Free Return of the Wolf Man by Jeff Rovin

spent with her,” Caroline said.
    “You didn’t get to see her much, did you?” Pratt asked.
    “We were only together about six or seven times, usually at funerals and weddings and on one Christmas. But I wrote to her regularly, telling her what I was doing, and she always wrote back these long and interesting letters about books she’d read or reflections on life and death.” Caroline looked out at the island. “I kept meaning to get down here, you know? But I had my practice to run and I was always filling in for other doctors. And then one day it’s too late.”
    “That’s always the way it is,” Pratt said.
    The attorney steered the boat next to the small dock, which Ms. Raymond had had built to replace the one that had been destroyed in a fire. Another vessel was already there, an old wooden fishing boat with a badly faded B ANNING AND S ON, M ASONRY AND R ESTORATIONS painted on the side. Prior to Pratt’s return to LaMirada and his taking over Ms. Raymond’s increasingly complex financial and legal affairs, she hadn’t needed a dock. She was the only one who came and went. When she did, she rowed the quarter mile to shore and back for exercise and simply pulled her boat onto the shore when she returned.
    The attorney stepped onto the dock and secured the gleaming white cruiser. Then he helped Caroline out.
    “My god,” she said, staring openmouthed at the tall, dark tower and the surrounding battlements. “You don’t get this view from the other side of the island.”
    “No, you don’t,” Pratt agreed. “As I understand it, the man who built the castle put the cemetery on the other side of La Viuda to take advantage of the cove there.”
    “Take advantage?” Caroline asked, still staring up. “In what way?”
    “Legend has it that in the old days some pretty curious medical experiments used to take place here.”
    “I see,” Caroline said. “And that was where they hid the failures.”
    “So the story goes.”
    “It’s a fascinating story. Look up at the tower,” she said, pointing. “See that black charring around the vents on the cupola?”
    Pratt shielded his eyes and squinted up. “Vaguely.”
    “Those are electrical burns,” she said. “I’ve treated several such burns over the years—they leave a very distinctive, sharp-edged flash-pattern. Someone was generating very high voltage here and letting it rip.”
    “To what end?”
    “I couldn’t begin to guess,” Caroline said. “But it’s no wonder people on the mainland were spooked. It must have looked like bottled lightning to them. Frightening and irresistible.”
    Pratt smiled. “When your great-aunt made out her will last year she told me she wanted the castle to go to someone who would appreciate it. It appears it has.” He continued to stare at the tower. This wasn’t going to be easy. “She also wanted someone who would respect her wishes.”
    “About the basement, you mean.”
    “Yes, about the basement.” Pratt glanced over at the woman. Her striking resemblance to her great-aunt suddenly filled him with guilt. He was glad it was the new owner he had to hoodwink and not Ms. Raymond. This was bad enough, but that would have killed him. Pratt unzipped the front of his windbreaker. He looked away, gazing into the light of the sinking sun. “Dr. Cooke—Caroline—before we go in, there’s one thing we have to discuss.”
    She turned to him.
    “I told you that Steve Banning, Jr., would be meeting us here regarding a construction matter.”
    “Yes,” she said. “Something about renovation work on the basement wall. What about it?”
    “Well, it’s a little more complicated than that.”
    “In what way?”
    “Banning is here with Mr. Porterhouse of the Collier County Tax Assessor’s Office. The CTA is insisting that we have that section of the castle looked at as part of the probate procedure.”
    “Looked at?”
    Pratt exhaled sharply. “There’s a doorway that’s been bricked up. It has to be