Excerpt of WOLF MOON
Chapter 1
Aileen McKenna got off
the bus last, excitement and trepidation warring within her. At
last having figured out what she wanted to do with the rest of her
life, she’d come for the wolves. So why did the reality take away
her breath as if it somehow frightened her?
She
looked around at the small town of Wolf Creek, Wisconsin, the bright
winter sun making its main street, barely two blocks long and line with
snow, glow with welcome. She knew she’d been here before – Dad
and Skelly both told her so – but her memory of that vacation
twenty-two years ago was hazy at best. Her gaze swept past the
people and shops and the handful of homes to the dark forest
beyond.
A
thrill of something that went beyond expectation shot through her.
Suddenly nervous, she shifted her gaze closer, back to town.
A
man with a furrowed brow and narrowed light brown eyes stood on the
porch of the combination convenient store and bus station, his arms
crossed over his broad, hide-covered chest. Though his basic
expression reminded her of a scowl, Aileen knew he wasn’t angry at
anything. She grinned and headed straight for Donovan Wilde, who
circled her with strong arms and gave her a brotherly hug.
"It’s good to see you, Donovan."
"It’s been a while."
"As
much your fault as mine."
"When you move out here permanently," he said, "we’ll fix that
right off."
Aileen didn’t see her half-brother as much as she would like –
he’d been raised in the next town of Iron Lake, Wisconsin, while she’d
grown up in Chicago. But he was a McKenna, even if he did go by
his mother’s last name, and that was a bond that couldn’t be
broken. She and Donovan and Skelly might have been born to three
different mothers, but Congressman Raymond McKenna had seen to it that
his children were not strangers to one another.
"How are Laurel and the baby?"
Donovan’s loopy grin transformed him from wolfman to husband and
new father. "Both doing great. Laurel is a natural.
And Willow is the most beautiful baby you’ve ever seen. Well, you
haven’t seen her."
"But I will, and before Christmas," Aileen assured him.
Other members of the McKenna family would be joining them for the
holiday in a few days, the first time ever a McKenna family Christmas
would be held in Wisconsin. Donovan and Laurel didn’t know what
they were in for when siblings and cousins and kids would descend on
them. The McKennas had rented out an entire B&B in Iron Lake
to hold them for the three days they would all be here.
“I
probably sound sappy about Willow, right?” Donovan asked.
“You sound like a proud dad, just as you should. She was
aware at how thrilled her brother and sister-in-law were at finally
starting a family. Laurel’s first pregnancy had ended in
miscarriage, and it had been a while before Laurel had felt emotionally
ready to try again. "Trust that I’m looking forward to meeting my
new niece as soon as I get settled in."
"You could settle in with us. The invitation is still open."
Aileen shook her head. "You need to spend time with Laurel
and Willow, and I need not to be distracted by a beautiful baby, or I
won’t ever finish my thesis."
The
final step in finishing her master’s degree in wildlife ecology, a
direction she’d been drawn back to after working as a massage
therapist. She could thank Donovan – the original wolfman – for
making her realize she needed to finish her graduate degree. Not
that she wished to be a wolf biologist and be involved in research as
he was. He was personally attached to the wolves under his
care. He caught them and collared them and watched their progress
as they expanded their territory over the years. Sometimes they
strayed too close to civilization and got themselves killed.
Her
interest took a broader turn – management of the wolves in the
wild. She’d started the program several years ago but had thought
she’d made a mistake and left it. She was a city girl, she’d told
herself.
Apparently not totally.
It
had just taken her some time to come to terms with the decision that
would change her whole life.
"I
promise I’ll leave some time to spend with you all, though. I
mean beyond the research."
Though he no longer lived in a cabin deep in the woods with only a
Franklin stove to heat it, he still kept his distance from town.
Luckily his job required him to work in his beloved woods. Donovan
would be a major resource for her thesis: Can Wolves and Man Co-Exist
in a Modern World? She hoped to find out. Part of her personal
research was going to be based on narratives from the locals in
addition to those from the experts like her brother.
She
didn’t see how she would get anyone to talk if she isolated herself as
Donovan still did.
He
fetched her bag and led her to a big black truck encrusted with dirty
snow. Winter in these northern climes could be vicious, but she'd
prepared for the cold just as she prepared for everything.
