The Adventures of Lauren MacPhearson

By gay toltl kinman

Lauren, 9 1/2, who comes from Scotland, has elective mutism, but that doesn't stop her from having adventures, which she tells us about in four stories of her encounters with thieves, bears, forest fires, white water, biting horses, stolen art and ghosts from April to August.

- Lauren MacPhearson and the Scottish Adventure -
In April, in Scotland, Lauren stays the weekend with her father, where he works, sees the Company's cat, Ginger, catch her own special brand of "mice," and watches a pain-in-the-neck eat crow pie.

- Lauren MacPhearson and the Colorado Adventure -
In June, Lauren flies to a Colorado Dude Ranch to meet cousin Andi, Aunt Daisy and Uncle Bill. She meets up with bears, forest fires, white water--and, worst of all, a three-year old boy.

- Lauren MacPhearson and the Jumbled Cupboard Adventure -
In July, in Mirasol, California, where Andi and her family live, the girls go to Summer School. Lauren is fascinated with the stuffed cupboard of a teacher, Mrs. Utamaro. So stuffed that things keep falling out of it. A beautiful poster on the inside of the cupboard door is of a wave. The original print hangs in a local museum. Or does it?

- Lauren MacPhearson and the Ghostly Adventure -
In August, while Lauren continues her visit with cousin Andi in Mirasol, she learns that her cousin is psychic. The ghost of the woman who died next door won't let Andi rest until her murder is solved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: gay toltl kinman
• Release date: Feb 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465765659

Book preview

CHAPTER 1l

GINGER AND THE TOURISTS

It is April--Saturday--and I am watching a tour group walk past Ginger. She is cat-curled on the warm metal base of the pot-still. The pot-still is where the whisky ferments. That is what the people in the tour group come to see at The Glenliffey distillery in Scotland. In the West Highlands by the river Spey, to be exact.

It is where I live.

Iain is leading the group.

A lady bends to pet Ginger. People do that all the time. The lady has a red face and white curly hair. She runs her hand over Ginger's furry spine.

Just the color of marmalade, I hear her say.

And the color of ginger, I say in my head. Marmalade is almost the color of Ginger's coat. But I think 'Ginger' suits her better. That is why I named her that.

Besides it sounds funny to say, Hi, Marmalade. But I do not say Marmalade or any words.

I love to watch the tour guides. I want to be one. But I have to 'grow up' first. I am still only nine and a half. To be a guide I have to go all the way through school. And high school. And get good grades. That is a long way off. I think to die of old age before I get there.

Today I am wearing my favorite denim overalls and a brand new turquoise tee-shirt. But I want to wear the uniform. The guides wear kilts of green tartan. It is the tartan of the clan that started the company. With the kilts, they have green knee socks and a matching V-neck sweater over a shirt. The shirt is as white as Ginger's tummy.

The guides always laugh and talk when they are together. I like being with them. Everybody calls me Lauren. Lauren MacPhearson.

The guides are a jolly group. They always have little parties to celebrate. They celebrate everything like St. Swithin's Day and a bunch of holidays nobody has ever heard of. I think they make most of them up and have a good time doing it.

There are twenty of them. Sheila and Dolley and Flora are my very favorites. I like everybody else a lot, too.

Except Iain.

Every day he tells all his groups the same thing. Just like he is doing now. I know exactly every move he is going to make. He leads them down the stairs into the pot-still room. Then he stops at the bottom. All the people are standing on the steps almost up to the top.

Iain has one foot on the floor and the other on the first step. His right hand is on the railing. He waits until everyone is quiet and watching him. Sometimes it takes a little while as everyone is oohing and ahhing at the sight of the beautiful copper pot-stills that gleam in the bright overhead lights.

When he has their attention, he says, This distillery employs the very latest technological equipment for pest control. He speaks in a big voice as if he is auditioning at our village playhouse.

He pauses. Then he brings his left hand up. He turns it over ever so slowly, slowly, slowly, turning his palm up. Now he acts like he has already got the part and he is on a stage. Then he folds in all fingers except one, and points.

To Ginger.

Everyone laughs.

For Ginger looks like she is dozing. But I see the very tip of her tail swishing.

I can tell from her tail that she does not like what he is saying.

I always want to run to Ginger. Do not let him hurt your feelings, I want to say to her. I know she is hurt.

I want to tell everyone that Ginger catnaps during the day because she works all night. She needs to rest. She works hard. I know because I see her at work.

But I say nothing.

He makes me so mad. So mad that I almost feel sick.

It is the way he says it that makes it so bad. The way he turns his hand over at the wrist. Like he is pointing out a big pile of elephant poop.

And his face looks like that is what he is seeing.

CHAPTER 2

THE SECURITY CREW

I would not say anything about seeing Ginger work at night even if I did talk. I am not supposed to be there at night.

I am here because Dad is the Head of Security. He has a cot in the corner of his office. On the weekends, it is mine. During the week, Mrs. MacCarron stays at our house while Dad works. But on the weekend she goes home to her own family.

