A Breath of Dead Air (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Book 8)

by Nic Saint

  Granted, she herself was a far cry from the fresh-faced teenager she’d once been, but Chazz had gone through such a transformation she hadn’t even recognized him at first.

  She gave the man’s arm a gentle brush. “This thing we had is in the past now, Chazz. And I suggest you let it rest there along with the memories of all your other relationships.”

  “So that’s it, huh?” he grumbled. “You’re mad because I got married.”

  “And five times, no less.”

  His beetling brows worked furiously. “Yes, well, I never forgot about you, Gina. You were and always will be my one true love. You have to believe me when I tell you that.”

  In spite of herself, a long-forgotten resentment bubbled to the surface at these bold words. “Then why didn’t you write me? Or try to get in touch?”

  This had Chazz flummoxed for a moment, but then he grumbled, “Well, this was all a long time ago. Long before the Internet. I mean, it’s not as if I could send you a friend request on Facebook or something.”

  She cocked a delicate eyebrow. “You could have written me, Chazz. I wrote you many letters that first winter but you never once wrote me back.”

  “Yeah, well, I mean—um, well, that is to say, ahm…“ he stammered, his face taking on a darker shade of puce and his three chins waggling frantically. “There was simply no way I could—I had no idea how…” Then he stabbed a finger in the air. “I did write you, Gina! Sure I did! Long, tortured letters full of love and passion and all of that good shit. Your father—” He gulped. “Your father must have kept them from you. Yes, that’s it! Your father destroyed all my letters! He thwarted me from day one! Like Romeo and Julienne!”

  She laughed. The man was funny; she had to give him that. “It’s all right, Chazz,” she said. “I’m sure you were too busy building your empire to remember our teenage fumblings behind my father’s shed. And I’m sure you’ll be very happy with the sixth Mrs. Falcone, whoever she may be.”

  “I ain’t marrying again,” Chazz rumbled, giving her a moody frown. “I’m done marrying. I’d make an exception for you, but seeing as how you’re bent on marrying Calypso I really don’t see how…” He sighed, then shrugged. “Oh, well. Like you said, no sense in dredging up the dead old past.”

  “We’re not quite dead yet, Chazz,” she reminded him lightly.

  And for the first time he displayed a smile, and suddenly she recognized the man she’d once loved—the young man she’d once given her heart to.

  “Well, you’re definitely not dead, Gina,” he said. “You look lovely.”

  She pressed a tender kiss on his head, where his orange combover flopped over his brow. “I’m sure we’re going to be very good friends,” she said softly. He was Grover’s friend, after all, so they would be seeing quite a lot of each other. Nor did she mind. The old flame had long since been extinguished, but then so had the disappointment.

  Suddenly, Chazz’s phone rang. He quickly took it out and pressed it to his ear. “Ricky? What’s up?” The billionaire’s brow furrowed, and he abruptly barked, “I’m on my way.” He gave Regina an apologetic look. “I have to go, Gina. Something’s come up. Tell Grover I said hi, will ya?”

  “I certainly will,” she said, and watched him take his leave. Then, when Grover came ambling up, she drifted into her future husband’s arms.

  “What was that all about?” Grover wanted to know.

  “Oh, just some reminiscing about the past,” she told him fondly.

  “I didn’t even know you and Chazz knew each other.”

  “It was a long time ago. I hardly recognized him, actually.”

  “Yeah, Chazz lost a lot of weight. Looks better than ever.”

  This surprised Regina, but she refrained from voicing her opinion.

  “He had that health scare a couple of months ago. Been following a strict diet and cardio program since. Has to, if he wants to win the election.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Election?”

  “Didn’t he tell you? He’s running for president.”

  “President of…”

  “The country! Has his mind all set on it. Says he’s achieved all he can achieve in business and going into politics will give him a new goal. Something to strive for. Get the old blood pumping.” Grover shook his bulbous head, his frizzy hair bristling. “Better him than me. Dirty rotten game, if you ask me.”

