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

by Nic Saint

  “Hello there, Jerry. What a nice day.”

  “Yeah, great day. Just great,” he said, a little winded. Pressing a hand to his waist, he wheezed slightly, then continued, “Look here. I forgot to ask you before, but would you have any idea where I can find Rick Dawson? We need to have a chat with him about the investigation.”

  “Ah, the investigation,” she said, nodding.

  “That’s right. You told us you wanted to press charges against the guy?”

  She waved a hand. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided it’s better to forgive and forget.”

  He looked appalled. “Forgive and forget? Whatever the hell for? Pardon my French,” he instantly added, “but he did write that scathing article about you.”

  “I’ve thought things through and I now see that he meant no harm when he wrote those words.”

  “No harm? I think you’re wrong, honey—I mean Fee. I think he meant to do you all the harm in the world.”

  “I had a chat with him just now and—”

  “Just now?” The detective’s eyes went wide. “You mean to say he’s here—at the Inn?”

  “He was, but now he isn’t.”

  He stared at her, visibly flustered. “I don’t get it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. What I meant to say was that I’m dropping all charges against Mr. Dawson so that’s the end of that.”

  “But, but, but—”

  “Oh, and could I please have another look at your badge, Detective?”

  He gulped. “My—my badge?”

  “Yes. You see, I’m writing an article about Rick Dawson, and my editor told me to get all my facts straight.”

  “Well, look here,” Detective Vale began, slowly moving backward, “I seem to have left my badge in the car. If you would care to wait one moment…”

  “I’ll wait right here, Jerry,” she said sweetly, and folded her arms across her chest.

  She watched with interest as Jerry Vale quickly made his way to his car, hopped in, put the car in gear, and tore from the parking lot of the Happy Bays Inn in a cloud of dust. She shook her head. “What do you know?” she muttered. “So Rick was right all along.”

  Just at that moment the door of the Inn opened, and the man in question strode out, a suitcase in hand, and a look of determination on his face. She waved at him and he waved back.

  “Want a ride?” she asked cheerily.

  “Sure.”

  “Hop in.”

  Moments later, they were cruising down the road, and she suddenly remembered a vital part of giving someone a lift. “Where are we going?”

  “I really don’t want to inconvenience you,” he said. “Just do your usual thing, and when you’re all done, you can drop me off at Casa di Amore.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Casa di Amore?”

  “Yes. Do you know the place?”

  “Of course. Everybody does.”

  “That’s fine, then. I hope it isn’t too much trouble.”

  She shook her head, then frowned as she tried to remember what it was she’d wanted to tell him. Oh, of course. “I just had a chat with Jerry Vale.”

  Rick shot up in his seat. “My God. What did you tell him?”

  “I asked to see his badge. Funny thing. Instead of showing me, he bolted.”

  “Bolted?”

  “Like a bat out of hell.” She glanced over to him. “Looks like you were right after all. There is something very fishy about Detective Vale.”

  Rick shook his head. “You shouldn’t play games with that man. I told you he and his partner are extremely dangerous.”

  “Yes, you told me. I don’t think he’ll harm me, though. I practically saved his life last night.”

  “Did he ask about me?”

  “Yes. Wanted to know where he could find you.”

  He moved restlessly in his seat. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Of course not. And before I make up my mind whether that was a good thing or a bad thing you need to tell me all about that investigation of yours. I think I’m ready to thresh this thing out once and for all.”

  “You are, are you?”

  “You told me once you were going to teach me how to be a reporter, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “Of course that was before I started throwing frying pans at your head, and showering you with mugs of steaming hot coffee.”

  “That’s all right. I want to teach you.”

  “You do?”

  “I read that article you wrote for the Happy Bays Gazette.”

  “Oh.”

  “I liked it. Very pithy and to the point.”

  “I didn’t write that. My editor Stephen Fossick rewrote the whole thing. I don’t think there’s even a comma left in there that’s mine.”

  It had irked her a great deal when she finally picked up the paper that morning and found that Stephen had pretty much changed every single word. He’d even changed the headline from ‘Ruckus at Rafi’s’ to ‘Rafi’s Deli Robbed at Gunpoint.’ It just didn’t have the same ring to it, she felt.

  “I’ll help you write the next one, and I promise you that your editor won’t have to change one iota once I’m through with you.”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “That’s very kind of you, Rick.”

  “It’s the least I can do for the woman who rescued me from Jerry Vale.”

  “Now then. What’s all this about Chazz Falcone? Spare no details. I want to know all.”

  Rick sighed and sat back in his chair. “How much time have you got?”

  “It takes me two hours to finish my round. Is that enough time for you?”

  He grinned. “Just about.”

  “Well, then. Don’t let me stop you. By all means tell me all your secrets.”

  Chapter 28

  “So what’s the deal with this Falcone character? Why do you make him out to be the worst human being ever to walk the planet?”

  They were driving along Hutton Street, having made one delivery at Mrs. Cruise’s place. Mrs. Cruise, a regular customer at Bell’s for half a century now, liked her bread fresh and crusty, and Felicity usually delivered it straight to the old lady’s kitchen.

