by Nic Saint
And it was as she was flicking through the news items associated with Reece Hudson that her eye fell on one news report that spirited a smile on her face.
‘Reece Hudson Eager to Introduce Bombshell Honey to Gun Nut Dad.’
“Huh,” Alice said, as she scanned the article. “I’ll be damned.”
Chapter 10
Felicity stared at her mother, aghast. “Alistair? But…that’s not possible!”
Mom nodded, visibly distraught. “I know. Isn’t it terrible?” She shivered. “Murder in Happy Bays. Who would have thought?”
“Who would do such a thing?” she asked, but Mom merely shook her head.
Felicity had known Alistair Long for as long as she remembered. He was a kindly old gentleman and usually could be found behind the reception desk of the Happy Bays Inn. In fact it was hard to imagine the inn without him.
And now he was gone. Impossible. She made her way over to Virgil, who stood talking to some tea room patrons. He looked grim-faced and she wasn’t surprised. The first murder in Happy Bays in ages and he was probably one of the detectives tasked to solve it. Unless Chief Whitehouse would handle this one personally.
“Hey, Virgil,” she said by way of greeting. “Such terrible news.”
“It is,” he sighed. “What a sad, sad day.”
“What happened?”
He shook his head. “We have no idea. Billy found him. Stephen Conch’s kid? He was walking his dog Boomer when he heard a gunshot. Figured people were hunting in the woods again and decided to call it in. As he was waiting for a patrol car to arrive he decided to go on and see for himself. And that’s when Boomer started yapping like crazy. Found the body soon after. Face down on his own land. Shot through the heart. Must have died instantaneously, thank God.”
Felicity’s reporter mind instantly fired up. “Tire tracks?”
“Nope.” Virgil eyed her curiously. “Keen on joining the force, Fe?”
She grinned. “No way. Just curious.”
He nodded. “Chief Whitehouse said you should. Sign up, I mean. The way you handled that Falcone case, he says you’re a natural.”
Felicity’s cheeks reddened. Chazz Falcone, her boyfriend’s father, had been trying to get his hands on his son’s laptop, and only through Felicity’s intervention had he finally seen the light and effected a reconciliation with his son. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to baking for now. And writing the occasional article for the Happy Bays Gazette.”
Though reporting crime was a hobby of hers, she didn’t see it going anywhere beyond that. And she most definitely had no aspirations to join the police force.
A tap on her shoulder had her gazing into Stephen Fossick’s face. Speak of the devil. The editor of the Gazette was an elderly man with a lined face and a shock of white hair. As a sufferer of stomachaches he appeared perpetually bad-tempered.
“Fe, I’ve got something for you,” he barked.
She glanced at the man, not understanding. “Pardon?”
He gestured to Virgil, who now stood talking to Mom. “The murder. Wanna have a crack at it?”
Her eyes widened. She’d been writing a weekly baking column for the Gazette for some time now and had recently written a couple of short articles as well. But writing a piece about an ongoing police investigation? “I—I don’t think I’m ready for a big piece like that, Stephen,” she admitted, though the surge of excitement rushing through her system told her otherwise.
Stephen had noticed the same thing. “But you’re dying to try, right?”
“I—I don’t have the experience. I mean…this could take days or weeks, right? And there would be follow-up articles and, and…” Her voice died away as Stephen’s smile spread to his gray eyes.
“Okay, that’s settled then. Give me a thousand on the murder and we’ll discuss things as they progress.” He patted her shoulder. “You’ve got the makings of a great reporter, Fe. I’ve told you so before and now you’re going to prove it to yourself.”
She blinked and stared at the man. “If you say so,” she replied lamely.
He grinned. “I do say so. Now get cracking and start snooping around.”
“Snooping around?”
“Of course! What do you think reporters do? Snoop till you drop, kid, and don’t let me catch you snoozing on the job!”
