by Nathan Roden
“I’ve had this seat booked for longer than that, Mate. Sorry.”
Quentin reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills.
“A thousand dollars, Buddy,” Q said, “Pretty nice profit for a four-hour ride to New York.”
“Do I look like the sort to be bought with a few dollars, Buddy? I make that much money before lunch time,” the man said, turning his head back to the window.
“Don’t mind me, Dad,” Holly said. She grabbed Quentin by the arm and pulled him back. “I’ll be sittin’ right next to him. I’m sure that my last four plane trips when I puked up my guts on the entire row—surely that won’t happen again. I’ll be fine this time. Probably shouldn’t have had that big Mexican food dinner, though. Aye—burritos, and tacos, and encheeladas. Might have been too much food and too spicy for a delicate tummy, but it’ll be fine, Dad. I’m sure of it.”
The man looked at Holly for a moment and stood up.
“Let me out,” he said. “I’ll have the aisle seat, or it’s not happening.”
“That will be great, Sir,” Quentin said happily. “Not a problem, whatsoever. Thank you. Stewardess, this man will be eating and drinking on my tab today.”
Holly settled into the window seat. Quentin settled in beside her.
“Oh, my Lord—” Holly said.
“What is it?” Quentin asked.
“Keep your wits about ya, Mr. Lynchburg,” Holly said slowly. She dug her nails into Quentin’s forearm.
Four ghosts floated down the aisle in the midst of the other passengers; Arabella McIntyre, Bruiser Brady, Little Dougie Day, and Delbert Scoggins.
Arabella nodded and the rest waved as they passed by.
Princess Arabella McIntyre was wide-eyed and nervous. This was not surprising since she last lived in fifteenth-century Scotland. Bruiser Brady was deceased as well but in the recent past. He was a muscular man who very much enjoyed doing pull-ups whenever possible. He wore a too-small undershirt and had matching bicep-tattoos. Dougie Day was a small and slight long-time friend of Bruiser’s who worshiped the ground that Bruiser Brady walked on. Little Dougie Day seemed to have grown as a person since his untimely demise, and he stood up taller and straighter than he once had.
Delbert Scoggins was a contemporary of Bruiser and Dougie in Branson. They met after the relocation of Castle McIntyre. Delbert was a semi-professional Elvis Presley impersonator—dressed eternally in the King’s infamous white-sequined jumpsuit. The suit came complete with the low-plunging neckline that strained to contain Delbert’s considerable girth.
Holly nodded slightly, and Quentin fought to contain his laughter.
“Oh, this is going to be a most interesting adventure,” Quentin whispered.
Brian McAllen met Quentin and Holly at the airport. Quentin told Brian multiple times that he needn’t trouble himself, but Brian wouldn’t hear of it.
“You’re gettin’ in too late for the train. I can have you at your hotel in a jiffy,” Brian had said.
“I’ve been in contact with a pair of top-notch investigators,” Brian said as they left the airport. “Twin brothers, such as it is. I went to school with them. They come from a most excellent family. Clever as buggy whips, these two.”
“How much have you told them?” Q asked. He held on tight as Brian squealed around a corner.
“I told them as much as I know, Mr. Lynchburg. The McFaddens were thought lost at sea six months ago and then their boat was discovered in London after Scotland Yard ran onto a burglary ring. That’s all I know.”
Quentin nodded.
“Do you think we can expect the police to take up the hunt for the McFaddens?” Quentin asked. “What does your gut tell you?”
Brian shrugged before he made another hard turn.
“No way of knowin’,” he said. “This kind of thing don’t happen every day, don’t ya know?”
“Fair enough, Brian,” Quentin said. “We’re here to make our presence known and get them to dedicate some resources to the task. But if they don’t give the case due diligence, we’ll carry on by ourselves.”
“Aye, ye did the right thing to call me,” Brian said. “The Finnegans are good blokes, with good reputations around these parts. They’re part bloodhounds, from what I’ve heard.”
