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

by Nic Saint

  “Next time you try to impersonate me—” he began.

  “You’ll call the cops on me. You said that already. Now in other news, how’s life as the richest man on the planet? Having a ball, Bri?”

  “It’s not too shabby,” he admitted, still not accustomed to his new station in life.

  He and Brice were not from a wealthy family, and he’d had to pay his way through college by taking on odd jobs here and there. Brice, on the other hand, had refused to go to college, preferring, as he called it, to attend the college of life. He’d effectively become a kind of crook, just like their father.

  “I thought you’d do fine,” said Brice. “You always had a head for business.”

  Brian was taken aback by this rare compliment, “Thanks. How are you? When you’re not trying to ruin my reputation?”

  “I’m hanging in there.”

  For the first time, Brian detected a hint of melancholy in his brother’s voice. Usually, Brice was very up, but today he sounded a little maudlin.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

  “Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not like you, Brian. I don’t need handouts from billionaires to give my life meaning. Unlike you, I make my own way through life.”

  “I made my own way through life.”

  “Yeah, tell that to Peverell Wardop, who laid his fortune in your lap.”

  It was a concatenation of circumstances that had landed Brian his presidency of the Wardop Group, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t earned it. Running the group, even with Peverell holding his hand, wasn’t an easy job, and he was only now starting to get the hang of things.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said therefore.

  “You mean I don’t have a sugar daddy? You’re right about that.”

  “You sound bitter, Brice.”

  “Well, if I sound bitter, maybe that’s because I am.”

  Brian decided to cut the conversation short. It never cheered him up to talk to his brother. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that the next time—”

  “I cause trouble for the great Brian Rutherford, I’ll be sorry. Yes, I got the message loud and clear, Bri.”

  “Do I have your word?”

  “What word?”

  “That you won’t go around harassing ghosts anymore?”

  Brice laughed. “People should hear you. You do know that with a single word I can have you kicked out of that golden palace of yours, right?”

  Brian did know that. It was a secret he and his brother shared: they could both talk to ghosts. “You’ll ruin your reputation if you do that.”

  “I don’t have a reputation,” said Brice, sounding even more bitter.

  And with these words, he disconnected, leaving Brian to stare at himself in the mirror. He started when Peverell suddenly popped up next to him.

  “Trouble?” the old ghost asked.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Pop up out of nowhere like that.”

  “You mean I should first ring a bell or something?”

  “Or something.”

  Peverell gestured to the phone. “Trouble with Brice?”

  Brian bit his lip and nodded. “I don’t know. He sounds… desperate.”

  “I can find out what’s going on with him if you want me to,” said Peverell. He moved closer. “I can take care of this problem for you, Brian. For us.”

  He looked up in alarm. “I know your solution. I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? He’s the one contingency I didn’t contend with.”

  “Brice won’t tell anyone,” he said, though he didn’t believe that.

  “Brice would love to tell all, but he knows that no one will believe him without proof. He’ll come across as a jealous crackpot, and he knows it.”

  “Proof,” said Brian. “He can’t destroy us without proof, can he?”

  “No, he can’t,” confirmed Peverell. “Nobody will believe a crook who tries to sell out his brother by claiming he can talk to ghosts.” He patted Brian on the back. “So for now we’re good, Brian. The only problem I foresee is that he’s going to take up too much of your time and emotional energy. But then when he’s dead he’s probably going to harass you even more.” He sighed. “So perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we’ll just let him live.”

  “Of course, we’ll let him live. We’re businessmen, not murderers.”

  A cold smile appeared on the old ghost’s face. “That’s a thin line, Brian.”

  Chapter 25

  Rick crouched low, trying to think of a plan. How could he free Alice and Reece without being caught himself? It seemed to him that the crux of the matter was to overpower this crazy scientist without giving him the opportunity to use that gun on him. He tried to remember some tricks of the trade his friends at the FBI had taught him. When he’d done an undercover piece on an environmentalist prepper cult taking over Camp Solana in Oregon, with the feds laying siege to the group, he’d picked up some great combat moves. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten most of them by now, not having had any need for them in civilian life. Until now, that was.

