people that! Sheâll have a conniption if anyone comes asking about it. That diaryâs been under lock and key in the archives ever since that page got photographed and put in the paper.â
âShe doesnât want people to know?â asked Zoey, trying not to smile at the wealth of information Lucinda had just blurted.
Lucinda shook her head. âKathleen just doesnât want to lose her job. She likes running the museum. You seem to be good at your job too, and if you want to keep it, you ought to know that the townâs of two minds. Half would like to cover up the wolf stories, and the other half knows better. I donât mind sharing the stories, but I donât want to see Kathleen in trouble.â
âSo what do the stories say exactly? I promise I wonât bother your friend.â
Zoey saw them exchange glances. Some unspoken agreement seemed to be reached and Mabel was the first to speak. âWeâve got some coffee in the van. Itâs too cool out here for such a long story.â
Â
Zoeyâs brain felt like a hamster in a wheel as she walked slowly back to the office where sheâd parked her truck. Lucinda and Mabel had been eager to tell her everything they knew about the local werewolf legendsâwhich was considerableâstopping only when Mabel remembered it was movie night at the lodge. Theyâd left Zoey with plenty to think about, and a new understanding of Dunvegan. It made even more sense now why none of the village officials wanted to hear about her wolf encounter. No doubt about it, sheâd have to write the story up as a dog attack if she wanted to stay here. Her goal was still to warn people, and she had cautioned the ladies before theyâd left to be watchful for big aggressive dogs. Theyâd clucked over her bandaged leg, given her plenty of adviceâthen looked at her strangely. Surely they didnât suspect that she wasnât telling them the truth? She felt a twinge of guilt but Mabel had been right; if Zoey wanted to keep her job, she had to step carefully.
Maybe Connor was stepping carefully too, only telling her about the most recent episode of the ongoing werewolf tale. He certainly hadnât mentioned that his own family was linked to the legend! According to her new friends, rumors had surrounded the Macleods since the family first homesteaded in the area over a century ago. Was that the real reason he didnât want her to write about the wolf? Maybe he had a vested interest in preventing the werewolf legends from surfacing again.
And maybe she had more in common with Connor Macleod than she had thought. After all, she knew only too well what it was like to have your family considered different . Or strange. And to be tarred with the same brush.
Chapter Six
Z oeyâs thoughts were interrupted as she found it increasingly difficult to walk. The bite wound had begun throbbing and burning horribly. Had she overdone it, used her leg too much, too soon? Dear God, please donât let it be infected.
Suddenly a grizzled old drunk in a torn plaid shirt rounded the corner, almost colliding with her. âJust the gal Iâm looking for!â he bellowed into her face, stinging her eyes with the reek of alcohol on his breath. His face was a mass of nasty cuts and scabs, interspersed with several daysâ growth of scraggly white beard. Zoey dodged him as he made a grab for her.
âI got somethinâ for your little newspaper,â he yelled and made another unsuccessful swipe. He was neither quick enough nor coordinated enough to catch her. Instead he fell sprawling to the sidewalk. Zoey hurried away as fast as her injured leg would let her, gritting her teeth against the pain, leaning one hand on the storefronts as she made her way down the street. The man got up and staggered after her, shouting, swearing, and raving about a story he had to tell her, something he wanted to show her.
âFor
âShe doesnât want people to know?â asked Zoey, trying not to smile at the wealth of information Lucinda had just blurted.
Lucinda shook her head. âKathleen just doesnât want to lose her job. She likes running the museum. You seem to be good at your job too, and if you want to keep it, you ought to know that the townâs of two minds. Half would like to cover up the wolf stories, and the other half knows better. I donât mind sharing the stories, but I donât want to see Kathleen in trouble.â
âSo what do the stories say exactly? I promise I wonât bother your friend.â
Zoey saw them exchange glances. Some unspoken agreement seemed to be reached and Mabel was the first to speak. âWeâve got some coffee in the van. Itâs too cool out here for such a long story.â
Â
Zoeyâs brain felt like a hamster in a wheel as she walked slowly back to the office where sheâd parked her truck. Lucinda and Mabel had been eager to tell her everything they knew about the local werewolf legendsâwhich was considerableâstopping only when Mabel remembered it was movie night at the lodge. Theyâd left Zoey with plenty to think about, and a new understanding of Dunvegan. It made even more sense now why none of the village officials wanted to hear about her wolf encounter. No doubt about it, sheâd have to write the story up as a dog attack if she wanted to stay here. Her goal was still to warn people, and she had cautioned the ladies before theyâd left to be watchful for big aggressive dogs. Theyâd clucked over her bandaged leg, given her plenty of adviceâthen looked at her strangely. Surely they didnât suspect that she wasnât telling them the truth? She felt a twinge of guilt but Mabel had been right; if Zoey wanted to keep her job, she had to step carefully.
Maybe Connor was stepping carefully too, only telling her about the most recent episode of the ongoing werewolf tale. He certainly hadnât mentioned that his own family was linked to the legend! According to her new friends, rumors had surrounded the Macleods since the family first homesteaded in the area over a century ago. Was that the real reason he didnât want her to write about the wolf? Maybe he had a vested interest in preventing the werewolf legends from surfacing again.
And maybe she had more in common with Connor Macleod than she had thought. After all, she knew only too well what it was like to have your family considered different . Or strange. And to be tarred with the same brush.
Chapter Six
Z oeyâs thoughts were interrupted as she found it increasingly difficult to walk. The bite wound had begun throbbing and burning horribly. Had she overdone it, used her leg too much, too soon? Dear God, please donât let it be infected.
Suddenly a grizzled old drunk in a torn plaid shirt rounded the corner, almost colliding with her. âJust the gal Iâm looking for!â he bellowed into her face, stinging her eyes with the reek of alcohol on his breath. His face was a mass of nasty cuts and scabs, interspersed with several daysâ growth of scraggly white beard. Zoey dodged him as he made a grab for her.
âI got somethinâ for your little newspaper,â he yelled and made another unsuccessful swipe. He was neither quick enough nor coordinated enough to catch her. Instead he fell sprawling to the sidewalk. Zoey hurried away as fast as her injured leg would let her, gritting her teeth against the pain, leaning one hand on the storefronts as she made her way down the street. The man got up and staggered after her, shouting, swearing, and raving about a story he had to tell her, something he wanted to show her.
âFor
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