by Nathan Roden
“But these costs are astronomical—far beyond expectations!” the man argued.
“The best is always expensive, as is bribing one’s way to the top of the priority list,” Crane said.
“Is this even legal?” the man asked.
Crane stood up and stepped around the desk. He stood over the man.
“You listen to me!” I have cleaned up your ‘inconvenient situations’ for fifteen years. I have filled half of a mental wing with the troubled students from your schools. I’m certain you remember at least some of these! Surely you recall some of the incidents that brought your faculty’s leadership into question. I took care of the dirty business, while you and your squeaky-clean and precious Board of Trustees attend cocktail parties! I have no intention of living the life of a cripple while you cry about being penniless!”
“But…there will be invoices—inquiries,” the man said. “How can we ever make such a thing a part of the official record?”
“Then make it ‘unofficial’,” Crane said.
“For that sum of money? They would demand my resignation, Adrian!”
Crane glared at the man. He reached inside his coat and brought forth some rectangular cards.
“I trust you enjoyed the educational conference last year, Roger?” Crane sneered.
Roger looked quite uncomfortable.
“Y-yes, I did. And I do appreciate you financing the trip. It was quite the experience.”
“It was my pleasure, Roger,” Crane said. “On your meager salary, I’m certain that participation in elaborate conventions is out of reach.”
“Well, I don’t know that I can fault my employers,” Roger said. “That conference was held at a rather exclusive resort, after all.”
“First rate accommodations, eh, Roger?”
“First rate, no doubt about that.”
Crane spread the five incriminating photographs across Roger’s desk.
“Even the prostitutes in the area are first-rate, eh, Roger?”
Roger’s face lost all color.
“Prosti—?” Roger stammered.
“She was not a prostitute—she said nothing about money!”
“Not a prostitute?” Crane mocked. “This lady cost me three hundred pounds. Did you actually think that a young woman who looks like that would be interested in a pot-bellied old administrator, Roger? You are a bigger fool than I imagined.”
Crane picked up one of the pictures and took a pen from his pocket. He wrote on the back of the photograph, and then tossed it on the desk among the others.
“See that these people have their money within five days,” Crane said flatly.
He turned and left the office.
Crane leaned forward at his desk and perched his hands above his keyboard.
H-o-l-l-y M-c-F-a-d-d-e-n.
Crane began to read.
“What an interesting last year you have had, young lady,” Crane purred aloud.
“Parents missing; castle home sold and relocated to America. Miss McFadden moves half-way around the world and is now employed at her former home. Parents rescued after six months shipwrecked on an uninhabited Greek Island.”
A spasm of pain escaped from Crane’s fog of medication. He slapped his good hand against his desk. He took the pill bottle from his desk drawer and wrestled it open one-handed. He popped another pill into his mouth and swallowed it with a mouthful of tea.
Crane was not worried about rationing his medication. He had an unspoken arrangement with his personal physician. That physician attended to the patients of the same hospital to which Crane’s patients were committed.
Crane walked in on the physician one day at the hospital while the physician was performing a physical exam on a young female patient. This was unusual because the patient was unconscious. Crane had turned around and left the room, without a word.
Yes, Crane’s current pain prescription had been more than ample.
“So, Miss McFadden,” Crane said to the computer screen, “is it likely that you are just an ordinary, every-day young woman? I think not. You do, in fact, have a supernaturally gifted cousin. The question is, will Miss Jamison come to you—or will you be paying us a visit? I cannot wait to meet you.”
Crane opened a desk drawer and withdrew a cell phone. He plugged it into a combination charger/scrambler. When the appropriate lights came on, he dialed a number from memory.
“Liam’s Fish and Chips,” came the greeting.
“This is Dr. Byrd,” Crane said.
“Yes, Doctor. How may I help you?”
“I would like to order the usual. The name is Holly McFadden. Last known, Branson, Missouri, in the U.S.”
“We’ll get on that straight away,” the voice said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Crane had just arranged to have Holly McFadden’s movements tracked and recorded. Crane had seldom made use of this contact, but there had been times that it came in handy. And this was one of those times.
Crane’s scrambled cell line rang ninety minutes later.
“We have a tap on her bank account,” the voice said. “She has a brand-new Master-Card that’s never been used. She hasn’t used mass transit since November. We’ll receive an alert if she books travel of any kind.”
“If you see anything at all showing that she plans to travel, I wish to know immediately,” Crane said.
“Do you want me put a tail on her?” the voice asked.
“No.”
Crane knew that men in this line of work were always anxious to offer their most expensive services. Around-the-clock human surveillance was very expensive.
“This girl has a salary, and apparently, makes a decent living,” the voice said. “But she’s not wealthy. What makes her so fascinating?”
“I was under the impression that your services were of a professional caliber,” Crane spat. “How dare you question me?”
“Easy, Doc,” the voice said. “I’m just trying to be helpful. I thought you might be interested in knowing that you’re not the only one tailing this girl.”
“You’re passing information on other clients?” Crane screamed. “How do I know you’re not selling me out right now!”
