by Nic Saint
“That’s right. And in a perfect world we would cooperate with the police. Only my father doesn’t see it that way.”
“And neither does Virgil, apparently,” said Rick.
“He’ll come around,” muttered Alice as Felicity parked the van outside Reed Park. They exited and strolled along the trail that led deeper into the park.
The town council saw to it that the park was always immaculately maintained, the lawn neatly mowed, and the flowerbeds a kaleidoscope of color and splendor. Reed Park, located in the heart of town, was Eve MacDonald’s pride and joy. The mayor’s wife had taken it upon herself to turn the center into a boon for Happy Bays, and hoped to attract enough tourists to put the small town on the map.
Unfortunately for Eve tourists might flock to other parts of Long Island’s South Shore, but hadn’t yet discovered the cloistral peace and pristine beaches of Happy Bays, according to many the real jewel in The Hamptons’ crown. But then it was a town well-concealed between more popular resorts, with only the one place to stay: the Happy Bays Inn, scene of the recent killing spree and quite spartan in the accommodations it offered.
“I think we should have picked a spot indoors,” said Alice as she stared up at the lantern that cast its diffuse glow on the cast iron bench below. “This place frankly gives me the creeps at night.”
“It’s fine. All the murderers are sleeping soundly in their beds,” said Rick, “or have been caught by the committee.”
Alice shivered. In spite of the fact that summer was almost upon them, the nights were still quite cool. “Why Mabel wanted us to meet here I really don’t know.”
“Speak of the devil,” whispered Felicity, pointing to the round secretary who came hurrying up, a pinched look on her face.
“Mabel, honey,” Alice said. “You look terrible!”
Mabel plunked her sturdy form on the wooden bench, and placed her hands on her lap, pursing her lips. “You would look terrible if you’d gone through an ordeal like this.”
“Well? What’s wrong?” asked Felicity.
Mabel shook her head. “Not until everyone’s here. I don’t want to have to tell this story twice.”
The sound of click-clacking feet had the foursome looking up, and Alice sighed with relief when she saw it wasn’t some murderous fiend but Felicity’s aunt Bettina.
“What’s wrong?!” that formidable woman breathed the moment she’d joined them. “What’s all this about a parrot and cracks? I didn’t understand the first thing about your message, Alice. And why,” she added with a look of apprehension at their surroundings, “are we meeting in the park and not at your place?”
“Ask Mabel. She’s the one who picked this spot,” said Alice.
But when Bettina turned to her friend, Mabel simply shook her head, pressed her lips together, and refused to speak.
“She won’t talk until we’re all here,” explained Felicity. “How’s Mom? Did you tell her about the meeting?”
“I told her, but she refused to come. Said she had her own problems to deal with.” She leaned in and whispered, “Your father’s been going on about his retirement plans again.”
Felicity rolled her eyes. Her dad had been thinking about retiring to some retirement village in Florida, where he could finally rest on his laurels, and wouldn’t have to bake another bread for the rest of his life. But first Felicity had to take over the bakery, something which seemed highly unlikely now that she was dabbling in her ‘second career’, as her mother referred to her reporting work. “Probably better that she didn’t come. She’d only worry.”
“Worry about what?”
They all jumped about a foot in the air when the disembodied voice spoke behind them. Turning around, Alice was glad to find it was Marjorie Stokely, staring at them with censure. “What’s all this nonsense?” the thin-lipped woman demanded. “It’s bad enough that I have to miss my favorite show, but now I’m going to miss my beauty sleep as well. This better be important.”
“Where’s Virgil?” asked Alice.
“Parking the car. He didn’t want to come but I—” The horse-faced woman displayed the kind of determined look she was rightly famous for. “I convinced him.”
“You’ve asked Virgil to join us?” asked Bettina incredulously. “But he’s a cop!”
She made it sound as if the Happy Bays PD were their worst enemy, which they just might be.
“Alice insisted,” explained Marjorie, “though for the life of me I don’t know why you would want to involve my son.”
