Ghosts on Tour: Wylie Westerhouse Book 1

by Nathan Roden

  “Good Boy,” I said.

  “Good morning. Toby doesn’t care for strangers, other than the taste,” I said. The small crowd backed away in defeat.

  I turned a corner and met Holly walking in the opposite direction.

  Before I could reel Toby in Holly dropped to one knee and threw her arms around him.

  “What a fine fellow you are,” Holly said. “Is he yours, Wylie?”

  “Yeah. This is Toby. I guess it’s too late to warn you about his temper.”

  She snuggled Toby’s nose with her face while scratching his ears.

  “Temper?” she said. “This is a precious teddy bear, is what this one is.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t tell that to all the buzzards out on the street. Toby’s bark and growl are what got me here.”

  Holly stood.

  “What are you—”

  Toby jerked on the leash and I almost lost him. He pulled me a few feet before I got him under control. He was barking at…nothing.

  His head jerked in a different direction. He lunged and began barking again. He did it again. And again.

  Barking at nothing.

  I looked at Holly and shrugged. She looked a little uneasy.

  “I don’t know what he’s doing,” I said. “He doesn’t get out a lot.”

  “What are you going to do with him during the tour?” she asked.

  “I was hoping to bring him with me. If he won’t be quiet I’ll lock him up somewhere. It’s only three hours.”

  Yeah, that didn’t work. Toby wouldn’t stop barking and there seemed to be no reason for it. But at Castle McIntyre, who knows?

  He didn’t stop barking, even after I locked him up in the office. The barking echoed throughout the castle.

  I finally gave up and told Holly that I was going to take Toby home. She nodded.

  We returned to my car without interruption. The paparazzi had finally given up or moved to greener pastures. I put the car in gear and looked over at Toby, who was smiling and panting as he looked out the windshield.

  “A penny for your thoughts, Buddy,” I said. “What do you know that I don’t?”

  I dropped Toby off at home and drove back to the castle in time to watch Holly finish the last tour. There were none of the previous day’s interruptions. Holly seemed more relaxed and her delivery was flawless. I took a deep breath and enjoyed listening to her.

  It was a good day. Life was good.

  I drove to the castle on Monday morning. Quentin was out of town for a couple of days. He called in, and the three of us had a short conference call. Of course, we were all relieved that the previous day had gone so well. We decided upon a schedule for the next weekend—three tours on Saturday and two on Sunday.

  After the call, I soon became uncomfortable with hanging around Holly with nothing to do, so I left at noon. It seemed like I was keeping her from something and I didn’t care for that feeling at all.

  Toby was enjoying my reduced work schedule and the fact that I was home most of the time. We take some long walks—something we rarely got around to during my two-job time in Branson. Monday night’s walk was cut short when a cold front blew in. The wind picked up and it started to rain. We ended up running home. We got soaked anyway.

  I dried us off and changed my clothes. We crashed on the sofa. I was in my warmest flannel pajamas and I put a blanket over Toby. I was reaching for the remote control when it hit me.

  Holly is at school right now and her only means of transportation is a Vespa scooter. I looked over at Toby.

  She has your number. She would call you if she needed a ride home.

  Toby didn’t say that. It just seemed pitiful that I was having a discussion with myself.

  She wouldn’t call you. Holly doesn’t do things like that. She’s too self-sufficient.

  So, are you the kind of person that doesn’t help someone because they’re self-sufficient?

  No.

  Then why are you still sitting here?

  “Road trip, Toby.”

  I drove around the entire college campus twice before I spotted Holly’s scooter. At least, it was under an awning. I parked within sight of it and contemplated what to do next.

  I pulled on the door handle just before Holly exited a nearby building. She ran toward her scooter followed by three guys in letter jackets. My hand froze in mid-move. I stayed in my seat as I watched one guy back a huge pickup truck close to Holly’s scooter. The driver jumped out and pulled off his jacket. He held the jacket over Holly’s head and helped her up into the truck. The other two guys loaded the scooter into the back. They got in and drove away.

  My windshield wipers are almost worthless, so I rolled my window down and stuck my head out into the rain.

  The driver of the truck was Grady Plimpton.

  Toby watched the truck drive away. He barked twice.

  “I know what you mean,” I said. “That sucks.”

  I shuffled my way into the office Tuesday morning. Holly was sitting in the large main chair with her feet up on the window sill and her back to the office door. She had a phone to her ear and her head was resting on the back of the chair. She was laughing. I tapped at the door with my foot.

  “I’ll talk to you later. Bye,” she said.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Good morning,” Holly said. “Oh, Dear Boy, you brought coffee from my new favorite place in the world.”

  I realized that I wasn’t thinking all that rationally, but something about being referred to as any kind of “Boy” made me mad.

  “Quite a storm last night,” I said, handing her a coffee.

  Holly yawned.

  “Quite a storm indeed,” she said.

  “Did you go to class?” I asked.

  “I sure did. I had no idea the weather was going to change like it did.”