“It’s not my client, Doctor. It’s the client of a distant contact, in another country. This contact sometimes works through my networks to provide himself an extra layer of anonymity. I could not withhold this information from you in good faith.”
“It would be of great value to me to know who that client is,” Crane said.
“Oh,” the voice chuckled. “That, my friend, is just not done in a gentleman’s world!”
“But, does it have a price?” Crane asked.
There was silence.
“Everything has a price.”
The price was high, indeed. Adrian Crane went to his safe and took out several bonds. It would take a few days to turn his assets into the cash to discover who else had an interest in Miss Holly McFadden. By that time, he should be in recovery from the surgery that would give him back the use of his worthless arm.
Crane swallowed two more of his pain pills and leaned back in his chair. He waited for the euphoria to rush over him. Moments later, he stood and walked to the bookcase that covered one wall of his office. He removed a bundle of three fake books to reveal the dial of a combination lock. He dialed in four numbers and swung open a group of shelves that concealed a recessed cavity.
Crane teetered on his knees and smiled.
He looked into the display of weapons. Pistols, rifles, automatic weapons, knives, swords—enough to outfit a small army.
Crane took a curved, long-bladed knife from its place in the display. He drew it ever-so-slightly across the side of his hand. A sliver of blood escaped.
“Tara Jamison’s blood relative—under surveillance from her native Scotland,” Crane slurred. “By a former employer, no less! Oh, what wonders do you hold in store, young lady? I’ll bet you can’t wait to tell me!
“Perhaps you will tel
l me while you watch me peel Tara Jamison’s flesh!”
Sixteen
Wylie Westerhouse
Branson, Missouri
Ah, another reunion kiss with Holly McFadden. I’ve had quite a few of those already. I don’t think they’ll ever get old.
Tooie met us at the castle. We had a three-day weekend to spend in Branson. Nate and I wanted to make the most of it.
It was Friday night. Frigid temperatures prevailed on a January Branson night. However, weather doesn’t stop Quentin Lynchburg. He had built an outdoor party patio in the last couple of weeks. The patio featured a huge outdoor fireplace built into a half-wall—plus a fire-ring table. Between the two fires and two electric heater towers, you would never know that it was the dead of winter.
I popped the top on a beer and threw my arm around Duncan’s shoulder. We watched Charlotte McIntyre roasting a hot dog over the fire—a hot dog that she was not able to eat. Because Charlotte is a ghost.
“Charlotte seems to be enjoying herself, anyway,” I said.
“Yeah,” Duncan said. “It gets weird sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.”
Nate walked next to me, with his arm around Tooie. Tooie stepped away from Nate and bent over near Charlotte.
“Will you cook one for me?” Tooie asked.
“Sure!” Charlotte beamed. “How do you like it?”
“Burned to a crisp!”
“One crispy critter, coming up!”
Quentin and Oliver McFadden joined us.
“I don’t know how you do it, Q,” I said. “This patio is perfect!”
“I won’t argue with that, Wylie,” Oliver said. He looked a little sad for a moment. ”We could never have done anything like this.”
Oliver McFadden looked up and observed the majesty of the Castle McIntyre. The dramatic lighting made it stand out in a surreal fashion against the starry Branson sky.
“Holly had a lot to do with the castle’s restoration, Oliver,” Q said. “I’m just a simple country boy who stumbled into a fortune, but Holly—she has a gift. She’s a real visionary.”
“Well, Gwen and I will certainly tap into her talents when we get our own place,” Oliver said.
There was a loud burst of female laughter from near the fireplace. Holly, Tooie, Elizabeth, and Gwendoline were sharing something funny.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, Oliver,” Quentin said.
“I’m sorry, Quentin. Talk to me about what?”
Q cleared his throat.
“I want you to have it back.”
“What?” Oliver, Duncan, and I said at the same time.
“Have it back?” Oliver repeated. “The castle? Quentin, you’ve spent millions—and..and…”
“And frankly, it never should have been for sale, Oliver. This isn’t a spur of the moment decision on my part. I’ve given it a lot of thought.”
“Well…I….”
Q laughed.
“Just consider it, for now. There would be some details to sort out—but we’ll talk about it later. This weekend is about family and friends—not business.”
“Holly told me how much you paid for the place,” Oliver said quietly. “It wasn’t worth near that much.”
“No, it wasn’t. And I’ll be needing most of that money back.”
Oliver looked startled. He stared at Q until Q busted out laughing. We all joined in and laughed as well. Those girls had nothing on us.
Nate and I wolfed down a couple of hot dogs.
“So, tomorrow night,” Nate said. “Our long-awaited ‘double-date’. What do you want to do?”
“There’s plenty to pick from,” I said. “Music. Comedy. Chicken wrestling.”
Nate nodded. He scowled and turned his head.
“Chick—? What did you say?”
“I knew you weren’t listening,” I said. “What are you staring at?”
“I was just thinking…”
Nate pointed across the room.
I followed his finger. He was pointing at Duncan and Nora.
“Oh. You think so?”
