The Howling III by Gary Brandner Page A

again picked out the one it sought.
    Moving stealthily on great padded paws, the beast crept down the wooded hillside toward the hospital.
    *****
    Gavin Ramsay leaned close to the mirror over his bathroom sink and gave his face a critical look. Unsatisfied, he buzzed the electric shaver over his chin for the third time. He had a chin cleft that Elise had always said was cute, but which sheltered a tiny ridge of whiskers that were hell to shave off. He tested the area with his fingers and decided it was as smooth as it was ever going to be. He blew out the shaver, splashed on some English Leather, and walked back into his combined living room-bedroom-kitchenette in the Pinyon Inn.
    Gavin’s was the only room at the Inn with cooking facilities. He seldom lit the stove, and used the half-size refrigerator for little more than keeping beer cold. Most of his meals were eaten downstairs in the coffee shop, or brought home from one of the fast-food places down the road in Darnay. Still, having a kitchen, however inadequate, made the room seem a little more like home.
    He and Elise had lived in a spacious California ranch-house in Darnay until the divorce. The house, like the Camaro, and damn near everything else, had gone to Elise. Gavin had been stunned to find how suddenly cold and calculating his loving bride had turned when she decided the marriage wasn’t going where she wanted it to. While he had stumbled through the proceedings with a nice-guy lawyer whose heart was back in Iowa, she had latched on to a high-powered firm from Los Angeles with half a dozen names on the letterhead. It was no contest.
    But what the hell, it was over now. The last he heard Elise was in New York dating some hotshot political columnist for the Times. That would suit her. Her father too. Gavin had been a great disappointment to both of them.
    He pushed open the accordion door on his closet and surveyed the meagre wardrobe therein. Two khaki uniforms of the La Reina County sheriffs department. One blue suit. Two sports coats, grey tweed and camel’s hair. Three pairs of slacks: grey, blue, and brown. Two neckties: one with stripes; one with little fleurs-de-lis. Assorted shoes.
    These, except for the uniforms, were the clothes he hardly ever wore. His real clothes were in the dresser drawers. Jeans, corduroys, soft cotton shirts, and sweaters.
    During the marriage Elise had outfitted him like the rising young politician she hoped he would be. He had two full closets then of suits, jackets, and trousers from the best tailors in southern California. Gone now, all gone. No, Elise had not taken his clothing, but Gavin wasted no time giving most of it away when he moved out. It was one thing from his marriage he definitely did not miss.
    For tonight, however, jeans and a sweater simply would not do. Holly Lang was not just another date. His dates had been few since the divorce. Generally, they consisted of a few drinks in a quiet bar, dinner maybe, then off to bed. Neither he nor the women involved had any stake in the relationship beyond an evening’s entertainment. That was the way he wanted it. For some reason he felt differently about Holly.
    He chose the camel’s hair jacket and grey slacks. Briefly he considered wearing a necktie, but decided that was too much, and settled for a soft blue sports shirt.
    “You look terrific,” he told his image in the mirror. “All ready for the prom.”
    Downstairs he climbed into the old Dodge wagon, shoving the accumulated debris off the seats. He frowned at the coating of dust and wished he had washed it more recently. He would have to remember to park in the shadows.
    He drove the ten miles along the dark highway to Darnay listening to a golden-oldies rock station from Los Angeles. He had no idea what songs were played, nor did he care. The music was company, that was all.
    Entering Darnay, Gavin stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of California cabernet sauvignon. He found Holly Lang’s