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

by Nic Saint

  He adored her, but this tendency she had to buy every little trinket she saw on the internet drove him up the wall. She already owned the biggest collection of jewelry of all of their friends—his sister Ruth included, which was quite a feat—and still it wasn’t enough.

  “We simply can’t afford it, honey,” he explained. He caught her look of disappointment and put down the paper. “Look, I told you already we need to be careful what we spend. What with inflation and all…”

  “Oh, I know, honey, but it’s not as if we’re poor. As soon as your parents sell that silly little inn of theirs, and that silly piece of land, we’ll be rich.”

  She’d touched the crux of the matter. “They’re not selling yet.”

  “They’re old. They’re bound to sell sooner or later.”

  She was right. Sooner or later they had to sell. But when? His dad owned a piece of land he was never going to use, but instead of cashing in he stubbornly hung onto it. Probably for some sentimental reason. And in the meantime Rob had been canned—though he had yet to tell Maggie— and their savings were dwindling fast. It simply wasn’t fair.

  Prices in the Hamptons, even in that remote hamlet of Happy Bays, were soaring, with lucrative deals popping up on the real estate websites every day—he knew, because he kept track of them. If only Dad would get with the program they could be swimming in money now, just like Scrooge McDuck. Millions of the stuff would be coming their way.

  In fact he’d been so sure his folks were going to sell he hadn’t even bothered to find another job, figuring he’d busted a gut long enough working for the man. Now it was time to live a little. And spend a lot. Same thing with Ruth. Since his sister’s deadbeat husband had left her, she’d been looking forward to payday.

  If only Mom and Dad would finally make a move.

  In all fairness it was mainly Dad throwing up hurdles. He didn’t want to sell the inn, and maybe the old man had a point. Don’t kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. But the land? That was plain dumb.

  “They’re bound to sell all right, but that doesn’t mean we have to spend money like water on frivolities like that little trinket of yours.”

  Her face fell, and he knew he’d said too much.

  “Now you’re just being mean,” she said softly.

  “Look, just have a little patience, sweetness. It’s like you said, once they sell, we’re on velvet.” He could never deny her anything. Even after all these years she was still his own beauty queen. Why she’d ever agreed to marry a scrawny curmudgeon like him he still didn’t know. And now, with his hairline receding about as quickly as their bank balance, he was starting to resemble Scrooge McDuck himself. But without the outrageous fortune.

  Her smile returned. “Rob…honey…”

  “What?”

  Her voice had dropped to a seductive purr. “Maybe we can take a little dividend now?”

  He shook his head good-naturedly. He could see her coming a mile away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, honey.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What if I buy this necklace now? It’s not as if we won’t be able to afford it once you get your inheritance, right?”

  She sure had a way of getting what she wanted. He sighed. “All right. But don’t overdo it.”

  She jerked her head up, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, Rob, thank you. Thank you—thank you—thank you!” She leaned across the table and pressed a loving kiss on his lips. “I’ll go on over there and get it right this minute!”

  “Knock yourself out, honey.” Then, as she moved to the living room to turn on the computer, he hollered, “And use the platinum, not the gold card.” He’d maxed that one out last month.

  “Sure will!” she trilled like a child on her way to meet Santa at Macy’s.

  Chapter 9

  “There isn’t a man alive worth the price of these,” Alice grumbled. She was sitting cross-legged on the couch, her tablet in her lap, and checking out the kind of clothes and shoes she would need to entice the likes of Reece Hudson.

  Unfortunately, all of them were out of her price range. Outrageously so, in fact. She knew that if she wanted to win the bet she needed to look her absolute best, and there was no way she could ever compete with the Dorothy Valours of this world with her pathetic excuse of a wardrobe. Though ideal to sell caskets and guns, or spend an evening at Jack’s Joint, it wouldn’t do to catch the eye of a Hollywood celebrity. If she could ever manage to get within eye-catching range of the man, that was.