  “Did you ride your scooter home? That would have been almost impossible.”

  “Well, a couple of my fellow students saw what trouble I was in and gave us a ride home.”

  “Us?”

  She cocked her head.

  “The Vespa, Wylie. Her name is ‘Sheila’. My last one was ‘Brenda’, and the old run-down moped I had before that was ‘Bridget’. Why all the questions?”

  I shrugged and shook my head.

  “Nothing. I just thought that it was a tough night to depend on a scooter. I guess your friends got you home safe and sound.”

  “Yeah. The night wasn’t so bad after all. We stopped off for a pint at this pub with a big fireplace. We shivered and laughed while we dried out,” she smiled and winked.

  “We watched people doing that two-step dancing, which I’m anxious to learn. I don’t understand all the fuss about trucks and tractors and blue jeans. I’ve been promised some dance lessons.”

  “You need to be careful, Holly,” I said. “The law takes the sale of alcohol to minors very seriously in this state—probably in every state. Maybe some people have the kind of influence to get away with things like that, but—”

  “That’s enough of playing at being my mother, Mr. Westerhouse. I can take care of myself. It’s none of your concern.”

  “Is that right?” I blurted out. “If I hadn’t made it my concern at the airport you would have gone to jail.”

  “That may be true, but what of it? Would I still be there, sentenced to be hanged? All I wanted to do was get my luggage. Those people were being unreasonable.”

  “If you want to stand in front of a judge and tell him that the Federal agents who raided your bar for underage drinking are all being unreasonable—then go right ahead.”

  “Is this how it’s going to be, Mr. Westerhouse? I don’t go out with you, so you expect me to stay locked up in this castle for the rest of my life?”

  I was fuming.

  “No. That is not what I expect. What I expect is for you to do better than Grady Plimpton.”

  Holly jumped up and slammed both hands down on the desk. She bolted around the desk and
was in my face in a flash.

  “What? Are you spying on me? What is wrong with you?”

  “I’m not…I’m…”

  I couldn’t do anything but breathe. I backed away from her.

  “I’m not spying on you,” I said. “I drove to the college. I thought that you might need help getting home.”

  Holly began pacing.

  “This is not going to work. It’s too much,” she said, mostly to herself. “I’ve lost…there’s too bloody much at stake. I should just go home.”

  “No, Holly,” I said. “I’ll…I’ll tell Quentin that this isn’t working out. I’m not that important around here anyway. I’m sure Elvis can help out until the place gets up and running.”

  “But Mr. Lynchburg is your friend,” Holly said. “He was counting on you before I showed up. It’s not fair that you leave.”

  “I don’t care about fair, Holly. This is your home. That is what’s fair. I’m not going to drive you out of it. And I don’t want to be the reason for you to leave town.”

  Holly blinked several times and she bit her lip.

  “I’ll try to get in touch with Quentin when I get home,” I said.

  “What will you say to him?”

  “I’ll tell him that I can’t…I just can’t work here anymore.”

  “And he’ll want to know why.”

  I shrugged. “Just…because I guess.”

  “Because what?” she said.

  “Because I love you.”

  The words were out of my mouth before I had time to think them.

  All of the air seemed to have left the room.

  Holly began shaking her head. I thought I heard her whimper.

  “No, you don’t.”

  I didn’t move.

  “Yes, I do.”

  She slumped into the chair in front of the desk.

  “No, you don’t. No, you don’t. No, you don’t,” she said without lifting her head.

  But I did.

  I do.

  But the moment was anything but warm and fuzzy.

  “I’m sorry, Holly. I’m going now,” I said. I stopped in the doorway, turned my head and said, “But I do.”

  Thirty

  Holly McFadden

  Branson, Missouri

  “No, you don’t.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Holly?” Elizabeth said.

  “Elizabeth.”

  Holly jumped to her feet.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Elizabeth said.

  “No, I mean, yes, I’m fine,” Holly said, sniffing.

  “I waited until your friend left. Is there trouble?”

  Holly made a nervous laugh.

  “If you haven’t noticed, we scuffle constantly, the two of us—since the day we met.”

  “Your happiness is important to me…to us, Holly. Perhaps—”

  “Oh, I don’t want to talk about me anymore. I have no trouble greater than seeing that the tours survive. Do you have any idea why Bruiser Brady and Company chose not to make an appearance today?”

  “We may thank Mr. Scoggins for that,” Elizabeth said. “He arranged a performance of his show for this afternoon—at the bandstand in the park. Bruiser and his entire group are there.”

  “Well, bless Delbert for that,” Holly said. “But I doubt that will be a lasting solution unless he’s able to provide them with the crack that they infatuated with.”

  “Yet, with all of the trouble—the castle has captivated a large following,” Elizabeth crossed to the windows. “Is that not good for the business of tours?”

  Holly exhaled and fell back into the chair.

  “Most of these people are not here to admire the history and the majesty of your home, Elizabeth. These are ghost chasers.”