And with these words he turned on his heel and strode off. She’d wanted to ask why he didn’t tackle the job himself but he was already heading out the door. She figured his health was troubling him again. She had noticed the sallow tone of his skin was deepening and if the bags under his eyes were any indication he wasn’t getting a lot of sleep either.
Then, standing at the center of all the hubbub of the tea room, she realized she’d just landed the biggest reporting job of her budding career.
Chapter 11
Reece focused on the target, the gun in his hand surprisingly light. He shifted it to his other hand. It felt good to hold it, and he wondered if he would ever be a crack shot like his old man. He shifted the weapon back to his right hand, added his left for support, and fixed his eyes on the target Dad had racked up at the end of the shooting range.
“Light em up, son!” his father shouted. He could barely hear him through the earmuffs but he nodded. Hudson Senior was the spitting image of Reece, with the same dark eyes and handsome features, only his face now lined and his hair the color of snow. And in spite of his recent health scare he was still strong as an ox, or so he told everyone who cared to listen.
His face twisted in concentration, Reece took careful aim and leveled the gun the way Dad had taught him years before. He wondered if he could still hit a target from this distance. On set, it was easy. He could handle dummy weapons like an expert, and fire those fake bullets like nobody’s business. But in real life? He was a pretty lousy shot.
Not that he ever told anyone. He made a living as an action hero, and it simply wouldn’t do to burst that bubble. His young fans would be devastated.
“Come on, son. Quit stalling!” his dad’s voice boomed in his ear.
With a deep frown he squeezed off the first shot and in quick succession fired five more.
He stepped back while his father punched a button and the cardboard target swung into view. His face fell. The outline was pristine. Not a single hit.
“Looks like you lost your touch,” said his dad with a chuckle. “Or don’t they have shooting ranges in LA?”
“Nope. Us action heroes shoot CGI bullets only.”
“A lot more effective,” Dad agreed, then took the gun from his hand. “Looks like I’m gonna have to teach you to shoot all over again.”
“Don’t bother, Dad. It’s not as if I really need it.”
“Sure you do. Whatever you do in life, knowing how to defend yourself is a skill that always comes in handy.”
They’d had this discussion before and Reece decided not to get into it today. “Whatever you say, Dad.”
The old man slipped the earmuffs into place, took aim, and fired off six rounds in quick succession. This time Reece could see the target twitch with every hit. And when finally it drew within viewing distance, he saw that six shots were grouped around the heart.
Dad emitted a satisfied grunt. “That’s the way to do it,” he grumbled before handing the gun back to his son. “Now reload and do it again.”
And without waiting for his son’s agreement, he trudged off.
Reece sighed and sighted his father with the gun, firing an imaginary bullet at the back of the old man’s head.
“And don’t you go pointing that thing at me now, you hear!” Dad yelled. “Yeah, I’ve got eyes in the back of my head!”
Surprised, Reece lowered the weapon. He was starting to realize it hadn’t been such a bad idea to leave Dorothy at home for the introductory meeting. He had the distinct impression Dad wouldn’t like his new fiancée any more than she would like him.
Chapter 12
Gratified, Felicity closed her
notebook and thanked Virgil for his time. So far all she had were bits and pieces of information, but then Virgil didn’t seem to have anything more to share.
“Who’s leading the investigation?” she asked.
The tall policeman scratched his scalp. “Good question. I guess Chief Whitehouse will run point on this one, seeing as I only ever took detective training but never got to, um, practice. Heck, I’m just a regular cop, Fe, you know that. I’ve never solved a murder in my life.”
She nodded. She did know that, but it didn’t hurt to ask. She was wearing her reporter cap now and reporters, Rick had told her, only dealt with facts, not suppositions and, um…well, the other thing.
It was weird, she decided, that in spite of the fact that her heart bled for Mary Long at the same time she was excited to be writing her first big article. Rick would be so proud. She couldn’t wait to give him the news. She hoped he could give her some pointers, some do’s and don’ts, before she made a complete fool of herself.
