by Nic Saint
“Hot potato. Into the camera, if you please. It’s for my daughter, you see.”
Reece gave the man his sternest look. The one Chuck MacLachlan always gave his enemies before he wiped the floor with them. “You can kiss my potato,” he growled defiantly.
The doctor shrugged. “Suit yourself. Open wide. We’re going in.”
“Where are we going?” Reece asked, but before he could clench his jaws together, the doctor had shoved a bite block between his teeth and was inserting a device into his mouth that looked like a fishing hook. “Hey!” Reece managed to cry out. “At’s the ig idea?!”
“First those pesky organs have to come out, Mr. Hudson,” said the doctor through gritted teeth. “And like I said, this might sting a little.”
Then, just when he was about to shove the device home, a voice rang out through the lab. “Dad! We’ve got company!”
“Oh, hell,” the doctor grumbled, and threw down the hook. Then he patted Reece’s cheeks. “Don’t go anywhere, Mr. Hudson. This ain’t over yet.”
Chapter 16
“I say we try to find Reece on our own,” Rick said, pacing the living room floor. They were waiting for the police to arrive, and the longer they waited, the more restless Rick was becoming. “We’ve never depended on the cops before—why should we depend on them now that Reece’s life is in danger?”
It was true, Felicity thought. They’d never been able to count on Chief Whitehouse or the rest of the Happy Bays police corps.
“We simply can’t afford to wait any longer,” Rick insisted. They turned to Alice, who was still wavering. Her father was chief of police, after all, so in her mind he was probably best placed to find Reece.
But then a look of resolve stole over her face. “You’re right. We can’t wait for Dad. By the time he gets here, it might be too late.”
And they were heading out the door when the sound of happy yapping alerted them to the presence of Spot. It seemed that the ghost Pomeranian was eager to join them.
“Let’s bring him along,” Rick said, scooping up the little bundle of fur.
“And let’s bring Tony too,” Felicity said. “He knows where Reece is.”
It was a little odd that a dead pony would feel such a strong connection to the actor, but there wasn’t time to question this now. Like a gift from heaven, Tony had come into their lives at exactly the right time. They stepped from the house and headed for the bakery van which was parked right in front, the ghost dog and ghost pony right behind them. They all filed into the van, Tony making himself comfortable among the stacks of boxes and bags with old loaves of bread and other remnants from that morning’s bread run.
“Just say the word and I’ll be your virtual GPS,” the pony said.
Felicity pushed down the accelerator and within moments the engine huffed and coughed and they were on their way. The old vehicle might be ready for the junkyard, but Pete Bell believed in frugality. So when he wasn’t baking up a storm at the bakery, he could be found with his head under the hood of the old van, trying to extend its life with another few hundred miles.
And it looked like he was succeeding, for the engine prattled gaily, and the van hurtled along the deserted streets of Happy Bays at a healthy clip. The small town was enjoying a great summer, with tourists soaking up the rays and having fun in the surf, townies at work, and kids off to summer camp.
Happy Bays was not a town prominent on the tourist radar, and the locals liked to keep it that way. Even though Eve MacDonald, the mayor’s wife, had done some work to attract the lucrative summer crowds, Happy Baysians preferred their town to remain largely a well-kept secret. The few tourists that did show up were regulars, who’d discovered the town a long time ago, and kept coming back year after year.
Felicity steered the van expertly along the roads leading out of town. She vaguely knew where the Hartford Manor was, but it had been such a long time that she might as well ask Tony. “So where is this place?”
“Just keep going,” said the pony, scratching its nose with its front hoof.
Felicity’s heart went out to Reece. If it was true that he was about to be stuffed, they had no time to waste. Then Alice’s phone chimed.
“Yes, Dad? No, we’re on our way to find Reece. We didn’t feel like waiting around for the cavalry to show up. How do we know where to find him? Um, a hunch, that’s how. Oh, and the help of Reece’s ghost pony.”
Felicity grinned. She deduced that Chief Whitehouse was having trouble registering that last factoid. Even though the police chief believed in ghosts—he’d seen them with his own eyes—it was still something he grappled with.
“Yes, I’ll keep you posted,” Alice said, before clicking off her phone. “That was my dad. He was surprised to find us gone.”
“Maybe you should cut him some slack,” Felicity suggested. “He’s probably as worried about Reece as we are.”
“That’s true,” agreed Alice.
“And your dad loves Reece,” Rick chimed in, “so he probably won’t like it when he finds out he’s been stuffed and therefore unable to marry you.”
“Rick!” Alice cried, appalled.
“What?” Rick asked. “Just saying.”
“Let’s focus on finding Reece,” Felicity suggested, staring through the windshield. She didn’t like all this talk about stuffed people. They were going to find Reece, and they were going to find him in one piece. Unstuffed.
“Keep going,” Tony’s voice called out from the back, and Spot’s yapping told them that the pup was doing his part to find their missing housemate.
“I wonder why they took Reece,” murmured Alice.
She wasn’t looking too hot, Felicity saw. Even though she and Reece had had their share of problems since they’d hooked up, she loved the Hollywood hunk, and he loved her. It was an unlikely story, and one the press had lapped up. But not as unlikely as a gang of human stuffers kidnapping the actor.
