by Nic Saint
“I’m proud of you, Rick. It takes a great man to find it in his heart to forgive.”
Rick wasn’t quite there yet but he did enjoy the compliment. “Thank you, honey. I don’t know what you told him, but he does seem to have had a change of heart.”
“I’m sure he has.” She twined her hands around his neck and their lips met once again. This time the silence was broken by a deferential cough. Falcone had returned, desirous of speech.
“There’s been a slight snag. Jerry handed the laptop to Charlene and I can’t seem to get in touch with her at the moment.”
“That’s all right,” said Felicity. “It’s the gesture that counts.”
“No, it is not,” said Rick stubbornly. “I want my laptop and I want it now.”
And as if on his command, just in that moment the doorbell rang again.
“I’ll get it,” said Alice. The door swung open, and Jerry Vale and Johnny Carew strode in.
“Hiya boss,” said Johnny with a wave.
“What are you two doing here?” growled Falcone with some asperity.
“Well, we were in the neighborhood and figured we might as well drop by to thank you personally for getting us back on the team,” said Jerry.
He stared pointedly at the table, which was still fully set for dinner, a dish of beef tenderloin and one of potatoes cooling their heels. As they were heading back to New York, Jerry had suddenly realized that he was hungry, and that the moment he stepped into the apartment he shared with Mrs. Vale, all chances of a happy meal were off. And since they were passing by Felicity’s anyway, and saw the boss’s car parked in front, he figured they had a great excuse for dropping by unannounced, hoping to bask in Felicity’s well-remembered hospitality.
Felicity, who was a great judge of character, gestured to the table. “Have at it, Detective Vale—though I should probably call you Jerry, right?”
“Sorry about that, Fee,” Jerry said meekly, then plunked his spindly frame down and started ladling potatoes onto a plate.
“I really should knock that guy’s block off,” Rick grumbled, staring at Jerry. “He’s the one responsible for this goose bump on the back of my head.”
“And what a pretty goose bump it is,” Felicity said soothingly.
“Actually, I’m the one to blame for that Rick,” interjected Johnny. He was nothing if not proud of his accomplishments, though he still feared Rick’s wrath.
“That’s all right, Johnny,” said Felicity. She patted her fiancé’s shoulder. “Rick’s got a thick skull. I should know. I keep using it for target practice.”
“Thank you, Fee,” stammered Johnny gratefully, then plunked himself down next to Jerry and helped himself to a piece of meat.
“I don’t think you should encourage them,” Rick opined.
“Oh, they’re quite harmless. Besides, Jerry’s on a fast,” she added, as if that explained all.
The doorbell rang again, and Rick’s eyes sought the heavens, as if imploring the good Lord to stop sending people along.
Alice, self-appointed doorwoman, had barely opened the door before a female form came stomping in.
“Daddy!” Charlene Falcone screamed, “could you please ask those two goons of yours to go and beat up Bomer?” Then, perceiving there were other people present, she faltered for a moment, before finishing with, “I just caught him making out with no less than a dozen other women!”
Though she had accused her fiancé of doing just that thing, she hadn’t actually caught him when she’d found him at Rick’s apartment. Now, arriving at Casa di Amore and discovering Bomer practically festooned in scantily clad girls, she’d not only broken off the engagement—conveniently forgetting she’d already done so on the earlier occasion—but had also promised him she’d ‘get even.’
“Oh, there you are,” she said when she detected Jerry and Johnny. She turned to the two ‘goons’ and ordered, “Go over to Casa di Amore now and beat up Bomer Calypso. And don’t stint on the unnecessary violence. The little rat deserves everything he gets.”
Jerry and Johnny’s gazes drifted to their employer, who stood glowering at his daughter ominously.
“Charlene!” he barked. “I found your pictures.”
Charlene turned to her father. “What pictures? What are you gibbering about?”
When in a berserk state of mind, she sometimes forgot who she was talking to.