Then she remembered Rick had told her a good reporter is bold. Dares to ask stuff. Stuff like… She cleared her throat. “Virgil?”
“Eh?”
“Could you perhaps take me to see the crime scene?”
He stared at her for a moment. Then he blinked, nodded, and blinked again. “Well, heck, sure, I guess. I mean, yeah, why the heck not? Right?”
“It’s for my article. I think it will greatly help me if I can get a feel for the place. To see where the murder actually took place.” Just thinking about it gave her the shivers, but she was resolved to go through with this and write the best article possible.
“You wanna add some local color, huh?”
“Something like that.” She’d never heard anyone describe a crime scene in those terms, but then she was new at this reporting thing, same as Virgil was new at detecting.
“Meet me outside in a sec, all right? I’ll get the car.”
“Sure thing, Virgil.” Barely containing her glee that she would be getting full police cooperation she tripped over to the counter. “Mom.” Trying to attract her mother’s attention was a little difficult, for she was busy prattling with customers about the terrible events of the day. Finally, she managed to tear her away. She drew her into the kitchen for a moment. “Mom, if it’s all right with you I’m going with Virgil. He’s going to show me the crime scene.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “Crime scene? You mean Barrow’s Grove? But honey, isn’t that dangerous?”
“I’m sure the murderer is long gone by now, Mom. And besides, Virgil will be there to protect me.”
Mom shook her head, a worried look in her eye. She didn’t seem overly confident in Virgil’s protecting skills. “I don’t know…”
“I’ll be fine,” Felicity assured her. “I just want to have a peek. For the article.”
Mom continued distraught. “If you’re sure… I guess I could ask your cousin to step in.”
“Thanks, Mom. And please don’t worry.”
“If you say so, dear,” Mom said with a deep sigh. She patted her fluffy hair. First her hairdresser’s experiment, then a murder, and now this. What was the world coming to?
Felicity grinned and gave her mother an affectionate peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back in no time. And just so you know? Your hair looks great.”
Mom’s face lit up with a smile. “Oh, go on, then. Write your article.”
Felicity practically ran out the door, and when she stepped into Virgil’s patrol car she felt her heart beat just a little faster. Her reporting career had finally begun.
Chapter 13
Felicity eyed the back of Virgil’s neck closely. They’d been traipsing along a narrow path through a thick patch of forest for the past ten minutes with no end in sight. “Are you sure we’re going in the right direction?”
“Pretty sure.”
She wasn’t convinced. After all, this was Virgil, notorious for his ridiculously poor sense of direction. Once he’d been assigned the arduous task of taking the third grade on a haunted house trip. But instead of going to the deserted Hartford Mansion, he’d led them to Mrs. Baumgartner’s house. The old lady wasn’t amused when twenty third-graders had shown up on her doorstep, insisting she show them the ghosts.
“I don’t think this is the right way, Virgil.”
Virgil merely flicked at a mosquito that seemed to have grown fond of him. Darkness hung like a pall over the forest, which, if anything, seemed to grow even denser and creepier. The day was overcast and Felicity had the distinct impression that very soon now they’d be treated to the downpour from hell. The air was redolent with the musty smell of rotting plants, and her shoes were wet from the soggy soil.
Virgil stopped, and she almost bumped into him.
“We’re lost, aren’t we? Admit it.”
“I, erm…” He thought for a moment, then pointed to the right. “Let’s try this way.”
She suddenly got an eerie thought. What if the killer was still around? What if he was stalking these woods right now, looking for his next victim? Hadn’t she read somewhere that murderers always return to the scene of the crime? What if this guy was watching them now?
She started when a twig snapped nearby. Trying to keep her voice steady, she asked, “D-did you check for footprints and all that?”
“The killer came by car. We’re pretty sure about that.”
“How do you know?” The sound of Virgil’s voice assuaged her fears. Now if only she could keep him talking she might be able to stop those shivers running up and down her spine.
