GANGSTER
WALK
Book 14 of the Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Series
Melissa Bowersock
Copyright © 2018 by Melissa Bowersock
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in an online review or one printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
First Printing
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover image by coversbydesign.net.
ISBN: 9781726707237
Books by Melissa Bowersock
The Appaloosa Connection
The Blue Crystal
Burning Through
The Field Where I Died
Finding Travis
(No Time for Travis Series Book 1)
Being Travis
(No Time for Travis Series Book 2)
Fleischerhaus
Ghost Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 1)
Skin Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 2)
Star Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 3)
Dream Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 4)
Dragon Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 5)
Demon Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 6)
Soul Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 7)
Death Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 8)
Castle Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 9)
Murder Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 10)
Spirit Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 11)
Fire Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 12)
Revenge Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 13)
Gangster Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 14)
Goddess Rising
Lightning Strikes
Love’s Savage Armpit by Amber Flame
(Originally published as
The Pits of Passion)
The Man in the Black Hat
Marcia Gates: Angel of Bataan
Queen’s Gold
The Rare Breed
Remember Me
Sonnets for Heidi
Stone’s Ghost
Superstition Gold
GANGSTER
WALK
Melissa Bowersock
ONE
“It’s not… human. It’s, I don’t know, like something from the bowels of the earth, something elemental, from the beginning of time.”
Esmeralda’s eyes widened as she spoke, as if each word added to her fearful comprehension of the entity that haunted the rustic hunting lodge in Alaska.
“Esmeralda certainly communicates a lot with her expressions, doesn’t she?” Lacey asked. She and Sam snuggled on the couch, watching The Restless Dead’s latest episode on TV. Their friends, Esmeralda Clark and Webb Gannett, were investigating strange occurrences in the remote Alaskan location.
“She’s a perfect complement to Webb’s deadpan,” Sam said. “You ever notice he has about three expressions? That studious look when he’s doing the research, shock at the revelations, and then that grim acceptance when Esmeralda makes her pronouncement. That’s it. That’s Webb.”
Lacey hadn’t noticed, but thought about it now. “He doesn’t smile, does he?” she said. “But neither of them do.” She tipped her head and glanced up at her husband. “Did we look like that in our episode? All serious like that?”
“Probably,” Sam said. “We were serious. That was not a fun case.”
“No,” she murmured, “it wasn’t.” Their one and only stint on the ghost reality show had been difficult: two very sad ghosts tied to a former motel by tragic circumstances, on top of Sam’s own personal reaction to one of the stories, on top of the network’s insistence on hyperbole, so foreign to Sam and Lacey. No, that was not a fun case.
Lacey’s phone rang. She grabbed it while Sam paused the TV show.
“Hmm,” she said, noting the info on the screen.
“Who is it?” Sam asked.
“Unknown name, unknown number.”
“Probably a telemarketer.”
“Probably.” Lacey punched the answer button, all ready with a terse Thanks, but no thanks.
“Hello?”
“Is this Lacey Fitzpatrick?” a male voice asked.
“Yes, it is.”
“My name is Glenn Fulbright. I’m the personal assistant to Cameron Gregory, and he’d like very much to talk to you about a haunting. Is this a good time?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s fine,” she said. She nudged Sam and pointed to the phone. “I’m going to put you on speaker so both Sam and I can hear.”
“Oh, perfect,” Glenn said. “We’ve heard so much about you two. It’ll be an honor to speak to both of you.”
Lacey punched the speaker button and cradled the phone in her lap so both she and Sam could hear the tinny voice.
“Okay,” she said. “Would you tell me your name again?”
“Sure. I’m Glenn Fulbright, personal assistant to Cameron Gregory. He’s very excited about the prospect of you two coming to work for him. He’s quite a fan.”
“Cameron Gregory,” Lacey repeated. She knew that name, but from where? “Isn’t he the…?”
Glenn chuckled. “Pick your descriptor. Multi-millionaire whiz kid, CEO of Silver Star Technologies, boy genius, technology geek.”
Sam and Lacey glanced at each other in shock.
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Him. Isn’t he the one who’s working on renewable energy from the motion of the ocean?”
“Among other things,” Glenn said. “If he doesn’t have at least ten projects in the works, he’s not happy. But right now, he’s just really excited to talk to you two.”
“All right,” Lacey said. “Is he there?”
“Oh, no,” Glenn backpedaled. “Sorry. He’s in Seattle right now, meeting with some marine biologists and physicists. But he would love to meet with you on Monday. What does next week look like for you?”
Lacey glanced at the blank calendar on the kitchen wall, then to Sam. He shrugged.
“Pretty open,” she said.
“Terrific,” Glenn replied. “I can come and get you around noonish, have you back here in time for dinner with Mr. Gregory.”
Lacey’s brain lurched to a halt. “In time for dinner? Back… where?”
