Spooky Times (Alice Whitehouse Book 1)

by Nic Saint

“This isn’t going to work, Susan,” I said, a sense of panic slicing through my stomach. “The moment someone reports me missing they’ll come looking.”

  “Let them look. They won’t find you.”

  “Fee knows I came to see you. They’ll turn this place inside out.”

  “Which is why I’ll dump you in Chad’s apartment. He’ll take the fall and spend the rest of his miserable life in jail. It won’t be too hard for the police to believe he killed Gemma, too, in one of his alcohol-induced rage attacks.”

  I saw she’d parked her car around the back of the house, at the bottom of the garden, and she was now leading me toward it.

  “I thought you loved Chad.”

  “I do, but it’s clear to me that he doesn’t love me. What a fool I’ve been, huh?”

  I pretended to trip and fall, but she yanked me up by my elbow. She was a lot stronger than she looked. “What did you do with the murder weapon?”

  “That rock? I pitched it into the Atlantic. Good riddance.”

  “The gun…”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s registered in your name.”

  “It is, but good old Chad just happened to have relieved it from my person when I went to visit it him the other day. I’ll even report it stolen. Happy now?”

  “Not really.”

  She barked a laugh, and opened the door to the trunk of her car. “Get in.”

  I knew that once I got in I wouldn’t make it out alive so I stood my ground. She wasn’t going to shoot me point blank right here where everyone could see.

  “No way,” I said.

  She gestured with the gun. “Get in or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  She heaved the gun high, and brought the butt of it down on my head. Or at least she would have, if I’d stayed stationary. Instead, I scooted off in the direction of the next house, screaming at the top of my lungs for help.

  “Come back here!” Susan yelled, in hot pursuit.

  She was gaining on me, and I still didn’t see a soul in sight. “Help!”

  Just then, there was a muffled curse behind me, a loud thump, and when I looked back, I saw that Susan Cooper was lying spread-eagled on the ground, the gun skittering away from her and coming to a stop at my feat. I picked it up and pointed it at her.

  She stared straight into the barrel of the gun. “Oh, craperoo,” she said.

  And when I looked down at what had tripped her up, I saw she’d slipped in a huge pile of doggie poo. Just then, a little old lady emerged from the brush, dragging a bulldog on a leash out of someone’s garden. “How many times do I have to tell you not to wander off!” she was muttering to the dog.

  When she caught sight of me and the gun, she immediately raised her hands.

  It was Mrs. Evergreen, and the doggie she was leading was Sheena.

  “Don’t shoot me!” she cried, digging into the pocket of her coat and coming away with a poo baggie. “I was going to clean it up! I swear! I only came out here because you and that damn committee keep hounding me on my own street!”

  I smiled at her. For the first time, I was actually happy to see Mrs. Evergreen and Sheena. I crouched down, keeping the gun trained on Susan, and patted the bulldog. “Well done, Sheena. You caught yourself your first killer.”

  Maybe I should have induced her into the neighborhood watch.

  Epilogue

  It didn’t take long for the police to arrive on the scene, and, to his credit, Rock was the first one to arrive. He seemed taken aback by the fact that I’d been held at gunpoint and almost killed. The moment he caught sight of me, he came running over and pressed me into an embrace that took my breath away.

  Then, as more squad cars arrived, he seemed to figure that perhaps a little less public display of affection was called for, and he released me from his arms.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, “Before going after this madwoman?”

  “Hey, I’m not mad,” Susan called out as Virgil slapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists and led her away. “I’m madly in love. There’s a difference.”

  “I didn’t know she was the killer,” I said. “I just happened to… catch her, I guess.”

  “You just happened to catch her,” Rock said, shaking his head. “Like an afterthought.”

  “Well, I did have a lot of help.” I gestured at the ladies of the neighborhood watch who came racing up in three Mini Coopers and a bakery van. “They pointed me in the right direction.”

  “And what direction was that?”

  “Do you remember I told you about the empty box I found?”

  “Don’t tell me that box led you to Susan Cooper.”