  Regina smiled. “If anyone can make it work, it’s Chazz.”

  “You’re right about that. No con artist can outcon good old Chazz.”

  They watched as Bomer made a beeline for the open bar, only to be waylaid by Charlene, who promptly took his glass away and gave him a stern lecture on the negative effects of the consumption of alcohol.

  “How is Bomer holding up?” Regina asked. She’d become quite fond of this future stepson of hers. Bomer was the kind of person who wouldn’t hurt a fly, not merely because he lacked the brains and the wherewithal to do so, but because he was at heart a very gentle soul, just like his old man.

  “He’s coping.” Grover sighed. “I’ve been asking around, and there simply is no way Bomer set up this slush fund. The boy simply doesn’t have the brains for such an operation.”

  “I don’t think Bomer even knows what a slush fund is,” Regina remarked diplomatically.

  “That boy doesn’t even know how to access the company database, and I’ve shown him about a million times!” Grover cried. “Keeps forgetting his damn password. All he does all day is play those stupid computer games.”

  “Who do you think is behind this, then? A competitor?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Tough business, ours.”

  Regina shook her head. Ever since becoming Grover’s fiancée she’d become acutely aware of the fact that the very rich had enemies lurking around every corner, waiting for a chance to strike. She was well-off, her father having left her quite a packet. But she was nowhere near the league of Grover Calypso or Chazz Falcone. “Any idea who might be behind this?”

  “Not yet. Chazz is looking into it, and if anyone can find out, it’s him.”

  Regina didn’t doubt it for a second. Chazz was something of a crook himself, and as the old saying goes, it takes one to know one. Good thing he was on their side. Though that whole spiel about Grover having VD was a dirty trick, and she meant to talk to Grover about it. But not right now. At this most critical point in her fiancé’s career, she didn’t want to come between him and his old friend. But he did need to be told. It didn’t do, she felt, for one friend to hit on the future wife of another friend, and to suggest that that other friend had something wrong with his plumbing. That didn’t do at all.

  But then she knew this was neither the time nor the place to issue reprimands. First things first. Bomer needed to have his name cleared, and CalypsoCo had to return to business as usual, lest Grover lost not only the empire he’d built but pulled out the last of his few remaining strands of hair.

  Chapter 15

  “Proceed stealthily,” Alice whispered to Reece, as the latter was snapping yet another set of twigs under his feet.

  “I’m trying!” Reece loud-whispered back. “But it’s kinda hard when you’re not built like a grasshopper!”

  “Hey! Who are you calling a grasshopper?!” Alice hissed.

  “It’s just an expression, babe. Grasshoppers can hop, whereas us humans have to crawl and, and… well, and do other stuff,” he concluded lamely.

  Alice groaned quietly. They were sneaking through the shrubbery behind Senator Vickar’s house. She would have much preferred to go in through the front door, like normal people, but some burly police officer standing sentry had held them back when they’d arrived with Bo. After producing the requisite credentials, Bo had been allowed to proceed inside, but the rest of the gang hadn’t, in spite of Bo’s guarantee they were all with her.

  So Alice had come up with a Plan B: sneak around back and hide in the bushes until Bo had an opportunity to usher them in throu
gh the backdoor.

  The first part of the plan was a great success: they had a clear view at the back of the house. The only thing missing was Bo, who’d apparently forgotten about the small band of four lurking in the senatorial shrubbery.

  “Quiet. We don’t want to be caught!” Rick reminded them of the obvious.

  “This would have been a lot easier if I’d known about this going in!” Reece grumbled. “I could have worn my sneaking sneakers!”

  “You have sneakers for sneaking?” Fee wanted to know.

  “Duh. Never seen my Crunch Time movies? There’s a lot of sneaking going on, let me tell you. In fact I’m considered one of the best sneakers in Hollywood, if not the world. But not without my sneaking sneakers.”

  Alice gritted her teeth. With or without sneakers, Reece was making entirely too much noise, and would get them caught if he kept this up.

