to wolves without looking like an oversized, tasty morsel myself.

  Evie strolled into the kitchen. Her garnet lipstick had been freshly reapplied, and the faint smell of spicy perfume drifted our way. Rich seemed oblivious to Evie’s high-class beauty, his final load of meats in hand as he used his backside to slam the fridge door shut.

  Evie’s nose wrinkled at the sight of the raw, red mess stuffed into the buckets, and she quickly turned to me. “Belinda, would you mind sticking close to the visitors’ center? Maybe Rich can show you how to feed the wolves tomorrow. Dahlia’s on her way back and she’ll arrive soon, and I think you should talk with her to nail down details before she leaves on her trip.”

  “Sure.” I certainly didn’t mind postponing my first feeding adventure.

  We took our leave of Rich and headed back into the gift shop. Evie’s cell phone gave a metallic ring. When she picked up, her smile quickly faded and her tone turned serious. She strode out the main door, firmly closing it behind her.

  Finding her secretive behavior strange, I absently started browsing the clothing racks. I was seriously contemplating picking up a snarling wolf T-shirt emblazoned with the words Alpha Mom for my pregnant sister, Katrina, when a hipster dude with clear plastic glasses walked in.

  He breezed past me and entered the kitchen area. I realized he probably thought I was a tourist, so I followed him into the kitchen to introduce myself.

  He had just settled into a chair and was aimlessly thumbing through his phone as if boredom was his personal cross to bear. He didn’t even look up as I lurked in the doorway. When he continued to look at his phone, I cleared my throat.

  After what felt like five minutes but was probably only one, he finally glanced up and grunted.

  “You new here?” he asked.

  I nodded, curious as to what his story was. “I’m Belinda. Do you work here, too?”

  The guy offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, revealing small, straight teeth. “I’m Carson White. My mom runs the place.”

  “Oh! Nice to meet you. I haven’t met your mom yet.”

  As if he could care less, his eyes slid back to his phone screen. With his straight-leg blue chinos and plaid button-up shirt, he struck me as one of those preppy types who seemed endlessly restless and unhappy. As I turned to leave, a young woman with a long black ponytail walked in. Carson instantly snapped to attention the moment she spoke.

  “Have you seen my vest?” she asked, but it sounded like a demand.

  Carson jumped to his feet and began rummaging through the coatrack on the back wall. After he produced a lime-green vest and handed it to the woman, she turned to speak to me.

  “You’re the new girl, Belinda, right? I’m Veronica—I’m one of the tour guides.”

  Carson injected himself into our conversation, probably in an attempt to get Veronica to turn her luminous brown eyes his way. “She’s working on her master’s degree.”

  She shrugged her vest on over her fitted shirt. “I’m writing my thesis now. It’s about the wolves, actually. I’ve titled it Captive Wolves and Their Interactions with Humans: Pack or Prey?”

  The title seemed poorly worded to me, but it did seem like an interesting topic, and one Veronica would get plenty of fodder for while she worked at the preserve. I really hoped she’d conclude that captive wolves looked at humans like their pack, because the alternative was frightening.

  Veronica swept out the side door, and Carson followed, hot on her heels. I was curious as to what Carson’s relationship was with the lovely Veronica, if any. Had he been waiting here for her to show up?

  I glanced out the window. Veronica was speed-walking toward the woods, leaving Cars
on in her dust. Apparently, the attraction wasn’t mutual.

  I headed back into the gift shop. Evie hadn’t returned, and I wondered how long I was going to have to wait to meet Dahlia. I considered calling Red and asking him to pick me up, but instead I decided to take a little jaunt outside and try to get my bearings at my new job.

  Just as I opened the front door, a green Prius whipped into a spot in front of the visitors’ center and a woman seemed to wrestle with her seat before getting out. Her frowsy dishwater-blonde hair and worn chambray shirt, half-tucked into her jeans, gave the impression of someone who didn’t put much time into her appearance—an anomaly in this town. Gripping a plastic shopping bag, she bustled to my side. Her eyes darted to my face, then to the woods, adding to the impression that she was a woman constantly in motion.

  “Good to see you—Belinda, right? I’m Dahlia, the one who called you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here—I had to pick up some last-minute pet supplies, and the person ahead of me was buying out the store, it seemed!” She tried to shove her fluffy bangs to the side, but they curtained her eyes again. “Let’s go inside, shall we? I need to talk with Evie briefly, then I’ll explain your position to you.”

  “Actually, Evie’s not in there right now,” I said.

  All her fidgeting stilled for a moment. “Really? That’s not like her.” She readjusted the bag in her hand, a bewildered look on her face. “Right. Well, let’s go on in, and we’ll talk about what you’ll be doing here.”

  I pushed the door open so Dahlia could walk in first. I glanced around, then immediately felt like a liar. Evie was sitting at the kitchen table, munching on a half-eaten croissant.

  Dahlia turned back to me with a strange expression, and I felt like I’d failed some kind of test. “She wasn’t here when I walked outside,” I rushed to explain.

  “Of course,” Dahlia said, but there was a dubious note in her voice.

  As she bustled into the kitchen, I trailed behind, trying to understand why Evie had felt the need to come sneaking in the side door after her phone call. It seemed the administrative assistant was hiding something, and I wondered what it was.