Spooky Trills (Alice Whitehouse Book 2)

by Nic Saint

  “Fee,” I gasped when I’d finally caught my breath. “They filmed me! In my PJs!”

  Her frown deepened. “Filmed you? Who filmed you?”

  I flapped my arms. “They—whoever they are! The bad guys! The video guy!”

  “Oh. Oh! Oh, no!”

  “Yeah. All of Happy Bays just got the video. And they’re all in our living room!”

  “They didn’t… catch you naked, did they?”

  “What? Eww! No, of course not. But they saw my Frozen PJs, which is bad enough.”

  “Why? I like your PJs,” she said.

  “Fee. Someone broke into our house last night. And filmed us.”

  Her eyes went wide as the realization finally hit her. “Filmed us!”

  “Well, I haven’t seen the video of you and Rick yet, but I assume they filmed us all. I mean, why film me and not you, right?”

  She was tugging at her hair again. “This isn’t happening!”

  But it was, and the sooner we dealt with it, the better. So I calmly went into my room, exchanged my PJs for jeans and a T-shirt—Lilo & Stitch—and walked back down, where Rick was already engaged in conversation with the members of the Happy Bays Police Department and the Happy Bays Neighborhood Watch, all cozily ensconced in our tiny living room.

  “This is a nightmare,” said my mother when she saw me coming down the stairs. “How are you holding up, honey?”

  Mom could be my twin, only her hair is a little longer than mine, and streaked with gray. Dad is exactly the opposite: big and bluff and brash.

  “I’m fine,” I said. I hadn’t died of mortification, even though I’d been on the edge. “Have they released footage of Fee and Rick yet?”

  “Yes, they have,” my dad said, joining us. “All in all pretty tame stuff.”

  “What did you expect?” asked Mom, a little piqued. “The woman is pregnant. She should be doing pretty tame stuff.”

  “Mom!” I hissed. “I told you in confidence. Don’t spread the word.”

  “I won’t,” she promised. “It is wonderful news, don’t you think? Fee pregnant! Yay.” Then she remembered why we were all here, and her expression of joy vanished. “Good thing you dropped your habit of sleeping in the nude, honey.”

  “Yeah, good thing I did,” I agreed. Though that had been just a phase, picked up after I’d read an article on the surprising benefits of sleeping naked.

  “Sleeping nude?” asked Rock, walking up. “Who’s sleeping nude?”

  “Nobody is sleeping nude,” I said. “Especially not me.”

  Judging from the glint in his eyes, he wouldn’t have minded.

  “This is my daughter we’re talking about, Rock,” my father reminded him. “So what have you done about catching this miscreant?”

  “Well…”

  “That much, huh? Look, I know you think this is a joke, but this person broke in here last night. He might have hurt Alice.”

  “And me,” said Fee.

  “And me,” Mabel added.

  “And me,” Marjorie piped up.

  “Is there anyone whose privacy hasn’t been invaded?” asked Dad.

  “He hasn’t visited me yet,” said Bettina. “And I’m also a member of the watch.” She looked disappointed, as if feeling left out.

  “Don’t speak too soon,” Dad grumbled. “You might be next.”

  Bettina gulped, and for a moment I wondered if she slept in the nude.

  “From now on, you’re taking this seriously, Rock,” Dad admonished the burly cop. “Is that understood?”

  “Do you think this is connected with the Banning Pender murder?” asked Rick.

  This thought had obviously not occurred to anyone, for silence momentarily reigned. Then all hell broke loose as they all started speaking simultaneously.

  “You will catch this peeping Tom!” Dad was yelling, trying hard to poke a hole in Rock’s chest with his index finger. “Do you hear me? You will catch this peeping Tom!”

  “Do you have an address for this Tom Peeping?” asked Virgil, writing all this down. “And is that Peeping with EE or Peaping with EA?”

  “Virgil, you’re an ass!” Dad cried.

  “That’s my son you’re talking about!” Marjorie said. “My son is not an ass!”

  “He is!”