  “Well, indirectly, it did.” I told him all about the postcards Susan had stolen, one of which she’d attached to her parents’ fridge.

  “God,” he said, resisting the urge to take me into his arms again. “You could have been killed, Alice.” He then he did take me into his arms. “Promise me one thing.”

  “Anything,” I said, my voice quivering a bit at our close proximity.

  “Next time you’re about to walk into the lion’s den? Don’t. Call me first.”

  “I promise,” I said.

  And then he kissed me, and this time it even involved some tongue. I have to confess I melted, and would have swooned if Fee, Bettina, Mabel and Marjorie hadn’t joined us just then, deftly propping me up when Rock was called away to deal with the arrest of Susan Cooper. He was, after all, the lead investigator on this case, and kissing potential victims probably wasn’t part of his job description.

  “Didn’t you just promise your dad no more kissing in public?” Fee asked with a grin.

  “Yeah, well, that was before I almost got killed.”

  “I think a little leniency is called for, under the circumstances,” Mabel agreed.

  “So Susan Cooper, huh?” asked Bettina, watching as Susan was transferred to a police vehicle, the officer pressing down her head as she folded herself into the backseat.

  “Who would have thought?” Marjorie asked.

  “I certainly didn’t,” I said as they all looked at me as if I was the second coming of Sherlock Holmes or something. “I caught her by accident.”

  “Nobody catches a killer by accident, Alice,” Mabel said.

  “I should have tagged along,” Fee said ruefully. “I can’t believe I allowed you to walk into this trap.”

  “It wasn’t a trap, per se,” I said. “No, it wasn’t!” I cried when they eyed me dubiously. “She didn’t know I was going to find out, and neither did I. It just happened.”

  “Yeah, right,” Bettina said, patting my shoulder. “And Michael Phelps just happens to splash across the finish line and win a bunch of gold medals.”

  Mrs. Evergreen, clutching Sheena’s leash, was being questioned by Virgil ten feet away. She kept darting anxious glances at me, probably still thinking I was going to shoot her. I caught a few snippets of her statement, and the words ‘clean up’ and ‘poo baggie’ featured prominently.

  “I don’t think we’re going to have a problem with Mrs. Evergreen and Sheena anymore,” Fee said, who’d followed my gaze.

  “Maybe from now on we should deal with offenders the same way,” Marjorie suggested.

  “What? Threaten to shoot them?” Mabel asked. “Are you crazy?”

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it? I don’t think she’ll do it again.”

  “I think my dad would have a few words to say about that,” I said.

  I saw that Gemma’s ghost had drifted up again. She was looking more translucent than ever. And for the first time, she was looking almost bashful as she joined us. “So Susan, huh? My best friend? So that’s why I couldn’t remember who killed me. I just couldn’t believe it was her.”

  “Yes, turns out she wasn’t such a good friend after all,” Fee said.

  “I know, right? I knew she was into Chad, but I’d never thought she’d kill me over him. That’s just nuts.”
/>   “Sometimes we don’t really know a person, even though we think we do,” said Marjorie.

  “That’s deep, Marjorie,” Mabel said. “Where did you read that? The quote-a-day calendar?”

  “That happens to be my own private thought,” Marjorie snapped. “Not that you would understand.”

  “No, but I do. Even though you think a person is your best friend, you can’t always know for sure.” She gave Marjorie a pointed look.

  “Oh, stop with the bickering already,” Bettina said. “Come on. Kiss and make up. Right now.”

  “I’m not kissing… that woman,” Marjorie protested when Bettina pushed her in Mabel’s direction.

  “And I’m not kissing her either!” Mabel cried.

  “Don’t worry,” I told Gemma. “In spite of what you think, they love each other.”

  “I don’t care,” she said, which didn’t surprise me. And then she did something that did surprise me: she hugged me, and whispered, “Thank you, Alice Whitehouse. I’ll never forget what you did for me. You’re a true friend.”

  And with these words, she drifted off, leaving me speechless. Marjorie was right. You might think you know a person, but often you didn’t. I’d always thought Gemma was shallow and mean, but it turned out she was lovely, too.

