by Nic Saint
He stared at her for a moment. Then he blinked, nodded, and blinked again. “Well, heck, sure, I guess. I mean, yeah, why the heck not? Right?”
“It’s for my article. I think it will greatly help me if I can get a feel for the place. To see where the murder actually took place.” Just thinking about it gave her the shivers, but she was resolved to go through with this and write the best article possible.
“You wanna add some local color, huh?”
“Something like that.” She’d never heard anyone describe a crime scene in those terms, but then she was new at this reporting thing, same as Virgil was new at detecting.
“Meet me outside in a sec, all right? I’ll get the car.”
“Sure thing, Virgil.” Barely containing her glee that she would be getting full police cooperation she tripped over to the counter. “Mom.” Trying to attract her mother’s attention was a little difficult, for she was busy prattling with customers about the terrible events of the day. Finally, she managed to tear her away. She drew her into the kitchen for a moment. “Mom, if it’s all right with you I’m going with Virgil. He’s going to show me the crime scene.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “Crime scene? You mean Barrow’s Grove? But honey, isn’t that dangerous?”
“I’m sure the murderer is long gone by now, Mom. And besides, Virgil will be there to protect me.”
Mom shook her head, a worried look in her eye. She didn’t seem overly confident in Virgil’s protecting skills. “I don’t know…”
“I’ll be fine,” Felicity assured her. “I just want to have a peek. For the article.”
Mom continued distraught. “If you’re sure… I guess I could ask your cousin to step in.”
“Thanks, Mom. And please don’t worry.”
“If you say so, dear,” Mom said with a deep sigh. She patted her fluffy hair. First her hairdresser’s experiment, then a murder, and now this. What was the world coming to?
Felicity grinned and gave her mother an affectionate peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back in no time. And just so you know? Your hair looks great.”
Mom’s face lit up with a smile. “Oh, go on, then. Write your article.”
Felicity practically ran out the door, and when she stepped into Virgil’s patrol car she felt her heart beat just a little faster. Her reporting career had finally begun.
Chapter 13
Felicity eyed the back of Virgil’s neck closely. They’d been traipsing along a narrow path through a thick patch of forest for the past ten minutes with no end in sight. “Are you sure we’re going in the right direction?”
“Pretty sure.”
She wasn’t convinced. After all, this was Virgil, notorious for his ridiculously poor sense of direction. Once he’d been assigned the arduous task of taking the third grade on a haunted house trip. But instead of going to the deserted Hartford Mansion, he’d led them to Mrs. Baumgartner’s house. The old lady wasn’t amused when twenty third-graders had shown up on her doorstep, insisting she show them the ghosts.
“I don’t think this is the right way, Virgil.”
Virgil merely flicked at a mosquito that seemed to have grown fond of him. Darkness hung like a pall over the forest, which, if anything, seemed to grow even denser and creepier. The day was overcast and Felicity had the distinct impression that very soon now they’d be treated to the downpour from hell. The air was redolent with the musty smell of rotting plants, and her shoes were wet from the soggy soil.
Virgil stopped, and she almost bumped into him.
“We’re lost, aren’t we? Admit it.”
“I, erm…” He thought for a moment, then pointed to the right. “Let’s try this way.”
She suddenly got an eerie thought. What if the killer was still around? What if he was stalking these woods right now, looking for his next victim? Hadn’t she read somewhere that murderers always return to the scene of the crime? What if this guy was watching them now?
She started when a twig snapped nearby. Trying to keep her voice steady, she asked, “D-did you check for footprints and all that?”
“The killer came by car. We’re pretty sure about that.”
“How do you know?” The sound of Virgil’s voice assuaged her fears. Now if only she could keep him talking she might be able to stop those shivers running up and down her spine.
“The Conch kid heard a car engine right after he heard the shot. Must have been the killer.”
“So why are we taking the long route instead of driving straight to the crime scene?”
“Well…I figured I’d save us some time by cutting through the forest.”
“Save us some time?”
“It’s only supposed to be a five-minute walk…”
She felt the first drop of rain spattering on her nose. Oh, Christ. Leave it to Virgil Scattering to mess things up. “I think it’s been more than five minutes. More like half an hour.”
“You’re probably right,” he muttered.
As they passed a downward slope between two beech trees, she had the distinct impression they’d been there before. “We’re going in circles. Don’t you have a compass? That’s standard issue for cops, right?”
“Not cops. Boy Scouts,” he grumbled.
She took out her cell. She’d suddenly remembered it came with inbuilt GPS.
“Oh, you’ve got one of those?” Virgil asked. “Cool.” He took out his own phone. “I’ve got the older model. How are the new ones?”
She shrugged. She wasn’t in the mood to compare phones. She furiously tapped the thing. “I just know there’s some sort of GPS thing in here…”
“Oh, I’ve got an app for that,” the policeman said and brought it up with one tap. “Hey, what do you know? We’re almost there.”
He pointed to the map that had come up, a red dot indicating their position. “This is us right here and that green smudge over there must be Alistair’s land.”