“The Conch kid heard a car engine right after he heard the shot. Must have been the killer.”
“So why are we taking the long route instead of driving straight to the crime scene?”
“Well…I figured I’d save us some time by cutting through the forest.”
“Save us some time?”
“It’s only supposed to be a five-minute walk…”
She felt the first drop of rain spattering on her nose. Oh, Christ. Leave it to Virgil Scattering to mess things up. “I think it’s been more than five minutes. More like half an hour.”
“You’re probably right,” he muttered.
As they passed a downward slope between two beech trees, she had the distinct impression they’d been there before. “We’re going in circles. Don’t you have a compass? That’s standard issue for cops, right?”
“Not cops. Boy Scouts,” he grumbled.
She took out her cell. She’d suddenly remembered it came with inbuilt GPS.
“Oh, you’ve got one of those?” Virgil asked. “Cool.” He took out his own phone. “I’ve got the older model. How are the new ones?”
She shrugged. She wasn’t in the mood to compare phones. She furiously tapped the thing. “I just know there’s some sort of GPS thing in here…”
“Oh, I’ve got an app for that,” the policeman said and brought it up with one tap. “Hey, what do you know? We’re almost there.”
He pointed to the map that had come up, a red dot indicating their position. “This is us right here and that green smudge over there must be Alistair’s land.”
Felicity rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you say so? We could have been there already.” The rain was now really coming down and the protection the foliage was providing was quickly diminishing.
He gave her a goofy grin. “I guess I didn’t think about it.”
Just then his phone rang. “Yes? Oh, hello, Chief Whitehouse. I’m showing Felicity Bell the crime scene. Why? Well, because she asked me to. She’s doing a piece on the murder for the Gazette. You know, the newspaper?”
As he listened, his eyes swiveled to her, and his face betrayed the reprimand Chief Whitehouse was obviously pouring into his ear.
“But it’s Fe, chief,” he protested feebly.
The sound of the chief’s objections rang out loud and clear. She didn’t need to understand the words to know what they meant. Virgil was getting an earful. It was obvious the
chief didn’t agree with Virgil’s cavalier attitude toward crime scene investigation.
Without a word the police officer disconnected and slipped the phone into his pocket. He blinked when a raindrop hit his nose. He held out a hand and looked up at the skies, as if noticing for the first time that it was raining. “Uh oh. I think we better get back to the car. We’ll be soaked if we stay out here.”
She folded her arms across her chest and eyed her companion narrowly. “I thought you were going to show me the crime scene?”
“Too late now,” he said uncomfortably, then abruptly turned and strode away. He’d taken his phone out of his pocket again to check the newly discovered app.
“Virgil?” she said in a low voice, reluctantly trudging after him.
“There’s not that much to see, you know. Just the usual.”
“The usual what?”
“Well, you know…blood…” He thought hard. “And more blood.”
“What did the medical examiner say?” she asked as she tried to keep up. He was moving with purposeful strides now, his long legs giving him an advantage.
“Um… Well, he said that Alistair died from a gunshot wound.”
“What caliber?”
“Ah… Look, Fe. To be honest…”
“The chief told you not to talk to me, didn’t he?”
As he held aside a branch, he gave her an apologetic look. “He kinda did. Said if I talk to the media one more time he’ll have my badge.”
“I’m not ‘the media’, Virgil. I’m your friend. I whooped your ass in kindergarten when you smeared your boogers all over Alice and me.”
He grinned stupidly. “I tried that tack on the chief. It didn’t work.”
“I’m the chief’s daughter’s best friend, for goodness sakes!”
“I know, all right!” He kicked moodily against a branch. It ricocheted against a tree and hit his shin. He winced. “It just seems he’s pretty strict about media access to an ongoing murder investigation. Heck if I knew. We’ve never had an ongoing murder investigation in this town as far as I know.”