  Things were going smoothly, and they’d developed a system of some kind: Felicity pulled over, handed Rick the delivery, told him where to put it, and he hopped out and placed it just so. He was quick off the mark, made a great touchdown, and returned to home plate even before she’d put the car in park.

  She could get used to this.

  “I’ll tell you what the deal is,” he grumbled. For the past hour, he’d given her the lowdown on the art of writing the killer article, and she was now in such mellowed mood, she was starting to see that her initial impression, contrary to what Alice might think, had been completely wrong after all. The man wasn’t merely easy on the eyes, he was a real treat to be around as well.

  He waxed eloquently on hard news versus soft news, leads and jumps, cutlines and datelines, roundups and rowbacks and even mastheads and bulldogs. But now that he came to the heart of the matter, his demeanor changed, and his face took on a set look.

  “Chazz Falcone came to this country some forty odd years ago. He started from scratch, but already possessed the trait that would mark his whole career.”

  “Backbone?”

  “Treachery.”

  “Oh, I see. One of those, huh? Unkind to animals and small children.”

  “Unkind to just about anything and anybody. He set out to build himself an empire and that’s exactly what he did.”

  “I think I’m starting to see the picture. He’s one of those guys who wants to be a millionaire by the age of six, then flies into a temper tantrum when he hasn’t reached his goal by the time his seventh birthday rolls around.”

  “He actually became a millionaire at twenty-one. Then managed to double his fortune every year since.”

  She frowned. Math had never been her st
rong suit. “Pretty rich, huh?”

  “Pretty much. A self-made billionaire, his money primarily in real estate.”

  “Ah, yes. Real estate.” She’d heard of the miracle of real estate, though she herself had never gone in for it. The initial outlay was too big, and she never did have the knack of saving her hard-earned nickels and dimes.

  “He’s the one who built that monstrosity in Midtown Manhattan. You know the one. Falcone Tower?”

  “I’ve seen pictures.”

  “Since then he’s disgraced many of the finest capitals with his constructions. Office buildings, apartment complexes, shopping malls, golf courses, hotels, you name it and he’s built it. It has made him wealthy beyond compare, and hated by architects, city planners and environmentalists the world over.”

  “Not the kind of people you want to mess with,” she murmured, still failing to see the point of Rick’s harangue.

  He looked up sharply, her sarcasm not escaping him. “He’s done a lot more harm than good, actually. On his way to the top he’s used bribery, treachery, threats and all manner of cajoling.”

  “Cajoling. That’s bad.”

  Rick gritted his teeth. “He’s a very bad man. Just take my word for it.” He patted his briefcase. “And about a thousand pages of notes.”

  She whistled through her teeth. “A thousand pages. That’s a lot of notes.”

  “It is. And I plan to see this series through if it’s the last thing I do.”

  She eyed him wistfully. She always had been a sucker for the kind of man who sees things through. A man full of ideals wanting to take on the world. It was just the kind of the thing Frodo the Hobbit would have done, one of her childhood heroes. He had the look of the hero, she thought. With his piercing blue eyes, his handsome features, the determination clear from his battle ram of a chin to the way his eyes shone when he talked about his mission to take down Chazz Falcone a peg or two.

  “I think it’s marvelous,” she breathed. “To be that passionate about something.” She shook her head. “I wish I had that kind of holy fire burning in my soul to accomplish something great.”

  “But you do,” he said. “I could see it at a glance when you nailed that guy at Rafi’s Deli. And the way you pelted me with those baby peas, not to mention the skillet.” He clucked his tongue. “You are a remarkable woman, Felicity.”

  She eyed him hesitantly, trying to decide whether he was making fun of her. But he seemed absolutely sincere. “You really think so?”

  “Think so?” He lifted a lock of hair to show his brow, where the indentations from the baby peas were still visible. “I have the marks to prove it.”

  She cringed. “I’m so sorry about that. If I had known who you really were, I would never have attacked you like that.”

  “It’s all right. Meeting you has been something of a wake-up call. Before, I was simply wandering here and there, feeling forlorn. Now?” He gave a determined smirk. “I’m loaded for bear and nothing can stop me.”

  “All because of those baby peas?”

  “The whole episode has made me realize I shouldn’t have relied on other people so much—my editor Suggs Potter not to name names. I should simply go forth and put this little bit of writing out there for the whole world to see.”

  “Good on you,” she said, swept up in his enthusiasm.

  “Now all I need is a place to work in peace and quiet so I can put the finishing touches on my text, and I think Casa de Amore will just do the trick.”

  “How did you ever come to stay there? Do you know the Calypsos?”

  “Bomer Calypso and I go way back. We met in kindergarten, and bonded over tag, then later resumed our friendship over our mutual love of the game.”

  “Bingo?”

  “Baseball.”

  “Of course.”

  “As a matter of fact he’s staying at my apartment in the city right now. He’s working on some big project for his father, and needed some peace and quiet, just like me. It has often been the way that we found ourselves facing the same trials and tribulations at similar points in our careers.”

