A Breath of Dead Air (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Book 8) (17 page)

A
s Felicity
and Alice stepped from Reece’s room, leaving the two men to discuss things, she directed a worried look at her fiancé. It was obvious Rick wasn’t happy about her ultimatum, nor was she surprised. She was asking him to sit on the story of the century, and to the professional reporter this was probably the hardest thing anyone had ever asked of him.

But she kinda liked him alive. Not much fun getting married to a spook, she meant to say, and very difficult to start a family with a dead man.

“Rick didn’t look too happy,” Alice confirmed her estimation. “He really wants to go after these wrinkly old men, doesn’t he?”

“Well, he does have a point,” Felicity conceded. “It’s not much of a democracy when the men at the top have never been elected, right?”

“Yeah, it kinda defeats the purpose of the whole process, I guess.”

“Or when they turn out to be a bunch of vicious killers,” she added.

“Yep. There’s that as well. Still. I wouldn’t want Reece to go after them either. Just asking a few questions almost ended him up in the morgue.”

They both looked up in surprise when Senator Vickar suddenly popped through the wall, moments later followed by his daughter Bo, who’d decided to arrive in a more traditional way by taking the elevator. They both looked extremely agitated. “Where’s Reece? Is he all right?” Bo asked.

“He’s fine,” Alice replied with a reassuring smile. “Just some minor cuts and bruises. Nothing his personal plastic surgeon can’t fix.”

The senator seemed perturbed. “Were they the same men—”

“Who attacked you?” Felicity completed the sentence. “Yes, they were. But they’re in custody now and will be punished to the full extent of the law.”

Alice gazed at her admiringly. “Gee, Fee. You should have been a cop.”

A sigh of relief escaped the senator’s chapped, white lips. “You see, honey?” he told his daughter. “I told you everything would be all right.”

“You’re still dead, Dad,” she said ruefully. “And your Truth Bill, the project you worked on for so long, will now never see the light of day.”

“As long as you’re safe, I really don’t care.” He eyed her with ghostly tears in his eyes. “You know? I’ve realized something these last few days.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, honey, I was so wrapped up in this Truth Bill of mine that I neglected you entirely. My focus was on my political career, and now that I’m no longer able to be there for you, I see I’ve made the wrong choice.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said softly. “What you did would have helped a great many people. It would have made a real difference to a lot of lives.”

And as father and daughter discussed the senator’s fate, Felicity and Alice edged away, giving them some space. The conversation had given Felicity food for thought. Was she wrong to prevent Rick from following his heart’s desire? To stop him from writing his article and potentially changing the course of history? These men had committed crimes. They should be punished. That much she knew. But was it worth putting Rick’s life at risk?

And she was still pondering this when more surprise visitors came pouring from the elevator. Chazz Falcone, flanked by Johnny and Jerry, arrived on the floor, all three of them carrying gigantic bouquets of flowers.

When Chazz saw them, he cried out happily. “Fee! Alice!”

Both Felicity and Alice’s lips quirked up into a smile.

“Looks like the band is back together,” Alice whispered.

“Better and louder than ever,” Felicity muttered as she watched Chazz and his two goons waddle up. The scene reminded her of
Goodfellas
or
The Godfather
, only those Mafia dons had been Hollywood handsome, whereas only their mothers could possibly call these three men good-looking.

“Is this where Reece Hudson is laid up?” Johnny asked eagerly.

Alice jerked her thumb in the direction of Reece’s room. “He’s in there.”

“Oh, boy,” exclaimed Johnny. “Is he in a bad way?”

“He’ll live,” said Felicity.

Johnny’s lip trembled, his large hand bunching around the bouquet. “If I catch the guys that did this, Miss Whitehouse, I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll do exactly nothing,” growled Jerry.

“But, Jerry! They went after the great Chuck MacLachlan!”

“Didn’t you hear the lady? He’s fine! Get over it already, will ya?”

The two goons shuffled off in the direction of Reece’s room, still arguing.

Felicity watched them enter the room. “Why are they so worried?”

“Yeah,” echoed Alice. “They don’t even know Reece.”

“They’re big fans,” Chazz told them fondly. “Especially Johnny. He must have seen those Crunch Time movies at least a dozen times. He told me in the car just now he owns them on Blu-Ray, DVD, and Netflix.”

“You can’t own something on Netflix,” Alice said.

Chazz grinned. “Don’t tell that to Johnny. And then there’s the fact he feels guilty that members of his own guild did this to his favorite actor.”

“Members of his own guild?”

“Yeah, they know the bozos that did this.”

Felicity felt her heart skip a beat in excitement. “They know them?”

“Sure. They’re in the same line of business.”