“That’s what I want to hear. You’ve been a great deal of help, my friend,” Quentin said.
“I thank you very much as well, Mr. McAllen,” Holly said.
Brian McAllen smiled into his rear view mirror.
“You’ve had a really rough time of it, Missy,” Brian said quietly. “I’m so sorry about your uncle. He was…he was quite a man; about scared me into a fresh pair of knickers the day we met, that big old bear did.”
Holly laughed.
“I remember. It’s a shame you two couldn’t have spent some better time together,” Holly said. “I think you could have been good friends.”
Brian nodded.
“I think you’re right as rain about that, Holly. I really do.”
Brian pulled underneath the awning of the hotel. Quentin reserved rooms for the Finnegan brothers as well, in order to give them more hours of the day to work with.
“The Finnegans will be in the lobby at eight in the morning. I would be here myself if I was able, but I have to meet with a brand new client in the morning. A big client with very deep pockets. Does that sound familiar at all, Mr. Lynchburg?”
Quentin shook Brian McAllen’s hand.
“You’ve done plenty as it is, Brian. Good luck with that new client, and thank you for everything.”
Holly waited for the ghosts to get out of the truck. She scooted forward in her seat and kissed Brian on the cheek.
“Thank you again, Mr. McAllen,” Holly said. “You’re a very good friend.”
Brian smiled. He watched Quentin and Holly walk to the front door, pulling their bags. Alongside them strolled another girl, two men, and…Elvis Presley?
Brian squeezed his eyes shut, and then rubbed them hard with the palms of his hands.
Quentin held the door to the hotel open for Holly. He turned and waved to Brian McAllen one last time.
“I’m givin’ every one of those Spaniards a raise,” Brian said to himself as he pulled away from the hotel breezeway. He slowed to a stop and looked back over his shoulder for a second. Elvis Presley—or someone dressed like Elvis—stood alone under the breezeway. He began a series of karate moves before he faded…
…faded away to nothing.
Brian squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He opened them to find nothing but the milky reflections of the overhead lights.
“You’ll not be openin’ the bottle this night, Brian McAllen,” he muttered to himself.
The next day, Brian McAllen’s truck crested the hill above the property where the Castle McIntyre once stood.
Holly sat in the passenger seat. She sighed.
“They sure didn’t waste any time,” she said.
A construction crew was placing concrete forms for a new foundation pour on the site where the castle had been.
“This is happening quicker than I thought it would, Miss Holly,” Brian said. “A project foreman— a friend of mine—told me what happened here. One of the local business insiders knew ahead of time about the reconstruction of the new bridge, and he bought the land for little of nothin’. Only a privileged few knew that there was to be a special dispensation fund to fast-track the new bridge. It’s a shame. You might have been able to keep the place, had you known.”
“I don’t think that was supposed to happen, Mr. McAllen,” Holly said.
“Ya don’t?” Brian asked as he pulled to a stop.
“I don’t,” Holly said, as she opened her door.
“I’m going to chat up that crew unless you’d like me to come with you,” Brian said.
“No, we—I’ll be fine. I left my diary in a hollow tree up in the woods—such a stupid little girl thing to do. I didn’t think I would be coming back here, b
ut since I have, I may as well get it.”
“I’ll be down there at the construction site when you’re ready to go,” Brian said.
“Why did you tell him that?” Arabella asked.
“I had to give him some reason for disappearing into the woods,” Holly said. “He already thinks me peculiar, maybe even mental.”
“Not that,” Arabella said. “Why wouldn’t you have kept the castle, if you were able? So much trouble could have been avoided—”
“Don’t go makin’ up stuff in your head now, Arabella,” Holly said. “David didn’t get carried off by spacemen. He’s gone to a better place.”
“Spacemen?” Arabella said. “What in the world are you prattling on about?”
“You know; Space Monsters,” Little Dougie Day said. “Like Predators and Aliens.”