  “I wonder what’s keeping Bo,” Fee said, plucking a twig from her russet curls.

  Rick, who’d been eyeing the bushes intently, fingered his chin. “This must be where that dognapper was lying in wait the day before yesterday,” he remarked, studying one particular bush with particular interest.

  “You mean Pronto?” Reece asked, plunking down next to Alice.

  “Yup. That’s the one.”

  “You know? We should have brought Spot,” Alice said. “He might have given us a clue about what happened to Pronto.”

  “Well, too late now,” Fee grumbled. She clearly didn’t enjoy crawling in bushes, possibly because she was by far the most voluminous member of the foursome, and as a consequence had to expend more effort to go unnoticed.

  Alice stared at the house. From time to time she noticed a cop appearing in a window looking out into the yard. The place was swarming with cops, which was probably not unusual. After all, it doesn’t happen every day that a US senator is found dangling from the rafters of his own home.

  Which reminded her… “Where was the senator’s body actually found?”

  “Beats me,” Fee said, plunking down on her belly and expelling a deep breath. “Phew, this Indiana Jones stuff is seriously overrated, you guys.”

  Alice crouched and stared at the house. Bo told them she would send them a message the moment the coast was clear, but so far nothing. Which was, of course, understandable. She had other things on her mind right now than finding a way to smuggle them in. Possibly she’d forgotten they were out here, what with her father having taken his own life. Although it was exactly because she couldn’t believe he committed suicide that she asked them along.

  For one thing, she’d spoken to him just before the tragic events that had led to his demise, and he’d seemed his usual chipper self. He’d even told her he was making progress on his Truth Bill, and that she should start warming up in the wings so she could take the stage as human lie detector and do her thing. He said things were coming together with a lot more expedience than expected, which didn’t sound like a man suffering from suicidal tendencies.

  No, it was pretty obvious to Bo that her father was murdered, his death made to look like a suicide. And that the person behind it was most likely the same one who’d tried to smear his name and had stolen his dog, all in an attempt to prevent his Truth Bill from being unleashed upon Congress.

  “You know? I don’t understand, though,” Fee now said. “I mean, why would they kill the senator if they hadn’t even played their other cards?”

  “Other cards?” Reece asked with a frown. “You mean like in spades?”

  “I think Fee is being metaphorical, Reece,” Alice said with an eye roll.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not too happy either,” Reece responded, trying to dissuade a caterpillar from crawling up his leg by giving it a gentle shove.

  “Metaphorical, Reece,” Rick grunted. “Not euphoric.”

  Fee had snapped a blade of grass and was idly chewing it. “I mean, first they set up this slush fund thing, right? But they didn’t leak the senator’s role to the press, which would have been the logical thing to do. That is if their intention was to put pressure on the senator to resign, of course.”

  “Perhaps the senator told them he wouldn’t budge?” Alice suggested.

  “Possibly,” Fee agreed. “But what about the dog? They snatch Pronto and then don’t issue a list of demands. I mean, as far as we know, they never even got in touch with the senator. If I were the culprit, I would first take the dog, and demand that the senator withdraw his bill. If he refuses, I’d set up this slush fund scandal and leak the complete story to the press, forcing him to step down. And only if that didn’t work…”

  “Would you murder him,” Alice completed the sentence.

  “Sounds logical,” Rick agreed.

  “So why not be logical about it? Why launch two schemes, don’t see them through, and jump to the final solution? It doesn’t make sense. Unless…”

  “Unless these criminals are suffering from ADHD?” Reece suggested.

  “Unless there’s more than one culprit involved,” Rick pointed out.

  “Could be,” Fee accepted. “But Bo said she felt the presence of the president behind the ploy to set up the slush fund and the dognapping.”

  “But she also said the Pet Bandits were behind the dognapping,” Rick argued. “So what if these events are unrelated? What if the dognapping isn’t connected to the senator’s work at all? And what if this so-called suicide is unrelated as well? What if there are really three separate things going on?”

