The Stuffing of Nightmares (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Book 7)

by Nic Saint

  “You don’t know what?” Alice asked. “That Brian is a liar? Or that we’re going to continue our ghost helping routine without him?”

  “Both,” said Rick with a grimace. He didn’t look up from his work, in spite of the three pairs of eyes burning holes in his back. “I’ve been giving this a great deal of thought. And I think we should call it quits. I mean, we had a good run for as long as it lasted, but I don’t feel comfortable going on without Brian backing us up.” He shrugged. “Just my two cents.”

  Felicity folded her arms across her chest. “Weren’t you the one who said this was your sacred quest?” she scoffed. “To help out the ghosts of the dearly departed and send them on their way? I distinctly remember you telling me about this being your unique gift and you needing to make the most of it.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he said simply. “We’re not equipped to do this on our own. We don’t have the connections, and we can’t keep this under the radar the way Brian can. If word gets out about this, our names will be mud.” He pointed to Fee. “Your family bakery will be the subject of extreme scrutiny and might have to close its doors. Reece will become the laughingstock of Hollywood and will never work again. And Alice…” He eyed Alice with hesitation. Since Alice didn’t have a career, it was hard to see how she would be impacted. “Well, your uncles won’t like it that their niece is now a ghost-hunting maven. As for myself, my career will be over when my editors find out.” He shrugged. “Not many people are believers. They might go and watch the new Ghostbusters movie, but that doesn’t mean they believe in ghosts. They’ll just think we’re a bunch of crackpots.”

  Alice found herself nodding automatically. Rick was right. If word got out about their mission, it was game over. They’d be known far and wide as the four idiots who thought they were the real-life version of Scooby Doo’s gang.

  “He has a point,” she finally said, defying Fee’s death-ray stare.

  “Yeah, I think so too,” Reece chimed in. “If my agent knew I was into ghost hunting, he’d probably drop me like yesterday’s boy band sensation.”

  “Come on, you guys,” Felicity cried, visibly incensed. “We made a promise. We said we were going to do this. Just think how much good we can do with this unique gift. How many lives we can touch.”

  “If we’re the world’s joke nobody will even listen to us,” Alice muttered.

  Fee threw up her arms. “But they won’t find out! We’ll just have to be... discreet!”

  “It’s hard to be discreet about something like ghost helping,” Rick pointed out. “Talking to dead people tends to draw attention. Brian has connections. He can make sure we’re not exposed. But on our own? No way.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Felicity, shaking her head stubbornly. “Brian has money, sure, but no amount of money will keep a person quiet if they really want to talk. It only takes one person to spread the word, and the result will be the same. Without Brian, that’s the risk we’ve got to take.”

  But before they could discuss the matter further, the doorbell clanged, and Spot, Rick’s ghost Pomeranian, started barking his little head off, while Gaston, their red tomcat, disappeared under the couch. He abhorred visitors.

  Brian Rutherford had arrived. Time to expose his lies and deceit.

  Chapter 3

  The moment Brian stepped into the room he experienced a peculiar tingling sensation along his spine. His intuition was well-honed and had saved him from harm more than once in past times, and it now told him that something was afoot. This particular sensation was nothing new. Ever since he’d risen to his current position as head of the Wardop Group, he’d been facing tough opposition from the members of the board. A snot-nosed lawyer taking the reins of the biggest group in the States was unheard of, and the press had had a field day when it was revealed he was the legal son and heir of Peverell Wardop, the group’s deceased iconic president and founder.

  The members of the board had tried to shift him from his perch by overt and covert means, and when that didn’t work, had started digging into his past, hoping to find something they could use as leverage to kick him out on his keister. If they only knew that Peverell was still running the company and that Brian wasn’t the founder’s son but merely chosen for his ability to communicate with the old man’s ghost, they’d be quick to dismiss him.

  But so far they hadn’t, and he was still firmly in charge. The only danger to his position now lay with these wraith wranglers. He’d launched the team to help out ghosts—to use his gift for good, in spite of the risks involved.

