The Mystery of the Mother Wolf, Page 2

  seep into the water system.”

  “You're sounding very logical, Nancy,” Alice said

  with a sigh, “but Rusty doesn't respond to logic. Things

  have gotten so bad with him that he taunts us all the

  time. That little antic you girls just witnessed is a

  perfect example.” Alice frowned as she searched for

  her next words, then added, “Somehow, his behavior

  has become more sinister lately.”

  Nancy bit her lip. Alice and John must not have

  been thrilled to move to Wyoming to get away from a

  crowded city only to find a very unpleasant man

  practically living in their backyard.

  Alice slowed down as she navigated a sharp curve in

  the road. A driveway opened suddenly on the right,

  with a green-and-white sign nailed to an open gate. A

  drawing of an elk appeared on the sign above the

  words Elk River Ranch.

  After turning into the driveway, Alice drove up a

  long avenue of pine trees. A quarter of a mile later, the

  pines opened onto wide fields where herds of cattle

  stood in knee-deep snow, huddled together for

  warmth. Then the cattle range changed to a horse

  pasture enclosed by a post-and-rail fence. Inside were

  six horses in an assortment of colors: bay, chestnut,

  gray, black, roan, and palomino. Steamy breath rose

  from the horses' nostrils into the cold blue air.

  As the Jeep reached the top of a slope, the lodge

  appeared at the end of a huge snow-covered lawn. It

  was a large, handsome, two-story log building with a

  wraparound porch that had railings made of white

  birch. Lamplight glowed from several windows, looking

  to Nancy like friendly eyes welcoming the travelers in

  from the cold.

  “Well, here we are, girls,” Alice announced. “Elk

  River Ranch itself.”

  After unloading her suitcase and skis from the Jeep,

  Nancy stood on the porch for a moment, taking in her

  surroundings. On either side of the lawn, gorgeous

  pine forests stretched into the dark, mysterious

  wilderness. Craggy mountains rose beyond those, while

  in front of the house a river unfolded like a golden

  ribbon in the valley below, reflecting the lowering sun.

  Two red barns and an unpainted wooden structure

  on the left completed the picture of this ranch far re-

  moved from the world's hustle and bustle.

  Stamping the snow off her feet on the front door-

  mat, Alice opened the door of the lodge. A handsome

  gray-and-white husky with one blue eye and one brown

  eye bounded outside. Wagging his tail furiously, he

  sniffed the girls.

  “Stop that, Grover boy, don't be rude,” Alice told

  him, taking hold of his collar as she tried to drag him

  back inside. “These are our new friends, Nancy, Bess,

  and George.” Grover looked at the girls beseechingly

  before scurrying in through the door.

  Bess giggled. “What a friendly personality he has,”

  she declared. “He looked as if he wanted to invite us

  inside.”

  “Grover loves visitors,” Alice said. “Unfortunately,

  he's got so much love in him, he's not much of a

  watchdog.” Shrugging, she added, “Though we don't

  really need a watchdog in paradise.”

  A tall, robust man in his late sixties stepped outside

  the front door. When he saw the new arrivals, his

  mouth curved up into a delighted smile.

  “You must be Nancy, George, and Bess,” he said

  heartily, extending his hand for each girl to shake. “I've

  heard so much about you from Alice. Now, let me

  guess who's who.”

  After he identified each girl correctly, Alice excused

  herself to do some household chores before preparing

  afternoon tea.

  George asked, “So, are you John Marshall?”

  The man chuckled. “No, I'm Dody Warriner, a guest

  at the lodge. But I'm flattered that you mistook me for

  John, since he's probably twenty-five years my junior.”

  Nancy studied Mr. Warriner as he helped them

  carry their bags inside the lodge. He looked amazingly

  fit for his age, as if he spent all his time skiing or

  sailing. His twinkling blue eyes were striking in his

  tanned face, and he moved with a spring in his step.

  Even so, Nancy thought, he looks as if he wouldn't turn

  down a good meal, judging from the snug fit of his

  trousers.

  Once inside the living room, Nancy took it in curi-

  ously. The room was enormous, as deep and wide as a

  barn. A cheerful fire blazed inside a huge stone

  fireplace, and beautiful Oriental carpets with rich

  colors and intricate designs decorated the floors. A

  number of antique sofas and armchairs with luxurious

  velvet cushions invited guests to recline, read, talk, or

  play a variety of board games stacked on tables around

  the room. Lamps topped with fringed and tasseled

  shades bestowed a soft golden glow, and a mounted

  elk's head gazed down loftily from its perch above the

  fireplace.

  A young, brown-haired guy around nineteen or

  twenty popped up from the sofa in front of the fire.

  When he saw the girls, he tucked his chin down shyly,

  then glanced up at them with soft brown doe eyes.

  “This is my son, Dexter,” Dody explained. “He's a

  little shy with girls.”

  Dexter blushed bright scarlet under his tan. “Oh,

  Dad,” he said, sounding extremely irritated. He im-

  mediately sank back into the sofa, disappearing behind

  its high back.