  “Does this matter?” Elizabeth said, turning around.

  “It’s become an entire industry—all around the world,” Holly said. “People fascinated with the paranormal will travel great distances to investigate ‘ghostly’ behavior. Modern communication being what it is—nothing remains a secret.”

  “But the tours are successful either way, are they not? Whether they come for a love of history, or a fascination with what lies beyond?” Elizabeth asked.

  Holly rubbed her temples.

  “It might be that simple if it weren’t for the bad behavior of Bruiser’s people. We can’t expect people to deal with flying lances and logs that refuse to stay in the fireplace. There are too many people who want Mr. Lynchburg to fail.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Lynchburg could have the castle moved again—or has cost become an object?” Elizabeth asked.

  Holly stood.

  “Come with me,” she said.

  Holly led them to the turret room. She stood next to the largest window and pointed.

  “At the top of that hill, you can see where the trees have been cleared.”

  “Yes. That is a cemetery,” Elizabeth said. “Dallas and I have been there. Many of the monuments are breathtaking. It is lovely.”

  Holly moved a tripod-mounted telescope from the corner of the room. She pointed it toward the cemetery and rotated the focus wheel. She stepped back and motioned Elizabeth toward the telescope.

  Elizabeth looked through the eyepiece.

  “Oh, my,” she said.

  She stood up straight.

  “Milo and Connie Lynchburg.”

  “Holly! Are you up there?”

  Holly looked at Elizabeth.

  “That’s Mr. Lynchburg.”

  “We’ll see you tonight, then?” Elizabeth asked.

  Holly yawned.

  “Sure. I have a class tonight, but I’ll be home around nine. I’ll be able to stay up for a little while.”

  “The girls have missed you, but they understand that you are busy,” Elizabeth said.

  Holly found Quentin in his office. He was opening three boxes that contained miniature faux stones. Quentin had a construction table in a corner of his office. The birdhouse currently under construction was a replica of the castle.

  “There you are,” Quentin said.

  “Have you seen Wylie? He’s not answering his phone.”

  “He left about an hour ago,” Holly said.

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  Holly shook her head.

  “He’s been acting…” Quentin said, staring into space. “Never mind. I think out loud too much.”

  “Will there be anything else, Mr. Lynchburg? I have a class tonight and I need to study,” Holly said.

  “No. Of course. Take the rest of the day,” Quentin said. “It looks to be a busy weekend.”

  Wednesday morning Holly tapped at the door of Quentin’s office. He was standing in front of the window, staring outside.

  “Good morning, Holly,” Quentin said, “Coffee?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. I’ll get it.”

  “Wylie is leaving us.”

  Holly poured her coffee and nodded.

  “Do you know why he’s leaving?” Quentin asked.

  “’Tis a free country, isn’t that what you Americans are fond of saying?” Holly said, without looking at Quentin.

  “Sure it is,” Quentin said. “But did you know that he had made up his mind to go back to Boston before he met you?”

  Holly shrugged but said nothing.

  “Did you ever see the movie ‘Arthur’, the one with Dudley Moore?” Quentin asked.

  Holly shook her head.

  “Well,” Quentin said, “Arthur was engaged to a woman that he did not love. She was chosen for Arthur by his domineering father because her family was within their wealthy social circle. There is a scene where Arthur’s valet—Hobson—visits a different woman—a woman that Arthur in infatuated with. Hobson brings the girl an expensive dress and advises her to crash Arthur’s engagement party.”

  “Why did he do that?” Holly asked.

  “That’s exactly what the girl asked Hobson,” Quentin said. “He said to her that one thing an old
man could still do was spot a young gentleman in love.”

  Holly turned away.

  “This isn’t fair, Mr. Lynchburg.”

  “No, “Quentin said. “It rarely is.”

  Thirty-one

  Wylie Westerhouse

  Branson, Missouri

  “Holly, have you seen—”

  Man, I’m not going to get used to this.

  Holly had pushed one of the super-comfy reading chairs close to the desk. She was facing the picture window with her bare feet propped on the desk. She was reading.

  Her bare feet were connected to bare legs that stretched unencumbered and forever all the way up to a pair of short shorts.

  She was still spending time at the tanning salon. I can vouch for that.

  Holly rolled her head around to look at me.

  “Have I seen what?”

  “Quentin,” I said.

  She pulled her feet down and closed her magazine.

  “He was here earlier with a nice gentleman named Billy. I think they were going shopping.”

  “He went shopping with Billy?” I said.

  She picked her magazine up and flipped the pages.

  “If you need more concise information perhaps you should check with your detective friends. I just work here,” she said.

  I walked around and sat in Quentin’s chair.

  “Is that a comic book?” I asked.

  She closed the book in a huff and held the cover where I could see it.

  “Lara Croft, Tomb Raider. Cool,” I said.

  “The Comic Store is next to the tanning saloon,” she said. “Sometimes I have to wait for a bed so I picked this up to pass the time.”

  “Do you like it?” I asked.