DESI'S RESCUE Read online

  Alex rushed out, his hair sticking up, his feet bare. "What the hell happened?"

  She shook her head. "Somebody obviously cut it." Roughly she said, "Help me check the wolves. Three of them were asleep in my living room this morning. Let's see if anybody else got out."

  With relief, they discovered most of the wolves were still safely penned in their kennels, Naomi and Hercules together in a pile; Caesar, Simon and Ralph in another kennel.

  But when she got to Fir's kennel, Desi's heart plummeted. The gate stood open, plainly just propped open and left that way. The lost, lonely, heartsore wolf was gone, no doubt to continue her quest to find her master, the bastard who'd abandoned her so completely. Huddled in the corner, hidden by the shadows, was the pup.

  Desi cursed loudly and picked up the sleeping pup, who did not appear to have come through the night with any damage, and put him in Alex's waiting arms. "Get him into the clinic and give him some ground venison, and call Linda to see if she can come in early to give you a hand. I'll see if I can track Fir before she gets far."

  Alex bent his body protectively around the pup. "What are we going to do about the fence?"

  "Fix it." She flung her braid over her shoulder and felt it thump hard against her left shoulder blade. "The wolves will just have to stay in their kennels today." She scowled, feeling fury rise like lava through her chest. "Bastards."

  "Go find her."

  Desi bent to examine the area around Fir's kennel. It was hard to pick out the wolf's track amid the footprints in the passageway, but she found the tracks easily in the deep snow beneath the trees in the forest, a trail of paws headed directly for the woods. Uphill, of course.

  A warm stretch had begun melting the sunny spots on the southern-facing slope, and twice Desi lost the trail, then picked it up again after a few feet. A tuft of molting undercoat was caught on a crooked branch close to the ground, and Desi tugged it off. Fir was trotting at a pretty quick pace. Hunting, perhaps, on the trail of some scent.

  Suddenly the trail disappeared, as if the wolf had vanished, tucked inside a magic rock, or been beamed out of there by means of a transporter. Intellectually Desi knew the trail had not just ended, that she as tracker had simply failed, and she traced backward, then in a meticulous circle. When that failed to yield the track, Desi stopped and looked around carefully for the possibility of a den. A cave, a hole in the ground, a hidden place behind another trunk. Something.

  But there were only trees and the piles of pine needles on the ground, and snow in drifts and clusters of ice-covered rocks. No sign at all of Fir. Desi dropped her hands in frustration.

  "Fir!" she cried, and gave her special whistle. In the distance, a bird whistled back. It sounded forlorn.

  Helplessly, she scanned the area, thinking of the poor lost wolf, her faithful, hopeless quest and the baby who might have had a mother and now would not. All because someone had cut the fence. Who would do something so evil?

  Whoever it was, Desi thought, she was going to make damned sure they were caught and punished. Enough was enough. If her enemies wanted a war, she'd give them a war.

  But first things first. She had to get to town and order some new fencing, then file a complaint with the police.

  * * *

  Tam loved many things, small to large. Hot showers after a cold run. His sister in New Zealand, who worked as a nurse in an Auckland hospital. A cup of chocolate. The sight of a woman's bare back, curving down to her bottom. Rugby—both playing and watching. His pub, the Black Crown, of which he was so proud that his mother—had she lived—would have scolded him for tempting the gods.

  The Black Crown occupied a building that had been serving libations to Mariposans as far back as the gold rush, though it had been called Molly's Tavern for most of that time. Tam had bought it a little more than two years before and renovated it into a classic British-style pub that specialized in beers from around the world and old-fashioned pub food like hamburgers and shepherd's pie and even a ploughman's platter with cheeses and pickles, all foods that were very big with the Europeans who came to Mariposa to hike and ski. He'd done well.

  In general, his easy-going nature made running the pub a fairly straightforward undertaking. As a rule, Tam was not easily annoyed. Life was too short to spend it grousing and whining. May as well get on with things, make life work as it was, rather than trying to make it something else.