“Yes, Alice,” chimed in Bettina, “why involve Virgil? I thought our committee was supposed to consist of concerned citizens only?”
“Look, the chief won’t work with us, and we need police cooperation one way or another, so I figured with Virgil on board at least we’d have access to his information.”
“Works both ways,” said Rick, who’d been silent throughout. “If you involve Virgil he might blab about the goings-on in this club of yours. In fact I’m pretty sure he’s obliged to divulge information if so ordered.”
“Virgil won’t blab,” insisted the man’s mother. “He wouldn’t dare.”
And as if summoned the man himself now walked up, looking none too happy to be here, something to which his first words attested. “What am I doing here?” he asked the moment he stepped into the circle.
“That’s what I’m wondering myself,” muttered Bettina, who eyed him critically. Virgil Scattering had never been her favorite person in the world, but then he was something of an acquired taste. Except for his own mother, no one seemed to think much of him. He was a lanky man with a battering ram of a chin, fighting a losing battle with a receding hairline. And even though he provided a community service he didn’t possess a great deal of charm, and wasn’t much to look at either.
“Let’s listen to Mabel for a moment,” suggested Alice. “After all, she’s the one who called the meeting.”
At these words they all turned to the secretary, who promptly burst into tears. “Oh, dear God,” she hiccuped. “We’re all going to die!”
Chapter 15
“I think what Mabel needs is a doctor,” said Rick. He’d been studying the woman since her arrival, and felt she needed medical help first and foremost. She looked pale, and though he didn’t know her very well—having only lived in Happy Bays for a few short weeks—he knew that she was the hearty, healthy type. Now her rosy cheeks were ashen, there were blotches on her round face, and her hair, a ball of pink fluff, was disheveled, like cotton candy suffering from sugar decay.
“I’m all right,” said Mabel, waving away his suggestion. She blew her nose in a tiny hanky. “At least I will be once I get this off my chest.”
Bettina and Marjorie had taken a seat beside their friend, and were patting her shoulder. “What is it, honey? Is it Mark? Has he been playing the cards again?” asked Marjorie solicitously.
“Or visiting that awful Jacqueline Bouchard?” asked Bettina. “They really should put a leash on that woman.”
Mabel frowned. “Jackie Bouchard? What’s she got to do with my husband?”
“Nothing, honey, nothing at all,” Bettina hastened to say, realizing her faux pas.
Jacqueline Bouchard, Rick knew, was the butcher’s wife, and was not averse to the occasional extramarital tryst. The last person she’d been involved with was actually Alice’s Uncle Charlie, who ran the funeral parlor, though what Jackie saw in the man Rick didn’t know. Uncle Charlie, though considering himself the second coming of Elvis Presley, was about as appealing as the bodies he habitually primped at the funeral home.
“Just let the woman talk,” suggested Alice.
“Of course,” said Bettina primly.
Mabel seemed to steel herself, then said softly, “Mark’s been having trouble at work.”
“The power plant?” Felicity asked. “It’s the cracks, huh?”
Mabel nodded, pressing the hanky against her swollen eyes. “It’s the cracks.”
“Wait, what?” ask
ed Marjorie. “Cracks? At the power plant?”
“And then there’s Moe,” added Mabel.
“The mayor’s parrot?” asked Bettina. “What’s he got to do with anything?”
That was a part of the story Rick was uncertain about as well. What did a parrot have to do with cracks in the nuclear plant? He decided that all would become clear in the end, no matter how long it would take. So he resigned himself to the role of listener, suppressing his natural tendency to ask the tough questions.
“It all began on the morning of the sixteenth,” Mabel said, after taking a deep breath. “Mark came home late. His boss had given him the cleaning crew to run.”
“Doesn’t he usually do PR? The plant spokesperson?” Alice asked.
“He does,” confirmed Mabel, “but his new manager hates him, and has decided to make his life as miserable as possible. So he put him in charge of the cleaning crew. Which doesn’t make sense, because Mark is an engineer. And besides, he doesn’t know the first thing about cleaning. Even when he vacuums he always misses spots. I keep telling him—”
“Mabel,” interrupted Marjorie softly. “The cracks?”