  “I wasn't expecting someone as cute as him to be

  here,” Bess whispered to Nancy. “But I don't blame

  him for being annoyed at his father. I wonder if he'll

  ever get up the guts to talk to us after being embar-

  rassed like that.”

  “I'm sure you'll find a way to draw him out,” Nancy

  told Bess in a low voice.

  “Dexter and I have just finished some terrific skiing

  today,” Dody explained. “The slopes got a fresh coat of

  powder last night, and the sky was so clear, I could see

  for miles. My wife would rather stay in San Francisco

  and shop, but I'm addicted to the outdoor life. Thank

  goodness Dexter likes to come with me, so I don't have

  to ski by myself.”

  Nancy didn't think that a gregarious man like Dody

  Warriner would have trouble finding people to ski with

  him, but she was glad Dexter had come along. She

  liked the idea of having a new person around, and

  Dexter seemed like a nice guy.

  A broad-shouldered man with jet-black hair entered

  the room, his arms full of firewood. Nancy judged him

  to be in his early forties. He wore blue jeans and a

  flannel shirt of gray and blue plaid, which accentuated

  his pale gray eyes. He gazed quietly at the newcomers

  before turning to place the wood on the fire. Once

  finished, he turned back to the girls and shook hands.

  “Hello, there, I'm John Marshall, Alice's husband,”

  he announced.<
br />
  The moment the girls introduced themselves, Johns

  gaze wandered toward a far doorway. “Excuse me. I

  have work to do,” he said bluntly. “I'm the cook in this

  joint.” His mouth curved into a tight smile before

  leaving the guests to themselves.

  “Alice and John are so different,” Nancy commented

  to Dody in a low voice. “She's so sweet and friendly,

  and he's so gruff.”

  “Well, you know the expression—opposites attract,”

  Dody said with a shrug.

  Grinning mischievously, Bess cupped her hand

  against Nancy's ear and murmured, “Speaking of op-

  posites attracting, I'm going to challenge Dexter to a

  game of backgammon.”

  “Hey, girls,” Alice said, hurrying up to them with a

  steaming pot of tea and a plate of brownies on a tray.

  “I'm sorry, I had to abandon you to prepare afternoon

  tea, which I dutifully promise to all our guests. Anyway,

  I've got a free moment now. Why don't I show you to

  your rooms?”

  “I'm going to do some laps in the heated pool,”

  Dody announced. “That way I'll feel I've earned my

  brownies.”

  Nancy and George followed Alice while Bess slid

  over to Dexter's sofa. “Don't worry, guys,” Bess told

  Nancy and George, “I'll find our room later. Right now

  a cup of tea and a brownie sounds great.”

  After putting their skis and boots in the downstairs

  sports equipment closet, Nancy and George picked up

  their suitcases and followed Alice up a large staircase

  made of dark polished wood. On the second floor, six

  doors opened off a wide hallway with a large window

  facing the river, through which the setting sun poured

  a stream of light.

  Alice led them to two doors at the front of the hall.

  “We've only got two extra rooms, so two of you girls

  will have to double up,” she said. “Jenny and Paul have

  the two rooms facing each other at the back of the hall,

  then Dody and Dexter have the next two rooms, and

  you girls are in these two at the front. John and I have

  our own suite downstairs in a wing of the house.”

  “George, why don't you and I share?” Nancy sug-

  gested. “Bess will like having her own bathroom,

  anyway, so she won't feel rushed with her make-up.”

  “Good point, Nan,” George said, following Alice into

  the room.

  As the sun slid farther down the horizon, a beam of

  sunlight shot through the window like a laser, lighting

  up the corner of the hall. A small reddish object there

  caught Nancy's eye.

  She stepped to the corner and stooped down. It was

  a red Swiss army knife with two crudely etched letters,

  RM, marking its surface.

  Nancy's mind flashed back to Alice's description of

  Rusty. Hadn't she said his last name was Marconi?

  Nancy thought for a moment. She couldn't think of

  anyone staying at Elk River Ranch who had those

  initials. Was Rusty Marconi stalking the Marshalls in-

  side their own house?

  3. Crash!

  “Alice?” Nancy said, following Alice and George into

  the bedroom. “I found this Swiss army knife in the

  corner of the hallway. It says RM on it, and I thought

  the M might stand for Marshall. But who in your family

  has the first initial R?”

  Alice took the knife from Nancy and studied it. “No

  one. I have no idea who this belongs to.”

  “There's no way it could be Rusty Marconi's, could

  it?” Nancy asked her.

  Alice stared at her, alarm spreading through her

  light green eyes. “What an awful thought, Nancy. No, it

  couldn't possibly be his. He may be a weird old coot

  who's territorial about his own property, but he

  wouldn't stalk us on ours. At least, I don't think he

  would.” A sudden look of relief flashed across her face

  as she cried, “I know! This knife must belong to Ross

  Minkowski, our ranch hand. Thank goodness I

  remembered him—the thought that the knife could be

  Rusty's really gave me the creeps.”

