SYNOPSIS

When animals mysteriously disappear from the Pendwell Wildlife Refuge, former English teacher turned magazine reporter Kristy Farrell is on the case. Days later, the body of the refuge’s director is found in a grassy clearing.

Kristy, assisted by her veterinarian daughter, investigates and discovers strong motives among the suspects, including greed, infidelity, betrayal, and blackmail.

As Kristy delves further, she finds herself up against the powerful Pendwell family, especially matriarch Victoria Buckley Pendwell, chair of the refuge board of trustees, and Victoria’s son, Austin Pendwell, who is slated to run for the state senate.

But ferreting out the murderer and finding the missing animals aren’t Kristy only challenge.  While researching a story on puppy mills, she uncovers criminal activity that reaches far beyond the neighborhood pet store.

Meanwhile, strange things are happening back at the refuge, and soon a second murder occurs.  Kristy is thwarted in her attempts to discover the murderer by her old nemesis, the blustery Detective Wolfe.

Kristy perseveres and as she unearths shady deals and dark secrets, Kristy slowly draws the killer out of the shadows

Chapter One

“A chicken hawk, muskrat, red fox, and a litter of squirrels.” My daughter Abby shook her head. “Why would anyone steal them?”

“It doesn’t make sense to me either,” I said after sipping my coffee.

Abby, who lived with her fiancé in a house on the beach, had stopped by for an early breakfast before work.  We were talking about my latest assignment—an article about the Pendwell Wildlife Refuge that I was writing for Animal Advocate Magazine. The refuge housed a wildlife rehabilitation center.  Last week, several animals under medical care went missing.

“All I know is the animal enclosures were cut with a sharp instrument. The thief broke the security cameras too.”

Abby swallowed the last of her coffee and grabbed a second chocolate donut. I marveled at how someone who lived on pizza, chips, and chocolate remained a size six.

“I better get to work.” Abby glanced at her watch and grinned. “The boss is a real curmudgeon about coming in late.”

I grinned back. Abby, a veterinarian, worked at her father’s veterinary practice. My husband Matt was a sweetheart. Definitely not a curmudgeon. 

After Abby left, I opened the back door and called in my two dogs Brandy, a collie, and Archie, a large black dog of uncertain heritage who looks like a small bear. They had been outside for a short morning romp.

Once they were back in the house, I poured another cup of coffee as my thought wandered to the Pendwell Wildlife Refuge and questions began flashing through my mind. What happened to the missing animals? Were they safe or had they met a nefarious end?

 

Traveling on the Long Island Expressway during the morning rush is better than caffeine at jolting me awake. It was normally a thirty minute drive from my home to the refuge, but today it was taking close to an hour.

My destination was located in the Village of Wateredge, part of Long Island’s infamous Gold Coast.  As I exited the expressway, the scenery soon became horse farms, where sleek thoroughbreds grazed in grassy paddocks, abutting estates whose upkeep could support entire third world nations.

Moments later, I pulled into the dirt parking lot by the entrance to the Pendwell Wildlife Refuge and made my way up the wooded path toward the main building.  As I inhaled the scent of pine among the cool spring breeze, I felt my blood pressure lower.

Suddenly, I spotted a woman rushing down the path.  Her thumbs moved across her phone like two bugs on Prozac.  With her head down, she wasn’t paying any attention to her surroundings.

“Watch out,” I yelled as she came within a few feet of me. I jumped to the side, avoiding a head on collision, but our bodies brushed together.

It is illegal in New York State to text while driving. The law should apply to texting while walking too.

“I’m so sorry,” she said without looking up while she continued texting. She finished and stuffed the phone in her pocket. “Oh, are you the reporter who’s writing the story about the refuge?”

I was impressed until I realized she probably spotted the Animal Advocate Magazine logo on my tote bag.

“Yes. I’m Kristy Farrell, and I have to—”

“Victoria Buckley Pendwell,” she interrupted. “This place is names after my late husband’s family. He donated the land, and I’m chair of the board of trustees.”

I quickly sized up Victoria Pendwell. She looked to be in her early fifties, but I’d read somewhere she was sixty-two. Her short ash blond hair was perfectly coiffed, her make-up impeccable, and her sea-green silk top and cream colored linen pants fit beautifully on her tall, slender body.

“Everyone here is talking about the feature story you’re writing.” Victoria’s face clouded. “But I hope you are going to focus on more than the missing animals. Besides rehabilitating injured wildlife, we have nearly three hundred acres of unspoiled woods, a conservation center, and a world class education program.”

“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “My article is about the wildlife refuge as a whole. The rehabilitation center and missing animals are only a small part.” But I silently admitted the disappearance of these creatures was what my readers would be most curious about—as was I.

