“Ah, yes, sorry. The slang word around here is ‘penis.’” Not true at all, but whatever. She’s from the States—she doesn’t know any better. “So, the Boaby Stone, was it everything you dreamed of?”
We’re standing outside the entrance to the Boaby Stone cave, a pack of tourists filtering in and out, either completely satisfied or vastly disappointed by the sight before them. I’ve spent all morning pulling tourists to the side before they hop back on their buses to conduct a little survey I put together.
“It was beautiful. I really felt the Iron Crowns energy in there, and I swear I could hear Sir Armaden’s screams when his penis was cut off.”
Oh-kay, not a real thing that happened, lady, but whatever. She’s making Scotland her bitch, so I’m going with it.
“Fascinating.” I pretend to write something down. “Did you take a picture in front of it?”
“Oh yes. I’m here with a group of my friends, and we pretended to chop each other’s boobs off.”
How . . . pleasant.
“You guys are a gas,” I say, pushing her arm playfully. “Wish I got in on that action.”
“We can go back if you want. Add you to the group picture.”
“Oh no, no, that’s okay. You don’t want a stranger in those memories, anyway.” I clear my throat and add, “Did you get a chance to walk through town? Corsekelly is quite lovely.”
“We did,” she says. “We petted Fergus and took a few pictures with him.”
“Did he scream for you?” I ask.
“No, does he do that?”
“I guess only for the lucky souls,” I answer. Even though Fergus and I have started a little love affair, he still screams to make himself known. Not sure I’ll ever get over it. “So, did you visit any places of business?”
“Stopped into the Mill Market for a boaby shirt and got a funny-looking candy. Curly Wurly—never heard of it.”
“Oh, they’re good,” I say, knowing full well I have only one left. I purchased them as a bribery tool for Rowan, but somehow they ended up in my belly. Jury is still out on how that exactly happened.
“Can’t wait to try them.”
“So that’s it? No other places?”
“Nope, that’s it.”
“Uh-huh, no . . . coffee?”
“Oh, well, we were craving some coffee, and this would be a great time for a pick-me-up, but from the reviews online, we knew this wasn’t the place to get it. So we’re waiting for two more stops.”
“On-online?” I stutter, trying not to blow my cover.
“Yes, the bus company has a forum for tourists where we can review places on the route and talk about all the musts to stop into. The Mill Market was one of them. So was Murdach’s Wee Bakeshop. My friend Kacee grabbed us some haggis pies for the road.” Meredith points to her chest. “Making Ireland our bitch.”
“Scotland.”
“What?” she asks.
“Scotland.” I motion to her shirt. “You’re making Scotland your bitch.”
“What did I say?”
“Ireland.”
“Ohh.” She laughs. “That’s next.”
The bus driver honks the horn, and she looks back at her friends, who are waving for her to join them.
“Well, I’d best be going.”
“Yes, don’t want to miss out on any of the other stops. Thank you so much for your time. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course.” She gives me an awkward high five and then takes off.
I tap my pen against my chin as I watch the bus pull away. Once it’s out of sight, I make a beeline for the coffee shop.
I need to see this online forum.
“Not worth your time. Barely any seating, coffee leaves much to be desired. Nice owners, but horrible selection, there is none at all. What’s with the chairs? Were they made in the 1800s? I was served a hot chocolate packet, and I had to stir it on my own.” I look up from Dakota’s computer. “These are all comments on the tour bus forum, clear as day, right under the Corsekelly stop. No wonder no one comes in here. And this is just one tour bus company. How many others do you think are like this?”
Dakota is sitting in the chair across from me, legs crossed. “Uh-huh.” She stares off into the distance.
“Hello,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of her face. “Did you hear me? These reviews are awful.”
“What? Oh yeah, they’re bad. Totally killing business.”