Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place (Ghosts of London Book 1)

by Saint,Nic

  Poor guy, he thought. He’d never met a stick-up woman before but he knew just how her victim must feel. He’d once joined a troop of marines doing reconnaissance when they’d come under fire. He’d sweated bullets and wasn’t too proud to admit he’d nearly wetted himself.

  This guy hadn’t wetted himself as near as he could tell, but he was definitely sweating. His face was simply covered with some sort of white secretion.

  He surveyed the scene, trying to decide what to do. A little voice in the back of his mind told him to stay put. For one thing he was unarmed and at an obvious disadvantage, and for another he was a reporter not a cop, so heroics wasn’t required on his part.

  But then again, he couldn’t just let the poor schmuck die.

  Deciding he had the element of surprise, and priding himself on his great aim—he’d been something of a prodigy in Little League—he selected a can of Bush’s Baked Beans from the rack behind him and weighed it tentatively. It had the kind of heft he was looking for and he decided it was go time for Rick Dawson.

  He drew a bead on his target. He only had one shot at this, so he made sure his aim was true. Finally, with a soft grunt, he let rip with all the power of his right arm.

  The can sailed through the air and described a perfect arc. Before the woman knew what hit her, Condon Bush’s gift to bean lovers had done its work and the gun was slammed from her hand.

  She let out a yelp of surprise, and the figure kneeling at her feet saw his chance. Moving quickly and without hesitation, he went for the gun. And he would have reached it if the woman hadn’t raised her foot and given the man a kick in the trouser seat that landed him in the prepared foods section.

  Rick winced. That must have hurt. Cool as dammit, the woman picked up the gun, and towered over the man, her face set in an expression of contempt.

  “Try that again and it’s game over, buster!” she thundered.

  Rick couldn’t help but admire her sheer chutzpah. She acted as if she owned the place. Shaking his head, he took out his cell and snapped a few quick shots of this latter-day Bonnie Parker.

  He figured if he sent these to Suggs Potter, the editor just might reconsider Rick’s untimely termination.

  He crouched down and out of sight, not wanting to be discovered by the mad bandit, and while possible headlines presented themselves to his practiced reporter’s brain, he made sure to keep a low profile. He didn’t want to miss a thing but he didn’t want to become her next target either. He’d risked life and limb trying to save the poor bastard now immersed in Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo, but he wasn’t going to be so foolish again.

  The woman was a seasoned pro, that much was obvious.

  Moments later, he heard the telltale siren of an approaching police car and he relished the coming showdown. He wondered how the boys in blue would respond to this situation. And he had a first-row seat. Talk about luck!

  He picked up a Dr. Pepper and a bag of Pop Crunch and hunkered down. This was going to be a great show and he might as well sit back and enjoy it.

  Chapter Four

  Rafi Papandreou stared frantically from one security monitor to the next. Though he’d never really expected his deli to be the target of a hostile takeover by armed bandits, he’d heeded his mother-in-law’s warning several months before and had installed the expensive security system. Now he was holed up in his ‘safe room’ behind the counter, the door locked and bolted, and was trying to assess the damage this gang was wreaking on his precious store.

  Rafi’s Deli had only been open for business six months when a thunderstorm wrecked the shop window. Barely a few months later there had been that idiot who’d plowed his truck into the shop and then there was the freak accident with the tree being hit by lightning and taking out the front window yet again.

  And now this.

  He was starting to believe Mami was right when she told him the place he’d selected to launch his business was cursed. He hadn’t believed it before, but this fourth attack was clearly a sign that she’d been onto something.

  According to her, he didn’t have a head for business anyway and should have been a garbage man. It was safe to say Mami didn’t think her son-in-law was marriage material. Mixed marriages were apparently not her bag and when her daughter Leticia had first deposited Rafi on the mat, she’d stared at him as if he was something that had crawled out from under a flat stone.

  Her behavior throughout that first meeting had been to induce him to return to the rock which she figured had been his home. The relationship had continued strained until Leticia announced she’d selected him as her husband-to-be. When finally the greatest day of his life had arrived—the day he walked down the aisle to link his lot to Leticia’s—he’d stiffened when the priest had asked the congregation if anyone wished to object to the union. Both he and Leticia had turned to Mami, but the latter had merely smiled sweetly from under the black veil she’d selected to wear. She was, after all, in mourning for losing a daughter.