  But anyone who worked for him knew he was a fanatic about cleanliness, a lesson learned at his grandfather's diner. The Shark and Tatie had been a shack on the edge of the road toward the Bay of Islands that served fish so fresh it had been swimming hours before, along with piles of roasted kumara and thick, hot chips to tourists driving up to see the grand rocks off the coast.

  A restaurant, his grandfather taught him, could never be too clean. Tam had fired more employees over sloppy cleaning than over being late.

  And this morning, as he remopped the bar floor that had not been done well enough last night, he knew there was going to be one more. Not that he was pleased about it. Help was hard to find, and the competition for every pair of hands was steep in the tourist economy of Mariposa. This was his third winter here, and he'd grown to recognize the signs of ski bums ready to head west for surfing or into the city for real jobs now that the season was nearly spent. Kaleb, the boy Tam would have to fire, loved only skiing. He'd dropped out of college to ski. He was a great bartender, a decent short-order cook, and Tam hated to let him go, but the kitchen looked as if it hadn't even been touched this morning.

  His day cook, a skinny man with a Fu Manchu mustache, was furious. "You gotta get on the night crew, man," he said. "I can't work like this. It's crap."

  "I hear you, mate. It's done."

  The lunch crowd would be arriving within minutes, but Tam took the chance to give the place a good scrubbing down—the grill and the walls, the far dark corners of the old kitchen, the shelves where the heavy pots lived. He took everything out of the walk-in fridge and washed down the shelves with bleach water, taking inventory as he went. Brown lettuce and a moldy tomato went in the bin, along with freezer-burned ice cream.

  And he sorted out meats beyond their due date for the wolves, putting them in a box he marked with a bright green Sharpie: "Don't use. Don't toss. Save for Tam."

  When the back was finished, he headed to the front of the house, where the radio played the reggae music the servers liked, and got ready to open for lunch. The bartender, Alice, a pretty girl with eyes still sleep-swollen, carried a tray filled with freshly wiped-down salt and pepper shakers. "Hey, Tamati," she said, and yawned. "How's your day so far?"

  He pulled stools off the old bar and settled them on the wooden floor. "Excellent."

  "You always say that," she said, and peered at him. "Don't you ever have a bad morning?"

  Tam shook his head. "Nope. Life is too short, babe."

  "You got a lot of change in that wolf thingy," she said. "You notice?"

  "Ha. No." After finding the wolf pup three days ago, Tam had taken some empty pickle jars and put pictures of wolves on them, and a request that said simply, "Please Help the Wolf Center." Couldn't hurt, anyway.

  The door swung open. Tam raised his head. "Sorry. We're not open for another twenty minutes. Can you come back?"

  Elsa, his erstwhile girlfriend—not very much of a girlfriend, he admitted only to himself—popped her sun-streaked blond head around the door. Her teeth seemed extra big and white in her tanned face as she grinned at him. "Surprise!" She held up a brightly colored bag. "I brought you a present from Jamaica."

  Alice had been waiting for direction, and he nodded. "Hello, Elsa." He let her kiss his cheek. "How was the honeymoon?"

  She glided into the room, three full feet of legs, the rest hair, bust and eyes the clear, unreal color of blue curaçao. "Wonderful!" Her Swedish accent added the last, completely unnecessary dash. "We snorkeled and swam and sunned." She held out a graceful forearm. "You see? I am your color now!"


  Tam realized that somehow, over the past three months, he'd completely recovered from his bizarre infatuation with Elsa Franz—now Biloxi. "Glad to hear it." He took the offered bag and opened it to find a T-shirt, black, with a silly slogan on the front. He didn't wear clothes with words.

  "Brilliant. Thanks." He folded the shirt back neatly and tucked it in the bag. "Can I get you something? Coffee?"

  "No, no. I will have to be going." She caught sight of the solicitation jar and scowled. Pulling it close to peer at the photo, she asked, "Is this the wolf center up on the gate road?"

  "The very one."

  She shook her head. "You should not raise money for her! She's a murderer. Haven't you heard the story?"

  "She's no murderer." Tam shook his head, wiped the bar. "No more than you."