  Then Fee hugged me, and said, “She’s right. You are a true friend.” Which was the sign for the others to join in the group hug. I needed it.

  The five of us might not always get along, but in the end we were there for each other, no matter how mushy that might sound.

  Rock glanced over, and gave me a smile and a thumbs-up. And then he was gone, riding in the squad car with Susan Cooper in the back.

  “So what’s next?” I asked.

  “Coffee and cake over at Bell’s sound like a good idea?” Fee asked.

  Oh, yes it did.

  THE END

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  Excerpt from First Shot (Washington & Jefferson 1)

  Prologue

  With a deft flick of the wrist, Jack Washington cast his fishing line out over the water, a wide smile on his narrow face, and took a seat on his aluminum mesh fishing chair. Now this was the life. He fingered the gray goatee he’d been nursing since hitting the big sixty, adjusted his wraparound sunglasses and glanced over to his fishing buddy, seated just three feet away, relaxing on a similar fishing chair, his booted feet up on his tackle box.

  Fred was leaning back, a New York Yankees ball cap slung low over his face, his trademark red hair peeping from beneath the Velcro strap at the back. The red was flecked with gray, as both men were about the same age.

  It still surprised Jack how well he and Fred Jefferson got along these days, as they’d spent their careers fighting each other tooth and claw. Now, their political careers over, they were spending the twilight years of their lives on this trip to Lake Champlain, like a couple of regular fishing buddies.

  “And? Are they biting?” he asked.

  Fred shook his head. “Nope.”

  He smiled. “Do you care?”

  Fred also smiled. “Nope.”

  They’d rented a lodge in one of the resorts for this trip, not just because the fishing was good around here, but also because it offered the necessary privacy. When two ex-presidents go fishing together, especially two former political rivals, it tends to draw a lot of attention, and attention was exactly what they didn’t want or need. So Fred had decided to rent the entire resort, the other lodges now occupied by his Secret Service detail.

  Jack settled back and slid his New York Mets ball cap over his face.

  “Did you send that message to your daughter?” Fred asked.

  “Oh. Right. I totally forgot.”

  With a groan, he flipped up the bill of his cap, sat up and fished his phone from the pocket of his cargo shorts. He’d promised Anna he’d send her a daily text letting her know how he was doing on his long-touted fishing trip.

  “Did you tell her who your fishing buddy is?” Fred asked.

  “I was gonna, but I decided not to. You know how she feels about your family.”

  “Yeah, I sure do. Pity. I’m sure she and Chris would get along just fine if they could just settle their differences.”

  Jack had his doubts about that. He loved his daughter, but when Anna held a grudge, it was hard for her to let go. Especially after everything that had happened. His fingers moved easily across the touchscreen.

  “Give her my love, will you?” asked Fred in the easygoing drawl that had made him so popular throughout his four years in the White House.

  “Yeah, right,” he chuckled. “I’ll just tell her I’m fine. She worries.”

  “As if anyone would try to abduct two ex-presidents under the watchful eye of our Secret Service.”

  “Your Secret Service. You forget I didn’t get that particular privilege.”

  “I’m sure they’ll watch your back as well as mine, Jack.”

  He glanced back, to see if the boys and girls of the Secret Service were keeping their distance, as they’d promised, and was surprised to find that their usually so ubiquitous guards were in fact nowhere to be found.

  “Did you tell your agents to stand down, Fred?”

  “Um, no. Why?”

  “Well, they’re gone.”

  “Just taking a coffee break, probably. Relax, Jack. Nobody’s coming after us. At least not until we publish that damn book of ours.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  He finished typing his message, then looked up when he heard a soft roar in the distance, rolling in across the surface of the lake. He squinted against the sun but couldn’t see a thing. The floaters were still gently bobbing on the water, and all around everything was quiet. They’d picked this inlet because it was private and remote.

  “Relax, Jack,” Fred repeated. “Nobody knows we’re out here.”