  These were all great questions, Alice thought, but how were they ever going to find the answers if they couldn’t even get into the house?

  And as she expelled a deep sigh, her eyes wandered up from the glass sliding door that led inside from the patio, and her sigh turned into a gasp of horrified shock. Through a second-floor window, she could see the outline of a dangling body, clear as day. And just when she was about to avert her gaze, she saw the possessor of that body ambling up to them, a bemused expression on his face, his head held to one side, a rope around his neck, the ligature mark red and raw. The senator was smoking a pipe, and when he saw the foursome huddling in the bushes, he cried out, “Rick Dawson as I live and breathe! What are you doing out here, young man?” Then his eyes lowered to take in his silk burgundy dressing gown and velvet monogrammed slippers. “And what the devil am I doing out here dressed like this?”

  “Um, Mr. Senator, sir? There’s something you need to know,” Alice began, but then faltered. How do you break the news to someone that they’re now dead and roaming the earth as a spirit being? It required a certain subtlety, compassion, and a verbal finesse she wasn’t sure she possessed.

  “You’re dead, Senator,” Rick told the old man bluntly. “Dead as a dodo.”

  And even as Alice turned to glare at Rick, the senator’s head swiveled to stare up at the room where his body was still swaying gently in a non-existent breeze. He cried out in dismay, “Good God, you’re right, Rick! I am dead!”

  “This is all so weird,” Reece muttered under his breath.

  He was right. No matter how many ghosts they met, it was still hard to come to grips with the fact that the living, when dead, simply kept on going.

  “Do you know who did this to you, sir?” Alice asked.

  The senator was still staring at his own mortal remains, his ectoplasmic manifestation swaying slightly, perfectly in sync with the swing of his dead body. “Eh?” he cried, turning to Alice. “What?” She saw the shock in his eyes and sighed. What good was it that you could talk to the dead when they were usually too shell-shocked to have anything useful to add to the investigation?

  “I said, can you tell us what happened?” she repeated.

  “I, um, well, um…” The senator idly touched his brow, then huffed out, “My God! Bo! What must she be thinking?! I—I—I have to go talk to her!”

  And with these words he abruptly turned on his wispy heel and floated away, leaving the four friends a little stunned and not a little disappointed.


  “So much for solving this mystery speedily,” Rick grumbled.

  “Rick, you really have to learn about tact,” Fee lamented.

  “Huh? What do you mean? I’m the most tactful person in the world.”

  With a groan, Fee rose to her feet, then dusted off her clothes. “You can’t just blurt out to someone they’re dead. You have to break it to them gently.”

  “Why? Better to have it out. There will be pain, yes, perhaps even considerable pain at first, but it will be quick, and not a drawn-out affair.”

  “Yeah, like when you rip off a band-aid,” Reece supplied helpfully.

  Rick pointed at his friend. “Exactly like a band-aid! Thank you, Reece!”

  “Anytime,” said Reece complacently. Then his lips formed into a perfect O. “Oh, you guys, that reminds me. I should jot this all down. I’m working on a script, and this is exactly the kind of thing I need,” he explained. He quickly snapped out his smartphone and started typing in a note to himself. “Dead senator—ghost—band-aid—givin’ it to ‘em straight,” he muttered.

  Fee shook her head. It was obvious she didn’t agree with Rick’s band-aid approach when it came to announcing to ghosts that they were, in fact, dead.

  “Well, I think we should talk to Brian,” Alice suggested. “A US senator dead? The president involved? How much bigger can this thing get?”

  “President steals dog—kills senator dead,” Reece muttered, still typing.

  “Let’s just wait and see what happens,” Fee countered. “This isn’t a Wraith Wranglers case yet. For one thing, nobody has even hired us.”

  “Well, I think it is,” Reece said, then ticked off on his fingers, “We have a murder case, with a ghost who’s made contact, and one of the relatives, his daughter, who’s asked for our help.” He spread his arms. “What more do you want? And I don’t know about you guys, but I for one think this is great.”