“Your nude pictures,” he said, his gaze darkening.
Charlene’s mouth opened for a flip response but at these words she closed it again with a click.
“What in heaven’s name got into you to pose in the nude, young lady!” he thundered.
“I—I—I—”
“Those were my idea, actually,” spoke yet another voice from the door.
Chapter 50
Seeing as tonight her home had turned into an open house, Alice hadn’t even bothered to close the front door anymore and a young man with butter-colored hair wandered in.
“Bomer!” cried Charlene, suddenly finding her tongue again. She hurled herself at him, fists raised and claws extended, but Falcone stopped her with a thunderous, “Charlene!” Then, turning to Bomer, he asked, “You are responsible for those pictures?”
“That’s right, sir. They were my idea. Of course when I took them I never meant for them to be seen by anyone other than myself and my fiancée. You see, both Charlene and I are avid nudists. In fact, when in the home, we never put on any clothes. We cook in the nude, eat in the nude, watch Modern Family in the nude—”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Never a patient man, Falcone had the distinct impression that if left unchecked Bomer would recite his daily itinerary and add ‘in the nude’ as he ticked off each item on the list. “So what?”
“Well, as a testament to our great love I enjoy taking pictures of your daughter, sir.” He shrugged. “And as it so happens that we’re always in the nude, that’s the way those pictures tend to come out. In the nude, as it were.” He looked up at the startled cry that had emanated from Charlene and turned to address her. “Yes, it is true, darling. You are my great love. Tonight, as I was festooned in blondes, as you so aptly described it, I came to the realization.
“Belatedly, perhaps, but nevertheless I felt I needed to share this revelation with you. If there was even the tiniest hope that you would still feel about me the way I feel about you, I needed to tell you this in person. I love you, Charlene, and I promise you that my lips never touched those of any other woman and they never shall, for as long as I live, if you can only find it in your heart to forgive me.”
All eyes turned to Charlene. That strong young woman seemed to waver for a moment, a shiver galvanizing her frame. The heroic rescue attempt of her former mate had touched her heart, such as it was. There wasn’t much she feared in life, but she did fear her father’s wrath. If that stalwart man discovered that the pictures she’d allowed Bomer to take had been meant for her big break, and had been a mere preamble to the sex tape she’d been planning, he’d be furious for sure.
She now realized how silly the whole scheme was and how valiant a knight Bomer was for saving her from the embarrassment. Love surged in her bosom, or at least an emotion closely resembling it, and she threw herself into her savior’s arms, muttering broken words of endearment.
Bomer, expertly catching her, kissed her sixty-seven times in quick succession, relieved at the happy ending.
Though the part about being a nudist had been a blatant lie for the sake of Charlene’s father, he hadn’t lied about one thing: that he loved this girl above all others. Though her supercilious and bossy manner sometimes made him feel like a piece of dross, it was also that which appealed so much to him. Like most spineless men, a strong desire to be dominated by a forceful female ran through him, and in Charlene Falcone he had found just such a female.
Felicity heaved a deep sigh. Her dinner date with Rick had turned out differently than she’d anticipated, but she didn’t mind. She’d grown up in a ful
l house, and even though not everyone present was a relative—yet—she enjoyed the company.
Linking her arm through Rick’s, she whispered, “Are you hungry, my love?”
Rick rubbed his stomach. “Very much. Being knocked unconscious works wonders for the appetite, I can tell you.”
She raised her voice over the hubbub in the room. “Everyone! Please take a seat. There’s plenty of food. Let’s eat!”
The small band of people didn’t have to be told twice. It seemed not only being knocked unconscious does wonders for the appetite, but also being conciliated with one’s true love, for Charlene and Bomer were the first to join Jerry and Johnny.
“Oh, before I forget,” said Charlene, handing her father a laptop, “I thought you might need this.”