  When he’d started Rafi’s Deli it was mainly to show his beloved that he was capable of so much more than Mami gave him credit for. He wanted to keep Leticia in the style she’d grown accustomed to and already saw himself as the next Sam Walton, Rafi’s Delis popping up all over the place like warts on a hog.

  Now, two years after opening what was still the one and only Rafi’s Deli, he was making good coin and things were going swimmingly. And now this crazed maniac had come charging in, waving his gun around and shouting something about handing over all his cash. Before the man got to the ‘life’ part of ‘Your money or your life’, Rafi had pressed the big red alarm button concealed beneath the counter, which locked the till, and had ducked for cover inside his safe room.

  The unsavory-looking crook had cursed a great deal and then decided to venture into the store to hold up any and all customers he could find!

  Wide-eyed, Rafi watched the altercation between the gangster and one of his most cherished clients, Felicity Bell. To his chagrin, just when he was about to break into song and praise the Lord that Miss Bell had managed against all odds to subdue her assailant, he discovered that there was a second gunman! This foul accomplice, dressed in a trench coat, was holed up in aisle two, and using a stack of canned beans to take potshots at Felicity.

  He balled his fists and raised his eyes heavenward, wondering what would happen next. He just hoped that the authorities would arrive on the scene promptly and put an end to the suspense. It was quite frankly killing him.

  Chapter Five

  Felicity was staring down at the man and starting to think she was a little out of her depth. Not only had he apparently brought along an accomplice but the guy was pummeling her with cans of beans!

  A quick calculation told her the man was probably unarmed. Why else would he use baked beans as a weapon?

  Her patience was wearing thin. Not only because she was being attacked from all sides, but she hadn’t eaten since she left Bell’s. Nothing soured her mood more effectively than an appetite she couldn’t satiate.

  Fortunately, she could already hear the police sirens coming closer. The cavalry was on its way and she heaved a sigh of relief, knowing the ordeal was almost over.

  The only thing that caused her concern was that the crook hiding in aisle two would manage to negotiate a quick getaway. She stared from the man at her feet to where she knew his associate was lurking and thought long and hard about a strategy to apprehend the second shooter before he made a run for it.

  She wanted them both to pay for their crimes.

  She thought perhaps it was her grumbling stomach talking, but she wanted to see the man suffer. That can of beans had hurt her hand. She barked to the man at her feet, “Stay!” He nodded grudgingly. She then tiptoed to aisle two, keeping the gun trained on Gangster No. 1.

  She stealthily made her way over to Gangster No. 2. She didn’t really have a game plan but hoped her consuming desire to nail the bastard would be sufficient to overpower him. As she approach
ed the aisle, she could see the tip of his shoe. Great. He was still there. It was then that she heard a strange sound. Munching.

  Shocked and appalled, she realized the man was feasting on Rafi’s wares. Anger made her see red dots and suddenly a plan formed in her mind. She glanced up at the huge pile of canned baby peas, then to the figure lurking beneath stuffing his face, and she gritted her teeth. With a quick shove she tipped over the entire pile. The cans tumbled down, like lemmings off a cliff, pelting the man beneath.

  Howls of pain rose up. This was her cue. Darting around the corner, she yelled, “Stick ‘em up, punk!”

  She’d always wanted to do that, and the satisfaction was considerable. The man didn’t hesitate one second but instantly obeyed her simple command.

  He stuck em up.

  The next few moments were spent in idle meditation on the fact that crime doesn’t pay. She leisurely swung the gun from Gangster No. 1 to Gangster No. 2, making sure they didn’t get it into their heads to try any funny business. The one buried under baby peas was a particularly nasty one. She could tell from the hostile gleam in his eye. A career criminal, she was sure of it. Though he was good-looking in a scruffy sort of way, she didn’t want to take any chances, and kept him covered and holding up his hands until the police arrived.

  Finally, after what seemed like ages, Virgil Scattering came charging in, along with one of his associates.

  “Felicity!” the tall and gangly police officer cried out. “What the heck are you doing?” His mustache quivered in astonishment at the sight of the two bruised bad guys.

  “What does it look like I’m doing? These guys were robbing the store and I managed to overpower them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gangster No. 2 piped up, “but that’s nonsense.” He gestured to Felicity. “She’s the bad guy. Can’t you see the huge-ass gun she’s waving?”

  She stared, shocked at the sheer gall of the man. She studied him closely. Apart from the contusions on his brow, and the cans of peas still covering his shoulders and chest, he wasn’t too badly looking. For a gangster, that was. He sported a tousled, blond mop of hair that flopped down over his ears and gave him the look of a shaggy dog. His eyes were a clear blue and as they burned into hers, they seemed electric. The rest of his visage wasn’t too hard to look at either. His nose was slightly crooked, which lent him a goofy air, and his chin was hewn like Henry Cavill’s.