  “I was just trying to ascertain the correct spelling of Tom Peeping,” said Virgil, looking offended.

  “I think we should consider the fact that this is someone we all know,” Bettina said. “How else does he know where we live? And where does he get all of our phone numbers?”

  “Bettina’s right,” Mabel chimed in. “This is a Happy Baysian.”

  “Not a very happy Happy Baysian,” Rick quipped.

  “Ricky. Now’s not the time,” Fee chided him.

  “I thought it was funny,” he muttered.

  And as pandemonium continued unabated, I drew Fee aside. “Do you think Ricky is right?”

  “About this unhappy Happy Baysian’s mental state?”

  “No! That this might be connected with the Banning Pender murder.”

  A look of fear stole over her face. “I hope not,” she said. “Because that would mean this is all a warning.”

  I nodded slowly. “And we might be next.”

  Chapter 16

  When I arrived at the mortuary, I found my uncle Charlie staring absentmindedly at the body of Banning Pender, whom he’d placed on his slab. The duck farmer looked pretty much the same as before, which meant my uncle hadn’t done any work on him yet. Maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to do it? This was his good friend, after all.

  “Hey, Uncle Charlie,” I said as I walked in.

  “Oh, hey, honey,” he said, then turned to me. “Are you all right? I saw that video of you in the…” He vaguely gestured in my general direction. “The funny PJs.”

  “Yes, Rock is on the case, and so is my dad, and Virgil.”

  “Virgil,” he said, shaking his head. “That man couldn’t catch a pickpocket if he was picking his own pocket.”

  “Why would Virgil pick his own pocket?” I asked.

  “No, I didn’t mean Virgil picking his own pocket, but a pickpocket picking his own pocket.”

  “The pickpocket’s pocket, you mean?”

  “No, Virgil’s…” He sighed. “Forget what I said. I’m too distraught today.”

  “Banning?”

  He nodded. “Such a waste.”

  I noticed that in the background there was some awful racket. I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “What’s that horrible noise?”

  “That’s Banning Pender,” he said with a melancholy smile. “Singing at our last Vegas convention.”

  “Oh. Right. Of course,” I said, only now recognizing Banning’s typical nasal delivery. “We talked to Banning’s three sons yesterday.”

  “And? Did any of them do it?”

  “Not as far as I can tell. They all seemed to have loved their father.”

  “Poppycock,” Uncle Charlie said with a derisive snort. “They hated his guts. Banning told me they kept pushing him to put money in their respective businesses, and when he refused they stopped talking to him.”

  “Oh, but that’s not true,” I said. “Carney told me they celebrated Christmas every year. Banning even sang a duet with Carney’s wife. Father and son even went down to Vegas, both dressed up as Elvis.”

  “That’s impossible. Carney didn’t want anything to do with his father. Or Elvis. He hated the King, his music, and everything he stood for. That boy wouldn’t have wanted to be seen dead in an Elvis suit, let alone join his father on a trip to Vegas.”

  “But I saw the picture,” I said. “It was on his desk.”

  “Anyone can fake a picture.”

  “It looked pretty real. And so did his story.”

  “Believe you me, honey. I knew Banning intimately, and if he said he’d removed all three of his sons from his will, he wasn’t lying.”

  “But if he removed them from his will
…”

  “Yeah, that kinda takes away their motive for killing him, huh?”

  “Exactly. Are you sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure. Banning was my buddy.”

  He went back to staring down at the body of his friend. Then he heaved a deep sigh. “I guess I’d better get started. Dorritt wants him buried in his best Elvis suit, looking his level best. She’s also arranged for the other ETAs to attend the service.”

  “ETAs?”

  “Elvis Tribute Artists.”

  “They’re all coming?”

  “They’re already here. There’s an Elvis convention over at the Happy Bays Inn. Everybody who’s anybody will be there, and most of them are coming to the service. Pay their last respects.” He wagged a finger. “You know, it wouldn’t surprise me if one of them wasn’t behind this thing.”

