by Nic Saint
“Well then?”
Since Virgil had a sneaking suspicion Dr. North had spilled the beans himself while nursing his injured nose and pride over a beer at Jack’s Joint he felt it incumbent upon him to defend his mother’s honor. “I’m sure Mom would never blab.”
“I told you, all mothers blab. Anyway. Mind that you don’t.”
The chief poured himself a cup of coffee, and Virgil took this occasion to make a suggestion to his superior officer. “Chief?”
He interpreted the grumble emanating from the portly officer as permission to speak.
“Don’t you think we should accept the mayor’s suggestion and bring in some help on this case?” He had the distinct impression that the chief wasn’t up for the job. He knew that he himself certainly wasn’t.
“We can handle this,” the chief assured him sourly. “Just do as I say and we’ll solve this case in no time. Where are you in setting up the interviews?”
“They’re all coming in tomorrow, chief,” he assured his fearless leader. He’d arranged for all the usual suspects to drop by the station house first thing in the morning, though he didn’t have the first inkling what to do with them. He would have felt a lot better if the chief had accepted the mayor’s suggestion to bring in detectives from the East Hampton or Southampton police departments. They had the manpower and the expertise the HBPD sorely lacked.
“We’ll handle it,” Chief Whitehouse repeated gruffly, and disappeared into his office.
Virgil slumped in his chair. His had never been a forceful personality and in times like these, when his community was hit by a crisis of major proportion, he felt he needed to do more. What, he didn’t know, but…more.
Chapter 18
Rick had been in Paris for two whole weeks now, and Felicity keenly felt his absence. When his face popped up in the Skype window she felt the familiar tug at her heart. With his regular features, straggly blond hair and clear blue eyes Rick Dawson could have been a male swimsuit model, though he would have resented the comparison. He was a hard-nosed reporter and took his job very seriously. At the moment he was doing a Time Magazine feature on the G8 summit in Paris.
“God, am I glad to see you,” Felicity breathed.
Rick’s smile faltered. “You look a little pale, honey. What’s wrong?”
“You won’t believe this, but we had a murder.”
“Murder? In Happy Bays?”
“Yeah. Just this morning someone shot and killed Alistair Long.”
Rick started. “Old graybeard? But that’s terrible! Such a sweet man.”
Rick had been staying at the Happy Bays Inn when he and Felicity met a few short weeks before.
“And the big news is that Stephen assigned me to cover the murder for the Gazette.” She threw up her hands. “And I don’t know the first thing about writing a feature!”
“Good thing you have a boyfriend who does,” he quipped, but she could see he was worried about her.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “A little shaken, as we all are.” She wondered if she should tell him that she and Alice had decided to crack the case themselves, with no help from the police, but then decided against it. Rick would only worry and he had enough on his plate already.
“Just run your ideas by me,” he suggested. “And the moment you put something down on paper send it along so I can take a look.”
“Thanks, honey. How are you doing over there?”
He grinned. “I just interviewed the French prime minister. When I happened to mention my girlfriend is a baker he gave me his grammy’s recipe for croissants. They’re to die for.” His grin disappeared when he realized his verbal faux-pas. “Sorry about that. Highly inappropriate under the circumstances.”
“Send it along. I could use a treat. In fact we all could. Maybe I can even use it for my baking column.”
“I promised the prime minister you’d give his grammy the credit.”
“And I will. I’ll even mention her name on my video channel if you want.”
His smile returned. “Remember the YouTube video that brought us together?”
“How could I forget?”
Felicity had been taping her weekly baking instruction video when Rick had dropped by. Instead of welcoming him with open arms she’d pelted him with eggs, thinking he was some sort of crook.
“The moment the croissant video goes live I’ll send the link to the French PM. He said he’ll watch it with his grammy. Or grand-mère as he calls her.”
“Aw. That’s so sweet.” She sighed and stared at Rick’s reflection for a moment. She missed him. Though their acquaintanceship had been off to a rocky start they’d quickly reconciled and soon love had blossomed.
The fact that he was now in Europe and she on Long Island was the first test of their budding relationship, and she had the distinct impression their bond was growing stronger instead of weaker with the distance between them.
“I miss you,” she said with a hitch in her throat.
He smiled. “Same here, honey. Can’t wait to hold you in my arms again.”
“Rickie!” suddenly a voice came from behind her. Alice had joined the conversation.
“Hey, Alice. How’s things in the funeral business?” Before he’d finished the sentence it was obvious he regretted his rash words, for his cheeks glowed red. “I’m sorry. Once again, highly inappropriate.”
“It’s fine. As a matter of fact, now that you mention it, Mary talked to Uncle Charlie today and the police are releasing Alistair’s body this week. Which means that we will be able to have a look at the victim ourselves. Isn’t that great?”
Rick’s eyebrows rose. “Why would you want to look at the…” His voice trailed off as his frown deepened, understanding dawning.
Felicity, who’d been poking Alice in the ribs to stop her from spilling the beans, knew it was too late.
“Felicity? Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Um…”
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of conducting your own investigation?”
Alice grinned. “Oops. Wasn’t I supposed to tell?”
