Chapter 2:
Always Eager To Help Law Enforcement
As Brett jogged back up the trail to her house, the shakes that started in her hands spread to the rest of her body. The panic attack hit her once she got inside. It took a few tries to get her phone out of her pocket before she was able to hit Tess’ name. She placed the call on speaker and set the phone on the floor next to her.
Brett could hear the rest of the sheriff’s department arriving: Sheriff Woodard’s booming voice, the slamming of doors, the static of radios.
“Brett?”
The voice of her best friend echoed through the speaker. She couldn’t find the space to speak between her rapid breaths.
“I got your location pulled up. God, I love this feature. I’m headed your way now.”
The sounds of keys being grabbed before shuffling out the door.
“Don’t you dare hang up. As soon as this rust bucket of a car decides to start, I’ll actually be on my way.” Tess yelled at her car, a tiny Nissan held together by duct tape, zip ties, and sheer willpower.
The engine kicked on with a loud whine.
“This district doesn’t pay me enough,” she said.
The hardwood floors felt cool against Brett’s skin. She tried to focus on that feeling and on the familiar sounds of Tess complaining about the Glenn County School System, and of its underfunded mathematics department, as she tried to get her breathing back under control.
Her breaths slowed. The door opened, and Tess walked in.
Tess threw her purse onto the catchall by the door, sending a tube of chapstick and three pens to the floor. She ignored them and sprawled out next to Brett, reaching for her hand and giving it a tight squeeze.
Only once Brett’s breaths were back to normal did Tess speak.
“It’s been years. What happened?”
Brett sat up. “Let me shower first.”
“Okay. I’ll make tea.”
When Brett came back downstairs, Tess sat at the kitchen island, mug in hand. An extra mug, Brett’s favorite one, sat in front of her usual seat. Within reach sat a suspiciously low bottle of tequila. Brett sniffed her mug before taking a sip, hot chamomile tea.
“Figured we might need that,” Tess nodded at the bottle. “I already added some to mine.”
“I found Mary Blight, dead, in my woods.”
Tess grabbed the bottle, unscrewed it, and poured another splash of the clear liquor into her mug. She reached over and added some to Brett’s as well. Brett took another drink.
“It just brought up some things.”
Tess nodded as she took another gulp, “That makes sense. You see a dead body and think of the last time you saw a dead body. Which makes you think of the accident. Which makes you have a panic attack.” She took another drink.
“Are you still taking your meds?”
Brett nodded. She took her antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications religiously. Ever since the car accident that had killed her mother and left her with scars across her chest and upper arms.
Tess drained the rest of her cup before pushing herself to her feet and refilling her mug from the kettle. Grabbing two tea bags, she returned to the table, plopping hers into the hot water and tossing the other to Brett.
“I’m guessing, based on every sheriff’s office employee being here, that it’s not looking like natural causes.”
She took a long drink before answering, “Is that your professional, statistical opinion?”
“Shut up,” Tess laughed, giving her arm a light shove that caused a splash of liquid to fall onto the counter.
“If you want me to actually go into the statistical probabilities, I will.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“God, no,” Brett laughed. “It’s way too early for math.”
Tess gasped, clutching her chest in mock horror. “It’s never too early for math.”
The tapping of Ren’s booted foot against the floorboards echoed through the car. Dusty clenched his teeth and turned up the radio. Outside, the spaces between houses grew wider and wider until nothing but greenery surrounded them.
With one hand on the wheel, Dusty fished his phone out of his pocket.
“Arouet. How may I help you?” the chipper male admin answered.
“This is Dusty Taylor with the Glenn County Sheriff’s Office. Is Mr. Walker available today? I have a case that I need his help with.”
“He’s out on a run right now. May I take a message?”
“Sure he’s not out for a walk?”
Dusty could’ve sworn he heard the other man chuckle.
“Once he’s back, I’ll be sure to let him know. The pack is always eager to help local law enforcement.”
The other line clicked and disconnected. Dusty snorted.
Ren stopped his tapping. “Why’d you call them?”
“Inter-agency courtesy. Makes them more likely to talk to me.”
Ren’s face scrunched in thought. “But the policy…”
“It’s not in the policy.” Dusty said. “If the pack doesn’t want to talk to you, they don’t have to. They have their own form of police. Their own laws. We’ll see who comes out to talk to us when we get there.” Dusty ran a hand over his beard. “Let’s just hope it’s not the Talbots.”
“Talbots? Who are they?”
Dusty blinked at the other man.“Where’d you grow up?”
“Memphis. We moved here last year.”
Dusty nodded. That explained it. He’d never met someone without a healthy fear of the werewolf family. The closer they got to the pack lands the denser the greenery around them grew. The mostly flat trimmed grass morphed into wild grasses that threatened to overtake the street.
“The Talbots are one of the oldest, if not the oldest, werewolf families in the country. Maybe even the world for all I know. But only one of them comes down regularly from their cabin on Hunter’s Hill. Trust me. You’ll know him when you see him. He’s approaching seven feet tall and built like a bear with hair to match.”
Ren’s eyes widened. He recognized Hunter’s Hill. When he’d first moved to town, he’d been dared by some of the football players to steal a rock from its base. Another classmate had stepped in and counseled him on the foolishness of the dare. Unless he did not have a strong attachment to his hands.
