Ghosts on Tour: Wylie Westerhouse Book 1

by Nathan Roden

  “And in this here castle, we got ‘em herded up, thirty at a time, and we’re gonna give them a dose o’ what they deserve.”

  Bruiser relaxed a little. He looked toward Duncan.

  “Welcome to town, young feller. You feel like joining us?”

  Duncan crossed his arms.

  “I dunno. Maybe.”

  “Duncan! No,” everyone else said, almost at the same time.

  “What are you doing, Dunky?” Wylie asked.

  Duncan took two steps toward Bruiser and held his arms out wide.

  “I need a hug first.”

  Dougie Day and the others laughed out loud until Bruiser fixed them with a look.

  “What the heck do you think you’re doin’, Son?” Bruiser said.

  Duncan shrugged but kept his arms out.

  “I’m sensing that this pent up aggression stems from a lack of physical contact as a child. I’m only trying to help. C’mon, give it up, Big Guy. Give us a hug.”

  Bruiser motioned for his entourage to exit by swinging an open hand toward the door.

  “We’ll be back for the weekend, Dallas,” Bruiser growled.

  “I’m giving you fair warning.”

  He turned to leave, stopped, and turned back around. He pointed at Duncan without looking at him.

  “And keep him away from me.”

  Thirty-six

  Wylie Westerhouse

  Branson, Missouri

  Saturday morning I found Quentin giving hand signals to a dump truck driver. The driver was backing his truck behind the castle. The truck carried a partial load of local stone. Q gave the driver the thumbs up and the bed began to rise.

  “What’s this all about, Q?” I asked.

  “You can’t guess?” he asked.

  I saw a border area marked off with orange paint, just beyond where the pile of rocks lay.

  Of course. Dummy.

  “Birdville, McIntyre Castle Edition,” I said.

  I raised my hands into the air.

  “Come hither, ye homeless sparrows of the Country Club. Thy palaces await thee.”

  “Absolutely,” Q said. “For a second there, I thought you hadn’t been paying attention.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been a little distracted lately.”

  “I have a sure-fire cure for distractions,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Sparrow ranching.”

  It was early, hours before our first tour of the weekend. When the dump truck was empty, Quentin thanked the driver and sent him on his way. He started sorting through the rock.

  “Do you want some help?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “You don’t have someone else to do this?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “Paid labor is not allowed in the bird village. That’s the way it should be. Don’t you think?”

  “I thought I was getting overtime,” I said as I picked up a forty pound boulder. The first beads of sweat ran down my neck.

  I placed the boulder down along the farthest orange border and looked up to see Quentin glaring at me.

  “Kidding,” I said. “I’m kidding.”

  “Wylie, I need to tell you about something before you hear it through the grapevine,” Q said.

  “Uh, oh,” I said, “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Q made a face and shook his head.

  “It’s not that big a deal. It’s just that I’ve had meetings with my financial adviser and my accountant for the last three days.”

  Q sighed.

  “It seems that oil production has either plateaued or fallen off, and I haven’t exactly been frugal of late.”

  “So, are you in trouble, or what?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “I’ve just been advised to rein things in. I sold my other cars. They were a ridiculous expense in the first place. I haven’t driven anything other than the Goldfinger since I bought it. The money I’ve been paying to store them is more than—well, more than some people pay for a house, for example.”

  I’m sure he meant my house.

  “Some things I’ve done have been just silly,” Q said. “Almost every time that investment opportunities come up, I choose the ones with the most risk. Two overseas enterprises have gone belly-up within weeks of each other.”

  “Are you sure you’re not in trouble?” I asked.

  “I’ll never lie to you, Wylie,” he said. “Come on now. I’d like to put up the Sparrow Edition of Castle McIntyre and its neighboring restaurant before the first tour. We know what sparrows do after they’ve eaten, or before they’ve eaten, or pretty much every two minutes—so, I would like to have the rock garden in place ahead of time.”

  “Wylie, are you out—”

  I heard Holly coming but I wasn’t expecting her to run around the nearest corner. Quentin was holding a boulder that weighed close to sixty pounds when Holly crashed into him. I was close enough behind him to stop his fall but the rock caught his shin and my foot on the way down. That wasn’t enough of a distraction.

  Dallas and Elizabeth McIntyre were right behind Holly. I saw them look at Quentin in horror and turn and run into each other as they attempted to run back the way they had come. Well, “run” isn’t the right word. They attempted to float back the way they had come.

  “I got him, I got him, I got him,” I said to Holly, who jerked her hands away from Quentin like he was on fire.

  “Thank you,” Quentin said. “Thank you. I’m fine.”

  “Oh, Mr. Lynchburg,” Holly said. “Your leg is bleeding. I’m so sorry.”

  Q glanced down at his pant leg for a second. He raised his eyes and looked around. He turned in a circle.

  “Is someone going to tell me who those people are?” he asked.

  “What people—?” Holly started.

  “Holly,” I whispered.

  I shook my head.

  “No, Holly. This was going to happen sooner or later.”

