Tailed by Brian M. Wiprud

entirely understand it myself. My sense was that he didn’t so much want to exorcize the spirit as to capture it. But we had to put a spell on Fowler to make him stay away.” She said this rather wistfully.
    I found my mouth hanging open again. “A spell?”
    â€œMm hmm.”
    â€œA
spell
?” I knew she was pretty out there with the paganist stuff, but this was the first I’d ever heard of her practicing witchcraft. “What kind of spell?”
    She straightened in her chair, and I could see she was about to clam up on me.
    â€œCome on, let’s have it.”
    â€œJust something simple.”
    â€œUh huh, like?”
    â€œIf he ever came near our family, he would lose his human form and take another.”
    â€œAnother? Another what?”
    â€œAnimal.”
    My mouth was hanging open again.
    â€œYou turned Fowler into a
werewolf?”
    A conversation three tables down came to a sudden stop.
    â€œA lycanthrope, not a werewolf. They turn into all kinds of animals.” She rolled her eyes like I was over-reacting. “Our garden was planted with plenty of aconitum. Wolfsbane. Such nice blue flowers. The red admiral butterflies liked it, too.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    It’s a sad day when you realize your mother is not only insane, but certifiable. Sadder was that not only did she believe she blinked Fowler into a werewolf, but apparently so did he. Unless Fowler’s coyote, pig, and snake routines back there at the Space Needle had some other explanation.
    After dropping Gabby back at The Sunny Gourde, I stopped at a filling station to make a few calls.
    First: Stella. I felt guilty about cutting and running. I knew she wouldn’t find the short message I left her an acceptable excuse for getting the hell out of Dodge.
    â€œSo.” That’s all she said when she picked up.
    â€œSorry, Stella, but I can’t do what you want me to do. It’s not whining, it’s not groaning. I can appraise for you, but I can’t be a hockey puck for the Air Force and FBI.”
    â€œOK, Garth. So where have you been?”
    â€œPretty simple, really. I went to Ann Arbor to ask my mom about my grandfather. That Colonel Lanston seemed to think my grandfather was the link to why the serial killer has involved me in this. And then I ran into this kook named Fowler at the Space Needle. He seemed to think I could help him find the killer.”
    â€œWho?” I heard her lighting up, and could picture her pale face in a cloud of cigarette smoke grimacing with confusion.
    â€œAn old relic named Fowler. Colonel Lanston knew about him for some reason. That he knew my parents. And now she and the FBI seem to think I’m a suspect.”
    â€œNot J. C. Fowler.”
    â€œOne and the same.” I paused. “Don’t tell me you know about his connection to this?”
    â€œKnow?”
    â€œYou said his name like you already had some idea he was involved.”
    â€œHe’s your uncle.”
    â€œHowzat?”
    â€œHe’s your grandfather Kit Carson’s son. Your father’s brother. That makes him your uncle. And he’s a dangerous lunatic. A clinical lycanthrope.”
    â€œOh, come on. Why wouldn’t my mother have told me Fowler was my uncle? This is absurd.”
    â€œFowler’s connection to this is more complicated than you know. Are you still in Ann Arbor?”
    I paused again.
    â€œI think I’d better not say.”
    â€œLook, Garth, you better get back to New York. Wilberforce/Peete can protect you. We have lawyers, expensive ones.”
    â€œProtect me from whom? Lanston? Fowler?”
    â€œGarth, I know you’re confused…”
    â€œHow do I know the FBI, the Air Force, and perhaps Wilberforce/Peete won’t use me as bait to find the killer? That’s what was going to happen to the other people I did appraisals for—am I right? Or would it be more convenient