I watch Ginger patrol at night. Nothing in the barley or the malt bins but what is supposed to be there. Or any place else for that matter. If anything moves in the building, Ginger hears it.

Even the Manager of the Distillery tells everyone the building is pest free. And we use no pesticides, he says in his deep, deep voice. I can imitate him in my head. I can imitate a lot of people. I do it in my head all the time.

No pesticides have been used in making whisky here for over 200 years. And they'll not be used now, he says. Then he hits his fist on whatever piece of furniture is close by.

But he never gives Ginger any credit.

My father does though. He gives Ginger her due praise. Dad can testify about Ginger's worth. The evidence, he says, is that there is no evidence. No kind of beasties or mousies anywhere eating anything these last four years.

That is when Ginger came to the distillery.

I know that for a fact.

But first he says, This electronic system is very sophisticated. Dad tells that to visitors. Not the people on the tour because they never see that part of the building. He tells the visitors who come to see the 'state-of-the-art' security system. That means the best there is. Visitors come from other companies all over the world. So I know the system is important. And good.

It is hooked up to the police station in town. So if someone so much as touches the high fence around the property, alarums ring there, too.

That means no one can climb on or cut through the fence.

The distillery managers in the area have one major security problem, my dad says. "Hijacking. 'Tis a long, lonely road from the Highlands to Edinburgh. One truck traveling by itself is sure to be hijacked. Even two or three.

The managers of all the distilleries have got together. They hired armed guards to travel with the trucks. Lots of trucks go together. Like a caravan. Losses are not what they used to be, Dad says.

He has told me, There's a lot of money in those cases of whisky. I thank the stars, me girl, I am not in charge of getting it all to the City. Just give me the building and the grounds to take care of. Nothing moving off down the road, thank you very much. He pats the edge of the security monitor.

And then he pats Ginger. And tells how important she is as part of the distillery's security system.

He says, She is the fourth person on my Security team. Her salary is free room and board. And she would not eat any better at a four-star restaurant, including MacDougal's. MacDougal's is Dad's favorite.

Ginger does eat well.

When the men have their tea--that is Jock and Sandy and Dad--it is a feast. It helps them with the boredom, for they try different things. Sandy likes to cook and bake and tells them what he puts in things.

Dad and Jock bring things, too. Dad has Mrs. MacCarron make food at times. He says she is a great a cook. For me, food is to eat when I am hungry, not a pastime. But for Jock and Sandy and Dad, it is something they can talk about for it is of interest to all of them, as not many things are.

I curl up like Ginger on the cot when I am sleepy. Dad does not say I have to go to bed at a certain time.

I always wake up at midnight. Maybe it is the smell of the feast. Then I watch Ginger patrol. She does it all the while the men take their half-hour tea break and eat their meal. Just as they finish, Ginger comes back. That is her tea-time. And mine.

Ginger gets home-baked bread and ayrshire cheese made at Findochty's farm down the road. Or a bit of scone with some double cream dribbled over it. Or a lamb slice carefully cut up into small pieces. Jock might give her a spoonful of gravy. A little cat dessert, he says.

Me, I do not eat. I am not hungry when I wake up. I am not hungry in the morning either. But I make up for it during the rest of the day. Between the security crew and the guides, there is enough food around for the entire Scottish army. Every day.

CHAPTER 3

THE POT-STILLS

I love to sit in the pot-still room. I watch the four giant pot-stills. Hippo bodies with giraffe necks. Two-stories tall. Each has a long snout that sticks through the wall. It makes them look like they are trapped. Trapped at the snout and at their legs which are beneath the floorboards.

They are magical. Only not magical enough. A witch has cast a spell on them. They cannot move while a human watches. That is the story I made up about them.

I watch them because they are so beautiful. Their bodies are of copper. Polished and shiny and smooth.

And watch I do.

I know they want to dance. And play. And maybe even sing.

I must to leave so they can be themselves in the moonlight. For my staying means they can not play. And I think that is a mean thing for me to do to them. Particularly when they have to be still for so long all day. I can not be that still.

I am trying to come up with names for them. All they have now are numbers stamped on metal labels at their base. No. 1, No. 2, No. 3, No. 4. I think they would like their own names, like Ginger has.

I am sure Ginger talks to them in cat talk. She spends a lot of time in their company. Like I do. She must see how they really are when there are no humans around.

When the tours come through, she is usually on No. 1 near the stairs. Other times it is No. 4. I think she moves there when she gets tired of Iain's act. It spoils the turn of his wrist when she is so far away.

I leave and close the door. Then I listen. I hope to hear them calling to each other. Or romping around. But I hear nothing.

I think they know I am listening. And the spell will not let them move.

At least, that is what I believe.

CHAPTER 4

MR. PAIN-IN-THE-NECK IAIN

Now isn't Lauren a funny name for a girl? You are a girl, aren't you? Iain smiles. I think it is a silly, show-off smirk.

I only stare at him.

He hasn't graduated from school yet, so he is the youngest guide. He is a nephew of the owner. It seems to me, the job might not be his otherwise.

He tries to be funny. Maybe he thinks then everyone will like him. He wants one particular person to like him.

Sheila.

For she is