Rather for everything she could anticipate.
What she couldn't have anticipated was the sudden angst being in
this place gave her. Nothing specific. Not even flesh at
attention. Just an uneasy sense of foreboding, of something being
off.
Donovan slung her bag into the snow-packed back of the
pick-up. "Inside's clean," he assured her.
She
nodded and, hefting her shoulder bag with her laptop onto the floor,
followed it inside, grateful for the ride. A city girl, she was
used to not having a car, to taking public transportation. That
would have to change, though. She would have to buy a car for her
job.
A
moment later they were on the road.
"So
how did you hear about Gray Wolf Lodge?" he asked her.
"Internet. I was looking for a B&B, but I couldn’t
resist the photos of the lodge."
The
perfect place not only to write, but to research some of her facts in
person. She respected her brother’s findings and opinions, but
she needed to cast a wider net. The lodge was only half a mile or
so from town – an easy walk for a woman who didn’t own a vehicle and
was used to hoofing it as far as she needed to in the big
city.
Looking around as they drove, Aileen said, "Beautiful area.
I wonder if tourism will be off, though, after that death I read
about." Most people being afraid of wolves.
"The official report is that Tom Patterson had a heart attack."
"You think something else is going on?"
"It's not what I think," Donovan said. “Some locals claimed
a wolf killed him. That’s ridiculous of course. Wolves
leave people alone. But Patterson dead is another story.
Animals snacked on his carcass."
Aileen swallowed hard. "So I read."
Once the truck turned onto a private road, the rough graveled
surface bouncing the truck made keeping conversation to a minimum a
safety precaution.
Their cutting through a stand of huge white pines brought with it
a touch of deja vu. Aileen wrapped her arms around herself to
control a sudden shiver that swept over her. She'd never been
here, not in this spot exactly, but the forested area seemed
familiar. No doubt the family campsite that long-ago summer - in
the woods not all that far from here - had been similar in
nature.
Not
that she remembered much of it.
After all these years, she still had a hole in her memory, and no
matter how hard she tried, she couldn't force her mind to
cooperate. When her dad and brothers had taken her from the
clinic, they'd assured her she shouldn't worry about it, because losing
a day in a life was nothing.
So
why did nothing still haunt her?
And
why did the forest seem to have eyes? Aileen imagined someone –
or something – was watching . . .
"Here we are," Donovan said, as they came through to a clearing
that set them back in a different era.
He
brought the truck to a stop in front of the lodge. Aileen slipped
out and took it all in.
Built at the turn of the last century by Scandanavian craftsmen,
Gray Wolf Lodge stood in magnificent three-story testimony to their
skill. According to the brochure, the planked outside walls of
the twenty room inn were held together by square wooden pegs.
A
brawny, fortyish man stood on the porch. He removed his billed
cap and threaded long fingers through a shock of pale hair laced with
silver. Even though it was mid-December, the part of his face
below his faded blue eyes was still sun-tanned. He looked fit, a
real outdoorsman.
"Say, you Miss McKenna?" he asked.
"I'm Aileen."
He
stepped down to the driveway. "Fisk Oeland. Here to take
your bags.”
Donovan handed them to the man who carried them inside.
"You want me to hang around for a while?"
"No
need, but thanks for the ride," she said, giving him another big
hug. "Give me a bit to feel my way around. I promise I’ll
give you a call in the next day or two."
"Sounds good." He kissed her cheek and headed back for the
truck.
"Give my love to Laurel and Willow."
"Will do."
She
watched him drive off, then turned toward the lodge. Nothing sinister
about the place, she thought, but going inside set her further on edge.
The
common area, free at the moment of guests, was filled with rustic
furniture and had cathedral windows and a high, peaked ceiling from
which hung a huge antler chandelier decorated with a giant red velvet
bow. Strings of cranberries as well as lights and ornaments made
from pine cones and others of colorful blown glass hung from the
branches of one of the biggest Christmas trees she’d ever.
The
tree stood between the windows and a wall-sized stone fireplace where a
wood fire roared, watched over by several elk and deer heads. And
on the mantel, a stuffed rabbit and beaver were frozen in unnatural
poses.
Trophies, she thought. Someone's idea of sport.
