Marco rolled up with the wheelbarrow loaded with meat as we were returning to the path. His gaze traveled from Jonas to me, but he didn’t comment.
“I just watered Thor’s pack and I can meet you at Njord’s to water them, if you want,” I offered.
“Sure. I’d appreciate it. See you in a minute.” He walked toward Thor’s gate, whistling a tune.
When we were out of earshot, Jonas said, “He seemed nice enough.”
“I think he is,” I said. “He seems genuinely concerned about Dahlia, if not for her shiftless son.”
“Speaking of Carson—that’s his name, right?—I haven’t seen him anywhere. I can’t believe he doesn’t pitch in more around here. This operation certainly can’t run itself.”
“That’s for sure.” As we approached Njord’s gate, the white wolf gave us a golden stare, sniffing at the air.
“He’s intense,” Jonas remarked, which was funny, because I hadn’t even seen him looking in the wolf’s direction.
“Yes, but I’m not even kidding you when I say Njord enjoyed playing around with Rich—even giving him kisses!”
“Oh, I believe you. Which backs up my theory that there’s no way Njord would harm him. Whoever killed Rich didn’t understand pack dynamics very well.”
Jonas had vocalized the very thing that had been bothering me. Although the killer had been comfortable enough to go into the wolf enclosures, he hadn’t been aware of how the pack actually worked.
Marco wheeled over to us. He must have fed Thor’s pack more quickly than usual. “I got to thinking that I didn’t know who your friend was,” he said awkwardly.
Realizing that Marco might be concerned about my safety—or the safety of the preserve—I made the introductions. “Marco, this is Jonas Hawthorne, a friend from upstate New York. Jonas, this is Marco Goretti.”
Marco nodded to Jonas, but his look was somewhat challenging. “Were you planning to go in?”
True to his unflinching nature, Jonas said, “I hadn’t planned on it, but I’d love to.”
I placed my hand on his arm. “Jonas, you don’t have to—”
“If you’re safe in there, I’m sure I will be,” he said, striding in behind Marco.
I followed the men, wondering how Njord would react to Jonas. I didn’t have to wonder long. When Marco rolled the wheelbarrow over to the feeding area, Njord ignored the food and padded toward Jonas instead.
Not a word was spoken, and I don’t even think one look was exchanged between man and wolf, but what happened next astounded me.
As Njord drew close, he dropped his head and tucked his tail. He slowly lowered into a crouching position under Jonas’s hand, as if waiting for one crumb of recognition. When Jonas bestowed a single pat on his head, the white wolf dropped and rolled over, exposing his stomach.
The wolf might as well have shouted, “You’re my new alpha! I will follow you!”
Jonas’s lips slid into a half smile, and he bent down to rub Njord’s stomach.
I turned on the spigot, then walked over to join them. Njord’s tongue was hanging out, and his eyes were closed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You just walk into the enclosure, with a wolf pack that doesn’t know you from Adam, and suddenly you’re like the pack leader?”
Jonas shrugged, as if this kind of thing happened all the time. And maybe it did on his farm—after all, one time I’d watched him walk up and shout right in a bull’s face.
He stood, leaving Njord lying in his happy stupor. “I don’t know. It’s just this thing that sometimes happens. I tend to have this effect on children, most animals, and things that are a little skittish. I can’t really explain it.”
Now that he said it, I realized I’d personally experienced the power of Jonas’s reassuring leader vibe, at least a few times.
“I guess that comes in handy,” I said, still feeling awestruck. My dad was a vet and he was certainly confident around animals, but Jonas took things to a new level.
“My dad was the same way,” Jonas said. “Although my brother, Levi, was kind of an exception. He chafed under Dad’s authority.”
“Levi started traveling right out of high school, didn’t he? And now he’s wound up in Alaska,” I said. “Was that why? He was trying to avoid your dad?”
“Probably, but also the responsibilities of the dairy farm. Dad didn’t expect Levi to take over, but I guess Levi always felt guilty that he didn’t want to.”
“Complicated,” I mumbled.
“All families are,” Jonas affirmed.
Marco’s buckets were empty as he wheeled over to us. Njord stood, shook the dirt out of his fur, then trotted over to join Saga and Siggie at the food bowl.
Marco shot Jonas one of those respectful man-to-man looks. “I see you got along fine with the big boy,” he said. Turning to me, he added, “Oh, and speaking of dangerous animals, I heard Veronica had a little trouble in the henhouse this morning.” He broke into a laugh, slapping his leg.
Jonas nodded, but he was all business. “I repaired the hole in the fence, but you might want to make sure it’s reinforced. That raccoon might try to get in the same way again.”
