by Nic Saint
CHAPTER 18
The moment the bell rang, Felicity couldn’t prevent her heart from jumping up into her throat and hope to surge that Rick, in spite of his misgivings, had found it in his heart to forgive and forget. With a quick flourish, she swung the door wide and found herself staring at two men she’d never seen before. Whatever their qualities, they missed the one ingredient that would have endeared them to her: they were most definitely not Rick.
“Yes?” she barked, a little peeved. Strange men traveling in twos could, in her estimation, only mean one of two things: either they were traveling salesmen or they’d come to save her soul to Jesus. Either way, she wasn’t in the market.
“Good evening, Miss Bell,” said the tallest of the two, a sallow-faced man who looked as if he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. “NYPD. I’m Detective Jerry Vale, and this is Detective Johnny Carew. We’re here about Rick Dawson, ma’am. May we come in?”
Instantly, her mind leaped to the inevitable conclusion: Rick had filed charges against her and now the case was in the hands of the police. Furthermore, the fact that she didn’t know these cops told her he’d filed the charge in New York, and these men had traveled all the way from the big city to conduct the initial interview.
Her heart sank as she realized that love wasn’t simply dead but was about to bite her in the ass. “Come in,” she muttered brokenly.
“Could I perhaps use the men’s room?” Detective Vale asked. He was looking sickly and she quickly showed him the way before he barfed all over the floor. His burly companion hovered near the door, taking in the scenery.
She hurried over to Alice and whispered, “Rick has sent two cops to question me!”
Alice’s face fell. “Oh, no. How could he do that?”
Felicity shrugged. “How could he not? You said it yourself. I assaulted him so many times it was the only thing he could do to protect himself from me.”
“Oh, honey,” exclaimed Alice, clearly upset that the plans she’d been concocting to personally interfere in the budding love affair were now null and void. “I’m so sorry.”
“Promise me one thing,” Felicity said in a low voice.
“Anything.”
“Will you visit me in prison?”
Alice tsk-tsked at this. “It won’t come to that. I for one will be a character witness and I’m sure others will do the same.” She took her friend’s hand and pressed it firmly. “We won’t let that nasty little fiend Dawson beat you.”
Felicity’s eyebrow rose. “I thought you wanted me to hook up with him?”
“That was before he sicced the NYPD on you,” she said decidedly.
A cough sounded behind her and she saw they’d been joined by the two policemen.
“Sorry to trouble you,” said Detective Vale.
“It’s fine. What brings you here, detectives?” she asked, bidding the men to take a seat on the couch.
“Well, the thing is,” began the sad-looking one, “we’re here because of a complaint we received about a Mr. Richard Dawson. According to my information you’ve had dealings with this gentleman?”
She frowned. “A complaint about Mr. Dawson?”
“That’s right.”
She held up a hand and blinked. “Wait, let me get this straight. You’re not here because of a complaint by Mr. Dawson?”
“No, we are not,” replied the more robust detective. With his rosy cheeks and ready smile he was the picture of health. Instantly, Felicity’s spirits soared. Rick hadn’t filed charges against her after all. She sent Alice to the kitchen to fetch some refreshments. Within seconds, eager not to miss a thing, Alice returned with a tray of biscuits, what was left over of the strawberry shortcake they prepared that afternoon and cups and saucers for the tea she’d put to boil.
“Please help yourself,” Felicity said, gesturing to the cake and biscuits. “I prepared them myself. I’m a baker.”
Detective Vale stared at the cake and biscuits with an expression of dismay, before clearing his throat and giving her the wan look of a man resigned to spend the rest of his days on death row. “I’m on a fast,” he said apologetically. “My wife tells me it’s very important for my health that I don’t take nourishment for twenty-one days.”
“Oh, you poor man,” she cried. She couldn’t imagine the ordeal he was going through. No wonder he looked like death warmed over.