Her
unease multiplying, Aileen noticed a man in one corner using his laptop
– the only other person in the room. She turned to the service
desk built from the same stone as the fireplace. The thick
counter was of fossilized wood. On it were lodge brochures
different from the one she’d gotten in the mail. She flipped one
over to find a photo of a blond woman with a rugged, bearded
outdoors-man who, if his salt-and-pepper hair were any indication, was
quite a bit older. The brochure identified them as Magnus and
Valerie Gleiter, but Aileen was certain no Magnus had been mentioned at
the website.
Fisk came down a set of stairs and crossed the room. "Bags
are in your room already." He headed for a doorway behind the
desk. "Mrs. Gleiter'll see to you momentarily."
She
set down the brochure and had removed her jacket. "I'll be
fine." She would be fine. She was always fine.
She always pushed past the things that troubled her. "And thanks."
Valerie Gleiter had been the one to reply to Aileen's email
requesting information about the place. The owner had seemed
quite amenable, asking about her food preferences and whether she
favored pillows and bedding of down or of a synthetic material.
Aileen heard a woman’s voice, low and sharp, then a man’s.
She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Valerie and Fisk seemed to
be in disagreement about something.
And
then a tall, athletic woman exited the office. Aileen's eyebrows
shot up. Dressed in leggings, ankle boots and a thick sweater
with a fancy design, her long dark blond hair pulled into a sleek pony
tail, the woman looked picture-perfect for an apres-ski get-together.
"You’re Valerie Gleiter?"
The
woman inclined her head. "Welcome to Gray Wolf Lodge."
Aileen's collection of loose Native American bracelets clanked as
she held out her hand, then retracted it when Valerie ignored the
offer, instead turning to the leather-bound guest register. Okay,
not real friendly.
Though she'd had no preconceived notions about her hostess,
Aileen was surprised at how young the woman appeared. But while
Aileen was just finishing graduate school, Valerie owned and ran a
substantial vacation property. She couldn't help but be impressed.
As
Aileen signed the register, Valerie took her credit card imprint and
asked, "How was your trip?"
"Pleasantly uneventful."
Leaning closer as she returned the card, Valerie sniffed and
blinked. "Nice perfume," she said, but she stared at Aileen for a
moment, and her brown eyes flickered before she rounded the
counter. "I'll show you to your room."
When she swept by Aileen, a strong scent of ginger wafting along
her path. Aileen followed. Odd that Valerie would admire a
light woodsy scent when the woman obviously preferred one so bold for
herself. Perhaps she was simply being polite.
“So
how long have you and your husband owned the place?” Aileen asked.
“I’m a widow,” Valerie said, her voice a shade cooler than before.
Aileen winced. Undoubtedly she’d stirred up feelings the
other woman was trying to repress. And here she was simply trying
to be friendly.
They climbed a short flight of stairs to one of the smaller rooms
that fit her budget.
"Technically, the bathroom is connected to a second room to be
shared with another guest," Valerie told her. "But you'll be
alone in this section of the lodge. With Christmas right around
the corner, next week will be a different story. By Christmas
Eve, we’ll be full."
Her
quarters reflected the lodge, Aileen realized, with a headboard and
dresser of rough hewn wood, fresh pine wreath splashed with a Christmas
red bow on the wall and a braided rug on the floor the same rust-red
and dark blue as the coverlet. And if she wanted fresh air, she
could go outside on a small stairless deck that butted against a
century old white pine. A chair there would allow her to sit and
admire the spectacular view, which included the creek after which the
town had been named.
"You're always welcome to use the great room," Valerie said. "If
you want exercise, you can grab snowshoes or cross-country skis and
explore the area on foot. Or take out one of the
horses."
"That fits in with my plans perfectly. I thought this
afternoon I'd get a little outdoorsy, check out the area on skis.
Especially the part where Tom Patterson’s body was found.”
Luckily it hadn’t snowed again since his death shortly after
Thanksgiving.
Valerie started. "Why? You're not a reporter?"
Aileen shook her head. "Just a curious ecology student."
An
awkward moment balanced between them before Valerie shrugged and said,
"You know what they say about curiosity."
"But I'm not a cat," Aileen joked.
Valerie didn't so much as crack a smile. Apparently she
didn't want to talk about the death. Instead she gave a quick run
down on the meal schedule and started to leave. Pausing at the
door, she stared at Aileen as if trying to decide on something.