  He watched as a young blond woman descended the stairs and entered the basement. She exchanged a few words with the crazy scientist, and then an elevator dinged in a corner of the room. The doors slid open, and he saw that the cook rolled out a gurney, Felicity strapped down on it!

  He almost cried out in terror. His three friends were now all positioned at the heart of the room, ready to be operated on. He was the last person who could save them, if only he knew what to do. God! What would Chuck MacLachlan do? What if this was one of his silly Crunch Time movies?

  A short bark at his feet alerted him to the presence of Spot. At least he had his trusty canine companion here with him. But what could Spot do? It wasn’t as if the Pomeranian pup was a force to be reckoned with.

  Then his eye fell on a gun that had been placed on a nearby desk, and he quickly snatched it up. He checked it and saw that it contained a single tranq dart. If push came to shove, he could take out one of the bad guys with it, but that still left two more to deal with. Then the elevator doors dinged again, and the strong, silent companion of the cook strode in, looking more burly and dangerous than he’d noticed back there in the kitchen.

  Dang, he thought. Make that three more bad guys to contend with.

  And then suddenly a sharp voice intruded on his fevered musings. “Rick Dawson?” He popped his head up and saw that the blond woman was looking straight at him. Dammit! “If you surrender now, we won’t have to hurt you,” she warned.

  He decided to take his chances and stay right where he was.

  “We’re going to gas this entire lab if we have to, so there’s no escape.”

  Crap, could they do that? Possibly they could. Still, he was damned if he was going to give himself up. Maybe he could run for the exit and get help?

  But then he noticed a small canister rolling to a stop against the desk. He stared at it stupidly, as acrid smoke began to pour from it. He quickly covered his mouth with the collar of his turtleneck sweater. He wasn’t giving up and prepared himself to make a run for the exit. He was going to get out of here, no matter what. But even as he sprang away from his hiding place, his legs suddenly buckled, and he careened into the desk, landing hard on his knees. Moments later, he collapsed onto the floor, out for the count.

  When he regained consciousness, he found that he was strapped to a gurney, placed right beside Reece, Fee, and Alice, with the others all eyeing him narrowly.

  “Hey there, buddy,” said Reece, well pleased. “How are you feeling?”

  “My head,” he groaned.

  “Don’t worry. The nausea will pass, and so will the headache,” said Fee.

  “What—what are they going to do to us?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid they’re going to add us to their collection,” said Reece, more cheerfully
than was appropriate under the circumstances.

  “Yeah, they’re a bunch of nutcases,” said Alice. “They collect professions. Though they seem to have some trouble categorizing me. I told them I don’t really have a job, hoping they’d let me go, but no such luck. That blond witch said she would file me under the M of Mortician’s Assistant. She found my name listed on Uncle Charlie’s website as his executive assistant.”

  “She googled you?” Fee asked incredulously.

  “Oh, yes, she did.” She shook her head. “Never thought I’d be preserved for posterity as a mortician’s assistant.”

  “I hope they put us together,” said Reece. “Side by side, you know?”

  “Why are you so chipper?” Felicity lamented. “We’re about to die!”

  “Well, as we all know, death is not the end,” he said simply. “We’ll be ghosts soon, and perhaps we can still do a great deal of good that way.”

  “We can do a lot more good being alive,” Alice pointed out.

  “Not to mention enjoy the sunshine on our skin and the touch of a loved one,” Fee added as she shared a look with Rick.

  “Or the taste of pepperoni pizza or a tub of Rocky Road,” Alice said.

  “Or a double caramelized honey frappuccino!” Reece exclaimed.

  Rick realized he was starving. They should have eaten something before coming out here. He hated the idea of dying on an empty stomach.