“Yeah, but these guys are killers.”

“Sure, sure,” he allowed. “They’re killers and I’m in construction. Same difference. It’s a tough world out there, Fee. Sometimes you have to use a little, um, arm-twisting to get the job done, if you know what I mean.”

She knew exactly what he meant. Chazz was something of a crook himself and had made his fortune strong-arming the competition and probably breaking a few bones in the process. Now he was above all that, of course, though from the wistful look on his face he seemed to long for those good old days.

“Anyway, so I show Johnny and Jerry those pictures Ricky sent me. The gardeners checking out the Vickar place? And they recognize them, of course.” He gritted his teeth. “Makes my blood boil to know they’re the ones that went and whacked good old Job.”

“Oh, yes, he was a friend of yours, right?”

“That’s right. Used to play poker together at The Parton.”

Felicity eyed him in astonishment. “So… you know Ashley Wince?”

“Wince?” He thought for a moment. “Can’t say that I do. Who’s he?”

“He’s the one those goons were working for. The one who wanted the senator dead.”

His frown deepened. “Don’t think so, hon. Those so-called gardeners have been working for the same guy for ages. Been doing his dirty work.” He raked a hand through his orange hair. “That reminds me. I never gave Ricky the guy’s name. Been too busy planning my campaign.”

“What guy?” she asked.

“Same guy who offered me the presidency. Told me I just had to say the word and the job was mine.” He shrugged. “I told him to buzz off. Nobody owns Chazz Falcone or tells him what to do. And now that I know he killed Vickar, I’m glad I brushed him off. It’s one thing to break a few bones or bust a few heads. That’s just sound business sense. But to murder a US senator? That guy should be in jail, Fee.”

“What guy? What’s his name?”

Chazz looked from Alice to Felicity, then told them the name of Senator Vickar’s killer, before catching sight of the senator himself. “Hey, Vickar!”

The senator held up his hand in greeting. “My goodness, Chazz!”

“Looking good, old buddy!” said Chazz, well pleased. “For a dead man, at least,” he added a little insensitively. “My condolences, my old friend.”

Felicity watched the two friends exchange pleasantries, her mind a whirl. The name Chazz had given them made all the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fit. She knew instinctively that this man must be the head of the conspiracy Rick had uncovered. She was glad now that she’d told him not to pursue the story. The danger was lurking even closer to home than she’d thought.

“So what do we do now?” Alice asked, her eyes wide and fearful.

“Now we enlist the help of an old friend,” she said. “A very old friend.”

I
t was exactly
one week after the tragic events that had led to the death of Senator Job Vickar. Grover Calypso was hosting a party at his Park Avenue condo, and the place was buzzing with a veritable who’s who of New York high society. Over fifty guests were gathered in the spacious quarters of the billionaire to celebrate the resurgence of CalypsoCo stock after the FBI had cleared Bomer of all charges. Amongst those present were President Jack Gnash, along with his lovely wife Catherine, Chazz Falcone, accompanied by his campaign manager Jerry Vale, his personal dog person Johnny Carew, Father Terrence Gherkin, Rick Dawson, the well-known New York Chronicle reporter, his editor-in-chief Suggs Potter, and even Murphy Roops, the media tycoon, his wife of six months, the young and beautiful Sigismonda Laurie-Cobblestone, draped on his arm. Reece Hudson provided some of that elusive Hollywood glamor, along with Jezebel Baskerville, host of Temptation Town, hit of the season. The mayor was there, of course, and a bevy of New York society stalwarts.

Amongst the guests were also Felicity Bell, a Long Island baker, Alice Whitehouse, profession unknown, and Elroy Pomice, CalypsoCo small investor, beaming since his stock had soared like the proverbial eagle.

Felicity, Alice, and their respective beaus Rick and Reece, stood chatting with Bo Vickar, aka Jezebel Baskerville, gazing around at the best and brightest of New York’s upper crust. It rarely happened they were presented with the opportunity to move in these lofty circles.

Felicity was suffering from a queasy stomach, and it had little to do with the food and everything with the surprise she and her friends had cooked up for one of the esteemed guests tonight. The linchpin in the entire scheme hadn’t put in an appearance yet, however, and she was starting to wonder if he would show up at all. Everything depended on him, after all.

“Oh, there he is now,” Alice suddenly exclaimed. Felicity followed her gaze and saw that Brian Rutherford had finally arrived, a woman on his arm. She looked vaguely familiar.

“Isn’t that…” she began, trying to place the brown-haired beauty.

“Stacy Kent, bank manager at Armstrong & Tillich,” Alice supplied.

“Is she…”

“Yep. Brian’s new girlfriend.”

