Page 55 of Wind Valley

“We’ll probably just get his secretary or something.”

He snorted. “Judging by my experience, he probably shares a secretary with the rest of the department. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

She made the call, and a moment later said, “I’d like to speak to Professor Reed. Yes, my name is Maura Vaughn and I’m a teacher in Alaska with some questions about his research.” She glanced over at Lachlan with a shrug, and he gave her a thumb’s up.

“Put it on speaker,” he mouthed.

She nodded and pressed the button. A moment later, an abrupt male voice came on the line. “Alaska? Where in Alaska?”

“Firelight Ridge, actually. I’ve been told you and your family spent some time in Wind Valley, and?—”

“Stay away from there.” The harsh warning made her jump. The light changed, and Lachlan drove through the intersection, then pulled over to the side of the road. He leaned closer to speak into her phone.

“Dr. Reed, my name is Lachlan McGowan, I’m a geologist who studies the jökulhlaup and?—”

“jökulhlaup? What does that have to do with Wind Valley?”

“Nothing, as far as I know, but?—”

“Like I told the teacher, stay away from there. My answer is no. Will be no, no matter who calls. Sometimes the price is too high and you have to draw the line. You’ve been warned.”

And the line was dead.

Lachlan shared a shocked glance with Maura. “What the hell was that all about?”

“I have no idea. Didn’t it sound like other people were calling him too?”

“It did. Interesting. I wonder if we should go see him in person.”

“Oh sure, it sounds like he’s always happy to have visitors,” she quipped.

“We didn’t have a chance to mention the wolves, or any of our other questions. Let’s call him back.”

She dialed the number again, but this time the secretary refused to put them through.

They decided to try again later, when the secretary was no longer expecting them, and drove onwards to the hotel.

“While we’re looking things up, check on the name Al Grover,” Lachlan suggested. “Let’s see if he’s connected to TNG Enterprises.”

“Nothing comes up with both of those names,” she said after a quick search. “But there are plenty of Al Grovers out there. What are you thinking?”

“Nothing in particular. Just looking for potential connections. Can you also check to see if anyone owns Wind Valley, or if it’s part of the park?”

She found a site that delineated the exact boundaries of the park and all its inholdings. “It looks like it belongs to the park. But it says here you can get a permit to conduct research in any national park. I wonder if that’s what the Reeds did.”

“Quite possible.”

In the parking lot, they parted ways, so that Maura could take the side entrance and Lachlan could book another night. He waited at the counter for the reception clerk, who was busy dealing with a customer who was disputing a charge. It was taking an eternity, it seemed, although according to the time on his phone, it was only a few minutes.

He didn’t like being separated from Maura, that was the truth. Not simply for safety reasons, but because he liked being with her. Her presence felt like springtime to him, like new fresh life being born. Odd, perhaps, since she was dealing with such a heavy situation. But that wasn’t how it felt when he was with her.

Even though she must be afraid all the time, she was still so curious and engaged and kind. She was taking the time to teach a motley collection of kids whose education levels ranged from private academy to basically raised by wolves. She’d taken the rustic nature of Firelight Ridge in stride, and never complained to Pinky or anyone else. He appreciated that quality she had of finding things amusing instead of irritating. He’d noticed it at The Fang, where the parade of eccentrics never ended. She listened to all the stories with wide-eyed interest. No wonder they all adored her. Everyone loved an audience.

He felt a sudden longing to be back at her side. She had the key to their room, and was probably inside by now, running herself a shower or clicking through channels on the TV.

He drummed his fingers on the counter, and finally the clerk came his way. She was a woman in her sixties with wiry gray curls. “You. You’re in trouble.”

“I am?”

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