  “At least they might grant us a last meal,” he suggested. “Even inmates on death row get one last meal, right?”

  “Right,” said Fee, perking up. The idea of food had that effect on her. “Look, guys, I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” she added ruefully.

  “It’s not your fault, honey,” said Alice. “We all agreed to come.”

  “It’s my fault,” Reece said. “If I hadn’t allowed myself to be shot by that peppy, pretty blonde…”

  “Hey, she’s not that pretty,” Alice said peevishly.

  “Well, no, she is,” said Rick. “As pretty as she is nuts, apparently.”

  “Look, we shouldn’t argue,” said Fee. “We should be making peace with ourselves and with the world.” She was staring up at the ceiling. “I just wish I could say goodbye to my folks. And tell them that I’ll be all right.”

  “Once you’re dead you’ll be able to talk to them all you want,” said Alice, though it didn’t make the prospect of dying sound any better to Rick.

  “And to think I just snubbed my dad,” he said. “He was trying to set me up with Grover Calypso’s wife.”

  “What?!” cried Fee, jerking up against the restraints.

  “Yeah, apparently she’s been cheating on Grover and Dad wants me to play this French billionaire and seduce her.” He shook his head. “Dad always has these hare-brained schemes.” He smiled. “I’m going to miss the old fool.”

  “That does it!” Fee cried.

  Her face had taken on a scarlet hue, and Rick eyed her with worry.

  “Are you all right, honey?”

  “No, I’m not all right!” she hollered, jerking against the restraints. “I don’t like the fact that this bunch of nutjobs has us tied down and is going to kill us. And I don’t like that your dad is trying to set you up with that woman!”

  “Well, I said no, if that’s any consolation.”

  “And I don’t like that you fall for every blond bimbo,” she snapped to Reece. “It’s true! This is your fault. If you hadn’t fallen for that woman—”

  “I didn’t fall for her!” said Reece. “She shot me!”

  “Same difference!” Fee cried, and with superhuman effort managed to snap one of the restraints. With a loud grunt, the veins in her temples throbbing, she snapped the other one and sat up. “I’ve had it!” she cried, and hopped from the table, then picked up a surgical knife that was conveniently lying close by, and approached Rick menacingly.

  “But, honey,” he cried, “I told my dad I wouldn’t do it!”

  She heaved the razor-sharp scalpel high, and it slashed through the air.

  Chapter 26

  Police officer Scattering had just finished his shift and was ready to pack it in for the day when his private cell buzzed in his pocket. With a groan, he reached for it. The only person who ever called him on his private number was his mother, and she usually only called him when she needed him to pick up some stuff from Rafi’s Deli or do one of her numerous friends a favor. So he automatically pressed connect even before he’d checked the display.

  “Yes, Mom, what is it?” he asked dejectedly, like only a thirty-year-old male who still lives at home can do. To his surprise, it wasn’t his mother who answered but a male voice he didn’t immediately recognize.

  “Scattering? Virgil Scattering?” the male voice hooted into the phone.

  He held the device further from his ear and replied cautiously, “Maybe.”

  From time to time, he would get telemarketers on the phone, and he liked to distract them by giving them a different name. If there was one species he almost hated more than breakers of the peace or trespassers of the law, it was telemarketers. “Who is this?” he asked therefore.

  “Falcone. Chazz Falcone,” the male voice tooted. “You’re friends with my son, right? Ricky Dawson? He mentioned your name once or twice.”

  He perked up. He knew Chazz, of course. Had once even met the man at Felicity Bell’s place. He was her future father-in-law and probably the richest man in Happy Bays, owning some prime beachfront real estate in town.

  “Yes, I know Rick Dawson very well,” he said. “You might even say he’s one of my best friends.” He wasn’t lying. He and Rick got along wonderfully. Like that time they’d broken into the nuclear power plant, and Ricky had gotten himself electrocuted in the process. Fun times. “What’s up?”

  “Say, listen, I’ve got a proposal for you, Virgil—can I call you Virgil?”

