Chapter 02

Gold City was, indeed, in the middle of nowhere. Our GIS told us that the nearest towns were Lonesome Ledge with a population of twenty-eight and Indian Springs (how on earth had that name not yet been changed?) population five. We had been driving through empty desert for over an hour since we cleared the north Riley suburbs.

We did make the planned stop at one of those mega-gas stations with one hundred gas pumps and a huge, brightly lit, interior with people yelling at you about food that you would never even think about otherwise. I expected Shaggy to go crazy buying all of the various assortments of candy-covered everything that was arrayed in rows on the myriad of shelves. But he disappeared. I will admit that I ended up with a bag of caramel-coated cashews.

When we got back to Daphne's car, Shaggy was waiting with his eyes bloodshot. Scooby was muttering under his breath.

Shaggy slurred out some words. "I'm really starving. Can I run in real quick and grab some things?"

"No." said Daphne and she got into the car and started the engine. As we drove, Shaggy and Scooby's stomachs rumbled as loudly as the tires on the worn asphalt.

It was after sunset when we arrived in Gold City. Considering it was the Friday of Spring Break, the streets seemed deserted. It was a ghost town. Figuratively, of course. There were still some small souvenir stores and convenience stores open, although the sales staff were sitting in chairs out on the sidewalks, looking at their phones. Most of the restaurants were closed up even though it was the dinner hour.

Daphne said it first. "Shouldn't this place be full of Walmart people or something?"

My turn. "Daphne, everyone in this car but you is a Walmart person."

"Rye'm rot."

"A Walmart person or Walmart dog."

"Rhat's retter."

Daphne was unabashed. "Well, isn't this the kind of place that your people flock to during Spring Break?"

I wasn't going to get Daphne to quit being Daphne in one conversation and, besides, she was right. "Yes, it is. The sidewalks should be teaming with families with school-age children tonight." My dad had drummed tourist target market groups into my head all summer. As if I was ever going to take over the family business. They weren't handing out any Nobel Prizes for Physics to people running glorified bookstores and tourist traps.

Fred asked, "Maybe it's because of these ghost sightings that you read about on the internet."

That dragged Shaggy out of his drug-induced haze. "Like, what? Ghost? What?"

Daphne ignored him and answered Fred. "This is a ghost town. That's its schtick. A ghost sighting would bring more tourists, not less."

"Rit rould? Reople are stupid."

Shaggy would probably have agreed with his dog, but he was passed out again.

Fred was looking at the GPS on his phone. "We should probably get checked in to the hotel and then we can go searching for clues on foot. Take the next right. Look for a sign that says 'Gold City Guest Ranch'."

"Ralking through a rhost town? Rount ree out!"

I was beginning to learn to punch Scooby's buttons. "But Scooby, an empty tourist town means that the restaurants that are open will be empty, and you'll have all of the food to yourself."

Shaggy returned to the land of the conscious. "Food? Did someone say food? I've got the munchies so bad it hurts."

"Rokay, Rye'm in."

We found the hotel about a block down and nestled between a fudge shop, which was closed, and a crystal shop, which was open-complete with a bald woman in a long black dress standing in the doorway.

"Roh, rudge!"

Shaggy was beginning to come around. "Like, 'oh fudge' is right, old buddy, old pal. Fate has made it that the wrong store is open. Comfort is closed while creepy is ready and willing.

The Gold City Guest Ranch was more like a Motel 6 with fake stucco and occasional logs glued to the walls for a faux Ponderosa look. The parking lot was nearly empty, so we parked next to the lobby door and unpacked our luggage from the hatch.

A tall, portly man with longish red hair came out of the door to greet them. "Welcome! Welcome! You all must be Mystery Incorporated."

I looked at Fred. "We must be what?"

"Mystery, Incorporated. That's what we decided."

It amazed me how the 'coolest' guy in our class could be so cheesy.

Fred turned back to the man. "Yes. I'm Fred Jones. I made the reservations. Two rooms?"

"Yes sir. We're all ready for you. My name's Ben McIntyre and I own this establishment. People around here call me Big Ben. I'll call Hank to help you with your bags."

Fred smiled. "We don't need any help…"

"Nonsense!" He turned and barked over his shoulder. "Hank! Get your lazy butt out here and help these paying customers."

Hank turned out to be not much taller than me with greying hair, a slightly dark complexion but with a pallor to it as if he were ill, and a stooped posture.

"I'll show you to your rooms." Hank had the slight accent of someone who grew up in a two-language household.

Hank took my and Daphne's suitcases, leaving the boys on their own. I, in turn, took Scooby's suitcase from Shaggy since Scooby's lack of an opposable thumb gave him an excuse to carry nothing. Hank led us up the stairs from the lobby to the sound of the thump thump thump of our rolling luggage hitting each step. We then followed him down a poorly-lit corridor with worn carpeting and peeling paint on the walls.

He opened two doors. "That'll be the girls' room and you fellas can bunk in this one just across the hall."

After what we had walked through to get here, I was pleasantly surprised that the inside of the room appeared to be clean and modern.

Nature abhors a vacuum and Daphne abhors silence. "These sure are nice rooms. How long have you worked here, Hank?"

"Not long. I took the job about a year ago. Things were still busy then."

"Do you live here… at the hotel?"

Hank stiffened briefly at the question and then answered. "No. I live a few miles from here and commute."

I took up the conversation. "I can't understand why the place is empty. Why did people quit coming?"

"I don't know. It could be the ghost, I guess."

Shaggy chimed in. "See! Some people are smart enough to stay away from ghosts."

Daphne carried on. "I read about that. It's supposed to be the ghost of an old miner?"

"Big Ben named him the Miner Forty-Niner. He came here to Gold City in 1849 and the poor thing's soul was so consumed with greed that he can't rest until he finds the last vein of gold. If you listen closely, at night, you can hear the mine moaning, calling for the miner. Beckoning him to continue his quest."

That was pretty detailed and my curiosity was peeked. "Where did you get that background information?"

"Ben made it all up for the tourists. He thought it might boost visits."

Shaggy made his point again. "But it kept them away, instead."

"Maybe. And maybe the Flu outbreak had something to do with it."

"Flu outbreak?" Fred finally got a chance to join in.

"Yes, for the last two months, whenever there is a tour of the mine, several people come out with Flu symptoms. And, after tomorrow, I'm going away myself."

We reached our doors but Daphne wasn't finished. "Can we go into the mine?"

Shaggy sputtered. "Can we… You want to… Say what now?!"

Hank almost smiled. "A self-guided mine tour comes with the package you paid for. You can go anytime between 9:00 AM and 7:00 PM. But for tonight, here are your keys." He handed one old-fashioned metal key to Daphne and the other to Fred. "You young people have a good night now. Breakfast starts at 6:00 and ends at 9:00. Just let Big Ben know at the desk when you plan on taking the tour. It's a safety precaution."

"Is there any way we can stay someplace that safety precautions aren't needed?" Shaggy said to the older man's retreating back.