“Sure. Let’s make it a triple-date. Why not?”
I looked over at Dallas and Elizabeth McIntyre. The McIntyres always look so intensely regal to me. They made me want to stand up straight. Mr. McIntyre makes me feel like I should be saluting him.
“Duncan will have to get the okay from Nora’s folks. Maybe we should help him.”
“How do we do that?” Nate asked.
“I don’t know. Stand next to him and look responsible and mature.”
“Pffft!” Nate said. “Piece of cake.”
I walked next to Duncan and whispered the plan into his ear.
“Really?” he said.
“Yes, really.”
Duncan whispered to Nora. Her eyes lit up and she nodded like crazy.
“Let’s go,” Duncan said. I motioned to Nate.
“Good evening, Mr. And Mrs. McIntyre,” I said.
“And a splendid evening it is, boys,” Dallas said.
“Sir. I have a favor to ask.”
“Certainly, Wylie.”
“Nate and I have plans to take Holly and Aimee out on the town tomorrow night.”
“How wonderful!” Elizabeth clapped her hands. “A double-date! That’s called a double-date, Dallas.”
“I know very well what it’s called!” Dallas said.
“You could have fooled me,” Elizabeth giggled.
“Anyway, Sir,” I continued. “Since we only have this weekend, we were wondering if Duncan and Nora could come with us.”
Dallas didn’t say anything. His jaw worked back and forth, but only a few sounds came out.
Elizabeth clapped her hands to her face.
“A triple-date! Oh, Dallas! Our little Nora on a triple-date!”
“Now, just hold on a minute, Lizzie,” Dallas said gruffly. “Before you get all—”
Elizabeth McIntyre turned and stood on her tip-toes to look her husband in the eye.
“Dallas McIntyre!” she growled. “Do not tell me that after everything those two kids have been through you’re going to get butt-hurt—!”
“Butt-hurt?” Dallas McIntyre’s voice boomed across the patio. Everyone fell silent.
Elizabeth grabbed Dallas’s arm and yanked on it.
“Dallas!” Elizabeth scolded in a tense whisper. “Control yourself!”
Nate turned toward the others.
“Nothing to see here, folks. Go about your business. Talk amongst yourselves.”
“What exactly do you mean by ‘butt-hurt’?” Dallas asked.
Elizabeth sighed.
“It’s just something I’ve heard people say.”
“What people?”
‘Well, Bruiser, mostly. And now Arabella says it all the time.”
Dallas shook his head.
“Say ‘yes’, Dallas,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, what?”
Elizabeth put her arms around her husband’s waist and looked up into his eyes.
Dallas smiled.
“What are you doing?”
“Our little girl is going on a triple-date tomorrow night. Say ‘yes’, Dallas.”
Dallas heaved a sigh.
“Yes, Dallas.”
Nate and I got together with Tooie to discuss where we should go. We decided on one of the Branson theaters that features a comedy variety show. We had no idea what type of entertainment Nora might enjoy. She’s no dummy, by any means—but the twenty-first century American South is certainly nothing she’s used to. Not yet.
I rented a limousine for the night. I found out later that Quentin had already paid for it. Nate or I could have driven us. We weren’t going to have anything to drink. The Missouri drinking age is still a sore subject with Holly. She had been drinking in pubs with her Uncle Seth since she turned eighteen—maybe even before that.
We stepped out onto the sidewalk. I got everyone’s attention.
&nbs
p; “Okay. This place has tables and stadium chairs, and also seats at the bars. Hopefully, we can get a table—a booth would be even better. Duncan and Nora, stay behind us, just in case. Nate and Tooie will take the lead. If the foot traffic gets tight, we go around. Waaay around. If it doesn’t look like we can get seats without Holly or me having to brush up against people, we’ll have to try something else. Everybody got it?”
There were nods all the way around.
We were pretty early for the show. One of the ticket lines had no waiting. I hurried up to the counter.
“Table for s—four, please. A booth would be excellent if you have it.”
The man behind the counter looked up. He was wearing a jester’s hat, but his expression didn’t match his jolly outfit.
“Sorry, buddy. There are two big conventions in town—and it’s Saturday night. The best I can do is a few seats at the bar. You probably won’t have four seats together.”
I sighed.
“What do you want to do, Wylie?” Nate asked.
“Wylie?” I heard someone say from behind the ticket counter.
“Wylie! It’s Wylie Westerhouse!” I heard one girl squeal somewhere to my left. Another girl did the same. And then, another.
“Oh, my God!” one girl screamed. “Is Skyler here?”
People rushed into the lobby from the restrooms. And the game-room. And outside. They were closing in quickly.
Holly squeezed my hand.
“We have to get out of here. Now!”
“Right,” I said. “We have to go, everybody!”
We walked fast to the doors, but that wasn’t going to be enough. We ran and barely made it into the limousine in time.
“Go!” I yelled to the driver. “Just….drive!”
At that moment I was glad that Quentin had already paid for the limo because he tips like a madman. The driver was going to do whatever I told him to do.
