The Mystery in Dracula's Castle (2 page)

"Imagine missing a guy like that," Leonard thought disgustedly. "How can Alfie stand him? Anybody would be better to have around than old Dracula Morgan."

But that was before Leonard Booth arrived at the old cottage at the beach. Before the summer was over, "Dracula Morgan" would begin to look like a dear old friend to Leonard Booth.

Marsha Booth stopped the car in front of the family's weatherworn beach cottage.

She sighed happily. "The old town hasn't changed a bit since last summer, and neither has the cottage."

"It sure hasn't," Alfie replied in a rather gloomy voice. "Just about what I expected."

His mother breathed deeply as she stepped from the car. "Mmm! This air is so wonderful — and everything's so quiet!"

"Yeah — quiet," Leonard said dismally, following her up the walk.

Mrs. Booth looked down at the boys. "There will be plenty for all of us to do, if that's what you're thinking about. With the deadline coming up on my book, I won't be able to spend much time with you. But, Alfie, you're going to be busy making your film. And you'll be helping Alfie, won't you, Leonard?"

Leonard shook his head. "No thanks. I want to be a detective, not an actor. And there's nothing to detect in this dead place."

Marsha Booth smiled. "Sherlock Holmes found some of his most exciting cases on the English moors — and I can't think of a deader place than the English moors."

Later, as Leonard bumped the last suitcase up the cottage steps, he was thinking of lonely English moors and Sherlock Holmes. "It still doesn't look too hopeful around here," he thought. "Sherlock Holmes!" He sighed. "Hmmm!"

By the time the Booth family had unpacked, settled, and finished a picnic supper on the verandah, stars were already shining above the Pacific.

Mrs. Booth yawned. "This sea air is making me sleepy," she said. "Anybody else feel like turning in?"

"Okay with me, Mom." Alfie yawned. "I want to get an early start tomorrow on the filming of my
Dracula
movie."

Leonard said nothing, but he led the way into the house.

"You can have the bed nearest the window, Leonard," Alfie said as they went into their room. "I need the wall space over this bed for my Dracula poster."

"Okay," Leonard said absentmindedly. He was examining the window screen through his magnifying glass. "Hey, Alfie! Look at this. Someone tried to get in through the window. The screen's ripped."

Alfie was trying to juggle his poster, a hammer, and a tack as he stood on his bed. He glanced toward the window screen. "You mean somebody's been trying to get
out
. That screen's pushed out, not in. I hate to say it, Leonard, but you make a lousy detective."

"Well, I'm just learning," Leonard replied calmly, putting down the magnifying glass and starting to make his bed. "Even Sherlock Holmes had to begin somewhere I guess."

A few minutes later, Alfie jumped down from his bed and stepped back to admire Dracula's fiendish face on the wall. Then he walked over to one of the two small desks in the room.

"While you're learning how Sherlock did it, I'm going to get out my Super-8 editing equipment. If I'm going to make my Dracula film, I've got to get organized."

He looked back at the poster, frowned, and sighed. "I'm never going to find anybody in this town to play Dracula."

Leonard didn't answer. He had finished making his bed and was bent over the magnifying glass again, pulling a few short strands of dark hair off the screen.

"You know, Leonard," Alfie continued, still looking at the poster, "I might just have to make you an actor again."

Leonard carefully placed the hairs on the night table by his bed. He didn't answer.

"Hey, Leonard." Alfie walked over to his brother's bed. "I said maybe I'd have to make you an actor again."

Leonard looked up. "Me? I'm not a Dracula— if that's what you're thinking. I'm not the type."

Alfie squinted at his brother. "With the right makeup it might just possibly work."

"I'm Sherlock Holmes," Leonard said firmly.

Alfie hooted. "Sherlock Holmes?
You
!"

"Why not?"

"There are a couple of reasons at least," Alfie replied. "First of all, you don't have a Watson. Everybody knows Sherlock Holmes depended a lot on his assistant. And second — whoever heard of a detective who went around detecting by peeking between his fingers?"

"I don't plan to peek," Leonard answered coolly.

"Aw, come on, Leonard. Dracula is a great character. Anybody with
guts
would jump at the chance to play Dracula."

"Not me," Leonard replied.

"Hey! What's that?" Alfie pointed to a nestlike heap of bottle caps, silver-foil gum wrappers, and one silver circle-shaped pin, in a corner of the bedroom.

Leonard picked up his magnifying glass. "Hey! It might be a clue!"

"Clue! A clue to what? Honestly, Leonard, you don't need a magnifying glass to see that. It's only a heap of junk." Alfie reached out to put the odds and ends into a nearby wastepaper basket.

"Wait, Alfie!" Leonard exclaimed. "Maybe it's a rat's nest." Leonard reached over to the night table and held up the hairs. "See. I've already found these."

"So what?" Alfie asked disgustedly. "What's so mysterious about a rat's nest?"

"It would explain the busted screen," Leonard said proudly. "A rat lives here. I've solved my first case."

Alfie groaned and rolled his eyes toward Dracula's poster. "Rats!"

Then suddenly he straightened up. "Rats! Say, that reminds me. Dracula has power over rats. All he has to do is say, 'Come here rats!' and over they come. In fact, they protect his coffin during the day."

Leonard groaned. "That guy again! Can't you get your brain on something else for a change?"

