by Nic Saint
It was an expression Felicity had never heard before, but then Aunt Bettina usually had a funny way of expressing herself.
As they were letting themselves into the house, the second member of the committee came trotting up. Mabel Stokely was probably the person with the most intimate knowledge of just about everyone in Happy Bays and wasn’t afraid to spread it around. A round woman in her late fifties, she wore Nana Mouskouri glasses and had been a mainstay at City Hall for as long as anyone could remember, serving under five consecutive mayors. Some people even said she was Happy Bays’s acting mayor, as no mayor ever dared take on a piece of legislation without consulting Mabel first.
“And? Did you catch the killer?”
She seemed perturbed that anyone would have dared try to solve this murder without her, but when Alice told her they were still sleuthing away, her face relaxed into a smug grin. “I know who did it!”
Felicity eyed her curiously. She wouldn’t put it past Mabel to have solved the case already. “Who?”
“Mary Long, of course. It’s always the wife who dun it.” She waved an imperious hand and touched up her hair, which resembled Felicity’s mom’s, only the pink variety. They went to the same hairdresser and this style appeared to be the style of the week. Felicity resisted the urge to touch it. She’d always loved cotton candy.
“She can’t have done it,” Alice pointed out. “She was at the Inn at the time of the murder.”
Mabel frowned. “How do you know that?”
“I have my sources,” Alice said mysteriously, and even Felicity was surprised.
“You didn’t tell me.”
Alice shrugged. “I don’t tell you everything.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Oh, all right. Marjorie told me when she called me just now. She’s running a little late.”
“So? What do we think?” Mabel asked cheerfully. They’d arrived in the living room, where HBNWC meetings usually took place, and everyone seated themselves around the coffee table, except for Felicity. After the incident at the funeral home she decided some oral hygiene was in order, so she quickly hopped into the bathroom to apply toothbrush and toothpaste.
She heard Alice give a brief resume of the facts as they were known, and both Mabel and Bettina hung on her every word. When she came to the part about the coroner’s report Mabel sighed in annoyance. “That father of yours. Really. How can he expect to reduce crime in Happy Bays when he won’t allow the citizenry a role in fighting it? I will have to speak to the mayor about this.”
“Dad is a stickler for police procedure,” Alice stated the obvious.
“I think we need less police procedure and more community intervention,” Aunt Bettina offered. “If every Happy Baysian would simply keep an eye out, crime would be a thing of the past.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” agreed Mabel. “Oh, are those chocolate chip?” she asked when Felicity set down a plate of cookies. “I’ll have one. They’re my absolute favorites.”
“Baked them last night,” she said.
“Have you posted the new Flour Girl video yet? I never miss a single one.”
“We still have to do the video, actually,” said Alice. “Haven’t had time.”
“Of course,” soothed Bettina. “What with all these murders and all.”
She made it sound as if Happy Bays was the crime capital of the East Coast, Felicity thought, which it wasn’t. Then the doorbell sounded, announcing the final member of the committee. The meeting could commence.
Chapter 25
Marjorie Scattering was a thin-lipped woman of about sixty with a face like a horse and hair the color of puke. She’d been widowed for so long no one even remembered Virgil’s father. He’d been a US Marine and soon after their marriage had promptly expired in battle overseas, leaving his bride with a bundle of joy and his army pension, both gifts greatly cherished even as she mourned his premature demise.
She was an avid volunteer, putting in regular stints at the library, the community center, the day care center, the hospital, the nursing home, the animal shelter and others, keeping her finger in a great many pies. Combined with the steady flow of information from her son she could probably fill the Happy Bays Gazette all by herself.
As the ladies settled back with a cup of coffee and a piece of apple cobbler, it was clear they’d done this sort of thing before. In fact, before Alice had started the neighborhood watch committee, they’d come together as friends for some scuttlebutt and pie, but without the express purpose of ridding the streets of Happy Bays of crime. Then Alice had joined them once or twice and so had Felicity, and before long the idea had formed in Alice’s head to turn this informal weekly meeting into an actual committee.