Marco turned serious. “Will do.” He gave Jonas’s hand a quick, macho shake. “I appreciate your doing that. We’re spread pretty thin around here. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to fill in—I’m supposed to be traveling next week.”
I didn’t ask Marco why he would be traveling—it was anyone’s guess if his business was even legit in the first place.
“I’ll be leaving next week, too,” I said, hoping Marco would remind Dahlia I wouldn’t be here indefinitely.
Marco shook his head. “Dahlia will have to start interviewing people, but who would want to work on a wolf preserve where two people have recently died?”
He had a valid point.
I tried to inject a little hope into the situation. “Maybe the police will have things figured out by then.” If one particular police sergeant wasn’t involved, that was.
“Maybe,” Marco said, his depressed look revealing that he didn’t think things would be squared away anytime soon. He rolled toward the gate.
I jogged over and turned off the spigot. Jonas fell in step beside me as I followed Marco out. After locking the gates behind us, Marco said he’d be glad to feed the chickens if I wanted to show Veronica how to feed the smaller animals today, so I agreed.
Marco tipped his head toward Jonas, then headed back toward the visitors’ center. I glanced over at Jonas, feeling completely bummed that he had to go.
He seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “I hate to leave you here alone,” he said. “Marco seems like a decent guy, and Veronica and Evie are probably harmless enough, but the fact remains that someone hanging around this preserve could be a killer.”
“It still doesn’t make sense why anyone would have killed Shaun or Rich. I mean, Shaun was just not the kind of guy who would tick anyone off. I wonder if the coroner was wrong and the wolves did kill him for some reason?”
Jonas sat down on an oversized rock, and I sank down next to him. “I doubt it, given the way you said he looked when you found him. It sounds like his body was largely intact—sorry for being gross—but they hadn’t ripped into it as if they were actually going to eat him for a meal.” He slapped the stone. “Hang on—what if someone poisoned him first, then before dragging him into the enclosure, they placed meat on him?”
That made more than a little sense. “That would definitely explain why the wolves chewed him up, but didn’t eat more.” There was a kink in his theory, though. “But what about Carson? The wolves gnawed on his hand when he was just trying to pet them. So maybe they only chew on people they don’t respect as much? In that case, I still need to keep my distance. I’m not as high as you or Rich on their respect-o-meter.”
Jonas looked frustrated. “You need to get out of here as soon as you can. It doesn’t matter whether it’s wolves or people killing people—the issue is that you’re not safe on the preserve. Promise me you’ll consider quitting.” He glanced at his phone. “I really do need to head out. I’m so glad I got to see this place, though. It’s not every day a random wolf gets friendly with me.”
I met his eyes and he held my gaze. His serious, warm look seemed to loosen some of the knots in my spirit, and when he stretched out his arms for a hug, I gladly leaned into them.
He pressed a strong hand to the back of my head, holding my head against his chest. Then he briefly and unexpectedly dropped a kiss on the top of my curls. His voice was rough as he said, “Please take care of yourself, Belinda. Will I see you at Easter?”
I took one last, long whiff of his shirt, which smelled like clean laundry with a hint of something peppery, then extricated myself from his arms. “Count on it,” I said.
Although I felt like falling back into Jonas and exploring the emotions I was pretty sure we both felt, these woods felt tainted. For all we knew, Creeper Carson might be watching us from the trees. This wasn’t the right moment for us.
But something told me there was a right moment out there, and when it finally came to pass, I’d be every bit as eager as Njord had been to capture Jonas’s undivided attention.
* * * *
By the time I met up with Veronica in the kitchen, she had calmed down and was recounting the raccoon story to Dennis Arden, who had apparently dropped by for the day.
I wished Dahlia would rope him in for some chores—although he was older, he looked hale and hearty—but I knew she’d never stoop to that, given her feelings for her father-in-law. And besides, he’d never agree to help her.
Why did he come around here anyway? Maybe to see Carson? Or to goad Dahlia? I remembered what Susan had mentioned about seeing a gray-haired man meeting with Dahlia in her bakery.
As Veronica bit into an interesting-looking veggie-laden taco, I opened my sandwich bag and turned to Dennis. “How’s Carson today? I haven’t seen him.”
Dennis helped himself to a cup of coffee. “I haven’t, either. Dahlia said he was out; I have no idea where. I’d hoped to talk to him. My construction company just picked up a big job over in New Rochelle, and I’m going to need someone to fill in at the office.”
“That would be stellar.” Evie seemed to appear out of thin air, but I suspected she’d been lurking and listening in the gift shop.
Dennis laughed. “You’re trying to get rid of him too, are you?”