"If
you do need to go into town," she said, her voice cool, "we can get you
there. Or you could take one of the snowmobiles. The
equipment shed is around back. Fisk can get you anything you
need."
“Thanks but I like walking.”
“There’s a short cut. Follow the gravel road back to the
main road into town. About a hundred yards down, you’ll see an
opening in the trees. A path has been kept cleared–”
“A
walking path?”
“A
whatever path.” The owner started out the door, saying, “You can
take the snowmobile that way, as well.”
Aileen put the peculiar feeling she got from Valerie Gleiter to
her own edginess. Though gracious and obviously successful, the
lodge owner wasn't warm, not a true people person. Not that she
needed to be, Aileen thought, glad to be alone. Sometimes she was
too critical of others, expected too much of them.
After hanging her jacket on a peg next to the
door, Aileen pulled off her knit cap and poked fingers through her hair
so it fluffed around her face and spread out around her
shoulders. Now to make the rom her temporary home.
Prepared as always, she opened her bag and pulled out the framed
photos she’d brought with her. A few were of the McKennas –
grandparents, parents and little kids – the others were of wolves she’d
photographed while interning at a refuge the year before. Donovan
had set her up with that gig. She lined all the photos on the
dresser so she could look at them if she got homesick, then trailed her
fingers across the lifeless representations of the animals she both
loved and feared. She knew everything about them. Their
names, their diets, their health histories.
But
she didn’t know them, not in the same way the other interns and
volunteers did. Even though she got physically close, a part of
her kept her distance. Never one to let fear have the upper hand,
Aileen had done everything the others had with the wolves, if with less
confidence.
Would that ever change? she wondered. Would she ever be
able to throw herself fully into her work?
Last, she pulled out a letter, the paper soft to her fingertips,
the folds worn from years of inspection. The letter was her most
precious keepsake, the loving legacy of a dying grandmother, who’d
wanted to pass down her promise of a great future to each of her nine
grandchildren.
To
my darling Aileen,
I leave you my love and more. Within
thirty-three days of your thirty-third birthday - enough time to know
what you are about - you will have in your grasp a legacy of which your
dreams are made. Dreams are not always tangible things, but more
often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another’s behalf,
and my legacy will be yours.
Your loving grandmother,
Moira McKenna
P.S. Use any other inheritance from me wisely and only for good,
lest you destroy yourself or those you love.
Both of her brothers and four of her cousins had seen the legacy
come true. They’d met their spouses in the midst of danger – had
saved them somehow – and had made sacrifices to be with them.
Somehow, Moira McKenna, a bean feasa, had managed to pass pieces of her
magic down to most of her grandchildren, some more significant than
others.
The
only magic Aileen had experienced had been the ability to dream bits
and pieces of the future. Sometimes she’d been able to patch them
together, other times not. She’d never worried about it except
when she dreamt of the wolves.
On
her thirty-third birthday, Aileen had decided the wolf dream she’d had
the night before was significant – her subconscious urging her to
follow her dream and finish her graduate degree and start a new life
away from the big city. As Gran had instructed, she would act
selflessly in another’s behalf – in the behalf of the wolves.
Aileen guessed her new life direction counted as her share of the
legacy, though at times, she wished for a soulmate for herself.
Too late, she thought.
She’d missed the deadline.
"Thank you for what you gave me, Gran," she whispered, planting a
light kiss on the refolded letter and tucking it in back of her
grandparents’ photo.
After quickly unpacking, Aileen sprawled across the bed and
groaned with pleasure.
Down time. Oh, how tempting it would be to do nothing but
relax and have fun this week. But she'd worked too hard to earn
this degree. Now she was approaching the finish line for her
master's in wildlife ecology.
More work awaited her. Her mind was already going over the
facts.
Wolves in the wild didn't attack humans, not unless they were
rabid. But there had been no report of rabies in this or in the
surrounding counties in years. So had a wolf actually killed a
man or was superstition rearing its ugly head, right here, practically
in her backyard?
She
would love to figure out what really happened, one way or the other,
and include the facts and dissect the fiction as part of her thesis.
A
thesis that explored new territory would help ensure her the job of her
heart as a wildlife ecologist specializing in wild animal management.
The
reason she was here. More specifically for the wolves.
Wasn't it?