  Just then, a sleek black powerboat suddenly roared up out of nowhere, carrying three men in full combat gear. The waves created by the boat whipped up the fishing rods, and both Jack and Fred jumped to their feet.

  “What the…” Fred exclaimed.

  The rest of his words were lost when a helicopter swooped in low, right overhead, and battered them with its rotor wash, drowning out Fred’s voice.

  The sharp bow of the powerboat cut into the sandy beach and two men jumped to shore even as three more black-clad men rappelled down from the chopper and rushed the two ex-presidents. They were both unceremoniously grabbed, cuffed and outfitted with black hoods before being yanked away and frogmarched in the direction of the boat.

  “Hey! You can’t do this!” Jack cried.

  “Yeah, do you know who you’re messing with?” Fred roared.

  “Oh, yes, we do,” a harsh voice spoke in Jack’s ear. “Two blabbermouths.”

  Crap. Their secret was out. And now they were both fish food.

  Chapter One

  My phone vibrated in my jeans pocket and I reached down to snap it out. It was a message from my dad. ‘Fish are biting! I’ll catch you a nice big one! PS: tell your mom to keep an eye on Bruni. She’s about to pop. PS2: got some big news coming up! Stay tuned!’

  I stared at the display. Big news? About Dad’s prize sow Bruni? After spending my teenage years on the hog farm, nothing about breeding pigs could ever surprise me. I was actually surprised Dad thought it would.

  I put the phone back and navigated a tray of Latte Macchiatos and two slices of cheesecake through the crowded dining room of the Vienna Coffee Shoppe in downtown Manhattan. The place was packed. My feet, even though I was wearing my sensible sneakers, were killing me. Time for this shift to be over. I set down the tray and distributed the lattes and cheesecake to an elderly couple who were regulars. The woman gave me a wink and said, “I voted for your father and I’d
do it again in a heartbeat, sweetie.”

  “Thanks, ma’am,” I said.

  The man leaned in and said conspiratorially, “That hog farm was rigged with WMDs, honey. I’m sure of it. Whole thing was a setup from the go.”

  “Thanks for the support,” I said as brightly as I could, then turned away.

  Even after all these years, Hoggate still managed to divide the country between naysayers and yaysayers. When my dad was president, he bombed a Montana hog farm to smithereens. He’d received credible intel that terrorists were camped out at the farm, preparing an attack on domestic soil. But when DHS combed the place in search of weapons of mass destruction, they found nothing. Well, apart from massive amounts of nitrogen, also known as pig manure. And a lot of dead pigs.

  There was a huge scandal and Dad was impeached and kicked out of the White House, the first president in American history to be removed from office. To atone for his sins, he bought up the land where the hog farm had stood, built a new farm, and had gone into hog farming. I was fifteen when he was impeached, and even now, nine years later, the debate still raged on and I was still being stopped in the street by my dad’s detractors or supporters.

  Bad enough as it was, Hoggate isn’t the only scandal connected to my family that continues to fascinate my fellow Americans. When Dad’s predecessor, Fred Jefferson, was sworn in on Capitol Hill, Dad, who was Speaker of the House at the time, was invited to sit up there with the rest of the VIPs to listen to Fred’s speech. I was twelve, and didn’t hesitate when Fred’s precocious twelve-year-old Chris invited me for a private tour of the White House. I thought he looked just like Justin Timberlake.

  Chris took me into the Oval Office with the promise of showing me something very special. What he showed me was the underside of the Resolute Desk, where he proceeded to plant a big wet one on me.

  It was my first kiss and I was in love. Kissed by the First Son!

  Four years later, my dad won the election in a landslide and Fred Jefferson lost. But when it came time for Dad to give his speech, Mom and me watching on with pride, Chris Jefferson, instead of taking me to the Oval Office again, to continue my smooch education, decided to put the moves on the vice-president’s daughter instead, right there on the west front of the Capitol. So I did the only thing a right-minded and high-spirited sixteen-year-old can do: I walked up to him, in the middle of my dad’s inaugural address, and slapped him across the face in front of the world’s cameras.