Victoria reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a business card. “Call me. There’s a lot I can tell you about this place. We can do lunch.

“I’ll be in touch. But now, I’d better get going. I’ve an interview with the director in less than five minutes and—”   

“Don’t worry.” Victoria waved her hand dismissively as she turned away. “If you’re late, tell her you were talking with me.”

Victoria’s phone beeped. She grabbed it from her pocket and strutted back down the path to the parking lot, her head down, thumbs moving.

When I entered the administration building, no one was behind the reception counter, but there was a bell next to a sign that read, Ring for Help. That’s what I did.

 A young woman emerged from one of three glass-enclosed cubicles located about twenty feet behind the counter. She made her way to the front. I judged her age to be early thirties.

I’m Melissa Modica, the director,” she said. “You must be the magazine writer” As she popped open the counter gate, I noticed she was smaller than me, which is rare, since I’m only five feet.

I introduced myself and trailed her to the middle cubicle, the largest of the three. The other two offices were unoccupied. Melissa motioned me to a seat in front of her desk while she slid into a chair behind it. “Now, how can I help you?”

“Your biography on the refuge’s website is impressive,” I said. “It appears you rapidly climbed up the career ladder when you were at the United States Fish and Wildlife Service. But you left two years ago to become director here. Why did you give up a spot in a big federal agency with lots of room for advancement to run this place?”

Melissa sat back. “My next promotion at Fish and Wildlife required me to move to Washington D.C. where I would have been nothing more than a pencil pusher. Here, I’m hands on, which I love.”

I asked Melissa to tell me more about her responsibilities at the wildlife refuge as well as the duties of other staff members.

“We’re mostly staffed by volunteers” she said. “There are only three part timers and three full time employees, including myself. The other full timers are Elena Salazar, our education coordinator, and George Grogin, who works as our wildlife rehabilitator and animal care director. Elena and George have the offices on either side of me.”

“I have an appointment to see George after I finish interviewing you.”

“I’m sorry, George is out sick today. He should have called you,” she said in a matter of fact tone.

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

Melissa shook her head, her sandy colored hair moving side to side. “No. He’s a little under the weather. He promised me he’d be here tomorrow at ten to release a turtle back into its pond. The turtle had injured his foot, but it’s now healed. Why don’t you come and take a picture for your magazine?” Then I can reschedule you for an interview with him after the release.”

“Perfect. And perhaps I could also talk to Elena Salazr. I’ve been trying to make an appointment, but she hasn’t called me back yet.”

Melissa frowned, shook her head, and mumbled two curse words under her breath. “She should have called you,” she said. “I’ll make sure she does.”

Melissa seemed much more upset about Elena’s failure to contact me than about George’s failure to let me know he would be out today. I found that strange.

She then talked about the three part-time employees. Two were animal care attendants, and the other was a wildlife rehabilitator who covered when George was not here.

I changed the topic. “Are there any suspects in the case of the missing animals?” I asked.

“Not so far.”

“Where were these animals kept?”

“Right inside this building. The wildlife rehabilitation facility is down the left wing.” Melissa picked up a paper clip, straightened it out, and bent it back and forth until it snapped.

“How could someone get in here?”

“The building is locked at night. When I arrived the morning after the break-in, I found a broken window on the side of the building. The police think that is how the thief entered.” She fiddled with the silver owl pendant on her necklace.

“Was the thief able to get the animals out that window?” I asked.

“No. The police believe that once inside the building, the thief unlocked the front door and carried the animals out that way.”

“I heard on the news that not all animals were taken.”

“That’s true. The ones stolen all had the most serious injuries and health problems.” Melissa sighed as she adjusted the collar on her jade green shirt. “The animals almost ready for release such as the turtle were left alone. I’ve no idea why.”

I couldn’t think of a reason either. I asked a few more questions and then ended the interview.

“See you tomorrow at the turtle release,” Melissa said, escorting me out of her office.

I started heading for the path back to the parking lot when a young, dark haired woman rushed past me. She was frowning and muttering under her breath. She blew into the administration building, slamming the door behind her.

I scurried back inside and peeked.

Melissa and the dark haired woman stood in front of Melissa’s office. Their backs were to me, but they talked loudly, and I could hear their conversation.

“She gave me her commitment,” the dark haired woman said

“No way, Elena. She wouldn’t dare,” Melissa replied. “If you or she tries, it will be over my dead body.”

 

The next morning, I drove to the Pendwell Wildlife Refuge for the turtle release and interview with wildlife rehabilitator George Grogin. Upon arrival, I noted a police car and a crime scene investigation vehicle.

Is this about the missing animals?

Within seconds, that thought disappeared.

The County Medical Examiner’s van pulled into the parking lot.