  He failed to mention that while Bomer’s career highlights had mainly consisted in improving his tolerance for alcohol and discovering new clubs, his had been the kind of steady work ethic that takes a young man and turns him from a budding professional to a success story in his chosen field. Although Bomer would probably argue that he, too, had been successful in his chosen field. He’d set out to date all the girls in New York, and had been going well when he’d run into Charlene.

  Of course, Bomer had been playing a losing game, for there are always new girls being born every minute, and one man can only do so much, due to the restrictions of time and biology. That’s probably why he’d decided to marry the girl of his dreams.

  Speaking of the girl of one’s dreams, he found his gaze irrevocably drawn to Felicity over and over again. Now here was a woman who could really be called a woman. Unlike most girls he’d known throughout his life, she wasn’t the kind of gimlet-eyed she-devil he’d come to fear and loathe.

  No, Felicity was more the salt-of-the-earth type person. Strong and independent but with a kind heart and a keen intelligence that never failed to impress.

  “Do you know Bomer Calypso?” he said, just to keep the conversation flowing. He very much enjoyed the sound of her voice, and the easy back and forth of the banter they’d been engaged in for the better part of the last hour.

  “Only by reputation. He’s something of a fixture in the Post and Daily News. He seems to have cut quite a swath through Manhattan’s socialites.”

  “He has. Though there are signs of improvement. He recently got engaged, so I guess he’ll be settling down now.” He swallowed, wondering if he should tell Felicity all. “He’s getting married to Charlene Falcone.”

  She looked up sharply. “Falcone? As in…”

  “Yes. As in Chazz Falcone.” He sank a bit lower in his seat. “My best friend is getting married to my enemy’s daughter. You can imagine my surprise.”

  “Of course. I didn’t make the connection. How is she? Charlene, I mean. I’ve heard a great deal about her.”

  “She’s…probably very much what you might imagine.”

  “Gorgeous, with an impeccable sense of style?”

  “Haughty, with a surprising sense of entitlement.”

  She laughed, a most delightful sound to his ears. Like bells ringing in a wedding chapel. “You don’t seem to like her all that much.”

  “You’re right about that. I absolutely dislike the woman.” He’d said it with a vehemence that betrayed the deep feelings he had about Charlene Falcone.

  “Oh?” she said, and he detected he’d made a faux pas. You can’t say you hate a girl without intimating there’s more to it than that. He should have been cold and aloof, he now saw. “You know her well, then?”

  He shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable. He was treading on perilous ground. “Well enough to know she’s not a good match for poor old Bomer.”

  “You…used to date her yourself, didn’t you?”

  She’d said it in an offhand kind of way, but he saw the trap which had been laid. He’d laid it himself, of course. “No, I didn’t.”

  “So how come you know her so well?”

  He sighed. Charlene Falcone was one of those girls half the female population admired with a fervor bordering on obsession, while the other half despised her just as vehemently. He could see that Felicity belonged to the first class. He decided to make a clean breast of it. “Charlene Falcone is my half-sister.”

  Felicity jerked the wheel so violently the van almost veered off the road. “But that means…”

  He shuffled awkwardly, suddenly feeling hot under the collar. “Yes. Chazz Falcone is my father.”

  Chapter 29

  Chazz Falcone, if he’d known his son was talking smack about him, wouldn’t have minded one bit. As it was, he was accustomed to people talking smack about him. You don’t be
come one of the country’s richest men without collecting a few enemies along the way. The man in the street, who had to inhabit the Falcone tenements that sprang up like a rash, felt he was being unfairly treated, as Falcone liked to charge top dollar, while saving pennies on things like insulation, central heating, and wall thickness.

  And then there were his competitors. Corporate sharks are a very competitive breed, and when one shark, especially one who looks like a halibut, manages to make a success of himself and land his face on the cover of Time Magazine, other sharks will stop at nothing to tear him down.

  And so it was that Falcone had gradually developed an iron front which protected him from the worst of the verbal and other abuses hurled at him.

  As a rule, he never opened his own letters. His secretary Suzy Boom dealt with all of that. Or rather the secretaries Mrs. Boom employed on his behalf. They enjoyed reading abuse about their boss, and he enjoyed not having to be faced with it.

  Because of this and his extreme wealth, Falcone had often been dubbed Iron Man by the media. How wrong they were. One thing did penetrate his armor, and that was his family. First there was this business about his son trying to destroy his reputation, and then there was Charlene breaking off her engagement with Bomer Calypso.

  One of his oldest and dearest friends, Grover Calypso and he had long shared the dream that one day their families would be united by more than the bond of friendship. As time went on, that hope had seemed a pipe dream, as both Charlene and Bomer had adopted quite a strong aversion to commitment.

  While Bomer had whooped it up in New York’s best establishments, and had provided the tabloids with a nice income stream, Charlene had gone on to date some of the world’s most eligible bachelors, but without any intention to change her Facebook relationship status. She had developed the cardinal rule never to allow any acquaintanceship to pass beyond the third date, and had stuck to it.

  It had seemed like something of a miracle, therefore, when somehow, somewhere, sometime—he didn’t know where, he didn’t know when—the two had started dating and hadn’t stopped since.