  “Me, too,” Nancy said, feeling much easier. “You

  wouldn't want that guy in your house.”

  “No way,” George chimed in. “He's bad enough a

  mile down the road.”

  “Well, girls, I'll leave you to unpack,” Alice said.

  “But please come down for tea when you're finished.

  Relaxing by our fire on a late winter afternoon can be

  very pleasant.”

  After promising to join everyone later, Nancy and

  George lifted their suitcases onto the luggage racks at

  the foot of their twin canopy beds and began to

  unpack. The room's walls were decorated with an

  assortment of eccentric items, including prints of

  Montrose when it was a nineteenth-century Wild West

  town, and a pair of old-fashioned snowshoes. Brightly

  colored Navajo rugs adorned the floors.

  “This place is great,” George commented as she

  hung up her blue ski parka. “It's really got the atmos-

  phere of an old-time western ranch.”

  “The only problem with it is Rusty Marconi,” Nancy

  said. “I'm thinking that Alice should tell the police he

  threatened her with a slingshot.”

  “Aiming a rock at someone is serious stuff,” George

  said. “Calling the police wouldn't be a bad idea.”

  “Let's tell her,” Nancy said. “Maybe after dinner,

  when she isn't so busy.”

  Ten minutes later Nancy and George were sitting by

  the fire, munching brownies as they set up a Monopoly

  game. “Hi there,” came a voice from above them.

  Looking up, Nancy saw a young woman with wire-

  rimmed glasses, freckles, and curly light brown hair

  standing beside her and George. She wore blue jeans

  and a blue sweater with a snowflake pattern around the

  collar. “I bet you guys are Nancy and George. I've

  already met Bess.” She nodded in the direction of Bess

  and Dexter, who were deeply involved in a

  backgammon game, oblivious to the rest of the world.

  “I'm Jenny Marshall. I don't know if my mom told you,

  but I just graduated from college and I'm living at

  home trying to decide what to do with the rest of my

  life.”

  Nancy laughed. “I'm Nancy Drew, and this is

  George Fayne,” she said, drawn to Jenny's friendly,

  happy-go-lucky manner.

  “My fiancé, Paul Ferrier, is lurking around here

  somewhere,” Jenny explained. “He's living at the ranch

  while he works on a graduate school project, so you're

  bound to meet him eventually.”

  “Are you talking about me again, Jenny?” a man's

  voice said behind Nancy. The three girls turned to see

  a young man walking toward them from a hallway off

  the living room. He looks a lot like Jenny, Nancy

  thought, with his pug nose, curly blond hair, and

  easygoing smile.

  “Don't be paranoid, Paul,” Jenny teased. “You know

  I only say good things about you. Anyway, this i
s Nancy

  Drew and George Fayne. I know you've already met

  Bess.”

  After Paul shook hands with the two girls, George

  said, “You and Jenny probably hear this a lot, but you

  guys look enough alike to be brother and sister.”

  Jenny laughed. “It's true—a lot of people say that.”

  “When Jenny and I get married and have kids,” Paul

  added, “we won't have arguments about who the kids

  look like. If they look like Jenny, they'll also look like

  me.”

  “So when are you planning to get married?” Nancy

  asked.

  “Probably June,” Jenny said. Glancing at Paul, she

  added, “Paul wants to finish up his project before

  focusing on the wedding. We hope the project will be

  done by spring.”

  “What's the project?” George asked.

  Paul smiled. “I was hoping you'd ask,” he said

  eagerly. “This project is so interesting that I love

  talking about it every chance I get. I'm creating a

  sanctuary for injured wolves who are found in the wild,

  plus a wolf education center for the public.”

  “Awesome,” Nancy said. “Were wolves your spe-

  cialty in school?”

  “Sure were,” Paul told her. “I've been fascinated by

  them—probably from the first time I read Little Red

  Riding Hood or The Three Little Pigs.”

  Bess giggled from her armchair, craning her head to

  hear the conversation. “But you weren't supposed to

  like those wolves. Most kids were scared of them.”

  Paul's hazel eyes grew serious. “Part of the reason

  people are so frightened of wolves is because of the

  stories we learned as kids,” he said earnestly. “It's a

  shame, though. We've killed a lot of them because of

  our fear, and now they're endangered. But they're

  more scared of us than we are of them. At graduate

  school I often worked hands-on with wolves and never

  felt afraid.”

  “Are you getting a degree in biology?” George asked.

  “Zoology, which is the study of animals,” Paul

  explained. “I've done all my course work, but I have to

  complete this project before I can get my degree.”

  “Is that where you guys met?” Bess asked. “At

  college?”

  “Actually, no,” Jenny replied. “We met as kids in

  Montrose when Paul spent summers here visiting his

  grandmother. She owns Coyote Corners, a nearby

  ranch.”

  Paul glanced fondly at Jenny as he said, “Jenny and I