Mysteries in Our National Parks: Wolf Stalker: A Mystery in Yellowstone National Park

“Don’t care how long it takes,” he murmured. “You’re mine.” Slinging his rifle across his shoulder, the man impatiently pushed at branches hanging in his line of sight. Morning light dappled Yellowstone National Park, turning the autumn grass into pale gold. Intent on his quest, the man didn’t notice.

He was the stalker; the wolves, his prey….

CHAPTER ONE

“Can’t you put some quarters in the slot or something to make it shoot off?” Troy asked. “We’ve been waiting forever.”

Jack looked up sharply.

He didn’t know Troy well enough to tell if he was joking. Ashley, though, burst out laughing.

“Mom!” she yelled. “Troy said we should put money in a slot to make Old Faithful start. Like it was a video game or something. Isn’t that funny?”

Olivia Landon smiled, but Jack could tell his mother was distracted. She stared intently at a cellular phone she was holding. “Mmm,” she murmured, which meant she hadn’t really noticed what anyone was saying.

Ashley tried again. “Mom—”

Suddenly, their mother seemed to focus. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s just—every minute that slips by makes it harder for me to analyze the killing scene.” Turning the cell phone in her hand, she frowned and said, “I should have gotten the call an hour ago. I hope nothing’s gone wrong….”

“So what are we supposed to do in the meantime—just stand here forever?” Troy growled.

Jack felt his stomach clamp with anger. He wished he could dump Troy right into Old Faithful and watch him melt, but his father’s expression warned him to keep quiet.

Steven Landon explained, “Until Mike’s call comes, we might as well stay here.” Mike was the head of Yellowstone’s Wolf Restoration Program. The Landons were supposed to meet him that afternoon, but they didn’t know where. “Meanwhile, we can watch Old Faithful erupt,” Steven added.

“Watch what? Nothing’s happening,” Troy said.

Olivia patted the bench, inviting Troy to sit beside her. But of course he wouldn’t. He kept standing there. “Don’t worry, Troy,” she began. “It will happen—”

Fists jammed into the pockets of his cheap bomber jacket, Troy walked away.

Olivia and Steven Landon exchanged glances. Their look meant that Troy Haverson had better be watched. They were responsible for him. He was their temporary foster child.

“Will you go after him, Steven?” Olivia asked. “I want to dial Mike’s number again. I can’t figure out why I haven’t heard from him.”

“No problem. I’ll get Troy.” Steven ambled after the scowling boy, and when he caught up to him, put his hand on Troy’s shoulder. “Old Faithful will start up any minute now,” he said. “It’s pretty spectacular—you’ll want to see the whole thing right from the beginning.”

“Who says?” Troy muttered, but he let Steven lead him back toward the Landon family group.

Luckily, right then Old Faithful did begin to rumble. Gurgling, splashing, it slid tentative, watery fingers aboveground. Then, as if to test the world of daylight, the first narrow column of water and steam rushed up, and a cheer rose from the hundreds of visitors ringed around the viewing area.

After the watery column fell back, sudden bursts bubbled up one right after the other, making sounds like waves on a seashore. They rose, fell, and rose again to even greater heights. Puffs of vapor at the top of the column got caught by wind, while the heavier drops splashed back onto the ground. At the peak of the eruption, Old Faithful shot nearly 200 feet into the clear blue sky, looking as if it might touch a cloud, just as white, that floated overhead. Roaring, throbbing, the column of water and steam widened into a wall of mist that drifted like a curtain across a stage before it began its descent. Slowlysubsiding, it fell to earth to collect underground for the next performance. In another hour—more or less.

“Ten thousand gallons of superheated steam—wow!” Steven exclaimed.

“The early Indians called this place ‘water that keeps on coming out,’” Ashley said. “How’d you like it, Troy?”

If Troy was impressed, he wasn’t going to admit it. Ignoring Ashley, he asked Steven, “So why didn’t you take pictures? You’re supposed to be a photographer.”

“He’s a great photographer,” Jack declared.

“At home I’ve got lots of shots of Old Faithful. Mostly, now, I photograph wildlife. Elk and bison and mountain lions—”

“Yeah?” Troy shrugged. “They told me you just work in some fast-photo shop developing film.”