He stared at the thing. The emotions of a man who’s been coveting something for ages and then finally finds it are hard to fathom. Indiana Jones when laying eyes on the Holy Grail might have understood, or Columbus when he finally caught sight of America. Falcone touched the laptop reverently. Then his features softened and he turned to his son.
“Here,” he said as he held out the laptop. “You just do with this as you please, Rickie. And…” His voice broke, then he croaked, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Rick stared at his father. He had to swallow a lump in his throat as he saw the old man’s perturbation. Though he hadn’t believed the man could change, he believed it now. He put down the laptop and blinked. “I’m not gonna publish that article, Dad.”
Falcone looked up, greatly surprised. “You’re not?”
Rick shook his head. “No.”
“But why?”
Rick gestured to Felicity. “This is the woman I’m going to marry, Dad. And one day she and I are going to have a baby. And when we do, I want you to be there. I want to be able to point to you and tell my child, ‘Look, honey. That’s your grandfather. He’s a great man and he loves you very much.’”
Falcone, wiping away a tear, spread his arms. “Come here,” he rasped, and took his son in a strong embrace.
Alice, who’d joined Felicity, stood watching as the two men exchanged broken words of regret and affection. She handed her friend a paper tissue, and as if on cue they both blew their noses simultaneously.
From the door, a soft cough sounded. It belonged to Officer Virgil Scattering. He gulped as he saw the mass of people gathered in the small house, then piped up, “Is the owner of the vehicle with license plate ‘ASS001’ present? Please move your car. You’re blocking the road.”
Bomer looked up from his perusal of the beef tenderloin, and waved. “Yep. ASS001. That’s me.”
Epilogue
Monkey Business at Wedding of the Century
by Felicity Bell
For Bomer Calypso and Charlene Falcone the most wonderful day of their lives went off without a hitch. Well, at least until the wedding cake arrived. This multi-tiered extravaganza, prepared for the happy occasion by Happy Bays’s very own Peter Bell, was definitely the highlight of the evening, and received a round of applause from the guests gathered at The Loeb Boathouse Central Park.
Unfortunately, the cake caught the eye of one uninvited guest. A snow monkey with distinctive stripes swooped down from the roof and took off with the top tier and the fondant figures of the bride and groom.
He was chased by father of the bride Chazz Falcone and father of the groom Grover Calypso. Unfortunately they both failed to catch the dastardly acrobat as it swung from ceiling light to fan, shoving cake into its face and cackling madly.
The groom, when asked how he felt about the incident, said he’d enjoyed the spectacle, and considered the monkey definitely ‘one of the boys.’ The bride was more critical, voicing the opinion that the ‘foul beast should be hanged, drawn and quartered.’
When finally the monkey had eaten its fill, it decided to take a nap amongst the wedding presents, and was easily captured by personnel of the Central Park Zoo, who promised this would never happen again.
Two Scoops of Murder
The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse 2
Chapter 1
“Once upon a time there was a baker named Fee…”
Felicity looked up from the recipe book she’d been perusing. “What are you reading?”
Alice sighed. “Just thinking out loud…”
The two friends were sitting in the cozy living room of the house they shared on Stanwyck Street 41, enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon. The week had been particularly hectic, as Felicity had written not one but two feature articles for the Happy Bays Gazette and Alice had had to work overtime at the funeral parlor.
The reason was the sudden deaths of two Happy Baysians in the space of a single week, unprecedented in that cozy Long Island hamlet.
“Spit it out, Alice,” said Felicity. “What is it?”
The petite woman sighed once again. “I’m suffering from writer’s block. I want to write about Reece Hudson’s upcoming nuptials and I’m stuck.” She directed a pleading look at her redheaded friend. “Help me?”
Felicity snorted. “You’re asking the wrong person, hon. The top reporter has left the building and all that remains is this poor excuse for a journalist.”