  All Wraith Wrangler operations were handled strictly off the books, no one able to trace his involvement. And yet… with the board breathing down his neck, there was always a small chance of them finding out. And if Brian was removed from power, Peverell had no way to keep control of the group.

  Driving out to Happy Bays, he’d decided not to dwell on these issues. He’d come to congratulate his team, and that was exactly what he’d do. So he pressed his glasses further up his nose and gave his team a beaming smile. As usual, his square jaw was smoothly shaven, his blond hair perfectly coiffed, and his three-piece suit immaculate both in cut and fit. The only thing striking a discordant note was his green paisley tie, which was quite horrid.

  He cleared his throat, wondering why no one spoke. But since he was a lawyer, he didn’t mind making the opening address. “I think congratulations are in order. Your first mission as ghost helpers was a resounding success!”

  He gratefully took the chair Rick offered, the glass of OJ Felicity pressed in his hand, and looked around the room with a sigh of pleasure.

  The place was cozily appointed, just as he would expect from Fee and Alice. There was a real sense of homeliness, and for a moment, he felt a pang of sadness. His sparsely decorated condo couldn’t hold a candle to this place. His whole life revolved around his job and had so for a long time.

  He sat back comfortably. “So, tell me. How did it go?”

  But instead of responding, the foursome simply stood and stared at him.

  “Well? How was it? How was the first successful mission of the Wraith Wranglers wrought?” He laughed at his little joke but found that he was the only one. Not a flicker of a smile appeared on the others’ faces.

  “There’s something we need to discuss, Brian,” Felicity said.

  He frowned. “Oh? And what’s that?”

  A giggle sounded, and he was surprised to find an old gray-bearded ghost seated on the couch. The old man’s long flowing beard and hair were tangled and dirty, his face sooted. “This is gonna be good, son,” said the graybeard.

  He ignored him, figuring he was probably some old relative of the Bells.

  Then he watched as Reece stepped to the fore, and unfolded a letter with some ceremony.

  He grinned. “Isn’t it too soon to be reading your Christmas letter, Reece?”

  “No Christmas letter,” said Alice. “We’ve drawn up a statement, and we would like you to listen very carefully, Brian.”

  “Oh?” That twinge of uneasiness was back, and this time even more pronounced. What was going on? The whole scene reminded him too much of that time his girlfriend had broken up with him. She’d also sat him down, and had launched into a lengthy speech pointing out his many defects before finally concluding that she didn’t want to be Mrs. Rutherford after all.

  “Dear Brian,” Reece began, his voice hitting the lower octaves. He would have made a great baritone, Brian thought. But then he focused his attention on the actor and his words. “It has come to our attention that you are not who you say you are. You have insisted from the start that you chose us for our capacity to help ghosts, and that your chief aim in life is to assist ghosts to move beyond this mortal plane and into the afterlife. This was clearly a lie.”

  Reece fixed him with a stern expression, and Brian gulped, now noticing that the other three wraith wranglers were also looking at him with a distinct lack of warmth. Uh-oh. This was lik
e that time his girlfriend had broken up with him, only now his team was breaking up with him!

  Chapter 4

  Felicity didn’t like the way Brian was wriggling in his chair. Against all proof to the contrary, she still hoped he was innocent of the accusations they were about to hurl at him. She still hoped they were wrong, and he was, in fact, the man they thought he was: a real humanitarian who wanted to help the world’s ghosts to find eternal peace. To solve unsolved crimes and to use his remarkable gift for good. But as she watched him writhe and squirm, that faint glimmer of hope died. The man clearly was a liar and a cheat after all.

  Reece read the letter in a calm and sonorous voice, hitting just the right note of indignation and disappointment. He was a pretty good actor.

  “You are not the benevolent benefactor of the wraiths of this world. Quite the opposite. You are a ghost hater, not a friend. From the very start, you have deceived us—using us as a weapon of spook destruction instead of aid.”

  Felicity’s eyes traveled to Rick, who was following along tensely as Reece spoke the words he’d written. She mouthed, “Spook destruction?”