Tony picked up on that thought, for he said, “It’s true. People get stuffed too. It’s not just us animals who have to suffer this humiliating procedure.” He resumed a dignified silence, indicating he still wasn’t over the fact that his owner had had him stuffed and given away as a present.
After about ten minutes, Tony directed them off the main road, and soon they were in the countryside, fields of green stretching out on all sides. A short drive later, they reached the manor, and she turned up the long driveway. Oh, yes, Felicity thought, this was Hartford Manor, all right. They’d heard tales as kids, and seen pictures, and once had even gone on a field trip here in third grade, before Virgil Scattering had led them astray, ending up in a different house altogether.
The lettering on the wrought-iron gate spelled out the name of the place, along with a smattering of gargoyles, and as they zoomed up the long gravel drive, the stone building sat like a squat boxlike structure in front of them.
It didn’t look as decrepit as she remembered, and as they approached she saw a Jaguar parked in front, next to a Range Rover Evoque.
“Looks like somebody finally bought the place and fixed it up,” Alice said.
“Looks like,” she agreed.
“Looks like a castle,” Rick groaned, and Felicity laughed.
They’d just returned from a haunted castle in England, where they’d been instrumental in solving the murder of the chatelaine. The experience had set the seal on Rick’s dislike for old castles, and now here was another one.
“So what do we do now?” she asked.
“Just pop round the back,” Alice suggested. “You’re a baker, aren’t you?”
“Good thinking.” She was indeed a baker, and what better way to introduce themselves than to pretend they were doing a delivery? After all, everybody likes a baker, even nasty stuffers of people.
She rounded the house and drove up to what looked like the back entrance. She parked the van, and the trio hopped out, followed by an excitedly tripping Spot and a leisurely cantering Tony. Felicity picked up a cr
ate of bread and carried it to the back door. After a moment’s search, Alice found the bell and gave it a good push. Almost instantly, the door was yanked open, and a red-faced woman appeared, her eyes squinting nastily from between fleshy folds.
“What do you want?!” she growled.
“Bread delivery,” Alice sang cheerfully, and pointed to the van, with its distinct Bell’s Bakery & Tea Room decal.
The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I didn’t order no bread!”
“You didn’t? That’s odd,” Felicity said, spiriting an appropriately confused expression on her features. “Are you quite sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” snapped the woman. She opened the door further, revealing her aproned round form. “I’m the cook so I should know. Besides, we don’t order from Bell’s. We shop at Marcel’s. Have shopped there for years.”
“Oh, then that must be it!” said Felicity. “There’s been an accident. Marcel’s, um, oven exploded. So he’s asked us to take over his bread run.”
The woman gave her a suspicious look, then stared at the crate of bread.
“I’ve got cake,” said Felicity. “And I’ll bet there’s even a pot pie in there.”
This was the clincher, and the woman relented. “Just put it on the table.”
Felicity headed on inside, followed by Rick and Alice.
“And who are these two?” the cook asked.
“They’re my assistants,” said Felicity innocently.
“Three people for a delivery,” muttered the woman darkly. “I don’t know what kind of business you people are running but you’ll never turn a profit.”
Her opinion of the profitability of Bell’s notwithstanding, she led them into the kitchen, and Felicity put the box with bread on the kitchen table. A swarthy thick-set man was seated there, and she gave him a friendly nod. He scowled, placing down the knife he’d been using to whittle a piece of wood.
“I didn’t know the Hartford Manor was occupied again,” Alice said conversationally.
“What’s it to you?” asked the woman.
“We learned all about this place in school,” Felicity explained, unperturbed. “It’s always fascinated us, hasn’t it, Alice?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve always wanted to take a look around.”
“Is it true that there’s a room filled with suits of armor?” Felicity asked.
“Just tell me how much I owe you and clear out,” said the cook, who was clearly not a great conversationalist.
Felicity settled the bill with the woman, but instead of clearing out, she asked, “Do you mind if I use the bathroom?” She squeezed her legs together and gave the cook a look of embarrassment. “I just finished a Big Gulp.”
The woman grumbled something, then said, “Oh, all right. You people sure are a nuisance. I hope Marcel gets his stuff worked out soon enough.” Reluctantly, she led Felicity out of the kitchen and into a long stone corridor. “Just keep going straight, then make a right at the end and a right again.”
“Thank you so much,” Fee said, and hurried off in the direction indicated.
Chapter 17
While Felicity went off in one direction, Alice decided she wasn’t going to ask permission to find her fiancé, so she and Rick snuck out of the kitchen before the harridan returned. The fact that the strong, silent type seated at the kitchen table eyed them malevolently didn’t bother her one bit. He probably was the cook’s idiot brother. Or the manor’s handyman. Whatever the case, he didn’t ask questions, so she didn’t feel obliged to give him any answers.
The moment they were out in the corridor, she and Rick were hurrying along, Tony and Spot right on their tail. “Tony said he’s locked up in the dungeon,” she whispered, “so where’s the dungeon?”