  It wasn’t so much that Dorothy Valour was prettier than she was, she decided, but the socialite simply had a much larger budget to spend on clothes, make-up, and all the little things that make such a big difference.

  When suggesting the bet to Felicity she hadn’t thought things through, but after her friend had left to put in her Sunday stint at Bell’s, she’d started googling Reece Hudson and had discovered that the man was seriously out of her league. He owned several houses, his own private yacht, a fleet of cars, and even his own chain of nightclubs. And of course he’d dated the world’s most gorgeous women, before finally settling on Dorothy Valour.

  Her former high school nemesis had gone from strength to strength when building her own ‘career’. Though she didn’t do much in the form of work she was famous in her own right and her net worth was something that made Alice’s stomach lurch. And now that she was marrying Reece Hudson the woman’s fortune was made.

  Damn, she thought, experiencing a sudden pang of jealousy. Some people do have it all. Money, fame, looks, and the dreamboat boyfriend.

  She was happy with the life she’d chosen and enjoyed rooming with Felicity. The house had belonged to Alice’s grandfather, and the Whitehouse family had decided that Alice and Felicity could rent it on the cheap, in exchange for maintaining the property.

  She felt a wave of inadequacy washing over her at the sight of all those pictures of Dorothy Valour dressed up to the nines at receptions, on yachts, at movie premieres and even talking to the president of the United States on behalf of some nonprofit she was a spokesperson for. For Christ’s sakes, there were even pictures of her opening the Paralympics.

  She shook her head as she took stock of her own life. She’d always wanted to be a policewoman and follow in her father’s footsteps. After being the Happy Bays chief of police for going on thirty years now it was that man’s dearest wish to have his little girl join the force. Unfortunately each time she tried out for the police academy she failed miserably. There simply was something about taking tests that got to her and made her freeze up and forget everything she learned.

  Same thing happened when she needed to take her driving test. Even after trying out a dozen times she still hadn’t managed to snag her driver’s license.

  Finally a family meeting had been called and the family had decided that Alice would be spared the humiliation of trying out for the police force over and over again. Instead, she would be employed by the family. She now worked part-time for her Uncle Charlie at the funeral parlor and part-time for her Uncle Mickey at the gun store. And in her spare time she was running the HBNWC—the Happy Bays Neighborhood Watch Committee—where she could play cops and robbers without the ordeal of having to pass an exam.

  It was a good arrangement that satisfied everyone. Until now. Now she realized she’d failed in life. She hadn’t managed to accomplish her childhood dreams and she was a complete and utter failure.

  Staring at the picture of Dorothy Valour she suddenly realized that the woman was doing it again. In high school she’d managed to make her feel like a dork and now, even by the simple fact of her existence, she was doing it again.

  She shook her head, her lips a tight line, her pixie face grim, and her green eyes flashing dangerously.

  “No way,” she spoke to the picture of a radiant Dorothy on the screen. “No way are you going to make me feel bad.” She raised her chin, planted her hands on her hips and said, “I’m going to snap up that fiancé of yours, Dorothy Valour. And
then we’ll see who’ll be smiling.”

  After this declaration she instantly felt a lot better. She would have felt a lot better still if she’d been able to pour a glass of cranberry juice on Dorothy's dress, but that would have to wait. Right now she needed to draw up a plan of campaign. How could a girl from Happy Bays snag a rich and famous Hollywood star? Maybe the man came out to the Hamptons from time to time? Perhaps to visit dear friend Steven Spielberg in East Hampton?

  And it was as she was flicking through the news items associated with Reece Hudson that her eye fell on one news report that spirited a smile on her face.

  ‘Reece Hudson Eager to Introduce Bombshell Honey to Gun Nut Dad.’

  “Huh,” Alice said, as she scanned the article. “I’ll be damned.”

  Chapter 10

  Felicity stared at her mother, aghast. “Alistair? But…that’s not possible!”