“Dougie,” Bruiser Brady said, “Miss Arabella lived a long, long time ago. She don’t know nothin’ about no movies about Predators and Aliens.”
“Oh,” Dougie said. “How ‘bout Martians, then? You know anything about Martians, Miss Arabella?”
“The marshes? Oh, sure,” Arabella said. “People have always told tales about the marshes—mostly to keep the children from wandering in there and never comin’ back. They told them stories of crocodiles walking about on two feet—”
“He don’t mean marshes, Arabella,” Bruiser said. “He’s talkin’ about little green people from Mars. You know. Martians.”
Arabella shook her head slowly. Dougie chuckled.
“Marshes, Martians,” Dougie said. “Marcia! Marcia! Marcia!”
Little Dougie bent over laughing at his own little joke.
“Marcia! Marcia! Marcia!” Delbert Scoggins joined Dougie. “Poor little Jan Brady! ‘That’s all I ever hear about is Marcia! Marcia! Marcia!’”
“You worry me sometimes, Dougie,” Bruiser said.
“Delbert thought it was funny,” Dougie said.
“Right,” Bruiser said, “Your buddy who’s dressed up like Fat Elvis.”
Delbert made a sad face before launching into the opening lines of “Don’t be Cruel”.
Holly followed Arabella up the hill. Arabella stopped at the edge of the forest. Holly stood beside her.
“Are we going in?” Holly asked after a couple of minutes.
“No,” Arabella said. “He wouldn’t want me to.”
Holly said nothing but stepped to Arabella’s side.
“I would go with you,” Holly said softly.
“I know,” Arabella said.
She turned to face Holly and….smiled.
“That’s lovely,” Holly said.
Arabella turned to look over her shoulder.
“What?” she asked.
“Your smile, Silly,” Holly said.
Cyrus Findlay squinted into his binoculars.
“It’s her all right,” Cyrus said. “And it looks like she’s talkin’ to somebody, but there’s nobody there.”
Cyrus lowered his binoculars long enough to take a bite of his sandwich.
“I can’t believe that whole bloody castle is gone, Cyrus,” Scottie said. “It was right there, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Cyrus said. “I know that we got plastered whenever we came around, but yeah, this was the place. Wellmore didn’t say nothin’ about the castle disappearing. I wonder if he even knows? This makes no sense at all. The castle’s gone, so you would think the spooks would be gone too, wouldn’t ya? Why is that girl still here?”
“She’s givin’ me the creeps, I’ll tell you that much,” Scottie Rose said. “Maybe they’re hauntin’ the forest. Where is she goin’ now?”
“The sign on that truck says ‘McAllen Engineering’. The man is walking toward where the castle used to be. Looks like a construction crew getting ready to build something new. The girl is walking up the hill, toward the trees.”
“She probably came into some money,” Scottie said. “They think her parents dead and her uncle too. She must have hated that old castle—she wasted no time having it torn down.”
“Wellmore will want to hear about this,” Cyrus said.
“We gonna follow the girl?” Scottie asked.
“That wouldn’t serve to do nothin’ but to get us caught,” Cyrus said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Bruiser Brady squinted hard at the sight of two men hiding behind a nearby hill.
“What do you think those two are up to?” Bruiser Brady said.
“Can’t be no good, Bruiser,” Little Dougie Day said. “They could have driven right up that hill, but they parked at the bottom and walked up.”
Delbert Scoggins walked in the direction of the two men. When he saw one man raise a pair of binoculars, he waved frantically for Bruiser and Dougie to join him. They circled around to watch and listen.
“Do you think they know about us? And Holly?” Delbert said.
“Shh!” Bruiser said.
“Hauntin’?” Dougie squealed. “Did you hear what he said? Hauntin’ the forest? They know somethin’, all right.”
“They might know somethin’ about the McIntyres,” Bruiser said.