“Won’t be hard to find,” Rick replied. He pointed to the two ghost animals. “We’ve got our secret weapons!”
They were moving along the corridor, which was a gloomy affair. So much for restoring this place to its full splendor. It felt as if no one had bothered to install central heating. Even though outside a balmy summer was warming the world, inside it was cold, dark and dank.
“Lead the way, Tony,” Alice said.
“And hurry. We don’t want that horrible cook to catch us!” Rick hissed.
“Or tell the master of the manor that some weird bakers are running amok in the house,” Alice added.
Then Tony paused in front of an iron door, and they halted in their tracks.
Unlike the other doors they’d passed, this one looked new and had a small keypad set in the stone jamb.
“Are you sure this is it?” Rick asked.
The pony inclined his large head. “Yep. This is where they keep Reece.”
Rick gave the door a hefty pull, then put his shoulder against it, but all to no avail. He and Alice shared a look of concern as they eyed the keypad.
“Do you happen to know the combination?” Alice asked Tony.
The pony plunked down on his hindquarters, placed his head on his hooves, and closed his eyes. “Just gimme a minute,” he muttered.
“What’s he doing?” Alice hissed.
“Beats me!” Rick hissed back.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the pet whisperer?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Can you people shut up for a minute?” Tony asked. “I’m trying to focus.”
Spot gave a happy yap, and Tony said, “That’s right. Getting in touch with the universal ghost consciousness is not something easily accomplished.”
For a pony who was only recently introduced to the phenomenon of an afterlife, he sure was learning fast, Alice thought. To her surprise, Tony promptly dozed off, and the next moment soft snoring filled the air. Then Spot plopped down next to the pony and nodded off as well.
“I can’t believe this!” Alice lamented. “Reece is probably getting stuffed as we speak, and these two decide to take a nap!”
“Not a nap. They’re connecting to the universal ghost consciousness.”
“What does that even mean?!” Alice cried.
Just then, footsteps approached, and Alice and Rick hoofed it, leaving the two ghost animals to their joint meditation. Hiding behind the next corner, Alice stole a look back and saw that a woman was approaching. She halted in front of the door. She was a gorgeous young blonde with long wavy hair, dressed in frayed jeans shorts and a crop top that left a remarkably flat tummy bare. She punched in a code, and the door swung open with a click. She quickly entered, and the door closed behind her with a hiss.
They heard the woman call out, “Dad! We’ve got company!”
“Dammit. I’ll bet she’s one of the kidnappers,” Alice said.
They tiptoed back to the door, and Alice saw that Tony had opened his eyes. “I’ve got it,” he announced cheerfully. “The code is 21232.”
Spot yapped in acknowledgement.
“Did you find that out from the universal ghost consciousness?” she asked, thoroughly impressed.
“No, I saw that woman type in the code just now.”
Alice shook her head. So much for spiritual mumbo-jumbo. At least they had the code. But now what? Possibly there was an army of people stuffers in there, and if they ventured inside, they would capture them as well and—
“You can go in,” Tony interrupted her thought process. He’d stuck his head through the door and was looking in on the other side. “Coast is clear.”
Alice and Rick shared a grin. The advantage of having a ghost pony on your team. Rick was already punching in the code, and moments later the door swung open, and they were heading inside…
Chapter 18
“What do you think, Chazz? Should I confront her?”
Chazz eyed his best friend censoriously. They were seated in their usual corner booth, the comfy club chairs, the tawny bourbon and the soft murmurs of other club members going about their business doing little to console Grover. Chazz was sporting a golden combover this week, his square face, w
hich closely resembled a certain type of fish, twisted into a frown. The billionaire real estate mogul’s hand kept stealing to his face, then returning to his lap. For years, he was used to smoking his Cubans at The Parton, until those fools on The Hill had outlawed this guilty pleasure. The habit still lingered, but instead he now put his bourbon to his lips, and took a long sip.
“I think you should handle this matter discreetly,” he finally said.
As Grover’s longest standing friend, he was concerned. He was something of an expert when it came to matters of the heart. He’d been married five times, after all, and had lost quite a bit of money on most of his wives. Now officially retired from the mating game, he kept a low profile, preferring to keep his distance from the fairer sex. That Grover had married Emilia had always irked him, as he knew what marrying beauty queens could do to a man. He’d married no fewer than three, and they’d all started bleeding him dry the minute the honeymoon was over.
“What do you mean?” Grover asked, nervously scuffing his toe on the thick Persian rug.
“You should get a good divorce attorney and settle this thing quietly.”
“But how can I? The moment I start proceedings the press will be all over me. The scandal will destroy me, not to mention ruin my business.”
Chazz thought about this for a moment. Then an idea occurred to him.
“Why don’t we let her file for divorce? That way you’ll be well out of it.”
“But how?” Grover wrung his hands. “How? How? How?”
“You sound like an echo in the Swiss mountains,” Chazz chided gently. His friend was clearly in the dumps, judging from the pale pallor of his cheeks and the look of desperation in his eyes. Even his frizzy hair was standing on end, as if he’d charged it with electricity before leaving the house.
“God, just shoot me now and get it over with,” Grover cried.