  He gave her two thumbs up, then returned his attention to Reece.

  “You secretly hoped that we would turn ghosts’ lives into a living hell, selecting us not because we are so good at what we do, but so horribly, terribly bad. In doing so, you have shown us your true colors.”

  The moment Reece’s speech came to an end, the last words echoing through the room, Brian’s ashen face was a clear testament to his lies and deceit. Fee didn’t even need to see the results of the lie detector. She knew.

  “How could you!” she cried out, not able to contain her anger any longer. “How could you hire us and turn us loose on those poor, harmless ghosts?!”

  Brian gulped, his pleasant demeanor long gone. “I—this is so not true,” he protested feebly. He looked at Reece, who now stood like an undertaker, his hands folded in front of him. “Lies—a bunch of lies! Who told you all this?”

  “We can’t reveal our sources,” Rick said smugly. “Let’s just say that we have an eyewitness who saw you in action at Castle Windermere last year.”

  “But I’ve never been to Castle Windermere! I’ve never set foot in the place in my life!”

  “You’re lying again, Brian,” Alice said. “We know for a fact that you were there. You were seen by no less than—” She looked at Rick for confirmation.

  “About a thousand witnesses,” he said reluctantly.

  “About a thousand—” Brian’s eyes went wide. “That’s crazy. I know for a fact that there’re no more than a dozen people in that place, staff included.”

  “Well, that’s because they’re not people, are they?” Reece said. “They’re rats. Yes, rats, Brian. Big, hairy rats. And they all saw you harass the living daylights out of that castle’s ghosts. So you see, there’s no sense in denying.”

  Brian’s eyes went even wider, now reaching their maximum dilation. Felicity fully expected them to pop from their sockets any moment now. She was directing a dirty look at Reece, as was Rick, for divulging their source. For some reason, rats simply don’t hold the same weight as humans when it comes to taking the stand and giving evidence in a court of law.

  “Rats!” Brian cried, his eyes flitting from Reece to Rick. “You’re basing your whole case on rats?” Then he pointed an accusing finger at Rick, the team’s designated pet whisperer. “You!” he cried, the lawyer in him rearing its ugly head. “You’ve been feeding your friends tales about me? Why?!”

  Rick shrugged. “Rats don’t lie,” he said simply. “They told me you were involved in some nasty business, and I see no reason to doubt a single word.”

  “But it’s simply not true! I was never there—” His voice had taken on a pleading note, and Felicity was starting to waver. He sounded so convincing.

  “But why would Jack’s brothers and sisters lie about this?” she asked.

  He eyed her stupidly. “Jack? Who’s Jack?”

  “Rick’s rat buddy,” Reece explained helpfully. He held his hands a foot apart. “He’s about this big, tail included, and helped us out back there.”

  Brian gesticulated wildly. “Have you considered that the rat lied to you?”

  “But how would he even know your name?” Rick asked. “He specifically told me that you came to the castle to stir up trouble.”

  “He recognized my name?” Brian asked, aghast.

  Rick nodded. “He did. Said you were a troublemaker and a ghost hater.”

  Brian thought for a moment. “So a Brian Rutherford visited Castle Windermere last year, stirring up trouble with the population of ghosts?”

  “That’s right,” Rick confirmed.

  Brian rocked back as if suddenly struck with an idea. His face darkened into a scowl. “I think I know what’s going on,” he said softly. He suddenly rose from the chair, as if a rat had bitten him in his behind. “I need to get back to New York. I need to figure this out.” He directed a long, lingering look at the foursome. “Rest assured; I wasn’t the one making life miserable for the ghosts of Castle Windermere. And I’m not the one who hates ghosts.”

  Felicity shook her head. “What are you saying, Brian?”

  The lawyer drew a hand through his hair, mussing up his carefully coiffed mane. “I—I can’t talk about this right now. Just—just give me some time to figure this out. I promise I’ll prove to you that I’m innocent. I’m not a ghost hater. I want to help ghosts. I—” And shaking his head distraughtly, he abruptly bolted from the room, and they heard his feet pounding down the stairs, and then the front door slam. Brian Rutherford had left the building.