  I’d joined my uncle at the embalming table. Banning looked so peaceful. Almost as if he was simply taking a little nap and could wake up any second now.

  “You mean one of the ETAs?”

  “Sure. A lot of people were envious of Banning’s ability to channel the King so beautifully. There’s a lot of jealousy in impersonator circles. And didn’t you say Banning told you the King killed him?”

  “That’s what he said. He also said Elvis was coming after all tribute artists next.”

  Uncle Charlie’s expression hardened. “Elvis is dead, honey. Don’t let anyone tell you different. What Banning saw was an impersonator, and the fact that he snatched his belt buckle tells me everything I need to know.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what I need to know?” I suggested.

  “Well, it’s like this,” he said, casually leaning against the table. “Banning wasn’t just an ETA. He was also a collector. That buckle,” he said, pointing at Banning’s stomach, “wasn’t just any old belt. It was rumored to be worth a great deal of money. Studded with real diamonds. Possibly worth millions. Which is why Banning wore it on his person at all times and never let it out of his sight for even a second.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Banning told us it was just a plain stainless steel belt buckle, nothing special. Just that it used to belong to the King.”

  “Well, he told me it was priceless. Genuine gems up the wazoo.”

  “But why would he lie to me? Especially when I told him I want to catch his killer? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Banning is a very private person, honey. He doesn’t trust strangers, and I guess you’re a stranger to him, so he’s not going to share all kinds of big secrets with you.”

  I glanced around, and then it hit me. I hadn’t seen Banning since leaving the farm the day before. Usually ghosts tend to stick around, following me everywhere until I solve their murder. The last ghost had even followed me home, incessantly yapping all the while. But Banning? Not a trace. “He is a very private person, isn’t he?”

  “Yep, sure is. He only told me about that buckle after he’d downed a few peach brandies. Got a little loose-lipped there. When he realized he’d spilled his big secret, he implored me not to tell a living soul. Or a dead one, for that matter,” he added, patting his friend’s shoulder. “So if you want to catch yourself a killer, look for that belt buckle, honey. Wherever that buckle is, you will find your killer.”

  I thought about this, and decided that it was time to have another little chat with Banning. Ask him about the buckle. And while I was at it, talk to Dorritt Pender. As her sons had sabotaged our interview yesterday, it was time for another try. Which reminded me… “Uncle Charlie? Did Banning have an affair with a woman who looked like Priscilla?”

  “Possibly,” my uncle conceded. “Whenever we went to Vegas there were plenty of Priscillas around.”

  “So maybe one of them was Banning’s Priscilla?”

  “I have no idea, honey. He might have let slip that thing about his buckle, but he never talked about his personal life. Why do you ask?”

  I told him about the Priscilla lookalike I kept seeing.

  “Might be a coincidence,” he said. “She might be in town for the convention and decided to pay a visit to Banning. When she saw a lot of cops hanging around she understandably decided to make herself scarce.”

  “But why would she keep avoiding me?”

  He smiled. “You know what you should do?”

  “Become a PTA? A Priscilla Tribute Artist?”

  “No, join me at the convention. First of all, you can snoop around for that belt buckle. Secondly, chances are this Priscilla of yours will be there. And then you can finally ask her why she keeps running away from you.”

  I returned his smile. “Deal,” I said, and shook his hand. When he launched into a haunting version of Unchained Melody, however, I quickly got out of there. One ETA was bad enough, but two? That was more than I could stomach.

  Chapter 17

  I called by Bell’s Bakery and moments later Fee and I were on our way to the Pender Duck Farm, hoping to have a word with Dorritt Pender. Even though Rock had told me he didn’t think she’d done it, I was anxious to find out more about this business with the three sons.

  “So your uncle says Banning stated unequivocally that he wasn’t on speaking terms with any of his sons?” Fee asked as she expertly navigated the narrow country lane. “Even though they told you that they loved their father and were best buds?”

  “Carney told me he loved his dad. The others just said they didn’t need his money.”

  “Which might have been a lie.”