  Elsa's eyes widened, the thick mascara seeming somehow ridiculous in this environment. "She did! She killed her husband, Claude. The Indian artist."

  He looked her in the eye. Raised a brow.

  Her hands fluttered. "Well, you still shouldn't be supporting the wolf center." She inclined a shoulder, bent in confidentially. "Bill and I bought the land right next to it, and he's given me carte blanche to develop it into a spa! There are mineral waters—hot springs!—and we've already hired an architect to design and build it."

  "And where will the wolves go, eh?"

  "The land is too valuable for that kind of use. She can find a better place where there is not so much skiing and desire to build homes."

  For one split second, he felt a flash of anger. He was conscious of his nostrils flaring. "They were here first," he said.

  Elsa's expression shifted. She reached for his hand, curled her cold fingers around his wrist. "I apologize, Tamati. I forget how indigenous people feel about the animals."

  He removed his arm from her grip. "I have work to do," he said.

  "Ah, Tamati," she said with a sigh. "I did not mean to offend you. I am sorry."

  "Don't worry," he said stiffly. "You know me. Never angry."

  Uncertainty clouded her eyes. She searched his face, then stood. "Okay. I do not want to make you angry with me." She headed for the door. "Bye-bye."

  "Bye." When she had closed the door behind her, Tam allowed himself a low, furious growl. Honestly, what had he ever seen in such a shallow, social-climbing—

  Never mind. What was done was done.

  But he wondered if Desi knew about the spa and the hot springs. He smiled to himself, turning the solicitation jar toward the front of the house. Under his breath he whistled a happy little tune.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

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  By the time she hit town, Desi was coldly, furiously focused. She had gone back to the cabin, grabbed her keys off the counter and jumped in her truck. She had not had coffee or breakfast or taken time to do anything but let down her braid and comb it out.

  Just as she parked at the hardware store, her veterinary cell phone, clipped to her hip, rang loudly. "Dr. Rousseau," she snapped into the receiver.

  "Good morning, Desdemona," said a full, drawling voice. "How are you?"

  "Hey, Judge!" Desi unbuckled her seat belt and took a moment. Alexander Yancy, a farmer who'd made his fortune in the organic market, focusing on free-range chickens, pigs and cows, was a good friend. He'd proved instrumental in helping to get her released on bond when she had been arrested for Claude's murder. "Hey, Judge. I've had better days, but I've had worse. How are you?"

  "I'm all right," he said, "but Lacey's had better days." Lacey was his horse, a youthful and high spirited mare who was always getting in some kind of trouble. "I was hoping you might have a chance to come look at her."

  "What's wrong?"

  "She's just lethargic. Not overly sick that I can see, and I can't see any injury, but she's not herself."

  Desi sensed there was more to it than the judge was saying. That maybe it wasn't about the horse at all. She smiled gently. The judge had been unexpectedly widowed four years ago, and he'd taken to Desi as if she were a long-lost daughter. "I have a few things to do this morning in town," she said. "What if I try to stop by after lunch?"

  "I could make you some lunch if you'd like. Apple walnut salad? Made with my very own harvest, though I must admit they're getting somewhat mealy now."

  She smiled, hoping the expression translated down the phone wires. "I'd love to, Judge, but somebody cut my fencing and I've got a heck of a lot to do today. How about later this week?"

  "That's fine, girl. You do what you need to do."

  "I will stop by and see Lacey on my way home."

  "I'll keep the coffeepot warm."

  Desi hung up, feeling less furious. Thank heaven for Alexander Yancy, she thought, heading into the hardware store. She wasn't sure what she would have done without him when she was arrested three months ago. His help had been instrumental in securing bail and getting the insubstantial charges knocked down to the current level.

  Inside the hardware store, she ordered the fencing she needed and arranged for it to be delivered. The man in the lumber area seemed as if he might have wanted to deliver the next day, seeing as it was nearly eleven o'clock, but something about the bristling fury in Desi's attitude made him back off. "It'll be there by two."

  "Better be," she said, "or I swear, John, I'll be back down here raising hell."