“Who are they callin’ ‘spooks’?” Delbert spat. “Ignorant bunch of—”
“The question is, what are they doin’ here?” Bruiser said. “And what are they gonna do about it?”
The two men moved toward their car. They crouched down and were clearly trying to avoid being seen.
“I would say that we need to find out who this Will Moore guy is,” Bruiser said, his eyes narrowed. “And why these two guys are sneakin’ around like that.”
Bruiser, Dougie, and Delbert followed the men to their car while they listened intently for anything else the men might say. But the men said nothing at all. Delbert, Dougie, and Bruiser stood side-by-side as the car pulled away. Arabella and Holly soon joined them.
“What are you doing?” Arabella asked.
“We need to talk,” Bruiser said. He then told Arabella and Holly what they had just witnessed.
“They knew my Uncle Seth?” Holly asked.
“It sounds like they did,” Bruiser said. “Drinkin’ buddies, from the way it sounded. Do you remember them?”
“Seth had lots of drinking buddies,” Holly said. “In fact, I think all of his buddies were drinkin’ buddies. He had a lot of friends, and they all liked to drink.”
“I think I would have liked your uncle,” Bruiser said.
“Of course, you would,” Holly said.
“But these two know about…it seemed like they know about the McIntyres,” Delbert said.
“Could your uncle see them?” Dougie asked.
“Oh, no,” Holly whispered.
“What’s wrong?” Bruiser said.
“I spent so much time around Seth, all my life,” Holly said. “He could—it stayed with him for a long time, the sight, I mean. He messed up one night—he brought two of his friends inside the castle. They were singing and stumbling and had their arms around each other. They walked right into the middle of the whole McIntyre family.”
Holly reached out a shaky hand to a tree stump next to where she stood. She sank down to sit on it.
“We thought it was all blown over—forgotten about,” Holly said. “They were all drunk. Seth laughed it off, and my father and I laughed at them. We told them that we thought we saw ghosts all the time. Oh, this is terrible.”
“Do you know a man named Moore?” Bruiser asked. “William Moore?”
Holly shook her head.
“No,” she said.
“It sounds like we have an assignment, Boys,” Bruiser said. He passed his hand flamboyantly across the darkening stretch of sky.
“Bruiser Brady and Associates, Detective Agency. Now open for business.”
“Let’s go into the village,” Arabella said, “We’ll begin with the local pubs. Those two shouldn’t be hard to find. They’ll be looking for free drinks.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Bruiser held up a hand. “This here i
s no job for a lady, Miss Arabella. There’s likely to be trouble ahead.”
Arabella glared at Bruiser before gliding past him, and toward the village.
“You have a lot of muscles, Mr. Brady,” she called over her shoulder. “Mostly in your head.”
Quentin looked up from his laptop when he heard banging on his hotel room door. He barely had time to open it before Holly zipped past him.
“Come in?” Q said. “What’s—?”
“We got—” Holly said breathlessly. “We got something.”
“Excuse me?”
“Two men were spying on me,” Holly said as she began pacing. “At the castle—where the castle used to be.”
“What?” Quentin said. “Are you sure? Brian said there is a construction crew working at the site. Maybe they were just part of—”
“Bruiser and the others saw them while Arabella and I were in the pine forest. They were hiding behind the hill and watching me with binoculars.”
“Maybe they had a reason—”
“They had no other reason to be hiding, Mr. Lynchburg,” Holly said. She sat down on one of the beds. “And the boys heard them talking to each other. They saw me talking with no one else there.”
Quentin exhaled.
“What else did they say?” Q asked.
“I know who they are,” Holly said softly.
“Who?” Q asked.
“I don’t remember their names—if I ever knew them at all,” Holly said. “They were friends of my uncle’s. Seth brought them into the castle one night as the McIntyres were passing through. We thought—they were so drunk that we thought the whole thing would just go away.”
Quentin sank into the desk chair.
“The others have gone into town to look for them,” Holly said.
Quentin nodded and then shook his head.