  “Don’t listen to him,” she advised Virgil. “He and Smelly Guy over there are in this together.” No pair of electric blue eyes would make her alter her version of the truth. If he wanted to convince the police he was a victim and not the lowlife he really was, he had another thing coming.

  The man folded his arms, causing more cans to roll to the floor. “Did you or did you not hold up that poor guy who’s lying face down on the floor?”

  “Virgil,” she said, her patience wearing thin, “are you simply going to stand there or are you going to arrest this man?”

  “Virgil,” the man spoke, “if you arrest me you’re making a big mistake.”

  Officer Scattering, not the most forceful cop on the Happy Bays police force, scratched his scalp as he watched the back and forth between them like a tourist at Wimbledon. “I, erm…”

  “Virgil, this man and that man,” she said, swinging her gun from Gangster No. 1 to Gangster No. 2, “were robbing this store when I managed to get the upper hand. Just ask him.”

  At this, she swung her gun to Rafi Papandreou, the store owner, who’d joined the debate. At the sight of the gun, he quickly stuck up his hands. “Don’t shoot!”

  Felicity rolled her eyes. “I won’t. I promise. Now tell Virgil what happened.”

  “Yes,” Virgil echoed, “tell me what happened.”

  Rafi, lowering his hands, now used them to rake through his thinning mane. He was a nervous little man of about forty and this store meant the world to him. Which perhaps explained his habit of talking about it—and himself—in the third person. “Well, that man enter Rafi’s Deli with big gun pointing at Rafi, but through quick feet Rafi made getaway to safe room and lock himself. On cameras Rafi saw gangster threaten Miss Bell, but she turn all the tables. Then second gunman approach Miss Bell and hit her with beans! She knock him out with peas! End of story for big, bad gangster.” He grinned happily, displaying a nice row of gleaming white teeth.

  Virgil seemed satisfied. “Well, I guess that settles it.” He was rattling his handcuffs.

  Gangster No. 2 didn’t seem convinced. “This is all a bunch of hooey. I came in here and saw this woman pointing a gun at that man! So I decided to do my civic duty and try to stop her!”

  Felicity rolled her eyes. “What a load of—”

  “Crackpot!” cried Rafi defiantly. He pointed at the man. “He gangster!”

  “But I’m not! I’m a reporter for the New York Chronicle, and—”

  Virgil gave him a dark frown. “I think this has gone on long enough. You’re under arrest, sir. Now please come along quietly.”

  “But that’s bullshit!” the man spat. “I’m a reporter for the—”

  “Come along,” Virgil repeated.

  Rafi and Felicity exchanged a look of quiet relief, and watched the two men being cuffed and led from the store and into the paddy wagon. Finally, the harrowing episode was over and the healing could begin. Grasping her shopping basket from the floor, she popped a strawberry into her mouth.

  It hit the spot.

  Start Reading One Spoonful of Trouble Now

  About Nic

  Nic Saint is the pen name for writing couple Nick and Nicole Saint. They’ve penned 40+ novels in the romance, cat sleuth, middle grade, suspense, comedy and cozy mystery genres. Nicole has a background in accounting and Nick in political science and before being struck by the writing bug the Saints worked odd jobs around the world (including massage therapist in Mexico, gardener in Italy, restaurant manager in India, and Berlitz teacher in Belgium).

  When they’re not writing they enjoy Christmas-themed Hallmark movies (whether it’s Christmas or not), all manner of pastry, comic books, a daily dose of yoga (to limber up those limbs), and spoiling their big red tomcat Tommy.

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  Also by Nic Saint

  The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse

  One Spoonful of Trouble

  Two Scoops of Murder

  Three Shots of Disaster

  Box Set 1 (Books 1-3)

  A Twist of Wraith

  A Touch of Ghost

  A Clash of Spooks

  Box Set 2 (Books 4-6)

  The Stuffing of Nightmares

  A Breath of Dead Air

  Ghosts of London

  Between a Ghost and a Spooky Place

  Standalone Novels

  When in Bruges

  Once Upon a Spy

  The Whiskered Spy

  Copyright © 2016 by Nic Saint. All rights reserved.

  Published by Puss in Print Publications.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

  Editor: Chereese Graves.

 

 

 
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