“I know,” he sighed, gazing wistfully at the cake and cookies. “It’s mainly the liver. She says I’ve got a fatty liver, and if I don’t do something about it I will be worm food within months.” He shook his head. “It’s only the third day and already I’m feeling faint.”
Felicity shook her head at the sad tale. It had touched her heart. The mere thought of having to refuse food appalled her. Always having had a healthy appetite herself, the treatment seemed like something only Cruella de Vil could come up with.
“Oh, do try a piece, Jer!” suddenly cried Detective Carew, visibly moved.
“But I can’t,” insisted his partner. “Marlene—”
“Marlene doesn’t have to know!” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “My lips are sealed and I’m sure Miss Bell and her friend won’t breathe a word.”
“She’ll know,” sighed the stricken faster. “I told you already. She can read my tongue.” He looked up, that wan look still prevalent. The man was clearly in the depths. “I ate a nut last night.” He held up a finger. “One single nut, and when I came home she checked my tongue and told me she could tell I’d eaten. There was a white spot on my tongue. It was the nut. Can you imagine what will happen if I eat cake?” He shook his head. “She’ll never let me live it down.”
Alice, who’d gone to prepare tea, returned with the pot and plunked it down on the table, then proceeded to scoop a big chunk of cake on a plate and hand it to Jerry. She hadn’t heard the conversation and could be readily excused for her insensitivity. Nevertheless, she was surprised when the detective burst into tears.
The poor man, Felicity thought. The poor, poor man. It was then that she made the decision. Setting her face, she took the plate from Alice and shoved it into Detective Vale’s hands. He stared at it, then at Felicity, confusion etched on his gaunt features.
“Eat!” she demanded and handed him a fork. “Now!”
It was a testament to the power of her personality that the man plunged the fork into the cake, tore off a chunk and decanted it into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he chomped down on the freshly baked pastry with relish and before long his face took on an expression of pure bliss.
He opened his eyes and Felicity was surprised to see tears blinking in them.
“Thank you, Miss Bell,” he breathed passionately. “You saved my life.”
CHAPTER 19
A bird swooped low over the balcony before settling down on the low wall dividing it from the next-door neighbor’s property. It was a sizable bird, and as Rick stared into its obsidian eyes, he became aware of a sense of foreboding. He swallowed away a lump of uneasiness. Unfortunately, even as he pressed his ear to the glass, no discernible sounds were in evidence, due to this modern obsession with double glazing. Though he could hear the soft murmur of voices, he had no way of knowing what was being said.
The intrepid reporter, however—and most certainly one employed by the New York Chronicle—always finds a way. It didn’t take long for Rick to discover that the sliding door was unlocked, and after darting a peek through the window and detecting that the coast was clear, he pushed it open, and listened intently.
For a few brief moments, no words were spoken, and he was starting to wonder if perhaps some connecting door inside the house was closed, when suddenly the world came alive with the sound of voices.
“Mhhhhhh,” a voice rang out. “This is good. This is great. This is divine!”
Rick stiffened. He had no trouble recognizing the voice as Jerry Vale’s.
“I’m glad you like it,” cooed Felicity.
“Like it? I love i
t!”
“There’s more where that came from,” Felicity came back, her voice dripping with the desire to please.
Rick balled his fists, his face working. This was simply too much. It was obvious to him now that Felicity was providing the Falcone goon with favors which could only be described as being sexual in nature.
“Mh, that’s so good,” Jerry was saying. “You really have a gift, Miss Bell.”
“Thanks. A lot of people have told me so.”
“You’re a life saver. A real life saver.”
“Can I also have some of that?” a second male voice piped up. Johnny Carew.
“Of course. There’s enough for the both of you,” Felicity breathed erotically.
A soft whimper escaped Rick’s throat. A man can only stand so much. Here was the woman he loved—yes, loved, dammit, he wasn’t afraid to admit it now—and she was offering sexual favors to the scum of the earth. And here he’d always thought she was a baker.
