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Harriet nodded. It would explain why the house looked so dilapidated. These people weren’t exactly swimming in money, and if Victor kept drinking their money away…

“Hey, aren’t you going to sell him on the litter revolution?” asked Brutus as she walked away.

“Nah. I don’t think he’s all that interested,” she said and jumped up on the windowsill to look outside. The house was pretty isolated, in a part of town that was mostly woods, with a couple of farmhouses spread about. This neighbor who’d also spotted the werewolf was probably a couple ofhundred yards away. The perfect spot for a werewolf to roam around, she thought, and shivered.

“You don’t believe all this talk of a werewolf, do you?” asked Brutus now.

“I don’t know, Brutus. I just know that Victor believes it, and so does his dog.”

She suddenly wished Max was there. He’d know what to do. She even missed Dooley. He might be half-witted, but from time to time still managed to come up with an idea.

And then she hunkered down to listen to Victor’s story, as he painted a picture of this terrifying werewolf, beat by colorful beat.

Chapter 24

“Big as a house, he was,” said Victor. “And with dark, coarse hair everywhere, teeth like daggers, and eyes red and glowing in the dark. I ran hell for leather and it’s a miracle I made it out alive. He was going to tear me to pieces and drink my blood!”

“But surely you know that werewolves don’t exist, Victor,” said Father Reilly. “They only exist in folklore, fairytales and Hollywood movies.”

“That’s what I thought, until I met one in the flesh.”

“How much did you have to drink last night?” asked Vesta. She didn’t like all this waffle about werewolves. It distracted from the mission. They had litter boxes to sell.

“Well, I’ll admit I was intoxicated, but the moment I saw that werewolf I sobered up real quick! You have to warn people, father. They need to be told. And the police have to organize a hunt. Get some guys with guns out here and hunt this creature down, before it kills us all!”

Vesta shared a look of incredulity with Father Reilly. The two of them had never really seen eye to eye on anything before, but now were clearly on the same page.

“Look, Victor, did anyone else see this werewolf?” asked the priest now.

“Yeah, well, no, I don’t think so,” he admitted. “Though my neighbor thinks he heard something last night. A cry or a scream, and that can only have been that werewolf.”

“Or it could have been you,” said Vesta. “Screaming your head off like a ninny.”

“Well, I guess that’s also possible,” said Victor, sheepishly tugging at his left ear.

“So as far as you can tell you’re the only person who’s actually seen this creature?” asked the priest.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Victor. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t see it!”

“What did my son say, when you reported it to the police?” asked Vesta.

“He didn’t believe me,” said Victor, his brow lowering. “And neither did Alice—my wife.”

“If nobody believes you, that should give you pause, Victor,” said Father Reilly. “Maybe it should make you contemplate your ways. You have been straying from the Lord’s path lately, haven’t you? For one thing, I haven’t seen you in church in months, and I’ve been hearing stories about your drinking. Don’t you think this might be a sign from God?”

“You think so, father?” asked Victor, surprised.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. The Lord works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform, and this might be one of those ways. This monster clearly represents your predilection for alcoholic beverages. And what the Lord is doing by offering up this, this mirage, as it were, is making you stop andthink.”

“Stop and think,” repeated Victor, eyes wide now. This was the good stuff right there.

“Stop and think about your behavior. The way you’ve let down your community, your family, and your church. Why don’t you join one of our fine weekly meetings at the church, Victor? You can talk to people battling the same monster you’re battling.”

“The werewolf? They’ve seen it, too?”

“Oh, yes, they have. They’ve all seen the monster called drink, and they’ve come away tattered and torn, their lives in shambles. But it doesn’t have to be that way, Victor.” He got up now, and placed a warm and comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m expecting you at our next meeting. And no excuses, you hear? This werewolf is a monster you cannot tackle on your own, my son. But together we’ll fight it, and beat it!”

“I want to beat it, father,” said Victor, looking up into the priest’s kindly face. “And you’re damn right—pardon my French. I can’t beat it on my own. It’s too big and nasty.”

“We’ll beat it together. And I’ll talk to Alice. We have a support group for wives of alcoholics.”

And with these words, they left Victor to ruminate on the drink devil he needed to conquer—a devil conveniently disguised as a werewolf.

“Poor man,” said Father Reilly once they were outside. “Sold his soul for a drink.”

“I guess we’ll have to sell him on the litter revolution another time, huh?” said Vesta.