  The older man half grinned, his face a mass of sun lines in a leathery mask. "Hell, darlin', seeing you in such a fine snit, it'd almost be worth it."

  "Don't make me come back down here. The wolves need to be safe."

  As she strode back to her truck, he called out behind her, "Your hair sure looks purty like that!"

  Desi heard the teasing admiration in his voice and waved without turning around. She slammed the door closed and fired up the engine, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction as she guided the enormous vehicle out of the lot, the engine rumbling and powerful. It was a working truck, with a water tank that fit in the bed, and the power to haul whatever she needed up the mountain, along with four-wheel drive and clearance enough to navigate the worst pot holes in the dirt road to the cabin.

  But all that said, she just liked it. Loved the way she felt driving it, with her big hands and long legs. It made her feel powerful.

  It was not, however, a great vehicle for driving through town during the height of ski season, especially through the heavily pedestrian areas of downtown. It was too aggravating. She parked in a lot within walking distance of all the places she needed to visit and locked up.

  Walking, however, did not cool her temper. When she hit the front desk of the sheriff's office, she was in what her father would have called Full Desi Outrage. "I need to talk to somebody about some harassment on my land," she said.

  The woman behind the desk nodded. "It's okay. I'll be glad to get somebody to take your complaint—"

  "I've got it," said a man coming in from a back room, papers in his hand.

  Desi looked up. It was Gene Nordquist, the young, power-mad deputy who had made her life a living hell the past six months. "No," Desi said, brooking no argument. "He's not objective. He's been giving me grief all the time lately. Somebody else."

  The woman half shrugged. "There's not anybody else, not unless you want to come back later."

  Desi spun her on her heel, the lava rising in her throat. "Damned right I'll come back."

  Furious, stinging, she stomped off through the snow toward her sister's house. Juliet had rented a house in downtown Mariposa to be close by to her fiancé, Josh. The two were planning a summer wedding, but everyone wanted to wait until the business with Claude's murder was finished.

  If it was ever finished, Desi thought with some despair. She had really expected it to be cleared up by now. Now the wolves were being made to pay, and she would not allow that to happen. If the police would not help her find out who was harassing her, she'd find out on her own. If they refused to find out who killed Claude, Desi would do it herself.


  But how? Desi needed Juliet's and Josh's expertise. Juliet was a lawyer. Josh was a tribal policeman, and had officially taken himself off the case. She knew he couldn't ethically do anything to compromise his position, but that didn't mean he couldn't help her brainstorm.

  And, heck, it had been ages since she'd seen Glory, Josh's five-year-old daughter. It would be refreshing, cheering, to have the little girl's company. Everyone should be around on a Saturday morning. She looked at her watch and was amazed to realize it was nearly lunchtime. That would account for the grumbling in her stomach. She hadn't even had breakfast.

  Leaving the truck parked, she walked to Juliet's cottage and knocked. Jack, Josh's fluffy dog, who now only stayed at Juliet's house, jumped up in the window and wagged his tail, but there was obviously no one else at home. Disappointed, Desi pulled out her cell phone and dialed her sister's number.

  Juliet picked up on the second ring. "Hi, Dez. Where are you?"

  "I'm on your front porch teasing your dog. Where are you?"

  "I'm having lunch at the Black Crown. Come join me."

  "The Black Crown?"

  "Yeah, the New Zealander's pub. It's great food. You'll like it."

  Something purply and yearning burst in Desi's belly. She looked down at her careless attire, the jeans and quickly donned sweater, her muddy boots and loose hair. "Ooh, I can't! I look terrible. It's been a horrible morning."

  "First of all you never look terrible, and second, what happened?"

  Desi felt the weight of the lost wolf, the cut fence, in the tight muscles over her shoulders. "Long story," she said, and the sound of it must have been in her voice.

  "Desi, please come eat with me. I haven't seen you in more than a week. I'll ask the server for a paper bag you can put over your head. How's that?"

  Desi loved her sister, but the woman was a beauty and always had been. "Is the owner there?" she asked.