He gritted his teeth. Why did he always have to fall for the wrong ones? He’d thought Felicity Bell was different, while she was the worst of the lot.
“Let me help you with that. You missed a piece.” Felicity’s voice traveled to him on a whisper. The rest of the conversation eluded him, as a thunderclap rent the air, and the downpour to end all downpours proceeded to hit him in the neck. Within seconds, he was soaked to the skin, and with a feeling of dejection, he proceeded to the drainpipe and made his way down. A man can only stand so much and tonight he’d suffered more than any man could be expected to bear.
As he staggered back to his car, looking like a drowning victim, a few choice words to describe Felicity came to mind. He stepped inside, took out his dictation apparatus and launched into a steady stream of prose on his new favorite topic.
Suggs Potter might have dismissed him, but there was still his blog. While the Suggs Potters of this world danced to the beat of Chazz Falcone’s drum, not Rick Dawson. Even though his blog only reached about a thousand loyal adepts, all of them would know the truth about Falcone and his Happy Bays cronies.
It had finally dawned on him that Felicity was on Falcone’s payroll. Why else would she have assaulted him on four different occasions? And why else would she be supplying Jerry Vale and Johnny Carew with the kind of services that would have put the blush of shame on the cheeks of Madame Claude or Heidi Fleiss?
He finally had her number and now he would expose her to the world.
CHAPTER 20
Inside the house meanwhile, Jerry had eaten his fill. And since he hadn’t eaten in three days, that fill was rather extensive. Those strawberry shortcakes had been a mere appetizer, and becoming aware of her guest’s appetite, Felicity had retreated into the kitchen to whip him up some ‘real food.’ She’d opened a freezer the size of a double-wide and had made magic happen in next to no time.
A large serving of pork chops with scalloped potatoes later, he was slowly starting to feel human again and the color which had deserted his cheeks, was gradually returning. When finally he’d gobbled up a big piece of chocolate cake for dessert, he leaned back in his chair and grinned like the Cheshire Cat after polishing off its third canary.
“That was amazing, Fe. Simply amazing.”
Between two spoonfuls of gratin, Miss Bell had turned into Felicity, and then to Fe. And when he’d briefly experienced a pang of discomfort at the thought of Marlene discovering not a mere white spot on his tongue but an entire wasteland, Alice had quickly provided the solution.
“Simply brush your tongue before you enter the house,” she offered. “Make sure that strip of leather is as pink as your complexion and all will be fine.”
Why he hadn’t thought of that he didn’t know. It was pure genius!
And as he sat back, his stomach filled to the bursting point and a song on his lips, a disconcerting thought occurred to him. He’d just remembered why they were here in the first place. The thought depressed him, and as he glanced over to his partner in crime, he could see that Johnny too, was finding it hard to return to business as usual after the veritable feast they’d both been treated to.
“I’m, erm, much obliged to the both of you,” he muttered sadly.
“Me too. You’re a great cook Fe,” echoed Johnny, looking mournful.
Jerry felt the strain of having to coerce such a wonderful hostess into spilling the beans on Rick Dawson. It just wasn’t right to have to put the squeeze on the woman who’d just saved his life.
“Does the name Chazz Falcone mean anything to you, Fe?”
Next to him, Johnny started violently, but he put a soothing hand on the man’s arm. He had made his decision and he was going to stick to it. He eyed Felicity closely. If there was one thing he was good at, it was spotting a liar. When you’ve been in the business of putting the fear of God into people for as long as he had, you develop a good intuition. He could recognize a lie when he heard it. It was a knack he’d mastered a long time ago and it had served him well.
Felicity shook her head. “I’ve heard about him, but we’ve never met. Why? Is he the one complaining about Rick Dawson?”
He nodded and gave his partner’s arm a squeeze. She’d spoken the truth, he simply knew it. “Yah,” he said. “He’s the one.”
“I still don’t get it,” Johnny piped up. “Why did you put Dawson in jail?”