“No, you weren’t!” Felicity whispered fiercely.
“Honey,” Rick said, “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“It’s my idea, in fact,” said Alice, “so it’s bound to be great.”
“It’s a murder case, Alice,” said Rick seriously. “Please don’t get involved.”
“Well, we are involved now. Stephen handed Felicity the case.”
“Not the case. The story,” Rick pointed out.
Felicity inwardly cursed Alice. “Look, I want to do this right, but Chief Whitehouse is stonewalling me. I can’t get a word out of him.”
“Alice’s dad?”
“He’s a stickler for police procedure,” said Alice under her breath.
“So you see, there’s no other way to write this article than conduct our own little investigation.”
He was silent for a moment, emotions warring on his face, then he finally grunted, “All right, but use extreme caution. This isn’t some minor thing. This is a murder case. And as long as the killer is out there you’re endangering yourself by inserting yourself into the investigation.”
In spite of the graveness of his tone a smile lit up Felicity’s features. It meant the world to her to have Rick’s support.
“Thanks, Rick. We’ll be careful, I promise.”
“Please do. Amateur sleuthing is no laughing matter,” he admonished.
Alice’s face returned to a mock expression of seriousness. “Yes, Brother Rick.”
Rick rolled his eyes. He hated the nickname Brother Rick, which his good friend Bomer Calypso had awarded him when they were both in college. Due to the fact that Rick liked to hole up in his room and study, Bomer, a real party animal, had started calling him Brother Rick and his room on campus his own private Trappist monk’s cell. The name had stuck to this day, much to Rick’s dismay.
“I’ll
send you everything we got so far,” said Felicity.
“Which isn’t much,” added Alice, still leaning over her friend’s shoulder.
“I’ll have a look,” Rick promised, “and in the meantime try to stay out of trouble. Both of you.”
“Yes, Brother Rick,” Felicity and Alice intoned, and after one last eyeroll Rick disconnected.
“I think this murderer doesn’t stand a chance,” opined Alice. “Against the three of us and the holy trinity? Not. A. Chance.”
“I hope you’re right,” Felicity said thoughtfully. Rick’s warning that murder was not something to trifle with had struck a chord. There was a murderer on the loose in Happy Bays and if cornered he—or she—might kill again.
The thought frankly chilled her to the bone.
Chapter 19
“Rob! Here, boy—here!”
Rob jerked his head up. He’d just exited the car and was walking toward the Inn when the command arrested his attention. When he turned to look he saw that a young boy was calling his dog. He snorted derisively. Who in his right mind would call his dog Rob? Without breaking stride, he continued, rolling the small carry-on behind him. Maggie, tripping along in her high heels, seemed excited to be here. He wasn’t. He hated the inn, had hated it all his life, or at least for as long as he could remember.
“Here, Rob!”
He closed his eyes in annoyance, even when Maggie giggled. She seemed to think the whole thing a barrel of laughs. “Imagine, honey. That dog has your name. Isn’t that just hilarious?!”
He didn’t think so but refrained from commenting. Maggie was wearing her necklace today, the one she bought with money they didn’t have. Yet. Well, that problem would be over soon. He would see to that. And to the funeral, of course.
Stepping into the inn, he walked up to the desk. It had been ages since he’d set foot in here and a pang of remorse shot through him as he realized he hadn’t talked to his father in over a year. But then both he and Dad had been cut from the same cloth. The strong, silent type.
He eyed the desk. It was strange to imagine the place without the old man. He’d been such a fixture. Even as a boy coming home from school the first sight that met his eyes was his dad, working the desk and checking in the guests.
He punched his fist down on the bell and the jangling sound brought back memories of the times he and his buddies would stalk in, ring that bell and then hare off before his old man caught them.
A barrel of laughs.
Yeah, right.
A woman came trotting up and he searched his memory for her name. He cocked a finger. “Suzy, right?”
The woman pursed her lips in disapproval. She clearly wasn’t a fan. But then no one here was. They all knew he and his sister wanted to sell the place.
“Your room is ready, Mr. Long.” She turned the registration card around, plunked down the key and waited for him to sign.
With a sigh he did as instructed and snatched up the key. “Don’t put yourself out, Suzy. I know the way.”
“I’m sure you do,” she said as she raised her chin and gave him the evil eye.
He started to walk away, then turned back. “Oh, what room is my sister in?”
“Eighteen. Right next door.”
“Has she arrived yet?”
Suzy shrugged, as if she’d already said too much.
He raised his eyebrows and wondered what his mother would think of this obvious lack of professionalism and courtesy toward the hallowed guests. But then he and his sister had always played second fiddle anyway.
“Thanks,” he called out, without expecting or receiving a reply. “Come on, honey. Let’s find our room.”
Maggie’s smile had dimmed throughout the odd exchange. “She’s not very nice.”
“They never are in this place.”
They proceeded up the stairs and down the corridor until they arrived at room eighteen. He gave it a soft rap. “Ruth? You in there?”
He heard a noise and when the door swung open spirited a grin on his face. His sister looked pale and emaciated, her black hair flat and her usually bright dark eyes sunken and sad. It still felt good to see her.