  “Which might have been a lie,” I conceded. “Though Carney seemed genuine enough.” I shook my head. “I don’t know, Fee. Why would anyone Photoshop a picture of himself in an Elvis suit? That’s just… wrong.”

  “To convince you and the police that he’s innocent?” Fee suggested.

  “I’m starting to think I’m losing it,” I said.

  She directed a worried glance at me. “Oh, honey, I’m sure you’re not.”

  “I really believed Carney.”

  “He’s an insurance agent,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  We’d arrived at the farm and Fee parked in the same spot as the day before. We got out and walked past the sign that announced that we were on private property now. We walked up to the house and rang the bell, like proper visitors. We hadn’t called ahead as we wanted to surprise Dorritt. After ringing the bell three times it was obvious our strategy had backfired.

  “Let’s take a look around,” Fee suggested.

  “You just want to see the ducks, don’t you?” I asked.

  She smiled. “I like animals. All animals.”

  That was true enough. Since I’d known Fee, she’d owned a pony, chickens, a cat, and assorted other animals. And now she even owned a New York Chronicle reporter, the strangest animal of all.

  “So how did Rick take the news?” I asked as we idly roamed around the duck coop.

  “He seems happy,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “It’s all very unexpected, of course, for the both of us, but he says he’s looking forward to becoming a daddy.”

  “I’ll bet he is. So are you going to speed up the wedding plans now?”

  “Nah. I think I’ll wait.”

  “Wait? Wait for what?” She gave me a meaningful look, and I uttered an exclamation. “But, Fee!”

  “But what? We always said we were going to get married together and that’s exactly what we’ll do. I’m not in any particular hurry to tie the knot, and neither is Rick.”

  “But what if I never get married?”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “What if I die an old maid?”

  “Like I said, that’s impossible. You are going to find a great guy, and you are going to settle down with him.”

  “Or her.”

  She looked up in surprise. “You’re going the other way now?”

  I shrugged. “Why not? Everybody seems to be doing it.”

  “Those are Hollywood stars, honey. They just do it to get hea
dlines. You have to follow your heart, not the latest sad attention-grabbing fad.”

  “I know,” I said. “I was just kidding. Besides, the only woman I love is hooked up already.”

  She grinned. “I love you too.”

  We’d arrived at what looked like an old barn, and judging from the quacking sounds coming from within, more ducks were inside. But then what else would be inside a duck farm but ducks? Lots and lots of them. Which is why we were surprised when we came upon Dorritt Pender kissing a strange man. A man who was most definitely not her recently departed husband Banning Pender.

  “Oh, hi, there,” I said when she looked up, uttering a startled cry.

  “What are you doing here?” the widow Pender asked, quickly putting some distance between herself and the mystery man.

  “Oh, just following up on our conversation yesterday,” I said. “Which was so rudely interrupted when your sons arrived.”

  “Yes, my boys are very protective of their mother,” she said, nervously darting looks from me to Fee and then to her male friend.

  He was a large man with impressive sideburns. Almost like Banning’s, only his were blond, like the few thin strands that covered his mostly bare dome. He had fleshy cheeks and a sizable belly and was dressed in a nice three-piece suit. Not something you expect on a farm.

  “Won’t you introduce us?” I asked.

  “Yes, I guess I better do. This is Lawton. Lawton Pacey. He’s a very dear friend of mine.”

  “Which is why he was… comforting you just now?” I asked.

  “I was merely offering Dorritt my support,” said Mr. Pacey.

  “Which is why your tongue was in her mouth,” I said pacifically.

  He bridled. “Show some respect, young lady. You’re in the presence of a bereaved widow.”

  “Which is why you had your tongue down her throat,” I repeated, firmly sticking my own tongue in my cheek.

  “Oh, it’s no good, Lawton,” said Dorritt. “We had better come clean.”

  “I assume this is your developer boyfriend?” asked Fee. “The one who would love nothing more than to turn the Pender Duck Farm into the Lawton Pacey Golf Club?”