“Oh, sorry.” Glenn chuckled again. “I’m not explaining this well, am I? The house that has the, uh, problem is Mr. Gregory’s summer house in New York state. Just north of Newburgh in the Hudson Valley. We’ll put you up there and of course take care of all the transportation. We’ll just fly you out, you do your thing, and we’ll fly you home.”
Lacey looked up at Sam again, his own raised eyebrows mirroring her own. Just fly you out and fly you home? She took a moment to clear her throat.
“Uh, okay. You should know that most of our cases take a few da
ys to resolve. Some as long as a week, maybe two, depending on how much research we have to do.”
“Mr. Gregory would be thrilled to have you stay as long as you like. If you want to stay on an additional week or two, even a month, take a little vacation, that would be perfectly all right. We’ve got the room if you’ve got the time.”
Lacey smothered a laugh. “That’s very generous of you. We’ll keep that in mind, but of course we have commitments here…
“Oh, sure. I understand. We’re all busy, right? Just keep it in your back pocket and see how you feel after you get here. Dreyfus Hall is a beautiful place. Once you see it, you might not want to leave.”
“Fair enough. So you’ll book a flight for us?”
“Absolutely. As I said, I’ll pick you up around noon. What’s your address?”
Lacey did a double-take. “Pick us up—here? You’re flying out… to pick us up?”
“Sure.” His voice smiled. “Mr. Gregory insists on the red carpet treatment for special guests.”
“Uh, okay.” She gave him the address. “From LAX, it’s—”
“I’ll find it,” he said. “Just pack for every activity you enjoy. The Hudson Valley in October is gorgeous: 60s during the day, 40s at night. You can swim, hike, fish, play golf, tennis—whatever you want. You can do everything or nothing.” He paused. “Sound pretty good?”
Lacey quirked an eyebrow at Sam.
“Sounds great,” he said. “We’ll be ready.”
“Terrific,” Glenn said. “Let me just give you my number in case you have any questions. If not, I’ll see you on Monday.”
When Lacey keyed off the call and tossed her phone down, she was still in a mild state of shock. She leaned back against the couch cushions and shook her head.
“Cameron Gregory?” she said. “That’s… that’s crazy.”
“It sure is,” Sam agreed.
“Isn’t he like a billionaire or something?”
“Glenn said multi-millionaire, but maybe he was just being conservative.”
“Well, whatever, it’s a shit ton of money. I think he owns his own island in the South Pacific and I remember something about him wanting to build an orbiting hotel in space. Holy cow.” She blew out a breath and nodded toward the TV screen where Esmeralda and Webb were frozen in mid-reveal. “How cool is it that he called us instead of them?”
Sam smiled wickedly. “Pretty freakin’ cool.”
Lacey laughed. “You can say that again.”
~~~
TWO
The weekend was a jumble. They had Sam’s kids, Kenzie and Daniel, as usual, plus Daniel’s girlfriend Tori for most of the time. Between family activities and family meals, Lacey snagged their suitcases out of the closet and did some preliminary packing. Glenn’s suggestion of bringing attire for an array of activities made the task much more difficult. She could wad her bathing suit into any corner, but not so her hiking boots. Sweaters? Jackets? Jeans? Dressy clothes? She had no idea what to take. Several times she tried to subdue the burgeoning task, and several times she backed off in frustration. Luckily they’d have Monday morning for the last-minute decisions.
She also managed a few minutes to research Dreyfus Hall. Sam preferred to go into a walk with as little information as possible so he could be sure what he was receiving from the ethers was solid and not something his subconscious concocted from prior suggestions, so she didn’t share. But Dreyfus Hall had quite a history.
She didn’t even have to access property records, her usual first line of research. The estate’s full history was available on several websites online.
Built in 1817 by Louis Algonquin Dreyfus, Jr. on land carved out of his father’s original estate of seven hundred and twenty acres, the son’s home comprised “only” a hundred and sixty acres. The house itself was an impressive Georgian three-story painted brilliant white to contrast with the lush green of lawn and forest. Through the two hundred years of its existence, the estate had been owned by business tycoons, gangsters, movie stars and—for the last five years—by Cameron Gregory, he of the millions of dollars and apparently millions of ideas for emerging technology.
The list of homeowners was impressive: Reginald Thorwaldsen in the late 1800s, a venture capitalist who invested quietly in many of the most productive inventions of the Industrial Revolution; Charles “Hammer” Harcourt in the early 1900s, a mob boss who kept Cleveland well lubricated during Prohibition; Susan Isley and Roger Dawkins, stars of screen and stage in the mid-century; surrealistic artist Conrad Bettany in the ‘60s and ‘70s; singer/songwriter Alicia McKenzie during the end of the century; and Kurt Mauer, early in the 2000s, a real estate mogul who loved to build resort hotels all around the world.
