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Clive inclined his head. “Sure thing. You two have a nice time.”
He winked at me through the rearview mirror.
Together, Duncan and I exited the car. He stepped to a large, posted map of Eureka Springs, completely oblivious to what just transpired. To my discovery about him.
The summer’s late afternoon air was warm. Regardless, I tightened my arms around me and stared.
“Where to?”
“The trolley stop is up here.” He pointed to a brick building and a metal, green awning where at least eight others waited their turn to board a trolley.
“Do all these people live here?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. Most of the homes have been turned into B&Bs to accommodate the tourists. The town is on the national historic registry, so they get a huge influx of people who come just to see the old houses. Add the events to it, and it’s a real show.”
“Events?” I propped my shoulder against the trolley stop’s green support beam.
Nearby, a woman with black hair and wearing a tank top and jeans overheard our conversation and perked up.
“They do something different practically every weekend,” she said. “Stan and I came during October last year for the ZombieCrawl. They had something like five thousand visitors packing in to see people dressed and parading like zombies. It was wicked.”
“Definitely fit in with the ghost thing going on here,” the man I assumed was Stan answered.
“The ghost thing?”
I’d read of the supernatural happenings around the town during my brief research during our flight here. Eureka Springs offered regular ghost tours to cover the town’s eerie history. The Crescent Hotel was certifiably haunted.
Duncan said something about Mustang Week that made the couple laugh.
“Didn’t you hear? Ghosts interfere with GPS. That’s why so many people get turned around. Probably a big joke to them.”
The three of them laughed again.
“Have they done Mustang Week before?” I asked.
“They did Corvettes last year,” Stan said as a green trolley with three wide front windows, a white roof, and a wide black bumper reminiscent of a vaudeville villain’s mustache pulled to a stop.
Its screen displayed the word, “Red,” along the front with a matching screen running down the side.
VeryHello, Dolly!All the vehicle lacked was the cables overhead to keep it on its track.
“Red track, that’s us. You going to see the historic homes?” the woman asked.
I wasn’t sure what our plans were, so I said as much. “We’re just out to see the town,” I added.
“Make sure you take the tram tour,” the woman instructed as the trolley’s doors opened. “You find out all kinds of interesting things about the town’s history. They even take you up to that haunted hotel.”
She and Stan climbed on, and Duncan and I waited for several others to board before joining as well. We greeted ourdriver and showed our trolley passes before turning to find a seat.
Except there were none to take.
The trolley was packed with people. The front-facing benches along the back were filled. Benches lined the sides, allowing those who were seated to look out the opposite window. They were all full, too.
Black leather straps hung down along the gold poles lining the trolley’s ceiling. I suspected they carted as many people as could fit in these things if the occasion called for it.
“Looks like we’re standing.” Duncan reached for the nearby strap.
A lump rose in my throat. Anticipation built, from the look he gave me, he sensed it, too.
