“Then why would anyone think you couldn’t speak the language?”
He rolled his eyes the same as every kid I’d ever met. “Hence my use of estúpido.”
I pursed my lips so I wouldn’t laugh. I liked this kid so much. Why didn’t everyone?
Because kids were mean. I knew that firsthand.
But were they mean enough to sacrifice helpless, harmless animals?
I hoped not.
*
I lived in an efficiency apartment above my clinic. When I’d taken over Ephraim Brady’s practice after college, it was part of the deal.
My mother hadn’t wanted me to move to town, but it wasn’t practical to live on the farm when over half of my business was done in the office. Not to mention the small kennel where we housed post-and pre-op patients, boarders, and strays. In the winter, I might be prevented from making it into the office for a day or two, and then what? If I was already there … half the battle was won.
I exchanged my khaki trousers—which repelled animal hair better than most—for track pants, my white blouse—out of which anything could be bleached—for an old T-shirt. I covered that with an equally old sweatshirt, switched my comfy shoes for the expensive running variety, then grabbed a hat and gloves, put my cell phone in one pocket, my keys in the other, and trotted down the stairs and out the door. Time for my nightly wog—my twin brothers’ word for the walk-jog I did to stay in shape.
Instead of wogging down Carstairs Avenue—the main street of town was named after my family. The Carstairses had lived in Three Harbors from the beginning, which, according to the welcome sign, had been in 1855—I took the path into the forest.
Three Harbors was a small town, but it was also a tourist town, and these days that meant bike paths and hiking trails. They were well lit and meticulously maintained. I still kept Mace on my key ring. I couldn’t very well jog with a nine-millimeter. Even if I owned one.
The forest settled around me, cool and deep blue-green. The trail had lights every few feet, some at ground level, others high above. Still, I rarely ran into anyone after dark, and I loved it.
My feet beat a steady wump-wump. That combined with the familiar crunch of the stones beneath my shoes at first drowned out the other sound. But eventually, I heard the thud of more feet than two.
At the edge of twilight, loped a huge black wolf.
Chapter 2
I’d been seeing this wolf since I was a child, which would make her one old wolf. Wolves lived eight to ten years in the wild. At that rate, I should be on wolf number three. One of the many reasons I’d never told anyone about her.
Considering the nature of today’s visit, I should have mentioned the wolf to Chief Deb. Except I still wasn’t quite certain the wolf was real.
I’d never gotten close enough to touch her. No one had ever seen her but me. While I heard the thoughts of every other animal I came near, not a whisper from this one. Add to that her seemingly eternal—or at least freakishly long—life span, and her oddly human, bright green eyes, and she seemed even less likely to be fact than fiction.
I continued to wog, soothed by both the forest and her presence. These runs had come to be as much a part of my life as breakfast.
For the past several days, my wolf had been oddly absent; I’d even wondered if she were gone for good. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been nervous and twitchy, then she’d howled for no reason at all, and run off. Hadn’t caught a glimpse of her since. I was so glad she was back.
I reached the end of the trail, paused, stretched, straightened, and a light flickered in the distance. I stepped off the path, and the wolf growled.
The hairs on my arms lifted. She’d never growled at me before. One look in her direction, and I realized she wasn’t growling at me now. She was growling at that light. Which was exactly where no light should be—the McAllister place.
In every small community there was often a woman who skated the edge of sanity—a recluse, a druggie, in this case all three—who from time immemorial was branded the local witch.
Mary McAllister heard voices, even when she was on her meds. Sometimes she self-medicated. Then she heard them more.
I started toward the light. I should have pulled out my cell phone and called Chief Deb. Hindsight always has the best damn ideas.
The wolf bounded in front of me. At first I thought she would crowd me back, growl again, maybe even bare her teeth. Instead, she led the way along a well-traveled and narrow deer trail.
About a hundred yards in, the dark closed around us and I was glad for her superior eyesight. Every once in a while we reached an area where the trees weren’t so thick and the moon shone down, but I still would have been lost without her.
Tiny animals skittered away from us. A doe started up, and danced off, white tail shimmering beneath the silver night-light.