This was going to be a piece of cake, Lacey thought. Never had they had such a well-known list of public figures on their radar. Sure made her job easier.
Daniel and Tori were supremely impressed that Cameron Gregory had sent for Sam and Lacey. The fourteen-year-olds were in awe of the self-made whiz kid who, at the young age of twenty-eight, was already firmly planted on the list of richest Americans.
“Making piles of money isn’t always the best yardstick for measuring a person,” Sam reminded them. “How they made their money, and maybe more importantly what they do with it, is a far better gauge of a person’s character.”
“Your dad’s right,” Lacey said. “Al Capone made a ton of money, too, but it was through illegal and even deadly means. And too many millionaires just sit on their money, doing no good with it at all, like if they hang on to it, they won’t die. The good news is, Cameron Gregory made his with his amazing inventions, and he uses it to fuel more ideas that benefit the whole planet. For a millionaire, he seems to have his head screwed on right.”
Daniel rolled his eyes, less impressed with his parents’ line of thought. “You think you could get his autograph?”
Sam frowned. “Yeah. On a check.”
Daniel huffed out a breath of frustration. Tori giggled.
“Okay, gang,” Sam said. “It’s about time to get you all home. School night, so no staying up late.”
After they dropped the kids off at their mothers’ homes, Lacey reached across the console of the car and squeezed Sam’s hand.
“Hey,” she said. “At this age, they’re impressed by guys who can light their farts on fire. They just need more life experience to realize what’s really important.”
That did not ease the frown that creased Sam’s brow. “It’s just so stupid, worshipping money. If we were rich, Daniel would still have to work hard to get good grades. He’d still have to contend with bullies at school, still have fights with Tori. People think money solves all problems, but it doesn’t. It just makes buying stuff easier. You still have to deal with all the crap life throws at you.”
“I know. They’re young. They’ll figure it out in time.”
“I hope so,” he grumbled.
“Meanwhile,” she said, “we still have to decide what to pack. I wonder how many suitcases we’re allowed to bring?”
~~~
THREE
By noon Monday, they had an assortment of suitcases stacked beside the front door: two large and two small. Even after Lacey had zipped and latched and locked them all, vowing hands off, her mind insisted on going over the possibilities again. Did she have enough underwear? She supposed if she ran out, Gregory would have a washer and dryer they could use. What about—?
Just stop.
Luckily the knock on the door came just before 12:30, before Lacey could get antsy enough to consider repacking. She pulled the door open.
“Hi. Glenn Fulbright. Lacey?” He stuck his hand out, a goofy grin on his round face.
“Yes, hi. Come in.” Lacey shook his hand and motioned him inside. Sam came to meet him and Lacey made the introductions.
“I can’t tell you what a thrill this is,” Glenn gushed. “When Mr. Gregory first put me on this, finding out about you, if you were legit and all, I rea
lly didn’t know much. But the more I read, the more impressed I was. It’s a real honor to meet you both. A real honor.”
“Oh, well…” Lacey was almost as uncomfortable with the praise as Sam was. “We’re just, you know…”
“I know.” Glenn laughed. “Okay, I’ll keep my adoration under control.” He rubbed his hands together. “What do you have? Just this stuff here?”
Just? Lacey thought. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but Glenn wasn’t it. He was not tall, maybe an inch taller than she was, definitely a little overweight; the width of his waist matched the width of his shoulders. He had a high forehead, close-cut brown hair and dancing hazel eyes. He wore khaki slacks and a navy blue polo shirt with “Silver Star” over the breast pocket.
“Yes, this is all,” she said in answer to his question.
“Okay. Let me call Ian.” He opened the door and let out a piercing whistle. In seconds, a liveried chauffeur appeared, complete with black suit and cap. Glenn introduced them. “This is Ian. He’ll take care of this stuff. What else do you need?”
Lacey grabbed her pack and her laptop. She glanced around the apartment, but knew they had it all.
“Okay, let’s move out.” Glenn stepped outside as Ian manhandled all the luggage in one go. Lacey suspected there were powerful muscles underneath that black chauffeur’s jacket. Once Ian had cleared the way, Sam locked the door and he and Lacey followed Glenn to the parking lot.
“Nice day, huh?” Glenn chattered. “You can’t complain about LA weather, can you?”
“Not usually,” Lacey agreed.
“It’ll be cooler in New York, but still nice. Not cold. Here we are.”
Lacey stopped short, and Sam almost ran up on her heels. “This?” she squeaked.
Glenn laughed. “Yeah. Mr. Gregory likes his guests to travel in style.”
The stretch limo was parked in the lane behind the parked cars—it wouldn’t have fit in a parking space anyway. The black metallic paint glittered in the sunlight, and the black privacy glass completed the effect. Very important people—and very rich people—inside.
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