The young Wolf had to be a juvenile, but he seemed less mature than Sam, who was still a puppy.
She didn’t have any images of Wolves she could use for comparison, but there was something going on that she didn’t understand.
She leaned toward Blair. “He knows about not shifting where he can be seen by humans? I don’t want to explain to the police why a naked teenager was wandering around the delivery area.” So far she’d avoided any calls about Nathan being outside without clothes or fur, but she didn’t think she would be that lucky with Skippy.
Something in Blair’s eyes. Pity? Acceptance?
“He’s a skippy,” Blair said. “They don’t shift from the form they have at birth.”
“So his name is Skippy …”
“Because he is a skippy. Their brains don’t work quite right and skip over bits of what they need to learn. If they survive to adulthood, they settle down and do just fine. But most of them can’t survive in the wild country long enough for their brains to catch up. A Courtyard is safer, and if a hunt is spoiled here because of a skippy, the pups in the pack won’t starve.”
And the pack’s leaders wouldn’t have to choose between driving away one youngster in order to save the rest.
“I didn’t have any packages for you,” Meg said.
“Wasn’t expecting any right now.” Blair didn’t like being around humans, but he did like tinkering with things—especially the machines that could transform sunlight and wind into electrical power. She suspected his tolerance for her was in direct proportion to her diligence in delivering the parts he had ordered for his current project.
“So you came up to the office to introduce me to Skippy?”
As the Courtyard’s enforcer, Blair exuded a more feral quality than Simon, and she wasn’t quite sure he believed the “Meg isn’t bitable” rule.
“Skippy is going to be the watch Wolf for a couple of afternoons,” Blair said. “He’s here to learn.”
Ha! She suspected Skippy needed a minder, and she’d been elected because the Wolves in the Courtyard were busy.
“Isn’t Nathan going to be here anymore?” she asked. The deliverymen had become accustomed to Nathan, and he recognized them. That meant he reacted only to someone he didn’t know, like he had with Jerry Sledgeman.
“He’ll still be here most of the time,” Blair replied. “But I need Nathan this afternoon.”
Wolves weren’t usually possessive about objects, but Meg didn’t think an enforcer like Nathan was going to be happy about sharing the bed with a goofball like Skippy.
Keeping her voice low, she asked, “Should I see if the Market Square general store still has one of those beds so Skippy and Nathan don’t have to share?”
She watched the annoyed expression on Blair’s face change into embarrassed resignation when Skippy, still on his back with his paws in the air, began a yodeling arooeeooeeoo!
“Yeah,” Blair said. “You should do that.”
By the time Steve Ferryman walked out of Bursting Burgers, he wondered if he and the other adults who’d had a bad feeling that morning had made a mistake. There were still Crows winging through the village, and Hawks and Eagles still soared overhead. Roger Czerneda had been patrolling on the mainland side of the village for hours while Flash Foxgard and Ming Beargard kept watch around the docks. Now Roger parked the patrol car and joined Steve.
“Late lunch?” Steve asked.
Roger nodded as he read the sign. “Bursting Burgers?”
“You haven’t tried them yet?”
“I’ve been getting acquainted with the shops on the island side of the village.”
“These are the best hamburgers in the Lake Etu area,” Steve replied. “Can’t get them on the island side because Burt has a phobia about water. And boats.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. They do a great roast beef sandwich too.”
“In that case, I guess I’ll give it—”
Caw, caw, caw, caw.
“—a try,” Roger finished.
The two men watched the car drive up Main Street and park a few spaces down from where they stood. Steve noted the Midwest license plate on the car and the way the Crows took position in the nearby trees.
The man who got out saw them and hesitated. He started walking toward them just as Steve’s mobile phone rang.
Mom always has excellent timing. “Could use some help here,” he said quickly, turning away so it would look like a personal call and not in some way connected to the stranger.
“Steve, I just had the strangest feeling.” A pause. “What kind of help?”
“Do you have pencil and paper handy?”
“Yes.”
Of course she did. “Write this down.” Keeping his voice low, Steve gave her the license plate number and the make and model of the car. “Hang on to that. I’ll call back.” He ended the call just as the man reached him and Roger.
Short. Dapper. Pale hair cut so short it almost wasn’t there. Little glasses. A sweet smile.
Steve hated him on sight, but he put on his “tell no secrets” expression and waited. He had a feeling the man really didn’t want to talk to him, and especially didn’t want to attract the notice of a cop. All the more reason to make sure this stranger did talk to them.
“You’re a long ways from home,” Steve said, making a passing gesture at the car.
The man looked back at the vehicle, then focused on Steve. “Ah. Yes, I am. A business trip to several cities in the Northeast Region. I was going to visit Talulah Falls—I’ve heard so much about the waterfalls there. But apparently there’s been some trouble, and no one but residents are allowed entrance?”
Light voice. Easy to dismiss and yet oddly mesmerizing. A voice that whispered trust me underneath the spoken words.
“Television news stations in the Midwest didn’t report on it?” Steve asked.
“I haven’t paid much attention. Sometimes such things distract one from what is important. I was hoping to speak to someone in authority. Could either of you gentlemen point me in the right direction?”
“No need to point.” The space between Steve’s shoulder blades twitched and twinged. “I am the mayor of this fine village, and my friend here is with the police.” He waited a beat. “And who might you be?”
“Phineas Jones.”
Wishing he were wearing gloves and wouldn’t have to touch that skin, Steve looked at the extended hand a moment too long before completing the handshake.
“What business are you in, Mr. Jones?” Roger asked.
“I’m more a representative of a philanthropic endeavor than a business,” Jones replied.
“There aren’t enough people in the Midwest interested in this philanthropic endeavor, so you have to drive all the way up here? That’s a lot of miles to travel and gas coupons to use for a might-be-maybe venture.” Roger scratched his head, then resettled his hat. “Of course, you might have a couple of interested parties lined up already that would make the expense worthwhile.”
A heavy silence. Jones’s sweet smile didn’t change, but it somehow seemed colder.
Right on target, Roger, Steve thought.
“I’m a specialist in a very particular field,” Jones finally said. “And while I had intended to visit the Falls and see this natural wonder for myself, I’m here in Ferryman’s Landing because … Well, to put it delicately, I had heard that a girl took her own life last year because of an addiction to cutting her skin. Some parents insist that girls will outgrow this behavior and don’t take steps to get their child the professional help she needs. Studies have shown that if one girl is discovered displaying this behavior, there are several more in the community who are still successfully hiding their addiction. Parents may see symptoms without fully understanding what they’re seeing. Until it’s too late.”
Steve didn’t think Phineas Jones missed much, but he hoped the man couldn’t detect his uneasiness.
“I think the incident was reported incorrectly,” Steve said.
Cold, sweet smile. “Oh? How so? A girl jumped into the river and drowned last year. What can be incorrect about that?”
“Nothing, as far as it goes. Except she didn’t jump into the river. She fell into the river. Fast current here. Lots of rapids farther up. Most people who live around the water know how to swim, but the river takes one or two a year. And at least one boat each year rides the falls down to the rocks. You may have heard on the news that some fools tried to go out during foggy weather a few days ago. There are rescue boats and volunteers still down there fishing out pieces of boats and bodies. It’s a tragedy when it happens, but it does happen.”
“Perhaps I should talk to the administrators of your schools. Sometimes school personnel—”