Felicity rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you say so? We could have been there already.” The rain was now really coming down and the protection the foliage was providing was quickly diminishing.
He gave her a goofy grin. “I guess I didn’t think about it.”
Just then his phone rang. “Yes? Oh, hello, Chief Whitehouse. I’m showing Felicity Bell the crime scene. Why? Well, because she asked me to. She’s doing a piece on the murder for the Gazette. You know, the newspaper?”
As he listened, his eyes swiveled to her, and his face betrayed the reprimand Chief Whitehouse was obviously pouring into his ear.
“But it’s Fee, chief,” he protested feebly.
The sound of the chief’s objections rang out loud and clear. She didn’t need to understand the words to know what they meant. Virgil was getting an earful. It was obvious the chief didn’t agree with Virgil’s cavalier attitude toward crime scene investigation.
Without a word the police officer disconnected and slipped the phone into his pocket. He blinked when a raindrop hit his nose. He held out a hand and looked up at the skies, as if noticing for the first time that it was raining. “Uh oh. I think we better get back to the car. We’ll be soaked if we stay out here.”
She folded her arms across her chest and eyed her companion narrowly. “I thought you were going to show me the crime scene?”
“Too late now,” he said uncomfortably, then abruptly turned and strode away. He’d taken his phone out of his pocket again to check the newly discovered app.
“Virgil?” she said in a low voice, reluctantly trudging after him.
“There’s not that much to see, you know. Just the usual.”
“The usual what?”
“Well, you know…blood…” He thought hard. “And more blood.”
“What did the medical examiner say?” she asked as she tried to keep up. He was moving with purposeful strides now, his long legs giving him an advantage.
“Um… Well, he said that Alistair died from a gunshot wound.”
“What caliber?”
>
“Ah… Look, Fee. To be honest…”
“The chief told you not to talk to me, didn’t he?”
As he held aside a branch, he gave her an apologetic look. “He kinda did. Said if I talk to the media one more time he’ll have my badge.”
“I’m not ‘the media’, Virgil. I’m your friend. I whooped your ass in kindergarten when you smeared your boogers all over Alice and me.”
He grinned stupidly. “I tried that tack on the chief. It didn’t work.”
“I’m the chief’s daughter’s best friend, for goodness sakes!”
“I know, all right!” He kicked moodily against a branch. It ricocheted against a tree and hit his shin. He winced. “It just seems he’s pretty strict about media access to an ongoing murder investigation. Heck if I knew. We’ve never had an ongoing murder investigation in this town as far as I know.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“So no scoops for me, huh?”
“‘fraid not. I’m sorry, Fee.”
“Me too.”
They trudged on in silence, and Felicity cursed this sudden officiousness that had come over Alice’s dad. Before long, and with the help of Virgil’s app, they reached the car, and both filed in.
Suddenly an idea occurred to her. “Didn’t you take pictures of the crime scene?”
“Sure. Plenty.”
“Can I see them?”
He looked pained. “The chief said—”
“No media access to an ongoing murder investigation. Right.”
“Sorry.”
“What about the medical examiner? I can talk to him, right?”
“You can try,” he suggested.
Damn skippy she would try. And as they headed back into town she had the distinct impression this article was going to prove a lot harder to write than she’d figured. She settled back in her seat, hugging herself in a bid to keep warm. This first assignment wasn’t going anywhere fast, and she’d only just begun.
Chapter 14
“The food is great!” Mrs. Thomson exclaimed when Mary passed by their table.
“Yes, really excellent,” Mr. Thomson echoed.
“That’s wonderful,” Mary said with a weak smile. She was having trouble keeping it together. Her husband had been murdered and all she wanted to do was crawl up into a ball and cry her eyes out for a couple of days. But since she still had a business to run she didn’t have the luxury to do so. Good thing Suzy was here to help out. She’d been a pillar of strength and had taken a lot of weight off Mary’s shoulders.
First she’d had to go to the morgue to identify Alistair’s body. Up until that point the horrible truth of what had happened hadn’t sunk in yet. Somewhere in the back of her mind there was still the vague hope that this was all one big mistake. That Alistair wasn’t dead and that he’d come walking through the door any minute now. Big and wholesome with a smile creasing that waggly beard of his.
It was only when she laid eyes on his body, stiff and cold and pale, that she realized that she was alone now—that her beloved Alistair would never come home again. That he would never lie by her side in bed at night and cuddle her close and call her his sweet honey bunny.
She’d collapsed at the morgue and only a policewoman’s support had kept her on her feet.
Her mind kept going back to the question of who could do such a thing. Who could have harmed her sweet husband?
She simply didn’t understand what monster was capable of such horror.
When Suzy had gently informed her that many people were curious to know what was going on and shouldn’t they put up a sign, she’d instructed her to tell the guests that due to a death in the family there would be a wake and anyone who’d known Alistair was welcome to attend. A message to that effect had been posted on the bulletin board and declarations of sympathy had poured in from all over. The inn’s phone had rung off the hook with them.
It seemed—and this came as no surprise to Mary—that her husband had been a very popular man. Both with the guests and Happy Baysians in general.