“Rob!” she cried and threw herself into his arms.
“Hey, honey,” he said softly and patted her back. She didn’t just look thin, she felt bony under his fingers. And when he finally disentangled himself he noticed tears in her eyes. His surprise deepened. “What’s wrong?” He looked beyond her into the room. Just the one suitcase, he noticed. Which meant… “Clifford?”
She shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “We broke up.”
The words were so familiar they didn’t surprise him. Ruth’s relationships rarely lasted more than a couple of weeks. “It’s all right,” he said, though he knew it wasn’t. Then he pointed to Maggie. “Look who’s here.”
A watery smile appeared on his sister’s gaunt face. “Hey, Maggie.”
“Oh, honey, you’re crying!”
As the two women stepped into the room, he carried the suitcases to number seventeen and let himself in with the key. No cards here, only old-fashioned keys. It was the way Dad had wanted it and so it was the way it stayed. He imagined Ruth would unburden herself to Maggie, telling her sister-in-law all the sordid details of her latest break-up.
He didn’t want to hear it.
He surveyed the room. It was clean and utilitarian, but it would do for the couple of days they’d spend here. At least until after the funeral. Then he took a deep sigh and steeled himself for the upcoming meeting with Mom.
Now there was a challenge…
Chapter 20
Felicity eyed the man darkly. Not only was he refusing to divulge information necessary for her article, but he seemed to enjoy himself.
She and Alice had driven up to Hauppage and were seated in the office of the county medical examiner. The toad-like man had folded his hands on his desk and was eyeing them with a sneer on his thick lips.
“Like I told you, we don’t give out this kind of information to civilians.” He stressed this last word, like he’d done the previous five times he used it. It seemed to be one of his favorite words in the English language.
“We’re not civilians,” Felicity repeated. “I’m a reporter with the Happy Bays Gazette and I’ve been assigned to write a piece on the murder.”
“Well, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a civilian now does it? A reporter is, by definition, a civilian, and so I’m very sorry but I can’t divulge any information pertaining to the case. Maybe you should have called me before making the trip, in which case I could have saved you the trouble.”
Alice asked, “I’m Chief Whitehouse’s daughter. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
The man laughed. A deep, rumbling sound. “Honey, if we allowed everyone related to police personnel access to our files we might just as well put everything on the internet.” His face suddenly turned into a scowl. “The answer is no and if you would have bothered to ask your father he would have told you the same thing. In fact he’s the one who warned me you might be dropping by.”
This was too much, Felicity thought. Chief Whitehouse was actively thwarting her investigation! She turned to Alice. “I don’t think I like my godfather all that much anymore.”
“Next time he gives you a birthday present, refuse it!” she suggested fiercely.
The medical examiner rose, a sign the interview was over. “I suggest you take your family problems out of here and leave me to do my job.”
Felicity, who had learned to be polite under all circumstances, pressed the man’s outstretched hand. “Thank you for your time.”
A flicker of apology seemed to cross the man’s face. “So you’re the new reporter for the Gazette, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“I guess that means I’ll be seeing more of you in the near future.”
Hope surged. “Do you mean that next time—”
“I mean that I’ll be seeing more of
you,” he stated, then slipped her a piece of paper. She frowned, but resisted the urge to see what it was. Instead, she returned his nod and strode out, a fuming Alice in her wake.
“What a load of—”
“He slipped me a piece of paper,” Felicity interrupted and quickly unfolded it. Inside, she found a website and a code. Puzzled, she showed it to Alice. “Wonder what this is.”
Alice stared at it for a moment, before her face changed into an expression of delight. “You know what this is?”
“Um. A website?”
“It’s a file. Look at the extension.”
“PDF.” Understanding dawned. “He’s giving us access to the report!”
“He is!” yipped Alice. “Yay!”
Felicity shook her head, quickly typing the URL into her phone’s browser window. A password prompt popped up and she carefully typed in the code the ME had scribbled down. Ever so slowly, a document appeared. She checked the heading and a wide smile creased her lips. It was Alistair Long’s coroner’s report. She punched the air with her fist. “Yes!”
“I don’t understand,” said Alice as they strode across the parking lot. “Why didn’t he give it to us straight? Why all the cloak and dagger stuff?”
“It’s called probable deniability. In case anyone asks he can tell them he never told us a thing. And he didn’t.”
“Weird.”
“I wonder if this is how he dealt with Stephen. I’ll have to ask.”
One thing was for sure. This reporting business was a lot less straightforward than the bakery business.
Alice flipped through the pages. “We’re still going to need someone to explain this report to us, Fe. Looks like a lot of medical jargon to me.”
“Doesn’t your uncle know about that kind of stuff?”
Alice nodded slowly. “He might.”
“And he’s going to have the body soon, so he might be able to tell us more.”
Not that she wanted to be present when he worked on Alistair Long. Each time she went to Uncle Charlie’s Funeral Delight the place gave her the creeps. How Alice could stand to work there she didn’t know. The contrast with Bell’s Bakery & Tea Room couldn’t be bigger.