Mabel shook herself. “Right. As I said, Mark’s not getting along with this new manager he got. As long as old Mr. Plummer was in charge, things were going swimmingly. He and Mark had great rapport, and he loved his job. But then Plummer retired and was replaced by this new guy, fresh out of college. Jamie Mason, his name is. And for some reason he’s had it in for Mark from the start. Keeps giving him the worst jobs, hoping Mark will tender his resignation, something which he would never do. He’s worked at that plant his whole life, and just because his manager is a pain in the behind doesn’t mean he’s going to quit.”
She took another deep breath. “So Mark was helping out the cleaners last week when they were removing the carcass of a dead bird up on the platform of cooling tower number one, when he decided to have a smoke. He leaned out, and that’s when he saw it.”
“Moe?” asked Alice breathlessly.
Mabel’s face took on a steely note. “No, the crack.”
“Oh, God,” murmured Bettina, like the rest of the company hanging on Mabel’s every word.
“He immediately notified the manager, of course, who said he’d handle the problem. As you can well imagine, cracks are not a good thing. Especially at a nuclear plant.”
“Before you know it the whole structure collapses and we’ve got a nuclear disaster on our hands,” Alice pointed out.
“Well, one crack doesn’t make a disaster,” opined Virgil, who seemed to favor the lighthearted approach.
“It wasn’t just the one crack,” Mabel said.
“Wait, there’s more?” asked Marjorie, pressing Mabel’s hand.
Mabel nodded slowly. “A week later, when he hadn’t heard back from the manager, Mark decided to have another look. The crack was still there, and when he checked around a bit more he saw them all over the place. Minuscule fissures everywhere, detectable with the naked eye. And when he inspected the concrete by hand, it simply crumbled under his touch.”
“Oh, no!” cried Felicity.
“Oh, yes. And that’s not the worst of it.”
Rick swallowed. He’d been in the trenches with Marines fighting the Taliban, hiked through the rain forest chasing poachers, and had done a HALO jump over Syria, but Mabel’s story really took the cake. If this was true this could easily win him the Pulitzer. He pricked up his ears, and made mental notes. And as he did so, he could see Felicity doing exactly the same.
Chapter 16
“It took two weeks for my husband to finally screw up his courage and talk to the director himself. Mason kept repeating that everything was under control and that he’d taken the necessary steps to contain the situation. The problem was that Mark was still appointed the plant’s official press liaison. So from time to time he had to give a tour to media people, groups of tourists, or even school children coming to visit the plant with their teacher. And each time he had to answer questions about safety regulations, and had to tell people lies, basically, about how safe the plant was, and how nothing could ever happen. So two weeks went by, and the manager hadn’t done a darn thing, and Mark collared the director.” She looked up at the troupe gathered around. “Jamie Mason had done exactly nothing—hadn’t even notified the director.”
Gasps of shock went through the small audience. “That’s criminal negligence, right? Can’t they arrest him for that?” asked Marjorie, directing a pointed look at her son.
Virgil shook his head, looking officious. “Afraid we need more than that to arrest a person, Mom.”
“The chief felt the same way,” said Mabel sadly.
“Why? What did he say?” Alice asked.
“Let her finish the story!” cried Bettina, like one who’s just about to discover the identity of the killer in an Agatha Christie book.
“The director assured Mark that he would take immediate action, but then Mason found out Mark had gone over his head on this, and put him on an extended leave of absence.”
“He did what?!” cried Bettina.
Mabel nodded, once again dabbing her eyes with the hanky. “He felt that there were trust issues—that Mark had caused irreparable damage to their working relationship.”
“Why didn’t he simply fire him?” asked Felicity softly.
“I’m sure he wanted to, but the director disagreed.”
“They’re sidelining him,” said Marjorie. “Simply sidelining him.”
