The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse: Books 1-3 (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Box Sets)

by Nic Saint

  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, Fee. Simply amazing.”

  Between two spoonfuls of gratin, Miss Bell had turned into Felicity, and then to Fee. 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 Fee,” 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, Fee?”

  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 Fee thought Rick was a crook, while Rick thought Fee 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, Fee. 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 father 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 whi
spered, “What about…men?”

  Her friend frowned, and took a bite from her donut. “What about them?”

  Felicity wrung her hands. She’d given the matter some serious thought last night. In fact it had taken her ages to find sleep, and when finally sleep found her, she’d dreamed that she was a fat, old spinster, living with a dozen cats, and that all the neighborhood kids called her ‘cat lady’ and made fun of her behind her back. “I don’t want to be a cat lady,” she said in a strangled voice.

  “There’s only the one cat. I think to be officially considered a cat lady you require about a dozen.”

  “You don’t understand!” Felicity cried, then lowered her voice when all eyes swiveled to her. “I saw my future last night,” she continued in hushed tones, “and it looked bleak.”

  “You mean to say you had a vision?”

  “More like a nightmare. I was still living in the same house, only you were gone, I was old and gray, and about a hundred cats had taken your place.” She shivered in horror at the recollection.

  Alice shrugged. “So take my advice. Get out there more. Start dating. You’re still in your prime, Fee, and gorgeous. Any man who doesn’t give you the time of day is an idiot.”

  “I was thinking about one man in particular,” she said quietly, twirling her donut and crumbling it into little pieces. Alice gave her an exasperated stare. A great lover of donuts, she hated to see a perfectly good one go to waste.

  “You’re still thinking about Rick?”

  “I am,” she whispered, almost inaudible now. “Which doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why not?”

  She thrust her phone at Alice and tapped the screen. “He sent me a link to his blog last night.”

  “This is crazy!” Alice cried, reading over the missive.

  “It is a little weird.”

  “Weird? It’s criminal. He’s accusing you of working for a known crook.” Her eyes flicked back to the screen. “Chazz Falcone.”

  “He’s the guy Detectives Vale and Carew asked me about last night, remember? The one who filed a complaint against Rick?”

  “But why would he think you’re working for him? He knows you’re a baker.”

  Felicity shrugged. The whole thing had come as quite a shock to her, especially the fact that she still had feelings for the guy.

  “You want my opinion? You’re well out of it. Rick Dawson is a real piece of work.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m starting to wonder if your first impression wasn’t the right one after all. First impressions often are.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said moodily.

  “He’s a fruitcake.”

  Felicity thoughtfully nibbled from her donut. She couldn’t really be mad at Rick. It was obvious the man had some serious issues, and her heart bled for him.

  She looked up when Detective Vale approached their table. “Oh, hello, Jerry. How are you this morning?”

  “Did I just hear you mention the name Chazz Falcone?” he grumbled and she was taken aback by his dour demeanor.

  “That was me,” Alice piped up. “Rick Dawson wrote an article about him.”

  At the mention of the name Dawson, Detective Vale’s frown deepened. “An article? What do you mean?”

  “On his blog,” Alice clarified, and gestured to Felicity’s phone. “Here, read it for yourself. Apparently he’s accusing Felicity of working for a known criminal called Chazz Falcone. What on earth made him think so is beyond me. The man is obviously delusional.”

  Detective Vale picked up the phone and quickly scanned the article. His lips tightened. “I see.” He placed down the phone. “That’s all right, Fee. I wouldn’t worry about Mr. Dawson’s mad ravings.”

  “Well, frankly Fee is worried, Jerry. First he accuses her of trying to murder him, and now he thinks she’s a criminal. What will he think of next?” She jutted out her chin. “I think we should press charges, Fee. Slander, libel and deformation of character.”

  “You mean defamation,” Felicity said mechanically. She really didn’t want to go there. Rick still possessed a piece of her heart, and she didn’t want to cause him any more trouble. It was obvious the man was troubled enough to begin with. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Think of Bell’s, honey,” Alice pointed out. “As the future owner of this establishment you can’t afford being associated with organized crime. What will the customers think? This is a nice, respectable business, and you have to protect your reputation.”

  Well, there was that, of course. Not to mention what Mom and Dad would say. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do need to defend myself against these allegations.” She made up her mind. Yes, she had Bell’s to think of. The reputation of a business can be destroyed in a heartbeat once these unfounded rumors start swirling the internet. And with Dad in his maudlin state, he might simply give up completely and close up the place, putting the whole family out of work. She steeled herself, and turned to Detective Vale. “I wish to file charges against Rick Dawson.”

