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

by Nic Saint

  “Oh, that’s right. I remember now. She’s pretty good, isn’t she? She can tell a lie from a distance of ten feet, or perhaps even further. I didn’t check.”

  “Yeah, Bo is the best,” the senator breathed. “I should go and find her, but I haven’t the heart. How do you tell your daughter you’re dead? Tough call.”

  “You don’t have to tell her,” Reece assured him. “She already knows. Say, could you give me some pointers on how to play a senator? I’m writing the script of your life.” He puffed out his chest. “I would be playing you, in fact.”

  The senator eyed him approvingly. “Excellent choice, young man. I’d be delighted. Although you do look a great deal more handsome than me.”

  “Well, I could always tone down my good looks. You’d be surprised what they can do with makeup these days.” He sat back. “Now, if you could give me a hand with the script—I want to make it as true to life as possible.”

  “Of course. I just happen to have some extra time on my hands. Seeing as I’m dead and all. In fact, now that I come to think of it, I’ve got eternity.”

  “That’s how long it takes to get a movie made,” Reece quipped. He was starting to like this guy. A real trooper. In spite of the fact that he was dead—which was a bummer any way you sliced it—he was ready to make the best of a bad situation. Life had given him lemons, but the old guy was resolved to turn them into Coca-Cola. Something we should all be striving for, Reece felt.

  Just then, he noticed a small piece of orange paper stuck between the rope and the senator’s neck. He tried to grab it, but of course he couldn’t, as it was probably an ectoplasmic manifestation, just like the senator himself.

  “You, um, you got something stuck in your rope, Senator,” he said, pointing to the little piece of paper. “A little piece of… yeah, right there.”

  “Do I? Oh, that’s not good,” the senator said, feeling around for the paper in question. Then he caught it and took it out. “You mean this, son?”

  “That’s it. Now what is that thing?”

  The actor and the dead senator studied the piece of paper together. It looked like a map of some kind, Reece decided. A crude map someone had drawn on a piece of orange paper. As if someone had copied it down from Google Maps. Someone either in a great hurry or with very little talent.

  “There’s something written there,” he murmured, trying to make out the writing.

  The senator frowned. “You’re right. What is it? It looks like…”

  “Bucky?” Reece read.

  The senator smiled. “That’s my old college nickname! They used to call me that because I was such a big fan of Buckminster Fuller.” His smile faded. “And because I look like one of Dr. Fuller’s fabled buckyballs.” His frown returned. “Now why is that piece of paper stuck in my collar?”

  “Not your collar, Senator. It was stuck in your rope. You know? The…”

  The senator gulped as he placed his hand on the rope. “Oh, you mean…”

  “Yeah. Looks like it accidentally got stuck there when you, um, well, when you were killed, in fact. They just got it tucked in there with the, um…”

  “Oh. Right. Of course.”

  “Yeah.”

  The senator blinked at the piece of paper. “This isn’t my writing.”

  “Must be the killer’s writing, then.”

  “You think so?”

  “Well, I’m not an expert…”

  “Me neither. I’ve never been killed before, you know.”

  “Hey, same here. Something else we have in common.”

  They studied the little piece of paper some more. There was a big X drawn in the center as if it was some kind of treasure map.

  “X marks the spot,” Reece muttered.

  “That is my address, all right” the senator went on as he tapped the X with his finger. “Someone must have drawn the killers a map to my house.”

  “You know? The police must have the same piece of paper upstairs. I’m sure they’ll dust it for fingerprints, run it through some huge computer to match the handwriting to known or unknown culprits.” He wanted to pat the senator on the back, but of course his hand flew right through him.

  He now saw that the senator’s face had turned ashen—well, even more ashen than it already was. And seeing as he was dead, that was quite a feat.

  “Are you all right, Senator? You don’t look too good.”

  The senator’s eyes slowly traveled up from the piece of paper to meet Reece’s. “You know, Mr. Hudson? There’s only one person who still calls me Bucky these days. One of my old college roommates and a dear, dear friend.”

