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.
I stepped out and slammed my door shut, but before I could fully turn around, a microphone was shoved toward my face.
A short woman in a pencil skirt blasted me with a question. “Are you an employee of the White Pine Wolf Preserve?”
“No comment,” I said, pretty certain this was the correct protocol. Sergeant Hardy would be proud of me.
I walked a few steps, but the cameraman and reporter cut in front of me. The woman jutted out her sharp chin as she spoke, a serious look plastered on her face. “The police haven’t ruled the latest death a wolf-killing yet. Do you have any idea why?”
That was news to me, but I tried to keep my face serene. “No comment,” I repeated, then jogged over to the gate.
Of course, the moment I tried the latch, I realized it was locked. And I didn’t have the key.
The reporters pressed in on me, each question more urgent than the last. I had two choices—climb over the gate, which would probably afford an excellent shot of my derrière for the nightly news—or wade into the tight, brambly underbrush to the side of the gate.
I chose the underbrush.
As blackberry vines tore at my sweatshirt, I wished I’d stopped and called Evie, regardless of how traumatized she was. When I felt overwhelmed, I tended to make less-than-ideal choices.
As the barn came into view, it hit me that I was probably retracing the exact path the lurker in the parking lot had taken. Pushing against a blackberry vine, I was surprised to see something bright blue caught in it. I carefully unhooked the rubber wristband from the thorns. It was one of those personalized unisex bands, and it bore the words: Two Hearts, One Love—The O’Callaghans, 6-18-2016.
Had the bulky man lost it when he ran away from us? If so, it was a rather sentimental wristband for a man to wear. It must have meant something to him.
I tucked the band into my pocket. Feeling much the worse for wear, I yanked a final thorn from my sweatshirt and lurched up the driveway. When the reporters caught sight of me, they shouted questions over the gate, but I ignored them.
Sergeant Hardy stood by his police car, talking with Dahlia. I didn’t have to be a body language expert to observe that they couldn’t stand each other. Dahlia’s hands were on her hips and she leaned in, her tone blistering hot. Sergeant Hardy held his notebook between them like a shield.
“We’ve canceled tours for the month and given a statement to the reporters—what more do you want from us?” Dahlia demanded.
Evie blocked the open gift shop doorway, so I figured I might as well settle in to hear whatever news the sergeant had brought. As unobtrusively as possible, I leaned over to fiddle with the shoestring on my boot, edging a bit closer in the process.
The sergeant’s voice was tense. “As much as I wish this had been a wolf-killing—and trust me, I’d like nothing more than to shut your slipshod operation down permanently—the coroner’s saying it wasn’t. In fact, he’s taken samples from Rich and Shaun and sent them to the toxicology lab. When he didn’t find any mortal wounds on either of them, he suspected they might have been poisoned. So that means the wolves didn’t kill Rich, and it’s entirely possible they didn’t kill Shaun, either.”
Talk about a bombshell. Dahlia went white, and Evie rushed out to wrap an arm around her.
“You’re quite positive?” Evie asked.
The sergeant nodded. “Yes, and what that means is that this is now a homicide investigation. We’ll need to interview everyone properly down at the station—starting with you, Ms. White. I need you to get in the car with me.”
I almost detected a note of glee in his voice. I was betting he’d been waiting to rake her over the coals since that time one of her wolves escaped.
Evie spoke firmly, as if she’d overcome her surprise. “I’ll handle things here. You go on with the sergeant, Dahlia. Don’t fret about a thing. Marco’s already here, and Belinda’s just arrived.”
Evie nodded at me, and Dahlia turned her teary gaze my way. She looked like she hadn’t slept any better than I had.
“Good.” Dahlia took a deep breath and straightened. “Good. Of course I’ll go down to the station, Sergeant. I have nothing to hide.” She swept toward the police car with all the flurry of a winter storm.
Remembering the band in my pocket, I rushed over to Sergeant Hardy. “I forgot to tell you that Veronica and I saw a burly guy hanging around the parking lot yesterday when the gate was closed. He could’ve been a reporter, but he looked suspicious and bolted into the woods the minute we saw him.” I pulled the blue wristband from my pocket and handed it to him. “This must’ve gotten yanked off when he dodged into the blackberry brambles.”
I sensed Evie inching closer to my side, so I glanced at her. She was blinking rapidly, and she placed a clammy hand on my arm, as if to steady herself.
“I’m ready to go now,” Dahlia yelled impatiently from the open police car window.
Sergeant Hardy sighed, balling the band in his fist. “I’ll look into it. Thanks for the heads-up. If you see the man again, call me immediately. Evie has my direct line.”
Evie gave a weak nod. Once the sergeant drove off with our boss in tow, I turned to the visibly shaken administrative assistant.
“What’s going on?”
* * * *
Evie shook her head. “I’m not ready to talk about this yet. I need to make a call first. But I promise I’ll explain more over lunch.”
“Of course,” I said, wishing I hadn’t distressed her even further.
As she grabbed her phone from the desk, I went into the kitchen and donned my green vest, figuring I might as well get to work. I peered into the off-white fridge. The meat supply was definitely lower, and I had no idea where the vitamins were that Rich always added to the wolves’ food. Who was in charge of ordering the meat in the first place? I was betting that had been Rich’s job, as well.
I sank into a chair, feeling numb. Beyond the troublesome technicalities of trying to feed the wolves properly, I had a larger issue burning a hole in my brain. If Njord and his pack didn’t kill Rich and maybe didn’t even kill Shaun, then who did? Sergeant Hardy had said one or both the deceased could have been poisoned.
Which meant that the murderer might be an employee at the preserve. Although the bulky man from the parking lot could have crept into the woods at two different times to kill both men, it seemed highly unlikely. The murderer had to have been familiar with the gate system, not to mention the wolves themselves, since Rich and Shaun were found inside the enclosure.
A chill ran up my arms. Was I working with a murderer?
The door swung open and Marco walked in, wearing slouchy jeans and a green vest. He threw open the fridge door and started grabbing meats.
“Are you going to feed the wolves right now?” I asked.
He grunted his affirmation.
“Do you need some help with that?” I offered.
He gave me a measuring glance. “You’ve done this before?”
“Yes, I helped Rich a few times,” I said. “I did the water, but I helped move the meats, too.”
“Great. Then sure, load ‘er up.”
We worked in silence until the buckets were full. Things moved more quickly, because Marco was solidly built, hefting far more weight than Rich had been able to. Once we were done, I was relieved to see Marco adding the vitamin supplements to the food.
He gave me another once-over with his dark eyes. “Are you okay to go into the enclosures with me? If you could handle the water again, I can do the meats.”
I hesitated, but only for a moment. Although I could hear Katrina’s voice screaming at me in my head, I nodded. “Sure. I know the drill.”
“Great.” Marco pushed the wheelbarrow off toward the woods, and I trailed behind.
It was a risky move, sure, but if there was a murderer running around like Sergeant Hardy had said, I might actually be safer inside the wolves’ enclosure than out.