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Trolls were the first protected species in America. The Greater Smokey Mountain Troll was not protected. It was hunted to extinction; but then, it pulled up large trees and beat the tourists to death and sucked the marrow from their bones. Hard to get good press that way.
There was still a troll society called Peter's Friends. Even though it was illegal to kill trolls, any trolls, for any reason, it still happened. Hunters poached them. Though staring into those too-human faces, I don't know how they did it. Not just for a trophy.
Richard stepped out of the bathroom in a rush of warm air. He was still wearing the jeans, but now there was a towel on his head and a blow-dryer in one hand. He had rewet his hair, though he seemed to have gotten all of him in the shower to do it. Mercifully, he'd dried his chest and arms off. His arms looked amazingly strong. I knew he could have tossed around small elephants, regardless of how muscular he looked, but the muscles helped remind me. Physically, he was a pleasure to gaze upon. But it made me wonder why he'd been spending the extra time on his body. Richard didn't usually sweat that kind of thing.
I pointed at the pictures. "These are great." I smiled and meant it. Once upon a time, I'd envisioned spending my life in the field doing this kind of work. A sort of preternatural Jane Goodall. Though truthfully, primates hadn't been my main area of interest. Dragons, maybe, or lake monsters. Nothing that wouldn't eat me if it got the chance. But that had been long ago before Bert, my boss, recruited me to raise the dead and slay vampires. Sometimes, even though Richard was older than I was by three years, he made me feel old. He was still trying to have a life amid all the strange shit. I'd given up on anything but the strange shit. You couldn't do both equally well -- or I couldn't.
"I'll take you up to see them, if you'd like," he said.
"I'd love to, if it wouldn't upset the trolls."
"They're pretty accustomed to visitors. Carrie -- Dr. Onslow -- has started allowing small groups of tourists to come and take pictures."
He'd mentioned a Carrie in the same breath with Lucy. Was this the same woman? "Are you guys that hard up for money?" I asked.
He sat down on the side of the bed and plugged in the blow-dryer. "You're always short of money on a project like this, but it's not money we need. It's good press."
I frowned at him. "Why do you need good press?"
"Have you been reading the newspaper lately?" he asked. He removed the towel from his head. His hair was dark and brown with moisture, heavy, as if there was still water to be squeezed from it.
"You know I don't read the newspaper."
"You didn't own a television, either, but you do now."
I leaned my butt against the edge of his desk, as far away from him as I could get and not leave the room. I'd bought the television so that he and I could watch old movies and videos.
"I don't watch much television anymore."
"Jean-Claude not a fan of musicals?" Richard asked, and there was that edge to his voice that I'd heard in the last few weeks: angry, jealous, hurt, cruel.
It was almost a relief to hear it. His anger made everything easier. "Jean-Claude's not much of a watcher. He's more a doer."
Richard's face thinned out, anger making his high, sculpted cheekbones stand out underneath his skin. "Lucy isn't much of a watcher, either," he said, voice low and careful.
I laughed, and it wasn't a happy sound. "Thanks for making this easier, Richard."
He stared down at the floor, his wet hair tucked to one side so his face was in full profile. "I don't want to fight, Anita. I really don't."
"Could have fooled me," I said.
He looked up, and his chocolate brown eyes were dark with more than just color. "If I'd wanted a fight, I could have just given in to Lucy. Let you find us in the bed together."
"You're not mine, anymore, Richard. Why should it bother me what the hell you do?"
"That is the question, isn't it?" He stood and started walking towards me.
"Why did they frame you?" I asked. "Why did they want you in jail?"
"That's you, Anita. All business."
"And you let yourself get distracted, Richard. You don't keep your eye on the ball." Geez, a sports metaphor. Maybe it was contagious.
"Fine," he said, and that one word was so angry that it almost hurt. "The troll band that we're studying has broken into two bands. Their birth rate is so low that they don't do that very often. It's the first recorded offshoot for a North American troll troop in this century."
"This is all fascinating, but what does it have to do with anything?"
"Just shut up and listen," he said.
I did. That was a first.
"The second smaller troop moved out of the park. They've been on private land for a little over a year. The farmer who owned the land was okay with that. In fact, he was sort of pleased. Carrie brought him up to see the first troll baby born on his land, and he carried the picture in his wallet."
I looked at him. "Sounds great."
"The farmer, Ivan Greene, died about six months ago. His son was not a nature lover."
"Ah," I said.
"But trolls are a severely endangered species. And they're not like the snail darter, or the velvet-back toad. They're a big, showy animal. The son tried to sell the land, and we got it stopped legally."
"But the son wasn't happy with that," I said.
Richard smiled. "Not hardly."
"So he took you to court," I said.
"Not exactly," Richard said. "We expected him to do that. In fact, we should have known something was wrong when he didn't keep us tied up in court."
"What did he do?" I asked.
The anger was leaking away as Richard talked. He always had to work really hard to stay angry. Me, it was one of my best things. He retrieved the towel from the bed and started drying his hair while he talked.
"Goats started disappearing from a local farmer."
"Goats?" I said.
Richard peered at me through a curtain of wet hair. "Goats."
"Somebody's been reading too much 'Billy Goat Gruff,' " I said.
Richard wrapped the towel more firmly around his head and sat down on the bed. "Exactly," he said. "No one who really knew anything about trolls would have taken goats. Even the European Lesser Trolls that do hunt will take your dog before they'll take your goat."
"So it was a setup," I said.
"Yeah, but the newspapers got hold of it. We were still okay until the dogs and cats started disappearing."
"They got smarter," I said.
"They listened to Carrie's interviews where she discussed food preferences," he said.
I'd come to stand at the foot of the bed. "Why are the local cops interested in some land squabble?"
"Wait, it gets worse," he said.
I picked up the spilled comforter and sat on the edge of the bed with it bundled in my lap. "How worse?"
"A man's body was found two weeks ago. It was just one of those horrible hiking accidents at first. He fell off the mountain. It happens," Richard said.
"Having seen some of the mountains, I'm not surprised," I said.
"But somehow the body was listed as a troll kill."
I frowned at him. "It's not like a shark kill, Richard. How did they tell a troll did it?"
"A troll didn't do it," Richard said.
I nodded. "Of course not, but what was their proof, false or otherwise?"
"Carrie tried to get the coroner's report. But it was leaked to the newspapers first. The man had been beaten to death and had bites out of his body from animals. Troll bites."
I shook my head. "Anybody who dies in these mountains is going to have animal bites on the body. Trolls are known scavengers."
"Not according to Sheriff Wilkes," Richard said.
"What does the sheriff get out of this?"
"Money," Richard said.
"Do you know that for sure?" I asked.
"You mean, can I prove it?"
I nodded.
"No. Carrie's been trying to see if there's a paper trail, but so far, nothing. She's been chasing around, trying to get me out of jail for the last few days."
"Is she the same Carrie you mentioned as a girlfriend in jail?" I asked.
Richard nodded.
"Aha," I said.
"Did you just say, aha?" he asked.