Dusty watched Ren’s Adam’s apple leap up his throat before turning back to the road. Two large stone wolves sat on either side with “Welcome to Arouet” stretched between them. The car crawled to a parking spot in front of a log building. The sign staked into the ground read “Welcome Center”. Dusty parked the car, and the two men got out.
Ren looked around them with wide eyes, his head on a swivel. A group of children poured, shrieking, out of a red brick building. Bright colored clothing flew into the air as they ran. Flinging the clothes off as they shifted into wolves.
“What is that?” Ren watched the small wolves wrestle each other in the grass. A group of adults stood watch sipping coffees out of large tumblers and chatting with each other.
“Recess,” the same chipper voice from the phone announced.
Ren jumped. No matter how many times Dusty visited the pack in his official capacity, the reason behind the admin’s repeated attempts to startle him remained a mystery. They both turned.
The man’s broad smile showed perfect white teeth. The sun glinted off the gold studs in his left nostril and both ears.
“Cale,” Dusty nodded.
“Mr. Taylor and…”
“Ren Harada,” Ren hesitated then stuck out his hand.
The other man shook it.
“Mr. Harada. If you two will follow me.”
He led them into the log building. A large industrial rug with the pack logo, a stone wolf with the pack name beneath, lay on the gray wood floor in front of a large marble reception desk. The only color came from the assortment of green plants and from portraits of past pack leaders that lined the hallway beyond the lobby.
Cale gestured to the tall-backed chairs upholstered in even more shades of gray. “If you will be seated.”
Dusty and Ren sat in two of the chairs whose backs faced the wall. Ren winced and shifted in his seat.
“Make yourselves comfortable. I will let them know you are here.” Cale nodded and headed down the hallway, dress shoes clicking against the hardwood.
Ren waited until the other man disappeared down the hallway before speaking.
“This is the most uncomfortable chair that has ever existed,” he grumbled.
“It’s on purpose,” Dusty said shifting in his seat. “There’s a more comfortable seating area in that room on the left.” He gestured at an archway framed by two portraits just down the hall. “They will make us wait in here for awhile to see if we will give up and just go home.”
“But why,” Ren asked.
“The sheriff’s father was one of the most vocal opponents to the Species Inclusion Act. Spoke out against it until the day he died.”
Ren paused, “Why’d we come out here if they won’t talk to us?”
Dusty shrugged, “They talk to me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t be so modest. It’s that jawline, not to mention your charming personality” Cale’s voice came from their left.
Ren yelped.
Dusty sighed. Cale’s smile never seemed so genuine as it did when attempting to scare Dusty. One could argue that it was never intentional. Cale’s face never betrayed any emotion or thought other than polite courtesy. Sometimes, however, Dusty thought he saw a hint of mischief in the dark hooded eyes.
“Mr. Walker will see you now. Follow me.”
Without waiting to see if they followed, he turned and walked down the hallway.
The room reminded Dusty of a conference room; a large table filled with chairs occupied most of the room. Instead of the cool grays in the lobby, the room felt warm in shades of brown with hints of gold. The pack leaders were there, Dusty noted.
Zev Quina stood at the corner of the table, long braids loose down his muscled back, his hands planted on the thick wood. Tala Kittrell stood on the other side, bright blue eyes made more obvious against her shaved head and barely visible blonde eyebrows. Those eyes twinkled in amusement though her arms were crossed over her narrow chest. Owen Walker sat at the head of the table, hands resting on its surface, his long legs stretched out underneath.
“Have you brought us a snack?” Zev sniffed the air, “It’s been so long since you brought us fresh meat.”
He snapped his teeth, and Ren flinched before looking at Dusty with wide eyes.
“I see your sense of humor hasn’t improved,” Dusty said.
Tala snorted, lifting her hand as she tried to turn it into a cough.
“Ignore him. He’s trying to be funny. You’d be too gamey anyway,” Dusty reassured Ren whose rigid posture did not improve.
Dusty looked to Owen, “Body was found on Brett Herrera’s land just shy of the south border.”
“Thought that was Gibson land,” Tala said.
“Still is in a way. Gibson married Herrera. Their daughter owns it now.”
The three pack leaders looked at each other.
“She just moved back to town this summer. Probably haven’t run into her yet, but she’s a good kid.” Dusty explained trying to hide the surprise in his voice. The pack prided itself on its extensive information gathering. Pretending that they didn’t know something that they actually did tended to be more their modus operandis.
He took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s a possible homicide. Nothing on the scene indicates pack involvement in any way, but sheriff’s expecting trouble.”
Zev and Tala looked at Owen for a long moment. Owen spoke, “And what of you? Do you expect trouble?”
Dusty considered the question, “Yeah. Until we find out who did this, people are going to blame the pack. What level of trouble it turns into just depends on long it takes to catch ‘em.”
Owen nodded and stood.
Ren’s eyes widened when the other man’s height became apparent.
Owen walked around the desk to shake both of their hands. “Thank you, as always, for your frankness Deputy Sheriff. It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Harada. Hope you won’t hold Zev’s terrible humor against the rest of us.” He smiled. “If there are any specific members of the pack you need to speak with, let Cale know, and he will arrange it.”
The door behind Dusty reopened, and Cale stepped inside. Dusty thanked them all for their time and followed Cale out, prompting Ren to do the same. Zev and Tala followed muttering something about another meeting. As they walked out, Dusty heard Owen’s voice say, “Did you hear all that?”
Dusty turned and as the door closed he saw Owen talking to an empty corner of the room.