  Chapter 5

  The bearded ghost was there, walking alongside Brian as he stalked from the Bell place. Brian hadn’t seen him at first, but then he heard a scratchy voice emit an eerie chuckle. He was just about to step into his Pontiac when he happened to look up and was treated to a close-up look of the old-timer.

  “Do I know you?” he asked. He wasn’t in the mood for entertaining smirking old ghosts.

  “You don’t know me, but I know you,” said Graybeard in a singsong voice. He smiled through rotted teeth, and Brian suppressed an urge to shiver in disgust. In life, the guy had probably been a seedy bum who’d lived and expired in the gutter. Even in death, he was a horror to look at.

  “What do you want?” he asked, jangling his keys. He wanted to get into his car and on his way, but after having been accused of being a ghost hater, he decided to make it a point to be nice to this old ghost, no matter how nasty he appeared. The stench of rotten eggs suddenly assaulted his nostrils, and he reeled back until he was pressed up against his Pontiac.

  “I want you to make things right for my little girl,” said the old ghost, his smile fading away and a look of menace creeping onto his grimy, wrinkly face.

  “Little girl? What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve caused her harm, and you need to set the record straight.”

  He held up his hands. “All right. First things first. Who’s this little girl you’re talking about?”

  The man’s lower jaw was working, a couple of yellowed teeth on display. “Mabel Stokely. She’s my daughter, and you’ve wronged her. Think,” said the old man, tapping his smudged brow. “Think hard, Brian Rutherford.”

  He did think hard. He knew Mabel, of course. Secretary to the mayor of Happy Bays, member of the neighborhood watch committee Alice Whitehouse was running. He’d even tried to recruit her for the Wraith Wranglers at some point, seeing as how she was able to talk to ghosts.

  “And you’re saying I wronged her? How so?”

  “You’re having her kicked out of her home, aren’t you?”

  Brian gave a startled chuckle. “Me? Having her evicted? You’ve got me confused with someone else, old-timer. I’m not in the business of kicking people out of their homes.”

  “Oh yes, you are,” insisted the man. He tapped Brian’s chest with his finger. �
�You foreclosed on her mortgage, forcing her out of her home.”

  This was getting curiouser and curiouser by the minute. “Look, sir. I don’t do foreclosures, all right? I’m not a banker. I simply run…” And then it dawned on him. In its extensive portfolio, the Wardop Group owned quite a number of banks, one of which was Armstrong & Tillich, which had a branch here in Happy Bays. “She doesn’t happen to bank at Armstrong & Tillich?”

  The old man displayed the full array of years of dental neglect, and Brian reeled back once more. “She does. And it’s that bank of yours that’s wronged my little girl. Act now before it’s too late, Mr. Rutherford. Or else…”

  He snickered wheezily, and his beard waggled with spiteful glee.

  “Or else what?” Brian ventured, though he thought he knew the answer.

  “Or else my friends and I will make sure you won’t have a moment’s peace. We’ll make your life a living hell!” He pointed to the street, where shadowy figures rose up from the gutters; dark, disheveled creatures, all the spitting image of Mabel’s dear old dad. Staring at him through red-rimmed eyes, and grinning through rotted teeth, they were a corps of malicious dead.

  Brian decided not to stick around. “I’ve got the message,” he told the old ghost. “And I’ll see what I can do to make things right, all right?”

  “Not good enough!” thundered the old man with surprising vehemence. Once again he tapped Brian’s chest with his bony finger. “You promise me right here, right now, that my daughter will get to keep her house.”

  He started to argue that he couldn’t possibly make such a promise but quickly saw that this army of the dead wasn’t going to listen to the finer points of his argument. Ghosts rarely did. They didn’t belong to the world of man anymore, and consequently had no patience with its mores and customs.

  So instead, he quickly said, “I promise that she’ll keep her house.”