  “I know that, but—we don’t have the time, now, Wylie,” Holly pleaded. “That’s why we were coming for you just now. Baron has a plan to stop Bruiser but he needs your help. We only have—”

  “Baron?” Quentin said. “Baron needs to stop a Bruiser—?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lynchburg,” Holly said, trying to stay calm.

  I hope someone can stay calm.

  “We don’t have time to explain,” Holly said. She put her hands on her hips and sighed.

  “I’ll tell you enough to likely drive you mad, but Wylie and I will have to leave. I have to ask you to trust me.”

  “Okay,” Quentin said, looking at me uneasily and then back at Holly.

  “The disruptions we’ve experienced during the tours were caused by a dozen members of the recently deceased—led by Mr. Bruiser Brady.”

  “Recently deceased?” Q said.

  “Ghosts, Mr. Lynchburg,” Holly said. “Poltergeists, undead, spirits with unfinished business—whatever your choice of names. They’ve made a sport of tormenting our visitors— the lances thrown against the wall, flying candlesticks, burning logs flying through the air—we can’t be sure that they won’t do something worse.”

  Quentin put a hand to his chin. He dropped his hand and threw his hands in the air.

  “I’ll just shut it down,” he said. “I can’t stand by and wait for someone to be injured—or…”

  “It’s not that simple, Q,” I said.

  “Why not?” he asked. He dropped his hand. “And who is this Baron?”

  “That’s what I mean,” I said. “The castle is still home to six members of the McIntyre family.”

  Q’s jaw went slack.

  “So that’s who… Why could I see them just a few minutes ago?” Q asked. “I’ve never seen them before—”

  I looked at Holly and then at Q.

  “Holly sees them, and her ability is transferable by touch.”

  Q stared long and hard at the castle.

  “I’ve known that something was going on in ther
e,” he said. “From the first day. How long have they been—? Wait…”

  He ticked off several fingers. “Five hundred—six hundred years?”

  “Give or take,” Holly said.

  “At the party,” Quentin said. “Brian McAllen told me that he had gotten a call from one of the Spaniards that quit his crew. He said they were all ready to go back to work, but not at this place. Brian said that he believed them. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know much, Mr. Lynchburg,” Holly said. “But the only family that I have left lives inside of this castle. And they’re not of any Devil.”

  Q breathed in and out three times.

  “I’ll stop interrupting you, then. Do what you need to do,“ Q mumbled. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

  “Thank you. Mr. Lynchburg,” Holly said.

  “Thanks, Q,” I said. “We’ll explain everything as soon as we have time.”

  Q looked up and around again before looking at me.

  “Just tell me one thing, first,” he said. He pointed over his left shoulder with his thumb. “Are there two men in overalls sitting on that tree limb?”

  I looked up and then turned to Holly.

  “That’s Butch and Ernest Atkins,” she said. “They’re harmless. They will most likely fade from view soon after we go.”

  Q nodded.

  “I’ll be right here—me and the sparrows—probably carrying on a conversation,” Q said. “That doesn’t sound as odd as it used to.”

  “Tours begin at one,” Holly said as she turned.

  “Oh, I’ll be there,” Q said, pulling at his pant leg to inspect the damage. “If this is to be our Final Hurrah, then I’ll be the Captain of the Titanic—or perhaps a member of the band that plays on as the ship goes down.”

  “What is he talking about?” Holly asked me.

  “He watches a lot of movies.”

  Thirty-seven

  Holly McFadden

  Branson, Missouri

  Holly held Wylie’s hand as they made their way inside the castle. She slowed for a moment, and then stopped and dropped his hand.

  “We can’t do this,” she said.

  “What?” Wylie asked. “We have to at least try.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about Mr. Lynchburg. If today determines the fate of the castle, then he has the right to see it. Right now he just thinks he’s hooked up with a pair of nutters.”

  “Okay then. Let’s go—”

  “I’ll do it. You find Mr. McIntyre.”

  Holly found Quentin sitting in a lawn chair, his legs extended and his eyes closed.

  “Mr. Lynchburg?” Holly said.

  Quentin jumped to his feet.

  “Is it over already? What happened?” he asked.

  “Hasn’t even started,” Holly sighed. “You’re in the middle of this whole thing through no fault of your own,” she said.

  Holly held out her hand.

  “This could be our last day, Mr. Lynchburg. It would be a shame if you missed it.”

  Quentin took Holly’s hand and cut his eyes toward the tree limb.

  “They’re inside with everyone else,” Holly said. “There’ll be no time for introductions, so stay with me and I’ll find us a place to hide.”

  They walked hand-in-hand toward the castle.

  “One more thing,” Holly said. “The chubby man in the jumpsuit isn’t the real Elvis, so keep your wits about you.”

  Holly led Quentin through the kitchen and the parlor. She left him underneath the staircase.

  Quentin watched Holly sneak back the way that they had come. She entered the great room through the long hallway.

  “Hi.”

  Quentin nearly swallowed his tongue. He jumped up and hit his head on the bottom of a step.

  “Thanks a lot, Wylie,” he winced, grabbing the top of his head. “What are you—? Wait. You’re not Wylie.”

