* * *
Maya Everton wanted to jump right off that stage and confront that guy. No, what she really wanted was to meet that wolf-dog face-to-face, hug it, feel its soft fur.
And then let it loose, as wolves should be. Only she realized that, even if that canine had once been wild, as a pup or older, it could probably not survive in the wild now.
Maybe she could talk to his owner later, find out the dog’s background, so she could hopefully feel content that she was wrong, that this truly was a canine with dog genes that had never actually been a wild wolf.
“Okay,” she was saying despite her thoughts twisting in so many ways. “Has anyone here seen any of the wolves that have visited this area?”
A woman way toward the back of the generous crowd waved her hand. Maya was thrilled that so many people had shown up to see her, to hear her talk about WHaM and its excellent work keeping track of wild animal sightings—wolves and more. But the latest influx of wolves was a big deal here. Newsworthy, and they needed to be protected. WHaM maintained a comprehensive file on all the wolves sighted recently in this state—more in the eastern areas than here, though that might be changing. Her organization had been in close touch often with the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, and had a good relationship with them.
Like other wildlife, wolves weren’t appreciated in all areas of the state, especially those where some had apparently attacked local farm animals. But around here, they had a fresh start.
She called for the woman to come up to the microphone and describe her experience. While Maya waited for that lady to make her way through the crowd, she looked again toward that wolf-dog. Gorgeous.
His owner wasn’t bad-looking, either—as long as Maya could regard him without anger. Well, for now she’d give him the benefit of the doubt.
The woman soon joined Maya onstage. She introduced herself as Ivy. Ivy appeared in her fifties, with a lined face and a huge smile. “I live near here,” she said, “but a distance out of town. It was so amazing. I heard some howling in the dead of night and looked outside, only to see a couple of wolves jump over my fence, run through the yard and then out again. It was light enough under the full moon that it didn’t matter that I’d forgotten to turn on my porch lamps.”
“Really? That’s so exciting!” Maya really was impressed, wishing something similar had happened to her. She’d had to seek out every wild animal she’d seen herself without any miraculously appearing. “And did you let anyone know officially?” She thought she recalled a report on the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife site, or WDFW, that could have been a description of what had happened to this woman but she wasn’t sure.
“Absolutely. I researched online what to do and filed a report there with Washington’s fish and wildlife department. Only—”
She stopped, and her face seemed to age visibly.
“Only what?” Maya prodded gently.
“Only the one thing I forgot was to grab my camera.” Tears rose in her eyes.
Maya couldn’t let her leave the stage feeling bad, so she said, “But you took a picture in your own mind, I’ll bet. Will you ever forget what they looked like?”
“No, never.” The lady smiled, and Maya gave her a brief hug, encouraging her to rejoin the rest of the audience.
Her presentation was pretty much over—at least for this day. “Thank you all so much for coming,” Maya said. “And just remember some of the takeaways I suggested to you. First, you should all be proud, as Washington residents, that wolves are returning to your state and this area, and should continue to as long as you treat them well. And second—keep up with what we’re doing at WHaM in our tracking of wildlife and otherwise. Provide reports to us, too, and photos if you happen to take any. But be sure to report, as Ivy did, to the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, and maybe the federal fish and wildlife department, as well. And if you care to make a contribution to help us keep WHaM going, that would be more than welcome. Just visit our website that’s on our flyers. I’ve got a boxful right here on the stage.”
“There’s something else you should all remember,” yelled a voice from the audience. Maya’s gaze lit first on the guy with the wolf-dog but he was scowling in concern. He hadn’t been the speaker.
“What’s that?” she asked, feeling as if she was setting herself up for some kind of bad situation.
She proved to be right. A couple of men and a woman separated themselves from the middle of the crowd and made their way onto the stage beside her. She felt her brows go up and a slight smile make its way to her lips, even as she continued to figure this wasn’t likely to be anything good.
One of the men, maybe her age of late twenties, wore a plaid shirt and a huge, snide grin. He put his hand out for the microphone. Reluctantly, she handed it to him.
“You all know me,” the guy said to the audience. He turned back to Maya. “But you don’t. My name’s Carlo Silling. I’ve lived in Fritts Corner all my life. This is my town, and those wolves getting close aren’t a sign of wonderful things to come, no matter what you and your wham-bammers seem to think. You don’t live here. You’re not subject to the danger that wild wolves can present to people, as well as any livestock they raise. They’re just that—wild animals. And I’d suggest you leave this stage, leave this town and let us take care of our own bad luck.”
* * *
Ryan felt himself freeze with tension as his hands curled into fists at his sides.
He’d been staring at that guy Silling as he’d come onstage, as well as the others who’d accompanied him. The malicious, menacing way they regarded the naturalist whose name he’d learned was Maya Everton made him want to rub those expressions right off their faces.
“I agree with Carlo,” the woman yelled to the crowd. “I’m Vinnie Fritts—and this is my husband, Morton.” She nodded toward the man in a yellow shirt beside her. “You all know us and how long we’ve been around Fritts Corner—Morton’s family especially. Who needs wild animals here to hurt people and ruin our wonderful town’s reputation?”
Ryan stood then and, grabbing Rocky’s leash from Piers, maneuvered from the front of the crowd and onto the stage.
Time to express their cover story.
“You’re all certainly entitled to your opinion,” Maya was saying. She had somehow retrieved her microphone and was glaring at the three interlopers. “But the reality is that if you stay away from wildlife, particularly wolves, they’re likely to stay away from you, too. You do need to be careful on behalf of your pets, though, since they can often resemble prey. And—”
The guy Carlo reached out and grabbed the microphone again, even as Maya attempted to hold on to it. “Yeah? Well, what if that lady Ivy happened to be in her backyard that night she saw those wolves? Or—”
This time, Ryan was the one to grab the microphone, even as the other guy, Morton, started to stride toward him.
That was when Rocky growled—and the guy stopped.
“See what I’m saying?” Carlo yelled out to the crowd.
Ryan smiled as he spoke into the microphone, not pleased to see those who’d admitted to be with the media continuing to take pictures. Oh, well. His cover was solid. “This is my dog, Rocky,” he said, “who only resembles a wolf. He’s well trained in many ways, including my protection. Threaten me, and he threatens back. But look, everyone. The appearances of wolves in this area clearly started months ago, even longer. I’m unaware of any farms or dairies around here. Have any people been hurt?”
That wolves had been seen, per Ivy’s story, around a month ago under the light of a full moon, intrigued him—but he’d check more into that later.
Maya strode up to him.