  “Oh? And who is this person?”

  “Oh, Jack…” the senator said, wearily shaking his head.

  Reece smiled a deferential smile. “Not Jack, sir. Reece. Reece Hudson.”

  “No, I mean… He’s the only one who calls me Bucky.”

  Now Reece was confused. “Huh? Who?”

  “Well, Jack Gnash, of course.”

  Reece frowned. The name rang a bell. He was sure he’d heard it before. Then it struck him. “You mean President Gnash? President Jack Gnash?”

  The senator nodded slowly, and as his eyes met Reece’s, the actor suddenly realized that he’d struck gold. While everyone else was busy doing whatever it was they were busy doing, he’d just managed to crack the case!

  Chapter 19

  “Sad state of affairs, isn’t it, Mr. Dawson?”

  Felicity gestured to Alice and Chazz to keep quiet. They’d dragged the irascible billionaire away from Reece before a second murder could take place, and after walking around the house, they’d suddenly heard Rick’s voice coming from a window on the ground floor, where he was being interviewed by Detective Garfield.

  She and Alice and Chazz had made themselves comfortable under the windowsill, fully intent on eavesdropping on the interview. For Felicity, this was her fiancé, so she had a vested interest, as did Chazz, for this was his son.

  “Yeah, it’s a real tragedy,” Rick agreed.

  “You left the premises around eleven? That right?”

  “That’s correct,” Rick acknowledged.

  “Since the time of death has been established as between eleven thirty and twelve thirty, that probably makes you the last person to have seen the senator alive, and so a very important eyewitness to his state of mind. Tell me, Mr. Dawson—may I call you Rick? Like I said before, I’m a big fan of your writing, Rick. Big, big fan.”

  “Sure, go ahead. So shall I call you Jerry—”

  “Detective Garfield.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now, how would you describe the senator as you last saw him?”

  “He seemed fine to me. Perfectly fine.”

  “Mh. He didn’t strike you as depressed? Down in the dumps? Suicidal?”

  “Nope. Happy as a clam. The only thing that had him worried was the disappearance of his pooch.”

  “His pooch?”

  “Yeah, his dog was snatched from his backyard the day before. In fact he asked me to find it.”

  “He asked you to find his pooch.”

  “A Pomeranian, actually. Goes by the name of Pronto.”

  “But apart from this… Pronto…”

  “He was pretty happy with life. The guy had everything to live for.”

  Felicity closed her eyes. She knew that Rick was attached to the truth, but this was a time when perhaps he shouldn’t preach it so… passionately. The more he made the senator sound like a happy camper, the less likely it was that he committed suicide. And the more likely that they were going to arrest Rick as the prime suspect in his murder.

  “So what did you two talk about, Rick? Put me in the room.”

  “Well, mainly about Job’s Truth Bill, I guess.”

  “The Pinocchio Bill. Yeah, I heard about that.” Detective Garfield laughed, and Rick laughed along, though a little less exuberantly so. “That’s a big deal up in Washington, isn’t it?”

  �
��The senator thought so. Thought it could change the whole game.”

  “Yeah, force everybody to tell the truth, huh? No more lies.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So did you get to meet this, um, whatchamacallit—this human lie detector of his?”

  Rick cleared his throat. “Well, um, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that, Detective.”

  “Ah, yes, confidentiality. Protecting your sources and all that jazz, huh?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Well, let me tell you, Mr. Dawson. This is a potential murder investigation, so your reticence is neither wanted nor appreciated, you understand?”

  “A murder investigation? But I thought you said—”

  “I know what I said, but in light of your testimony I’m not ruling anything out just yet. The man you’re describing doesn’t strike me as someone who would put a noose around his neck half an hour after you left.”

  “So…”

  “So that puts you in the hot seat, Rick. You’re the last person to talk to the senator, so if this turns into a homicide investigation, your Facebook status will quickly be updated from prime witness to prime suspect, see?”