  “Of course, Chazz,” he said, pricking up his large ears. His salary as a policeman was on the meager side, and then his mother kept the bulk of it and only allowed him a stipend to get through the month. So a little bit of extra cash was always welcome. Especially since he was in the market for a new motorcycle, his old one having broken down recently, owing to a lack of maintenance because Mother refused to fund this crazy hobby of his.

  “Say, listen,” repeated the billionaire, “is it true you don’t have a girl?”

  Though it pained him to admit it, he answered in the affirmative.

  “That’s great!” said Chazz, brightening audibly.

  He didn’t know what was so great about it, but there it was, the awful truth: he was thirty years old and had never had a girlfriend. Damn that Rick for spilling the beans. “What’s this about?” he asked cautiously. He just hoped it wasn’t some reality show like Temptation Island or The Apprentice. Billionaires were always getting involved with TV shows these days.

  “I need you to seduce a woman, Virgil. Do you have experience in that area?”

  He gulped a little, his prominent Adam’s apple making a bop. “Seduce a woman? You mean…”

  “Yeah, seduce a woman. Look, I can’t go into the whole thing over the phone—you never know who’s listening in—but I will say this: if you accept this assignment I’ll make it worth your while, Virgil. Big time, in fact.”

  He’d just been about to pass on the opportunity when Chazz spoke these magic words. Instantly, he snapped, “How much?”

  A loud chuckle smote his ear. “Plenty, Virgil, all right? I’ll reward you handsomely. We’re talking thirty—no, let’s make it fifty if you do me this favor. Fifty thousand, straight from my pocket to yours. What about it?”

  Virgil gulped some more, this time having lost the power of speech.

  “Do we have a deal?” Chazz hollered. “Hello, are you still there?!”

  “I’m here,” he finally managed. “And we do have a deal, Mr. Falcone, sir.”

  “That’s great. I knew I could count on you. Meet me at The Parton in—let�
��s say two hours. I’ll fill you in on the details so we can get cracking.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, momentarily forgetting the promise he’d made to his mother that he would accompany her to bingo at the community center.

  And when he clicked off the phone he did so reverently. Fifty thousand smackeroos. He could buy himself a new bike and maintenance up the wazoo. And the best part was, he could keep it a secret from his mother, so she wouldn’t confiscate the money and spend it on such frivolous matters as a funeral insurance upgrade or a new gravestone, morbid biddy that she was.

  A wide smile spread across his features, and it was with a spring in his step that he strode from the police station en route to his patrol car. The sun was out, birds were on the wing, and all was right with the world. Two hours from now he’d meet one of New York’s biggest, brashest billionaires who would bestow riches upon him beyond compare. And all he had to do was...

  His brow suddenly furrowed when he remembered this tiny detail. He had to seduce a woman, didn’t he? Doubt crept into his mind as he recalled this strange request. Seduce a woman? What woman? Why? And how? He was, after all, not known for his powers of seduction. Not a Lothario was he, and most definitely not the second coming of Channing Tatum, Chris Hemsworth or Tom Hiddleston. No, he thought as his shoulders stooped and his hand crept to his chin to rub it anxiously. Seducing a woman wasn’t something they’d taught him at police academy, and if they had, he’d probably have failed the test. But then he cheered up. Chazz would never have suggested the scheme if he didn’t think he could pull it off.

  The woman in question was probably some little old lady, and he wouldn’t actually have to ‘seduce’ her as much as show her a great time. That was it, he thought, perking up. Chazz didn’t need Virgil the man as much as he needed Virgil the cop. Some women simply swooned at the sight of the uniform, and this was probably one of those occasions. That’s why Chazz had picked him, of course. The uniform. It lent him a fatal attraction that couldn’t be denied. Some lonely old widow with a fetish for young coppers would have the time of her life tonight. All he needed to do was walk up to her, whip out his notebook, and growl, “Officer Scattering at your service, ma’am!”