Bettina, Mabel, and Marjorie knew more about Happy Bays and its denizens than anyone else in town, and if they worked together could prevent a lot of bad things from happening. This had been Alice’s vision from the start and that’s how they’d proceeded.
It didn’t take much to convince the holy trinity. Not only could they now busybody with impunity, they would actually be revered for it instead of scolded.
“I think we should examine this matter carefully and methodically,” said Marjorie with pursed lips. She was a voracious reader of detective novels and especially the ones where the detective likes to handle matters carefully and methodically. “We should make a list of clues and suspects and examine the facts as they pertain to the case.”
Alice, who was never afraid to butt in, said she agreed, but couldn’t they just spitball for a bit first, to get the sleuthing juices flowing?
Mabel agreed. A woman with a notoriously loose tongue, she loved the idea of spitballing. Spitballing was what she did all day and was even paid to do. “Let’s just throw out all the facts and one of us could take notes.”
All eyes turned to Felicity, who was, after all, the reporter in the room. Dutifully, she brought out the whiteboard and stood with marker poised.
“What do we know so far?” asked Mabel.
“Alistair Long was a rat and a blackhearted son of a whatnot who never did a good deed in his life and got exactly what he deserved,” Marjorie read from a piece of paper she’d unearthed from her bulky purse. She looked up at the others. “A note Virgil received this morning. One of five anonymous letters.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” opined Bettina.
“It isn’t,” Felicity agreed. “It’s a horrible thing to say. Especially since it isn’t true. Alistair was such a kind old man.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a kind man,” said Mabel. “You do remember what he did to poor Carla Santonica, don’t you?”
Felicity frowned. She knew Carla, of course, who was something of a town Jezebel, what with having had numerous affairs with numerous men over numerous years, which was enough for the town to paint her as a hussy and a Mary Magdalene. “What did he do?”
“She went to him asking money for an abortion,” said Marjorie with a look of disapproval on her face. “Her second,” she specified. “And he kicked her out, telling her that it wasn’t because the child was conceived at the inn that he was responsible for what happened to it.”
Alice’s ears were reddening. “She conceived a child at the Happy Bays Inn?”
Mabel took a nibble of cobbler. “Everybody knows that’s where Carla takes her men. Much to Alistair’s annoyance.”
“Of course he couldn’t do anything to stop her. Mary didn’t allow it. She and Carla go way back, you know. When Carla was younger she lent money to Mary at a very difficult time in her life and Mary has never forgotten it.”
“What did Mary Long need money for?” Felicity wanted to know.
Marjorie and Bettina exchanged a meaningful glance. “Mary was pregnant herself,” Marjorie explained. “With her third child. Unfortunately, the inn wasn’t doing well at the time. They were losing money hand over fist and for a while it looked as if they might even lose the place. So when she g
ot pregnant she knew they couldn’t afford a third child and decided to have the pregnancy terminated.”
Alice raised an eyebrow. “Mary Long had an abortion?”
Mabel nodded. “She did. She never told Alistair. He wouldn’t have allowed it.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Marjorie added. “That Alistair would refuse Carla the money for an abortion while his own wife got one thanks to Carla in the first place.”
Felicity jotted down Carla’s name under the heading of Suspects. “Why didn’t Carla go to Mary?”
This seemed to baffle the holy trinity, but then Bettina suggested, “I know for a fact that Alistair kept his hands on the purse strings.”
“That’s true,” agreed Marjorie.
“You’re right,” Mabel chimed in. “An abortion would have meant a significant amount of money, which would definitely have involved Alistair.”
Felicity frowned. Her opinion of Alistair was undergoing quite a marked change. She’d never even known half of the facts about the man it now seemed. She wondered what other secrets would come out before this affair was over.
Chapter 26
Marjorie shook her head disapprovingly. “Alistair Long was a monster.”