  “Yes, I do see,” said Rick after a pause.

  Felicity thought she could hear her fiancé gulp from where she sat. She exchanged a look of worry with Alice and Chazz. The billionaire, in particular, was looking more and more worried, his face ruddier and ruddier.

  So let me ask you again, “Did you or did you not identify the senator’s so-called human lie detector?”

  “Yes, I did,” Rick confirmed.

  “I need a name, Rick.”

  “I can’t give you one,” Rick proceeded stubbornly.

  There was a short pause, then a pen was clicked several times. Finally, the detective’s voice came back, “You’ve just made this a whole lot worse for yourself, buddy. Either you give me a name, or I’m taking you in for questioning. And this time you’ll be going in as a suspect, not a witness.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Obstruction of justice. A charge not to be taken lightly, I might add.” He tapped a few keys on what Felicity thought was a computer, then whistled through his teeth. “Bingo! I see this is not the first charge brought against you today. One Caroline Loosely has filed a report with the Happy Bays Police Department. Something about you refusing to pay a fine. That makes two strikes in one day. Sure you want to play this the hard way?”

  “Yes, I do. I simply won’t reveal the identity of the human lie detector.”

  “You don’t have to, Mr. Dawson,” suddenly a voice sounded inside the room. A woman’s voice. The voice of Bo Vickar! “I’m the human lie detector, Detective Garfield, and I’m here to tell you that my father didn’t commit suicide. He was murdered in cold blood. And the man who’s responsible for his murder is—”

  Felicity, Alice and Chazz shot up to gawk through the window at the drama unfolding inside. And with a gasp, Felicity now saw that Bo Vickar had been joined by Reece, who was looking very important.

  “Tell him, Mr. Hudson. Tell him what you discovered,” Bo told Reece.

  “The guy you’re looking for is President Gnash. He’s the one who ordered the murder. And if you want proof, I can give you proof.” And to everyone’s surprise, the actor handed the detective a small piece of paper.

  “What’s this?” the policeman asked gruffly.

  “That’s the note the president wrote to the murderer. You’ll notice that X marks the spot, in this case the senator’s house, and that someone wrote ‘Bucky’ on there?”

  “So?”

  “So Bucky is the senator’s college nickname and the only person who calls him that these days is President Gnash. If you check this note, you’ll find that the handwriting matches that of the president.”

  “The president wrote this note?”

  “Well, not this note, exactly. I copied this note from the original note.”

  Garfield eyed Reece suspiciously. “I don’t get it. Where did this note come from? And how come you know so much about the senator’s personal life?”

  “Oh, I see what you mean.” Reece laughed. “Bucky—I mean the senator—told me all of this himself. He and I are great pals now. I think it’s the fact I’ll be playing him in the movie. He’s giving me a hand with the script.”

  Felicity closed her eyes in horror. Next to her, Alice emitted a groan.

  “The senator gave you this note? When was this?”

  “Just now. You see, I can talk to ghosts, and the ghost of Job Vickar and I are like this.” He put his index and middle finger together and stuck them up at the detective, whose face had now taken on the same color as Chazz’s.

  “That’s it!” the detective suddenly barked. “Dawson and Hudson, you’re both under arrest for making a mockery of this investigation and—”

  “Hey! You can’t do that!” Chazz suddenly hollered, as he started crawling in through the window to get at the detective.

  Garfield jumped about a foot in the air when suddenly a voice called out where no voice should have been, and when he saw Chazz, Felicity and Alice staring back at him, he screamed, “You’re all under arrest! The lot of you!”

  “No, wait, Detective,” Bo Vickar said. “I implore you. These people are all friends of mine. I asked them to come here to investigate my father’s murder. They were with me when my father was killed.”

  “All of them?” the detective cried.

  Bo hesitated, as her gaze traveled to Rick. “Yes, all of them,” she then stated resolutely. “Well, except for that gentleman over there. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

  “I have an alibi,” Chazz huffed. “Just ask Grover Calypso. I was at his reception just now. At least a dozen people can verify that I was there.”