#
Aileen rested for a
bit, then decided to start working on that personal research.
Dressing carefully against the cold and wet, she headed outside and
around back to the equipment shed.
Fisk was inside, reorganizing equipment on a shelf. "Miss
McKenna. Here to check out a snowmobile? Or can I give you
a ride into town?"
"Actually, I was hoping for some cross country skis."
"You planning on going out alone?"
"I
have a map and a compass."
He
made a gruff sound, then asked, "Where you headed?"
Aileen hesitated a moment, then said, "I wanted to check out the
site where Tom Patterson died last week."
"You’re awfully young to be interested in something so gruesome."
"Ecology student. I’m interested because I’ve heard a wolf
might be involved," she said, as if that would explain it to his
satisfaction. Not wanting to get into it further with the locals
until she’d had a look at the kill site, she changed the subject.
"You seem to be a jack of all trades. Greeting guests, in charge
of equipment. Like those cross country skis."
"I
do some of this and some of that," Fisk agreed. "I see to the
horses and equipment mostly." Picking out a pair of skis for her,
he glanced at her sideways. "But I do whatever the owner likes."
She
didn’t miss the change of tone at the last. Whatever. None
of her business. Gathering up the equipment, she stepped outside
and prepared herself for an adventure.
"Watch yourself out there," Fisk warned from the doorway.
"You never know what could be stalking you."
He
was staring at her in a way that made the smalls hairs at the back of
her neck stand at attention. Aileen ignored the sensation.
He was just warning her to be careful. It would be nice if he’d
more carefully chosen his words.
A
quarter of an hour later – hood up, scarf wound lightly around her
lower face – Aileen smoothly glided along a purposely carved trail that
ran beside the creek for a while. She was in her element
now. Pleasantly stuffed from lunch, she was invigorated by the
welcome exercise and eager to get deeper into wolf country. Not
that she actually expected to see one. Luckily for wolves, they
feared people enough to keep to themselves.
Once the lodge was out of sight, she stopped and pulled out a
copy of the map she'd gotten from a friend who worked for the
Department of Natural Resources and reconnoitered.
The
lodge was behind her, as was town, which was also further west.
The forest where her family had camped was situated a few miles north
and east, in the direction of Iron Lake, where Donovan had grown
up. And in between it and her current position lay a lot of
territory, including the spot at least a mile away from the nearest
road where the body had been found.
She
continued along the creek for a while, checking the changing sky as she
went. The sun had played its swansong for the day, hiding behind
a bank of clouds, and a gray gloom settled over the area. She had
a couple of hours of daylight, surely enough time to
find the kill site and whatever prints might be left. The area
had been scoured, first by the authorities, then by other animal
behaviorists, and they hadn't found anything to tell them what had
happened for sure.
When the creek curved straight north, she checked her map again,
then set off on a diagonal to the west. Not much
further. The last several winters had provided
her with field experience, since she'd volunteered her time with a
naturalist group that held wolf ecology weekends for high school
students. So she knew how to follow a wilderness map. More
important, she knew how to track an animal – a wolf – even though she'd
never seen one in the wild.
The
map showed a ridge and a downed tree in a clearing. Several
minutes later, she found the site.
But
where once the snow would have given up its secrets, now it was simply
a quagmire. Even so, a thrill enveloped her at spotting animal
prints in nature – even ones half-eradicated by human footprints.
Crouching over her skis in the middle of the area, Aileen peered
around, attempting to dissect the morass. Spotting traces of
washed out reddish-brown against the dirty snow, she sucked in her
breath.
Dried blood.
Mouth dry and chest tight, she moved her gaze outward in
concentric circles . . . until it met a pair of snowshoes lashed to a
set of knee-high mocassins.
A
nearby bird squawked and Aileen flew off balance. Her skis
shushed to the side, sending an explosion of wet snow raining
outward.
After landing hard on one hip, she stared up at the dark-haired
man suddenly towering over her. He was garbed in fringed deerskin
garments and wearing a head covering made from a fox skin with the head
still attached. That and the rifle he carried made her stomach
clutch. Pale brown eyes below slashes of eyebrow set in a rugged
face narrowed on her. The eyebrows drew into a straight angry
line.
Her
stomach clenched in response.
"Who the hell are you?" he growled. "And what are you
doing, sneaking around here?"
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