Alfie backed away and framed his hands around his eyes as though he was looking through a viewfinder. He gazed at Leonard. "You know, it would make a great scene. I'll have a big close-up of a man-eating rat — two rodent teeth dripping blood. Then I'll pull back and —" He broke off as Leonard hurriedly turned away and began examining the screen again. "Oh, go to bed! You just don't have any imagination, Leonard. Anyway, we're going to start shooting tomorrow."

Leonard didn't look as though he'd heard a word. He jumped into bed and watched as Alfie quickly made his own bed, "Hey, Alfie — leave the light on?"

Alfie promptly flipped it off. "Don't be a scaredy-cat," he said disgustedly.

Leonard didn't say a word, but his glance went to the broken window screen. Suddenly he ducked down and pulled the covers up over his eyes.

There was absolute quiet in the moonlit room.

The boys had been asleep for an hour when wild shrieks brought Alfie upright in bed, and Mrs. Booth hurrying to the boys' room.

She flicked on the light. There was Leonard hopping up and down and screeching at the top of his lungs.

"What's the
matter
?" she cried, rushing to him.

"Help! The rat, Mom! It's on my bed!"

"
Rat
!" His mother looked in horror at the rumpled bed.

Alfie blinked in the light. "Is
that
all!" he exclaimed. "I thought something must be really wrong. You just think you saw a rat."

"I did. I did!" Leonard cried. "I heard it scratching and gnawing.
It's on the bed now
! Look!" He pointed toward the foot of his bed.

Even Alfie had to admit that there was a large bump under the covers. He looked at it admiringly. "Say, that's the biggest rat I ever saw."

Marsha Booth fearfully eyed the bumped-up covers. As she looked the bump moved beneath the blankets. "Stand back, boys," she ordered, then walked grimly toward the bed. With a quick flick she pulled the covers away.

"It's a dog!" the Booth boys cried out in one voice.

Mrs. Booth laughed in relief. "And a nice one. With fleas too, I suppose. There! He's wagging his tail at us. Come on, doggie. We're not going to hurt you!" She turned to the boys. "I wonder how on earth he got in here?"

The dog, a raggedy, bright-eyed little mutt, looked from one member of the family to another, yawned, and curled up again.

"Looks like he's staying too," Mrs. Booth said. "Squatters' rights, I guess you'd call it."

"Can we really keep him?" Leonard asked excitedly.

"As long as he wants to keep us," his mother answered.

Leonard leaned over and patted the newcomer. "I think I'll call you Watson," he said.

"Watson!" Alfie exclaimed. "Some people can't think about anybody but Sherlock Holmes."

"And some people can't think about anybody but Dracula," Leonard said calmly.

Mrs. Booth laughed. "And I know one person who can't think about anybody but Sleeping Beauty — and that's me." She flicked off the light. "Goodnight, boys. You too, Watson."

The door closed, and once again the room was flooded with moonlight.

Alfie punched at his pillow. "Don't forget, Leonard — we have to be on location early. Get some sleep."

Leonard wriggled his toes until they pressed against Watson, who had already settled down for the night. "Where's 'location,' Alfie?"

Alfie gave his pillow another punch. "I don't know yet," he said crossly. "That's why we have to get up early. We've got to
find
one."

Late afternoon shadows were growing long and steep before Alfie found the ideal location to begin filming his horror movie.

He looked along the length of the alleyway that ran past the sheriff's office and the town jail. "Filming is running far behind schedule," he said sternly. "But I think this alley might work out as an outdoor set. Leonard, put on your cape and go over there," Alfie pointed out a distance up the alley, "then turn around and run toward me
fast
. Make your cape fly out. I want you to look batlike."

Leonard started off, Watson at his heels. When Leonard was in position, Alfie lifted the camera.

"Now, run," he called. "Wait! Wait, Leonard. Get that dog out of there. Who ever heard of Dracula with a dog?"

Before five more minutes had passed, Alfie was desperate. "Leonard, that dog's got to go. This is the third take he's ruined."

Leonard skidded to a stop and looked back over the shoulder of his long black Dracula cape. "Go back, Watson!" he managed to say in spite of the fact that the sharp pearly fangs he was wearing made speech a little difficult.

Just then the sheriff of the small beach town, Sheriff Wyndham, stepped out of the back door of his office. "Is that stray bothering you?" he asked.

"Yes," Alfie said shortly.

"No," Leonard exclaimed. "He's a good dog."

The sheriff grinned. "Good for nothing, you mean. That's the thievingest mutt in the county. I'm going to have to do something about him sometime. He thinks he owns the place."

"He sure does," Alfie said grumpily.

"Trouble — that's the name for him. Wherever that dog goes — and the dog goes everywhere — there goes Trouble."

Leonard took off the pearly fangs and dropped them in his pocket. He bent down and put his arms around Watson. "His name
isn't
Trouble. It's
Watson
."

"You can call him anything you like, son. He's still Trouble to me."

As the sheriff turned he saw that Bill Wasdahl, the man who owned the small jewelry store across the street, was locking up for the day. "Say, now, I have to catch Bill before he leaves. I meant to see him earlier." He looked at Watson. "Seriously kids, keep an eye on that dog. He'll steal you blind. And you'd better find another location for your filming. I don't want you playing around the jail."

"I thought Mr. Wilson was the sheriff," Alfie said, glancing at the star on the sheriff's jacket.

"Wilson retired. I've taken his place. The name is Wyndham. Now run along, kids." He looked at Alfie. "Anyone with your imagination can find another location, I'll bet."

Alfie sighed. "This is just about the best alley in town. But okay. I guess we can find another. Come on, Leonard. Put your fangs back on. I want to get this outdoor shot before the light goes."