  The detective looked as if he was about to blow a gasket. “All right!” he harrumphed. “You can all go. For now. But don’t leave town! And don’t you go shoving your noses into this investigation, you hear?!”

  “We won’t, Detective,” Rick assured him, but Felicity could see that he was crossing his fingers behind his back.

  “What about Bucky, Jerry?” Reece asked. “What about my clue? You have to arrest President Gnash. He’s obviously the murderer.”

  The detective gave Reece a look that could kill. “Get out of my face, hot potato. And confine your Ghostbusters stories to Hollywood, why don’t you?”

  “But, Jerry—”

  “Detective Garfield to you!”

  “But, Detective Garfield—”

  “Just get the hell out! All of you!”

  So they got the hell out. All of them.

  Chapter 20

  Bo gazed out the window, her companions engrossed in conversation. They were all hitching a ride back to Happy Bays in Chazz Falcone’s limo, except for Reece, who was driving his Maserati. She’d left her own car parked outside Bell’s Bakery when she’d received the terrible news about her father, Reece’s car being the faster choice to take them into the Bronx.

  “So what’s all this stuff about Bucky?” Chazz asked.

  Bo looked up. “Bucky was my father’s nickname,” she explained softly. “Whoever killed him referred to him with that name, and since there’s only one man who still calls him that…”

  “President Jack Gnash,” Felicity supplied.

  “Exactly.”

  “I simply can’t imagine the president going around killing people,” Alice said. “I mean, why would he even want to do that? Jeopardize his career? Not to mention the fate of the entire country and the rest of the free world?”

  “The president has better things to do than murder people,” Felicity agreed.

  “Yeah, but if the Truth Bill had been implemented, he might have been caught in a lie,” Rick countered.

  “What lie? The president never lies,” Alice said, looking very convinced.

  There was a momentary silence in the vehicle while all eyes turned to Alice, then everybody s
tarted talking simultaneously. The gist of the opinions voiced was that presidents do lie, and perhaps—at least that was Rick Dawson’s opinion—even more so than other politicians.

  “He’s got so much at stake, he simply can’t tell the truth all the time,” Rick argued. “Which is why he needs to lie, and if the Truth Bill had become policy, with Bo exposing every single lie told on Capitol Hill, the president would have been in a real jam.”

  “I honestly don’t think Gnash killed Vickar,” Chazz opined. “No way.”

  “How can you even say that?” Bo cried. “It’s obvious that he did.”

  “Nope. That note doesn’t prove a thing,” the billionaire insisted. “Anyone could have written it. I’ll bet dozens of people know about this Bucky thing.”

  “The police need to find that note and test it for fingerprints,” Felicity said. “That’s the only way to prove who’s behind this.”

  “Weird, don’t you think?” Alice asked.

  “What’s weird?” Rick wanted to know.

  “That Detective Garfield didn’t even mention the note? As if it wasn’t at the crime scene.”

  “Or perhaps he found it and decided not to tell us,” Felicity said.

  “He would have told us,” Alice said. “He told us everything else.”

  “Which is weird for a detective, don’t you think?” Felicity asked.

  Alice shrugged. “The guy’s just big on talking, I guess.”

  “Perhaps the note simply wasn’t there. Perhaps it was gone before the police arrived,” Rick said. “Reece found the note tucked in the rope, right?”

  Bo nodded. She’d come upon Reece just after he made the discovery.

  “Which means it was on your father’s person at his time of death. But it could have been removed right after he died. Probably by the murderer.”

  Bo sagged a little. She’d hoped this mysterious note would crack the case, and now it looked like the murderers might have taken it along with them.

  “We were lucky Reece found that note,” Alice pointed out, clearly proud of her future husband. “But then he does have a great eye for detail.”

  Rick grumbled something, obviously not as happy with Reece’s eye.