“It’s me, Gabriel, and I have guests.”
“Very good, Madam.”
I hopped back in the car as the gate swung open. Ron maneuvered the car up the long drive to the circle in front of the house. Gabriel had cleaned out and turned on the fountain, and the water droplets sparkled in the sunlight. For a moment, all felt right with the world, but then Ron’s comment about not having used the road to approach the manor jolted me back to the present sticky situation.
“How long have you been coming up here?” I asked.
“Months.” Gabriel appeared in the door, which opened without a creak. He’d been busy.
“Gabriel,” Ron said with no trace of his former joviality.
“Ronald. Good to see you again.”
But it obviously wasn’t.
Leo frowned. “Gabriel? When did you get back in town?”
“Yesterday. Apparently you don’t remember our conversation last night.”
“What conversation is that?”
“The one during which I taught you a lesson about threatening ladies.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You were fresh off the hunt.”
Now I was the one rubbing my temples. It seemed impossible the violent, angry Leo of the night before could be the same affable chap who had just bought me lunch. The conflict had slipped my mind even though my wrist throbbed when I moved it in the wrong direction, and most directions were wrong. It seemed like everywhere I turned today there would be some sort of surprise waiting. I just didn’t want to end up with a fight on my hands, but Leo didn’t look like he wanted one. His frown was of concentration and frustration.
“Would you care for a drink?” Gabriel asked.
“I’d love one,” Ron replied and bounded up the stairs.
“I need one,” Leo added and followed. Gabriel held the door open for them but moved to block me.
“A moment, Madam,” he said.
“Okay.”
“The drinks are on the bar in the den,” he called over his shoulder, then shut the door.
“What is it?”
“As you can tell, there is some, ah, tension between us.”
“No shit.” I crossed my arms and tried to look as stern as I could even though I barely reached his shoulder. “Tell me why?”
“We were part of the same pack. There was a falling out. I became a solitary hunter.”
Gabriel’s revelation jolted me.
“You’re one of them, too?” I whispered.
He looked at his feet. “I thought you might have guessed after last night. My case was from childhood. Your grandfather had hired me for research, and the domestic help thing was just to be a cover-up.
“So why are you still here?”
He inclined his head toward the inside of the house. “The same reason they are, I suspect. I know of your research. And you need the help around here. It’s a big house.”
“Fine, you can stay.” I put a finger on his chest and tried to look intimidating. “But no more funny stuff, and especially no more drugs. At the first sign of something suspicious, you’re out of here. Got it?”
Gabriel nodded solemnly. “Yes, Madam.”
“Why was my grandfather interested in werewolves?” I asked. “Don’t tell me he was one, too.”
“He had the lycanthropic energy about him, and he understood the condition, but I never saw him change. He told me he was working on a cure, and I became a willing subject. It was soon after that he disappeared.”
“What do you know about that?”
“The same facts you do: he went on an ill-fated canoe trip. I was out of town working out immigration issues, so I wasn’t here.”
“Do you think they had something to do with it?” I glanced toward the windows to the den.
“Perhaps we should question these two and see what we can learn.”
“Sure, why not? Although… You haven’t put anything in the drinks, have you?”
He smiled, and wrinkles appeared around his eyes. I realized he had seen and done a lot more than he’d let on, and I mentally added about five years to his estimated age. “No, Madam. I am counting on the truth being in the bottle, as they say.”
We entered the den. Ron and Leo sat on the sofa and sipped beers.
“Done with your conference?” Leo asked.
“Yes, he was just filling me in.”
“Must’ve been quite a fill-in. Ron’s already on his second beer.”
Gabriel took the first bottle—which Ron had put on the sea chest without a coaster—into the kitchen. I poured a glass of white wine from the bottle that chilled in the ice bucket along with the beers.
“So you guys are doctors?”
“Were doctors.” Ron waved his beer in a dismissive gesture. “We could be saving lives, but we’re stuck here, in the middle of the backside of nowhere.”
“Doctor Fisher doesn’t need to hear a reprise of this old conversation,” Gabriel came in with a plate of assorted cheeses and crackers. “She has some questions for you.”
As much as I appreciated his interrupting the rant, I resented him taking the lead just as Lonna had earlier. Did I really seem so timid?
I took a deep breath. “Ron, when were you diagnosed with CLS?”
The lycanthrope in question sat back and sipped his beer. “I don’t remember exactly when I was diagnosed, but I knew when I had it.”
Leo sat forward and laced his fingers over his bottle, his head down. Dark brown curls obscured his face. “The night of Temmerson’s dinner.”
Ron looked sick to his stomach. “The chief surgeon Alfred Temmerson had us residents over to his house. I didn’t have a date, so I brought Leo.”
I listened, fascinated. I had never heard the story told from the first-person adult’s perspective.
Leo had been out sick that day, as he mistook the early signs of CLS infection for the flu, which he assumed he acquired from the flu shot he’d gotten earlier that week. Ron also wasn’t feeling great, so the cousins decided to go to Fred Temmerson’s dinner together in case Ron needed Leo as moral support and chauffeur. When the cousins arrived, they were greeted by the very attractive Lisa Temmerson, who was home from college and helping her father host the dinner. Her mother had died from breast cancer the year before. The moon was waxing, only a day away from full, and as it rose, Ron and Leo felt its charm—and those of the young Lisa.
Lisa took their coats and told the young men to loosen their ties.
“We’re being casual here tonight,” she told them with a wink of her green eyes. Ron felt a pang of jealousy, and for an irrational moment, wanted to punch Leo. He shook the feeling off and accepted the glass of red wine another resident offered him.
By this point, both Ron and Leo felt as though they were floating in a dream with events happening in illogical sequences. Dinner—catered barbecue—was served from the kitchen, and the residents ate on paper plates on their laps and pretended not to wonder who would screw up first. Lisa struck up a conversation with Leo, who was quite glad to entertain the pretty girl, particularly as he was the only non-surgeon physician there. The other surgery residents had brought girlfriends, boyfriends or spouses—none of whom had doctorates in anything with the exception of a psychologist who dated one of the female surgery residents.
“Nice place,” Leo commented to Lisa. He remembered a few more details than Ron but wasn’t sure how their conversation went, only that she made a comment about her mother and left in tears. The rest of the memory spun out in slow motion as he watched his cousin’s career crash and burn.
“What did you say to her?” Ron glared at Leo.
“Nothing.” Leo, hurt and surprised, became defensive. “She’s still upset about her mother.”
“I’m going to find her. No reason for you to make her cry.”
“I didn’t make her cry.” Leo grabbed Ron’s arm. “What has gotten into you?”