Then the call had come in from Rob and Ruth, letting her know they were arriving in town shortly and could she set them up at the inn. She wasn’t looking forward to her son and daughter’s arrival. Instead of giving her the support she needed at this difficult time they would be an extra burden. Though it was a horrible thing to say she’d told Suzy they were like vultures swooping in to check the carcass and make off with the best pieces.
She was quite sure all they would talk about was the sale of the inn and the land at Barrow’s Grove. They were probably hoping to finally get their hands on some money.
The worst thing was that she was inclined to give in to their demands. She no longer wanted to fight, especially in the condition she was in. Perhaps she should simply give up and let them have their way. It would be easier. Much easier.
Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time to sell and move on. To let go of the past and get her meddlesome children off her back once and for all. And have some peace and quiet in her final years.
She swept into the kitchen and had to hold onto the countertop for support, a sudden spell of dizziness catching her unawares. Moments later she was recovered and heading upstairs to her room. Suzy would take care of the dinner rush. All she wanted to do was lie down. Lie down and never get up again. Just like her Alistair had done.
Chapter 15
Felicity stormed into the house, her mood having plummeted to the depths. Alice looked up from the copy of People Magazine she’d been perusing and, seeing her friend’s face, asked solicitously, “What’s wrong, hon?”
Felicity flapped her arms before plunking herself down on the couch. “Where do I start?”
“At the beginning?”
“The bad news is—Alistair Long has been murdered.”
“Oh, no!”
“The good news is—Stephen’s asked me to write a piece about the murder.”
“That is good news.”
“The bad news is—your father won’t allow me access to the investigation.”
“Oh, no!”
“Yeah.”
In a few brief words she related the events of that afternoon, with Alice’s face reflecting her shifting mood, vacillating from excitement to shock to indignation.
“Do you want me to ask Dad? He can’t say no to me.”
“Oh, yes he will. Don’t you remember that one time Bell’s was burgled? They had a suspect and you wanted to know who it was. Your dad was so tight-lipped you thought he’d swallowed his tongue.”
Alice grinned. “I’d forgotten all about that. And then he gave me some line about police investigations being restricted to police personnel and when I reminded him I was his daughter he said family was no exception to the rule.”
“The man is a horror to crime reporting,” Felicity said, now fully realizing the ordeal she was facing. “This means I won’t be able to get the information I need. And since I can’t write an article if I don’t have access to the facts I’m sunk!”
“Why don’t you ask Stephen? He must know a way around Dad. Maybe he has some secret source at the police station?”
She pointed a finger at her friend. “Great idea. I should have thought of that myself.” She dug out her phone and put in a call to the editor. If anyone knew how to deal with Chief Curtis Whitehouse it was Stephen.
“Fossick. Talk to me!” the editor growled into the phone.
Felicity held it a little further from her ear. It was the man’s unfortunate habit to bark into the phone as if he had to cover the distance with his correspondent by the sheer power of his voice.
“Hi, Stephen. Fee. I’ve run into a little snag.”
“Snag? What snag?”
She told him about the chief’s dislike for nosy reporters and was surprised to hear the editor’s booming laugh assault her eardrum.
“He gave you that old comedy routine, huh? The man is incorrigible. He should probably read up on first a
mendment jurisprudence.”
“So he has to give me access?”
“Nope. Police can and will restrict access if they think you’re liable to interfere with an ongoing investigation.”
She slumped. “So what do I do?”
“Do what I do—talk to the holy trinity.”
“You mean…pray?”
“Well, if you’re so inclined, by all means. I usually talk to Mabel, Marjorie and Bettina.”
Felicity’s eyes swiveled to Alice. “The neighborhood watch committee.”
“Exactly. Mabel Stokely works at Town Hall. You’ll find her extremely well-informed on all things political. Your aunt Bettina knows everything about everybody, and Marjorie…well, I guess you can figure that one out by yourself.”
“Genius,” Felicity muttered. Virgil’s mother was of the old-fashioned belief that there should be no secrets between mother and son, and urged Virgil to tell her all about what went on at the station. A smile creased her lips. “The chief tells Virgil. Virgil tells his mother. And—”
“Marjorie tells you.”
“Gotcha.”
“You’re catching on fast, kid. Now go on winged feet, pump your sources for information, and write like the wind. I need this story on my desk ASAP.”
“You’ll have it.”
“Oh, and don’t forget to mention the magic words.”
“Which are?”
“Any variation of the old adage ‘Sources close to the investigation have revealed…’. Just drop that in there somewhere and you’re golden.”
The moment she ended the call, she turned to Alice. “When is the next meeting of the neighborhood watch committee?”
“Um, Wednesday evening. Why?”
“How would you like to be a part of this story?”
Alice’s eyes lit up. “Lay it on me, partner.”
She explained about Stephen Fossick’s holy trinity and Alice instantly caught her drift. “You mean like Deep Throat, Woodward & Bernstein’s secret source in the Watergate affair?”
“Better. We’ve got three of them.”