Steven flushed a little, but he answered patiently, “That’s my day job. If I could make a living photographing animals full-time, that’s what I’d do.”

Jack couldn’t stand it. Why was his father being so polite? And so was his mother, and so was his sister Ashley, as if Troy were some special, important guest the Landon family had to fuss over and make as welcome as possible, instead of just the obnoxious punk kid that he really was.

Almost from the first minute he’d met him, Jack had wanted to take a punch at Troy.

When the doorbell rang the night before, all the Landons had gathered in the entryway. After taking a deep breath, Olivia reached out to open the front door wide.

“Hi. I’m Theresa Lopez,” a woman with curling gray hair had said, at the same time grabbing the area right above Troy’s elbow to lead him inside. “And this is Troy Haverson.”

Shuffling, head down, Troy hung back behind the social worker. Right off, Jack could tell he didn’t have a lot of money. Not that the Landon family did either, but Troy looked different, more raw than the kids who lived in Jack’s neighborhood. His black bomber jacket was plastic, not leather; the kind with cheap silver zippers that didn’t close right. His sneakers were so worn the sides had pulled away from the canvas like strips of rubber lettuce. On the step next to him was a cardboard box he was using as a suitcase. Bands of duct tape had been wrapped around it; on top, the tape looped into a makeshift handle.

Jack wanted to smile at Troy, to try to be nice so his dad would be pleased. It was Steven’s idea that the family take in short-term foster kids, to “put something back into the system,” as Steven phrased it. But Troy kept his eyes down and his face turned away.

Looking grave, the social worker said, “This guy has had a pretty rough go of it, but I know he’s going to be fine. He really appreciates you helping him out on such short notice. Right, Troy?”

“Mm.” Troy pulled his hands from his pockets, crunching his fists tightly against his sides. Squeeze, relax, squeeze, relax; it was as if he could barely hold himself together inside his skin.

He was tall, taller than Jack, and thicker in the chest and arms. Even though he was only 13, a faint mustache shadowed his upper lip. Dark eyebrows knit over the bridge of his nose. For an instant his chin bobbed up; wary brown eyes skimmed the Landon family, then dropped again. Stringy hair hung over Troy’s face like a curtain drawn against intruders. To Jack, the boy looked meaner than a trash dog. How long, Jack wondered, was this shelter kid going to need sheltering?

“Great to meet you, Troy,” Steven Landon said heartily. “You’re welcome here.”

“Yes, Troy, we’re all so happy to meet you,” Olivia told him.

Ignoring her, Troy asked flatly, “When can I go to my room?” A look passed between Jack’s mother and father and the social worker until it came around and rested on Troy once again.

“How about now?” Steven answered. “Son, take Troy to where he’s staying, and make sure you show him the bathroom and the kitchen while you’re at it. Your mother and I need to talk to Ms. Lopez for a minute.”

Troy grabbed the duct-tape handle and followed Jack down the hallway. Brushing past Jack, he walked into the guest room just as Jack was about to announce, “This is it.”

In the silence, Troy’s glance darted around the room. Jack tried again. “The bathroom’s through that door, and the kitchen’s—”

“The room with the refrigerator, right?” Shaking his head, Troy snorted as if Jack were the stupidest person in the world. He didn’t seem to notice the navy bedspread Olivia Landon had so carefully washed and smoothed out, or the wicker basket filled with apples Steven had placed on the dresser, or the computer banner Ashley’d made to welcome him.

“Okay,” Jack said slowly. “So you’ve already figured out our house. Do you need anything else?” He hoped the answer would be no, because all he wanted was to escape into his own room and hide.

Troy flopped onto the bed. He kicked off one shoe by using the toe of his other foot. The worn sneaker flew into the air before hitting the wall with a thud.

Repeating the process on the other shoe, he asked, “So what did they say about me? Did they tell you my mom just walked out the door and didn’t come back?”

Taken by surprise, Jack didn’t know what to answer. He just nodded.

“Liars. They’re all a bunch of freakin’ liars. My mom would never leave me. Never.”