“But why?” asked Alice. “All he did was try to make sure the plant is safe.”
“Politics,” said Virgil, like one who knows. “It’s all about politics.”
“Why don’t you talk to the mayor?” suggested Alice. “He must have an in with the people running the plant, right?”
Mabel sniffed once again. “I would, but the mayor is very unhappy with me right now.”
“The parrot,” said Felicity.
Mabel nodded. “He’s all but accused me of kidnapping Moe myself.”
Marjorie, Virgil and Bettina uttered surprised noises at this. The kidnapping of Moe was news to them, so Felicity revealed, in a few brief words, what they knew about the mayor’s favorite pet.
“Abducted!” cried Marjorie, then snapped her neck around to glare at Virgil. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?!”
Virgil’s face betrayed extreme agitation. “I didn’t know, Mom, I swear!”
“It’s true, Marjorie,” said Mabel. “The kidnappers didn’t want the mayor to go to the police, so he didn’t. You’re the only people who know about this right now. And Chief Whitehouse, of course. But I only told him as a personal friend, on the condition he wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“What a terrible, terrible thing,” said Bettina, shaking her head. She had a particular affection for parrots, seeing as how both her husband Achilles and her son Bancroft resembled parrots themselves. She frowned. “Do you think these things are related? The parrot and the cracks?”
Rick almost had to laugh at that one. That was the trouble with these amateur sleuths, he felt. They saw connections that simply weren’t there. “I don’t think so, Aunt Bettina. These parrot thieves simply want money, whereas the cracks are a sad case of neglect and the failure to institute adequate fail-safes.” He cleared his throat. “I think the only option is to go to the press, Mabel. If Mark is prepared to talk to me, I can make sure his story is heard loud and clear, and this injustice is promptly rectified. Mark will be the nuclear industry’s Edward Snowden.”
Mabel’s eyes widened. “Oh, no!” she said quickly, holding up a hand. “Please, no. I don’t want any part of this story to go beyond our little group, you hear me? Absolutely not.”
“But, Mabel,” he insisted, “think about this. The plant is unsafe. The public has a right to know, and we could really turn up the heat so that the men in charge are forced to take the necessary steps.”
“Out of the question,” interrupted Mabel. S
he pursed her lips, and Rick saw he was fighting a losing battle. “There’s only one way to solve this problem, and that’s exactly why I’ve called you all here tonight.”
“Anything, Mabel,” said Alice, voicing the general sentiment of the group. “Anything you want us to do.”
She let her gaze drift over the faces of the people gathered around, and finally said, “We need to find Moe.”
Rick had to suppress a sudden urge to laugh hysterically. “What?! The power plant is falling apart and you want us to find a stupid bird?”
“Moe is not a stupid bird,” Mabel said, casting him a critical glance. “He’s a very intelligent, very sweet soul, and we need to find him before anything happens.”
“I agree,” said Marjorie. “We need to find Moe, return him to the mayor, and then we can tell him all about those cracks, right?”
“Right,” said Mabel, pressing Marjorie’s hand appreciatively.
“I like your plan,” agreed Aunt Bettina. “The mayor will be so happy to be reunited with Moe that he won’t be able to refuse you a thing.”
“That’s the idea,” Mabel said, mollified. She glared at Rick, who was still fuming in silence. “Can I rely on you not to write about this, Rick?”
Just at that moment, Felicity gave him a prod in the ribcage, and Rick, the vision of his Pulitzer now quickly diminishing, reluctantly nodded. This was simply insane, he felt. Absolutely insane. But then he was in Happy Bays, of course. Out here they had a tendency to do things differently than in the rest of the world. Very differently indeed.
Chapter 17
Alice stared down at her vibrating phone. She’d switched it back on, and had immediately been bombarded with messages from her errant ex-boyfriend. Christ, she could hardly keep ignoring him. After all, the man still occupied a tiny fraction of her heart—the part that hadn’t been broken when she discovered he was secretly dating his ex-girlfriend.
She decided to pick up and get this over with once and for all.