  He simply stared at her, then slowly nodded. “Sure. Sure, why not? Why don’t I drop by the house later on and take care of that for you?”

  “Or I could come to the police station. Just give me the name and address of your precinct.”

  He blinked. “That’s all right. You don’t want to trouble yourself.”

  “Thanks. That’s very kind of you,” she said, much relieved.

  “It’s a deal,” he said, then abruptly turned on his heel and strode away.

  It could have been her imagination, but Felicity had the distinct impression Detective Vale wasn’t too happy with this sudden turn of events. But then she dismissed the thought. Of course he was pleased. It would simply add to the case he was building. Still, in her heart of hearts she couldn’t help but feel pity for Rick. It was now obvious that he was in a very delicate state of mind, and this would only make things worse. But then she was strong again. She had her family’s business to think of, after all. As her mother had repeated to her on more than one occasion, family always came first.

  Chapter 22

  “I don’t think you understand, father. The man I intend to marry has gone berserk! He’s buried himself in his work and won’t even come up for air!”

  Chazz Falcone only paid scant attention to his daughter’s lament. “Is that right?” he muttered, staring fixedly at his computer screen.

  A portly man in his late fifties with an impressive set of beetling brows and three chins, he was already hard at work. One doesn’t become a billionaire by lazing about, and he’d always held the firm belief that idle hands were his competitors’ workshop.

  “Oh, daddy!” Charlene cried, stomping her foot. “I do wish you would take this seriously. Grover Calypso told me his son has been working round the clock and hasn’t been seen or heard from in days!”

  “Mh.”

  “Daddy!”

  For the first time since she’d interrupted the cloistral peace of his office, Falcone looked up from his perusal of the blog he’d been reading. “Eh? What?”

  “My fiancé, daddy. He’s gone missing!”

  “Fiancé?”

  Charlene Falcone rolled her eyes, something which she was very skilled at. Living with a parent like Chazz Falcone had given her plenty of opportunity to become proficient at the gesture. Like her mother before her, she found her father’s manner when engrossed in his work extremely trying. “Bomer Calypso, daddy? The man I’m going to marry?”

  “Oh, yes, right, of course. Bomer. Good old Bomer. How is that young man of yours these days?”

  She pursed her lips in a display of annoyance. “Not fine. In fact he’s lousy.”

  “Oh? Something wrong with his appetite?” He tsk-tsked. “The boy always had a weak stomach. I remember that one time Grover and I were sharing a meal, and Bomer had to leave the table because a piece of veal had upset him.” He smiled at the recollection. “Ran like a rabbit. Grover and I laughed heartily.”

&nbs
p; “It is not his stomach that is troubling poor Bomer, father but this strange obsession with work. He simply won’t leave his office for days in a row, insisting he needs to finish some project! Can you imagine?”

  She shook her head, causing her blond tresses to dangle about her heart-shaped face. Unlike her father, whose face even in the prime of his youth had resembled a dead halibut, she was an exceedingly pretty girl, having inherited her features from her mother, the second of Falcone’s wives, who’d been Miss Punxsutawney in her heyday.

  “Work is good for that young man,” opined Falcone sternly. “He’s been lazing about far too much.”

  “And now he’s working too much. He doesn’t even have time to help me pick out a dress, can you believe it?” She sighed. “I’m sure that his next suggestion will be to postpone the wedding, claiming it interferes with his project. Oh, Daddy, I do wish you would talk to Grover and tell him to ease up on poor Bomer. Last time I saw him he looked awfully pale and preoccupied.”

  “He won’t call off the wedding. I won’t let him,” insisted Falcone. He had his heart set on this wedding, which would unite two great families and would turn one of his dearest and oldest friends into a relative at last.

  “Well, then what do you plan to do about it?” she demanded. “Things can’t go on like this. I feel I’ve become a widow even before we’ve exchanged vows.”

  “I will have a word with Grover. I’m sure we can work this out,” Falcone said, his attention wavering again. Even though the wedding was something he’d been looking forward to, this article on Rick Dawson’s blog had caught his attention, and once something caught Chazz Falcone’s attention, it was hard for him to let go. Except when it concerned petty things like wedding details, of course.

  “Fine,” snapped Charlene. “I will have you know that if Bomer’s father insists on working his son to the bone, I intend to fight him on it. I will not have an absentee husband for the rest of my life.”