  Mom nodded, visibly distraught. “I know. Isn’t it terrible?” She shivered. “Murder in Happy Bays. Who would have thought?”

  “Who would do such a thing?” she asked, but Mom merely shook her head.

  Felicity had known Alistair Long for as long as she remembered. He was a kindly old gentleman and usually could be found behind the reception desk of the Happy Bays Inn. In fact it was hard to imagine the inn without him.

  And now he was gone. Impossible. She made her way over to Virgil, who stood talking to some tea room patrons. He looked grim-faced and she wasn’t surprised. The first murder in Happy Bays in ages and he was probably one of the detectives tasked to solve it. Unless Chief Whitehouse would handle this one personally.

  “Hey, Virgil,” she said by way of greeting. “Such terrible news.”

  “It is,” he sighed. “What a sad, sad day.”

  “What happened?”

  He shook his head. “We have no idea. Billy found him. Stephen Conch’s kid? He was walking his dog Boomer when he heard a gunshot. Figured people were hunting in the woods again and decided to call it in. As he was waiting for a patrol car to arrive he decided to go on and see for himself. And that’s when Boomer started yapping like crazy. Found the body soon after. Face down on his own land. Shot through the heart. Must have died instantaneously, thank God.”

  Felicity’s reporter mind instantly fired up. “Tire tracks?”

  “Nope.” Virgil eyed her curiously. “Keen on joining the force, Fee?”

  She grinned. “No way. Just curious.”

  He nodded. “Chief Whitehouse said you should. Sign up, I mean. The way you handled that Falcone case, he says you’re a natural.”

  Felicity’s cheeks reddened. Chazz Falcone, her boyfriend’s father, had been trying to get his hands on his son’s laptop, and only through Felicity’s intervention had he finally seen the light and effected a reconciliation with his son. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to baking for now. And writing the occasional article for the Happy Bays Gazette.”

  Though reporting crime was a hobby of hers, she didn’t see it going anywhere beyond that. And she most definitely had no aspirations to join the police force.

  A tap on her shoulder had her gazing into Stephen Fossick’s face. Speak of the devil. The editor of the Gazette was an elderly man with a lined face and a shock of white hair. As a sufferer of stomachaches he appeared perpetually bad-tempered.

  “Fee, I’ve got something for you,” he barked.

  She glanced at the man, not understanding. “Pardon?”

  He gestured to Virgil, who now stood talking to Mom. “The murder. Wanna have a crack at it?”

  Her eyes widened. She’d been writing a weekly baking column for the Gazette for some time now and had recently written a couple of short articles as well. But writing a piece about an ongoing police investigation? “I—I don’t think I’m ready for a big piece like that, Stephen,” she admitted, though the surge of excitement rushing through her system told her otherwise.

  Stephen had noticed the same thing. “But you’re dying to try, right?”

  “I—I don’t have the experience. I mean…this could take days or weeks, right? And there would be follow-up articles and, and…” Her voice died away as Stephen’s smile spread to his gray eyes.

  “Okay, that’s settled then. Give me a thousand on the murder and we’ll discuss things as they progress.” He patted her shoulder. “You’ve got the makings of a great reporter, Fee. I’ve told you so before and now you’re going to prove it to yourself.”

  She blinked and stared at the man. “If you say so,” she replied lamely.

  He grinned. “I do say so. Now get cracking and start snooping around.”

  “Snooping around?”

  “Of course! What do you think reporters do? Snoop till you drop, kid, and don’t let me catch you snoozing on the job!”

  And with these words he turned on his heel and strode off. She’d wanted to ask why he didn’t tackle the job himself but he was already heading out the door. She figured his health was troubling him again. She had noticed the sallow tone of his skin was deepening and if the bags under his eyes were any indication he wasn’t getting a lot of sleep either.

  Then, standing at the center of all the hubbub of the tea room, she realized she’d just landed the biggest reporting job of her budding career.