Felicity cringed. “That was an accident. He told you about that, did he?”
“The thing is,” Alice interjected, “that Fe thought Rick was a crook, while Rick thought Fe was the crook. Turns out neither of them were right, and when Rick came over and she threw those eggs well, you can imagine he didn’t like it, especially when she also hit him over the head with the skillet and then slapped him in the face when he tried to kiss her.” She held out her arms. “Well, I guess he wasn’t too happy about that, cause we haven’t seen him since.”
Jerry’s head was swimming. “That’s great,” he muttered. “Just great.”
All he knew was that as far as he could gather, Felicity Bell was on the level, and this whole business with Rick Dawson had been one big misunderstanding. He leveled a look at Johnny, and saw that his partner had reached the same conclusion. “I think that’s all we need to know, don’t you, Detective Carew?”
“Right you are, Detective Vale,” Johnny replied with a look of relief.
As one man, they both rose to their feet. Jerry slapped his belly, now double the size from before. He held out a hand and shook Felicity’s warmly. “I’ll never forget this, Fe. You’ve been most kind. Most, most kind.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said, a little flustered.
“Whenever you’re in the neighborhood,” Alice added, “don’t hesitate to drop by.”
“We will, won’t we, Detective Carew?”
“Sure thing, Detective Vale. The best food I’ve tasted since…since…” Johnny looked surprised. “Darn it. That was the best damn food I’ve ever eaten, darn it!”
“Same thing here.”
“That’s really nice of you to say, Detectives.”
“And don’t forget to brush your tongue!” Alice added.
These pleasantries concluded, the two fake cops made their way to the door. Once outside, Jerry sighed. “Two nice girls, eh, Johnny?”
“Oh, yes, Jer. Real nice,” hiccuped Johnny.
“Sure glad we didn’t have to lean on them.”
“Me too. A shame to beat up such a great cook.”
“Now let’s find Dawson and finally return to the old stomping ground, eh?”
“You said it.”
Before entering the car, Jerry checked his tongue in the rearview mirror. White as a sheet, just like he thought it would be. Then a horrible thought occurred to him. He’d left his toothbrush at home.
CHAPTER 21
Next morning the sun was shining brightly in an azure sky when Felicity stretched and strode from the bakery. It was seven o’clock and already she’d put in her two hours, assisting her fat
her and uncle.
She sighed, wiping her hands on her apron, and walked into the tea room. A few early breakfasters had already arrived and were enjoying their daily treat in the shape of freshly brewed coffee, crackling hot croissants, and all manner of delicious pastry. Amongst them she was surprised to find the friendly faces of Detectives Vale and Carew. Both men were seated at a corner table, busily shoveling an impressive pile of food down their gullets. Jerry, especially, was still making up for the damage his reluctant fast had caused him.
She gave the men a wave before joining Alice at their usual table.
As soon as they’d enjoyed their breakfast, Felicity would go on her daily delivery round, while Alice geared up for one of her jobs, this one for her Uncle Charlie, at the funeral home he ran.
“Tough morning?” asked Alice, sipping from her mug of steaming coffee.
“The usual.” She bit her lip. “It’s Dad. I’m worried about his state of mind.”
Alice raised an eyebrow. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”
She proceeded to tell her friend what Mom had revealed about Dad’s secret wish to leave everything behind and start afresh in Florida. Move to a retirement community and spend the twilight years of his life soaking up the rays and playing gin rummy.
“Sounds perfectly normal to me,” Alice opined. “Heck, Uncle Charlie has the exact same dream, only instead of Florida he can’t stop talking about Las Vegas.”
“Yes, but part of Dad’s dream is for me to take over Bell’s. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Oh, I know it won’t be for another couple of years, but still.” She held out her arms. “What about…” She swallowed, the words stuck in her throat.
Alice cocked an eyebrow. “What about what?”
She leaned in, and whispered, “What about…men?”