“I don’t think he was a monster, per se,” said Mabel, “but certainly a man of principle.”
“So principled even his own wife didn’t dare confess she’d had an abortion? Nice principles!” Aunt Bettina cried.
Felicity checked her list. So far she counted four suspects. In no particular order, they were:
Stephen Conch—lost his job because of Alistair
Rob Long—stood to inherit a great deal
Ruth Long—ditto
Carla Santonica
At the last name she turned to the group, who were still arguing about Alistair Long’s lack of virtues, and asked, “What happened to Carla Santonica? Did she get the money for the abortion?”
Mabel’s eyes flicked to the whiteboard and she clapped her hands with glee. “Oh, this is so nice. Just like in the movies!” She tapped Bettina’s knee. “Now all we need is a hot police detective and we’re golden.”
“Why don’t we ask Virgil to join us?!” suggested Bettina.
At this, they both burst into laughter, and when Marjorie’s lips narrowed into a thin line, they laughed even harder.
“Just kidding, honey,” Mabel chuckled.
“No one would confuse Virgil with a hot detective,” added Bettina under her breath.
“I don’t think it’s funny,” Marjorie muttered.
“But then you never do, honey,” Mabel added.
“Carla Santonica?” Felicity reminded them.
Mabel placed her hands demurely in her lap. “Yes. Let’s not get distracted. Well, Carla eventually found the money, didn’t she? Because as far as I know she never had that baby.”
Alice gave an astonished snort. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t know?”
“Honestly, Alice, honey,” said Bettina with a toss of her frizzy mane, “do you think we know everything? I mean, we’re not psychic, you know.”
“I wish,” muttered Mabel. “Would make life a lot easier.”
Felicity hesitated. Carla Santonica’s motive seemed hardly established. Alistair had refused her the money for an abortion but apparently she’d found it somewhere else. Hardly a reason to kill a man. “When did this happen? The Santonica thing I mean?”
Mabel frowned. “Let me see…”
“June 1993,” Marjorie snapped. When the others all turned to her, she blushed. “Well, I remember because she filed a complaint against Alistair. Told Virgil he’d assaulted her. Turned out he’d merely taken her arm in a firm grip and shown her the door.” She sighed, casting down her eyes. “I remember because it was the same day Virgil came down with the mumps.”
“I don’t think Carla should be on that list,” opined Bettina as she studied Felicity’s handiwork.
“Just leave her,” suggested Mabel. “Better have too many suspects than too little.” She frowned. “There should be more people, don’t you think?”
The three women gazed at one another, pooling their tittle-tattle resources and digging deep for dirt on Alistair Long. It didn’t take them long to find it.
“I think you should add Reece Hudson’s father,” Mabel said slowly, then nodded, “and probably even Reece Hudson himself for that matter.”
Alice jerked her head up at the mention of her idol. “Reece Hudson? What makes you say that?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” asked Bettina.
“The dog!” cried Marjorie, nodding as she remembered. “Of course.”
“What dog?” asked Alice, looking from one watch committee member to another. “Tell me!”
“It was Reece’s dog, wasn’t it?” asked Bettina, ignoring Alice’s frantic plea.
Mabel snapped her fingers. “Benji. Such a lovely name for a dog.”
“What happened to the dog?!” cried Alice. She hated being kept in suspense.
Marjorie clucked her tongue. “You know what happened to the dog, Alice.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You don’t? How quaint. I thought you were the Reece Hudson expert.”
“What. Happened. To. The. Dog?!”
“Such a cute little mutt,” reminisced Mabel. “Reece’s little canine companion for years. Walked with him to school every single day, remember?”
“How can I forget?” asked Bettina. “He came into the store, even though dogs weren’t allowed. But we made an exception for Benji because Reece was so fond of him and Benji never pooped on the store floor like some dogs do.”
The three women sat in silence for a moment, nurturing fond memories of Benji. Finally both Felicity and Alice cried, “What happened to the dog?!”