Rick Dawson, Felicity’s new boyfriend, had found employ with Time Magazine and had flown to Europe to cover some political conference or other. And without his expert help Felicity found it increasingly difficult to put pen to paper and produce something that was fit to print. “Why do you want to write about him anyway? Aren’t there enough reporters covering that story?”
The fact that Reece Hudson, Hollywood action star par excellence and one of Tinseltown’s most eligible bachelors, was getting hitched was big news but it left Felicity cold. She’d never been into celebrity gossip. Alice, on the other hand, read all the magazines cover to cover, followed the websites with a religious fervor and seemed to possess a near encyclopedic knowledge of everything that went on in Celebrityland.
“I’m doing this strictly for myself,” her friend said with a pout. She threw her scrapbook in Felicity’s direction. “You know it’s been a pet project of mine for years, right?”
Felicity picked up the book and leafed through it. It was now all coming back to her. Of course. Alice had always had a crush on Reece. Even as a precocious fourteen-year-old she’d clipped out all the articles and pasted them into an album. And since she considered herself something of an artiste, she wrote stories to go with the pictures.
It was of course impressive that a local boy—Reece was born and raised in Happy Bays—had reached the pinnacle of Hollywood fame.
“All I need is a nice caption. I want to add it to the wedding pictures.”
“But why? I mean, it’s not as if anyone is paying you to do this.”
Alice rolled her eyes. “Does everything always have to be about money? I like Reece Hudson.”
“You adore Reece Hudson,” Felicity corrected.
“Okay, I adore him. And now I want to end this silly infatuation and put the book to rest inside a time capsule in the garden. Be done with the whole thing.”
“Why be done with it? The guy’s not dead. I’m sure he’ll make more movies.”
“I told you. He’s getting married,” she muttered morosely.
Felicity got it now. “You’re jealous!” she cried in surprise. She never thought she’d see the day Alice was actually jealous of anyone. A perky blonde, Alice was the epitome of sass and smarts. And unlike Felicity she actually had a waistline.
Her friend merely shrugged and Felicity studied the pictures of the happy couple as they were announcing their engagement. At a major press conference, of course, with the future Mrs. Hudson showing off a ginormous rock. “She’s pretty,” Felicity had to admit. Usually these celebrity types all looked alike, with their forced smiles, their perfect bodies and their designer clothes. Dorothy Valour, even though her smile was forced, her body perfect, and she never left home without her Louboutins, Vera Wang an
d Louis Vuitton, looked gorgeous.
“Yeah, she’s not so bad,” Alice admitted grudgingly. “He could probably have done a lot worse than Frank Valour’s daughter.”
Felicity started. “Wait. Dorothy Valour is Frank Valour’s daughter?”
“Where have you been? Mars? Of course she is. Don’t you read the papers?”
“The papers, yes. Not the entertainment section.”
“What? But that’s the best part!”
Felicity thought about the coincidence. Frank Valour was a resident of Happy Bays and even a customer at Bell’s, the bakery Felicity’s family ran. She frowned at the pictures, looking at Dorothy Valour with different eyes. The name rang a bell now. “Wasn’t she in school with us?”
“One grade up,” Alice mumbled while flicking a speck of dust from her pink bathrobe. “It could have been me.”
“As if,” Felicity snorted. The words had left her mouth before she realized how they sounded. She instantly backpedaled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
Alice narrowed her eyes. “So what you’re saying is that I can’t snatch a guy like Reece Hudson, huh? You do know I used to go over to his house all the time to buy milk and eggs, right?”
Reece’s father Jack Hudson was a small-time farmer slash gun range owner, though to Felicity’s recollection Reece had already been in college by the time she and Alice were old enough to be aware of boys.
“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it. All I’m saying is that we don’t move in the same circles as these people.” She gestured to the news clippings. “Look at them. Rich, beautiful…skinny.”
“I’m skinny. And Dorothy and Reece did move in our circles.”
“When they were ten. Now? I don’t think so.”
“If I wanted to I could snag a Reece Hudson.”