“So that’s why…”

“That’s why we’ve seen so little of him lately,” Rick mused. “Too busy courting the lovely Miss Kent.”

“She’s not that lovely,” Felicity grumbled.

“Of course she’s not,” Rick quickly corrected himself.

“Brian!” Alice called out, and waved him over.

Brian Rutherford, a cleanly shaven, impeccably dressed young lawyer, was president of the Wardop Group, one of those humongous conglomerates. He’d never envisioned a future for himself as billionaire entrepreneur. But that was before he’d been personally selected and groomed by the deceased owner of Wardop, Peverell Wardop himself, whose ghostly presence now ran the company through Brian.

“Hey, you guys,” Brian said enthusiastically as he joined them. He nervously plucked at his vermillion paisley tie and pushed his glasses up his nose before introducing his date for the night. “Um, this is Stacy. Stacy Kent. My, um, well, um… She runs the Happy Bays branch of the, um…”

Alice saved Brian from bumbling on by giving Stacy a bright smile. “My family’s been banking with Armstrong & Tillich for ages. But since you took over, my mom’s never been so happy. Says you’re a breath of fresh air compared to the previous manager.”

“Why, thank you,” Stacy said. “That is such a lovely thing to say.” A blush had crept up her face, and Felicity decided Stacy Kent was a good egg.

Introductions were made, and then the foursome immediately segued into the main event of the evening.

“Did you discuss everything with Peverell?” Felicity asked.

“More importantly, did he agree?” Alice added.

“Is he here now?” Rick asked, looking around.

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Brian said. Then he shifted his eyes sideways in a meaningful manner. Felicity got his drift. Obviously his date wasn’t acquainted with the peculiar nature of Brian’s hobby, that of head of the Wraith Wranglers: helping ghosts help humans solve their murders.

She wondered how Brian was going to explain the events that were about to unfold. Unless, of course, he was going to let his team do the honors while he served his date hors d’oeuvres for the rest of the evening.

“What are you talking about, honey?” asked Stacy. “Who’s Peverell?”

“He’s a, um, businessman. That Felicity wants me to introduce her to. For an investment in, um, in Bell’s—in the bakery. Isn’t that right, Fee?”

“That’s right,” Felicity acknowledged.

“You’re thinking about expanding?” Stacy asked, interested. She accepted a glass of champagne from Brian, and was ready for a bout of small talk, something Felicity had neither the time nor inclination for.

Luckily, at that moment, Brian said, “Oh, look, Stacy. It’s President Gnash and his wife Catherine. Do you want to go over and say hi?”

“The president!” Stacy marveled, her eyes widening as Brian led her away. “And you know him?”

“Sure,” said Brian, giving the others a wink. “He and I are like this.”

Felicity breathed a sigh of relief. “We have to get going, you guys. We’re on a tight schedule here.” Then she turned to Rick. “You’re on, honey. Give it your best shot.”

Rick grinned. “Oh, I most definitely will.”

Felicity, Alice, Reece, and Bo left the milling dignitaries and made their way to Grover’s study, where the show was about to begin, then proceeded further into the small space adjacent to the study. This was Grover’s panic room, in case the billionaire or his family were victims of a home invasion.

“And now we wait,” Felicity muttered as she made herself comfortable in one of the plush leather chairs.

“And now we wait,” Alice agreed.

When a small tap sounded at the door, she quickly checked and then let their first guest in. She nodded a greeting to Detective Garfield, who joined them behind the one-way mirror that afforded them a nice view of Grover’s study, while the five of them remained completely invisible. Behind her, Bo clicked a camera to life, so they would have a complete record of the meeting. And then she took a seat again, waiting for the arrival of their star guest.

They didn’t have long to wait, for five minutes later Rick ushered Murphy Roops into Grover’s study, quickly closing the door behind them and locking it from the inside.

The Press Corp mogul looked a little harried. Nobody likes to be called away from a reception where both the president and the mayor are guests. He was still clutching his champagne glass, an hors d’oeuvre in his wrinkled old claw of a hand, a tongue stealing out of his mouth to lick his lips.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Mr. Roops,” Rick said.

“Well? Where is he?” Roops asked irritably, checking around. “There’s nobody here, Dawson. What the hell are you playing at, huh? I’ve got better things to do than play your silly little games, boy!”

Just then, a scratchy voice sounded from the corner of Grover’s study, and a swivel chair slowly started wheeling around. “You should look around before assuming you’re alone, Murph!” the voice drawled. It sounded like the scratching of a dozen nails on a blackboard, and when finally they were awarded a look at the mystery guest, Felicity saw that Peverell Wardop, the ghostly owner of the Wardop Group and Brian’s skeletal boss, had arrived.