  Chapter 11

  Reece focused on the target, the gun in his hand surprisingly light. He shifted it to his other hand. It felt good to hold it, and he wondered if he would ever be a crack shot like his old man. He shifted the weapon back to his right hand, added his left for support, and fixed his eyes on the target Dad had racked up at the end of the shooting range.

  “Light em up, son!” his father shouted. He could barely hear him through the earmuffs but he nodded. Hudson Senior was the spitting image of Reece, with the same dark eyes and handsome features, only his face now lined and his hair the color of snow. And in spite of his recent health scare he was still strong as an ox, or so he told everyone who cared to listen.

  His face twisted in concentration, Reece took careful aim and leveled the gun the way Dad had taught him years before. He wondered if he could still hit a target from this distance. On set, it was easy. He could handle dummy weapons like an expert, and fire those fake bullets like nobody’s business. But in real life? He was a pretty lousy shot.

  Not that he ever told anyone. He made a living as an action hero, and it simply wouldn’t do to burst that bubble. His young fans would be devastated.

  “Come on, son. Quit stalling!” his dad’s voice boomed in his ear.

  With a deep frown he squeezed off the first shot and in quick succession fired five more.

  He stepped back while his father punched a button and the cardboard target swung into view. His face fell. The outline was pristine. Not a single hit.

  “Looks like you lost your touch,” said his dad with a chuckle. “Or don’t they have shooting ranges in LA?”

  “Nope. Us action heroes shoot CGI bullets only.”

  “A lot more effective,” Dad agreed, then took the gun from his hand. “Looks like I’m gonna have to teach you to shoot all over again.”

  “Don’t bother, Dad. It’s not as if I really need it.”

  “Sure you do. Whatever you do in life, knowing how to defend yourself is a skill that always comes in handy.”

  They’d had this discussion before and Reece decided not to get into it today. “Whatever you say, Dad.”

  The old man slipped the earmuffs into place, took aim, and fired off six rounds in quick succession. This time Reece could see the target twitch with every hit. And when finally it drew within viewing distance, he saw that six shots were grouped around the heart.

  Dad emitted a satisfied grunt. “That’s the way to do it,” he grumbled before handing the gun back to his son. “Now reload and do it again.”

  And without waiting for his son’s agreement, he trudged off.

  Reece sighed and sighted his father with the gun, firing an imaginary bullet at the back of the old man’s h
ead.

  “And don’t you go pointing that thing at me now, you hear!” Dad yelled. “Yeah, I’ve got eyes in the back of my head!”

  Surprised, Reece lowered the weapon. He was starting to realize it hadn’t been such a bad idea to leave Dorothy at home for the introductory meeting. He had the distinct impression Dad wouldn’t like his new fiancée any more than she would like him.

  Chapter 12

  Gratified, Felicity closed her notebook and thanked Virgil for his time. So far all she had were bits and pieces of information, but then Virgil didn’t seem to have anything more to share.

  “Who’s leading the investigation?” she asked.

  The tall policeman scratched his scalp. “Good question. I guess Chief Whitehouse will run point on this one, seeing as I only ever took detective training but never got to, um, practice. Heck, I’m just a regular cop, Fee, you know that. I’ve never solved a murder in my life.”

  She nodded. She did know that, but it didn’t hurt to ask. She was wearing her reporter cap now and reporters, Rick had told her, only dealt with facts, not suppositions and, um…well, the other thing.

  It was weird, she decided, that in spite of the fact that her heart bled for Mary Long at the same time she was excited to be writing her first big article. Rick would be so proud. She couldn’t wait to give him the news. She hoped he could give her some pointers, some do’s and don’ts, before she made a complete fool of herself.

  Then she remembered Rick had told her a good reporter is bold. Dares to ask stuff. Stuff like… She cleared her throat. “Virgil?”

  “Eh?”

  “Could you perhaps take me to see the crime scene?”