  “Yes, I know,” Duncan said. He bowed. “Duncan Westerhouse. Pleased to meet you. You must be Mr. Lynchburg.”

  “You’re…you’re Wylie’s brother?” Quentin asked.

  “Yes sir,” Duncan said.

  Quentin reached toward a railing with a trembling hand.

  “I’m afraid I have to sit down,” he said.

  “Sure, thing, Sir,” Duncan said. “Not exactly another day at the office, huh?”

  Quentin shrugged.

  “I’ve only had everything I thought I knew turned upside-down over the course of an hour, that’s all.”

  “Completely understandable, sir,” Duncan said.

  “Could I ask a favor? Duncan?”

  “Uh, I guess so,” Duncan stammered. “I’m not a genie or anything, though. What do you need?”

  Quentin rubbed the knot on his head.

  “Stop calling me ‘sir’. I don’t like it.”

  Duncan chuckled.

  “That sounds like something Wylie would say.”

  “I take that as the highest form of compliment, Duncan,” Quentin said. “A brother of Wylie Westerhouse is a friend of mine.”

  “Thank you, Mr.—”

  Quentin shook his head.

  “Call me Quentin. Or just ‘Q’.”

  “As you wish, Q.”

  “So why are you hiding under here?” Quentin asked.

  “Mrs. McIntyre said I should stay away from Mr. Brady, especially today. I made him mad.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I tried to hug him.”

  Quentin snorted a laugh.

  “Well, obviously you should stay away from him. You’re a stark raving lunatic.”

  Duncan smiled.

  “Do you have any idea what’s about to happen?” Quentin asked.

  “Nope,” Duncan said. “But whatever it is, Wylie is in the middle of it.”

  “Well, he’s had to perform under pressure before,” Quentin said. “What kind of odds do you give us?”

  “Anything can happen today, Q.”

  “What’s special about today?”

  “It’s Dancing Monkey Day.”

  Thirty-eight

  Wylie Westerhouse

  Branson, Missouri

  I watched Holly lead a confused Quentin Lynchburg through the entry hall before leaving him under the stairs. Dallas McIntyre, Elizabeth, and I watched Holly rub Quentin’s forearm before she left him. Dallas and Elizabeth looked at me. I shrugged.

  “I’m so sorry, Holly,” Elizabeth said. “We should have kept our distance—”

  “It’s not your fault,” Holly said. “I’m the one that ran straight into him. It can’t be helped now.”

  “Wylie,” Dallas McIntyre said. ”I’ve had an idea and I need your help.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Whatever I can—”

  “Do you have your music box with you?”

  “My what?”

  “Your box that plays music, Wylie,” Holly said. “Is it here?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure. It’s in the storeroom on the top floor—by the elevator. Why?”

  “Come, then,” Dallas said. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  “La la la la la la lala laaaaa,” I heard as we climbed up the stairs to the second floor. I slowed as we passed the room where Arabella was singing. She looked my way and then turned her back to me. She continued singing scales without interruption. Man, she made scales sound good. Baron beckoned me impatiently.

  I’ve now regressed from international performer to apprentice tour guide to stage hand. Following my current career trajectory, within a year, I will be reduced to a small blob of mucus—or perhaps even a booger.

  Dallas McIntyre led me to the Juliette balcony that extended over the first floor. He explained his plan and my role in it, and then he left me there to think about it.

  A crowd gathered outside. Thankfully, there was only a small representation of the media—nothing like the frenzy from a couple of weeks ago.

  I looked the crowd over from a second story window and spotted Nate and Tooi
e.

  I checked my watch. I only had a few minutes.

  I was happy to see them. It seemed like it had been forever since Nate and I spent any time together. Nate and Tooie had tickets for the second tour of the day.

  “Where is this mystery girl, Wyles?” Nate asked. “I can’t believe I still haven’t met the One who has melted that cold, cold heart.”

  “Shh. Dang it, Nate,” I said, looking around. “You’ll get my butt kicked if she hears you.”

  “Ooooh,” Tooie said. “He’s afraid of her, too. I like this girl already.”

  “May I?” Nate asked me.

  “Please do,” I said.

  “Shut up, Tooie,” he said.

  Tooie giggled.

  “Sorry I couldn’t help you out last weekend,” Nate said. “My folks were only in town for a couple of days.”

  “No worries,” I said. “Sunday was smooth.”

  “Wylie?”

  “Here she is now,” I said. “Holly McFadden, these are my friends, Nate, and Tooie.”

  “My real name is Aimee,” Tooie said with a glare in my direction. “But you may call me whatever you like.”

  Tooie held out her hand.

  “I’m pleased to meet you both,” Holly said. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve had a bit of a cold. It wouldn’t be very nice of me to give it to you. Wylie, you haven’t forgotten about the… the staff meeting, have you?”

  “No, no,” I said. “I was just on my way in—”

  “Wow,” Nate said. “Staff meetings. Next, there will be conference calls and marketing seminars…”

  Nate pretended to wipe a fake tear from his eye.