Again, I was shocked at how carelessly he spoke of his grandson, even though Carson was admittedly a slacker.
Evie adjusted her vivid emerald-green scarf. “I simply know how anxious Dahlia is for Carson to find work he enjoys.” She turned and stalked back to the gift shop.
Dennis raised his eyebrows. “She’s quite a pill, isn’t she? Dahlia really knows how to pick ’em.”
I wanted to stick up for Evie, maybe mention that Dahlia had chosen Dennis’s own son as a husband, so how was that for poor picking? However, I managed to keep a lid on my snide remark and tried to redirect the conversation instead. “Does your wife help out with your business as well?” I asked.
His face fell. “Madeline died four years ago. But you’re right—she did help at the company when she was well. She was the best secretary we ever had.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
His eyes crinkled behind his glasses lenses. “It’s okay. You know, Madeline had big dreams for this property—she’d hoped to build a day spa here, complete with pools and English gardens…you name it. But then Quinn got married, and I gave it to him as a wedding present.” He made a fist and pounded the table. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve regretted that decision.”
Veronica stood and shoved her empty container in her lunch bag. For someone so tiny, she must have a hollow leg, given how fast she’d devoured three tacos. “I’m going to head out to the goat pen,” she said.
I hurried to pack up my half-eaten lunch. “Um—you want to just stay outside the pen until I get there? I’ll meet you in a minute.”
Veronica shrugged. “Okay.” She left through the kitchen door.
I turned back to Dennis and decided to go out on a limb. “Say, you haven’t been over to that bakery in Stamford—The Apricot something or another—have you? Seems like I’ve seen you somewhere else.”
I couldn’t make out the expression in his eyes, but he didn’t seem overly annoyed with my question. “Sure. It’s a fantastic bakery. Croissants to die for. My Madeline would have approved—she had French blood in her.”
I probed further. “I was thinking I might have seen you there with Dahlia?”
He shook his head vigorously. “No way on earth would I ask that woman into any restaurant with me. If she walked in, I’d walk right out—as soon as I could.”
That level of distaste was hard to fake, so I had to assume he was telling the truth. I cleared my trash and stood. “Of course. I understand. Maybe I’ll see you around there sometime.”
He gave me a sharp, knowing look. “Does that mean you’re not planning to be here long?”
I didn’t see how that was any of his business. “I’m not sure.”
He laughed and smacked his knee. “That greedy witch runs everyone out, sooner or later. Don’t feel bad, sweetie.”
Cringing at his overly familiar “sweetie,” I gave a brief wave and headed out the kitchen door.
The more I hung around Dennis Arden, the more it seemed he was the one running his family off, not Dahlia. He seemed to have disdain for everyone, save his deceased wife, and it was decidedly possible he had painted their relationship in a way that reflected well on himself.
As I walked along the rock path to the goat pen, I tried to sort through what I’d learned so far. First, it could have been Rich who’d met and argued with Dahlia at The Apricot Macaron. But why?
I revisited the idea that Dahlia might be using her wolf preserve for nefarious purposes, given that Rich had said she wasn’t really invested in the wolves’ well-being. Dahlia’s relationship with Marco, who had ties with unsavory characters, might back up that idea, but when I’d eavesdropped on those two, they hadn’t mentioned anything illegal.
Then there was Sergeant Hardy, who had been the one to discover Rich’s body. His sister had died of a dog attack, so he might have snapped if he suspected Dahlia’s wolves were a danger to tourists…and more specifically, to his girlfriend, Veronica.
I still couldn’t rule out Veronica, difficult as it was for me to consider her a serious suspect. As I approached the goat pen, I slowed to watch her interaction with the animals. Although she stayed outside the fence, she reached over to pet a friendly kid on the neck. She gave me a hearty wave when she caught sight of me.
“Hi! Isn’t this little one cute? What do you call the goat babies?”
“Kids,” I said.
“Aw. They’re so adorable with their little tiny bleats. And those eyes—freaky!”
One of the goats nibbled at Veronica’s jeans. “Don’t let them grab your keys,” I instructed. “I’m sure you already know this, but they’ll eat anything.”
Veronica obligingly stepped back from the fence. “How much feed do I give them?”
For the next little while, I showed her how to feed and water the goats. Veronica paid close attention to what I said, and when she fed the animals, I could tell her confidence was growing.
“How’s your thesis coming along?” I asked.
She smiled. “Really well. I don’t have much more to write. I just need another example or two.”
I was jolted back into reality as I stared at her exultant face. It was all too easy to insert “another death or two” for “another example or two.”
Surely no one in their right mind would consider killing just to score high on their thesis.
But who was I to determine if Veronica was in her right mind?