Return of the Wolf Man by Jeff Rovin Page A

do with what we were talking about before. That she really did believe in all that—that business. You’ll see for yourself. The room is exactly as your great-aunt left it.”
    “See?” Banning crowed. “I won’t see, so don’t bother inviting me up there.”
    “Aunt Joan wrote about and read about the supernatural. Maybe that made her religious, not superstitious. Anyway, all artists have their quirks.”
    “So do builders,” Banning said, “an’ mine is to always finish workin’ on crypts, belfries, and castles before nightfall.” He glanced back at the Tombs. “Whenever I come here I feel like something’s gonna bite my ass.” He turned and tipped his hat again. “Forgive my Spanish. But if you all don’t mind I’d like t’get in and get out and get back to my little horse-smelly red shack A-S-A-P.”
    “No, Mr. Banning, we don’t mind,” Caroline said.
    “Thank you,” Banning said, extending his arm ahead of him. Caroline walked up the path, followed by the attorney and Mr. Banning. As they climbed the winding course, Banning reached into the pocket of his windbreaker. He pulled out a key ring, which held a silver St. Christopher medal, and swung it around.
    Pratt nodded at the heavyset man. “Hello, William.”
    “Henry,” Porterhouse replied. He looked at his watch. “My time is important too. We’ve been here almost an hour.”
    “I know, William, and I’m sorry. We had paperwork that couldn’t wait.”
    “And a little guided tour.”
    “That’s right,” said Pratt. “A courtesy to our guest.”
    “Of course.” Porterhouse sniffed. “Not any kind of a stalling tactic.”
    “William, you’re the one who’s standing around talking,” Pratt said. “Shall we go inside?”
    Porterhouse nodded. He regarded Caroline. “Ma’am,” he said, nodding his bare head. “I’m sorry about your loss.”
    “Thank you,” she replied, matching Porterhouse’s reserve.
    Pratt shook his head as he put the key in the door. “Gentlemen, your warmth is truly overwhelming.”
    “Whaddya mean?” Banning demanded.
    “This is not the way to welcome a potential new neighbor. ‘Your house may be haunted, your late aunt was a little batty, and by the way—you’re wasting my precious time.’ ”
    “Hey, I don’t need a lecture about courtesy from no snotty-nosed shyster,” Banning said with a snort.
    “Come on, Stephen,” Porterhouse said. “We’re wasting time.”
    “Yeah, an’ a little more ain’t gonna matter,” Banning said. “I’ll tell you something else, Pratt junior. I don’t need t’be in anybody’s face, especially a grieving lady. I welcome people with a ‘How ya doin’?’ an’ I mean it. Anything more than that is airs. An’ if they ask me a question, which this lady did, I give ’em a truthful answer.” He glared at Pratt. “Not everybody needs to lie for a living.”
    “Thanks for the life-advice,” Pratt said. “Are you finished?”
    “Lest you tick me off again,” Banning replied.
    Pratt shook his head and turned the key. There was a heavy thunk as the bolt drew back.
    Banning fell into a brooding silence. He came out of it long enough to shudder. “Tellin’ the truth is still the bottom line with me,” Banning said. “An’ the truth is, Dr. Cooke, I’d rather be just about anywhere else on earth than at this castle. I managed to set foot in here just once in my whole life—to wall up what I’m about to un-wall and then re-wall.”
    Caroline looked at the mason. “Wait a minute. You saw what was in there?”
    Banning nodded. “Just basement, Dr. Cooke. A lot of it, with water at the bottom.”
    Caroline turned to the attorney. “Mr. Pratt, if Mr. Banning can describe what he saw to—”
    “Forget it, Caroline,” Pratt said. “I already tried. Mr. Porterhouse insists on seeing for himself.” Pratt looked at him. “Isn’t that so?”
    “According to the tax code, which I have in my pocket,” he said, patting the lapel of his