Marjorie looked up, as if from a trance. “Well, Benji died, of course. Alistair backed over him with his car. I don’t think Reece ever got over it.”
“It wasn’t Reece who was devastated,” corrected Bettina. “It was Jack Hudson. He loved that dog as much as Reece did. Transferred some of his love to the dog when Reece went off to Hollywood.” She pointed to the whiteboard. “Add Reece and Jack Hudson to the list, honey. They sure have motive.”
“And opportunity,” added Marjorie with a frown. “Jack has that gun range. Loves to shoot those big guns of his any chance he gets.”
Mabel popped another piece of apple cobbler into her mouth and nodded agreeably. “And Reece is in town. He’s staying with his dad.”
Bettina gasped. Like her son Bancroft she liked her celebrities. “He is?”
“Introducing his fiancée,” confirmed Mabel. “Though what he sees in the woman I don’t know.”
As the discussion switched to Dorothy Valour, Felicity noticed that Alice’s eyes had lit up with a holy fire. Knowing her friend, she knew this meant trouble. Big trouble. And even before Alice had turned those big green eyes on her she was already shaking her head. No way. Absolutely no way.
Chapter 27
“I don’t care what you have to do. Just make it happen,” Dorothy snapped, and promptly disconnected.
Reece had actually called his fiancée to ask what was taking her so long, and when she would be arriving in Happy Bays. Instead, she’d given him her spiel about The Bristol again—something he’d completely forgotten about. He’d been about to crack a joke when she cut him off.
As he processed their brief conversation Reece stared off into the woods that lined his father’s property. He’d stepped out of the house for a moment, not wanting to disturb the old man, and as he tucked the phone back into the pocket of his jeans, he looked up at the stars and wondered not for the first time whether this engagement was such a great idea after all.
It was now obvious to him that his fiancée had no plans to join him and meet his father, and she was using some hapless manager at The Bristol as an excuse. He had absolutely no intention of having some department store manager fired. And he was seriously starting to t
hink he’d completely misjudged the fiery selfie queen. Was she nuts, or what?
A good friend had warned him about this. He’d told him Dorothy Valour was trouble. She had a mean streak that only came out when you got to know her. When you looked past those killer looks.
Kirt Stur, a veteran actor, had taken a liking to Reece while filming Crunch Time 3. Reece played the lead homicide detective, Chuck MacLachlan, with his trademark one-liner ‘Hot potato!’, while Kirt was the wizened old lieutenant and father figure.
Life mimicked art when Kirt had taken Reece aside for a man-to-man talk about his recent engagement. Kirt told him in no uncertain terms that if he wanted a long and prosperous career he shouldn’t marry Dorothy Valour.
“Take me, for instance,” the veteran star pointed out. “I’ve been married to the same woman for over thirty years and people ask me all the time how I manage.” He smiled, his vivid blue eyes just as enigmatic as when he first exploded onto the screen in the eighties. “She’s been the making of me, buddy. If not for Susan I wouldn’t even be here. Booze, drugs, women… My career would have gone down the drain a long time ago. She kept me on the straight and narrow. Hell, I’d probably be dead in a ditch by now if not for her. Marrying Susan is the best damn thing that ever happened to me, bar none.”
He held up an admonishing finger. “Make sure that when you finally settle down you choose wisely, young Padawan, cause you can only ruin your life once and you’re about two steps away from proving that right now.”
Those words had rung in Reece’s ears ever since, and had gradually lifted the spell Dorothy had cast over him. They’d met on a skiing trip in Colorado, and he’d quickly fallen for the willowy blonde with the killer body. Two weeks of whirlwind romance later—including a night they spent in a remote cabin, snowed in and cut off from civilization—and he found himself dropping on one knee.
It had been the most exhilarating fortnight of his life, but gradually the mask had begun to crack and now that she refused to meet his father he was starting to see that the only person who mattered to Dorothy Valour was Dorothy Valour. And he very much doubted whether that would change when they got married.