A Breath of Dead Air (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Book 8) (18 page)

“
W
ardop
!” Roops cried, dropping his glass of champagne. “But—but that’s impossible!” The glass crashed to the floor, and Roops staggered back, his face a mask of shock and dread. “You’re—you’re dead!”

“Hey, that Roops character—he’s the one from The Parton!” Reece exclaimed. “The one who sicced those three goons on me!”

“I know,” Felicity murmured. “He’s our fabled Tarantula.”

“Shut up, Hudson,” Detective Garfield growled. “I’m trying to listen.”

In the other room, the aged press baron was staring at Peverell as if he’d just seen a ghost, which of course he had. He was pointing a shaking finger. “I—I went to your funeral! I saw your dead body with my own two eyes!”

“Of course I’m dead,” Peverell rasped, and emitted a chuckle. It sounded like deadwood rustling in the breeze. “But that won’t stop me from having a little chat with my good old friend Murphy Roops!”

“What is this?” Roops cried, looking from Peverell to Rick in dismay. “Is this some kind of joke, Dawson? What are you trying to pull?!”

“No joke, Mr. Roops,” Rick said softly. “we just wanted a quiet word.”

The tycoon jerked his head to Peverell. “You’re not real! None of this is real!”

But then the dead man uncoiled his spindly frame from the swivel chair and moved to Roops with surprising agility and grace. “Oh, I’m real, all right.” Suddenly he was toe to toe with the other man and placed a withered hand on the tycoon’s face. Almost like a caress. His touch must have registered, for Roops’s eyes went wide, and he emitted a strangled cry of terror, stumbling back until he hit the wall.

“Stay away from me!” he screeched. “Dawson! Get me out of here!”

“You don’t get to order me around, Roops,” Peverell growled, his emaciated face twisting into a nasty scowl. He’d died of a wasting disease, and was more mummy than man, his skin like parchment, icy blue eyes piercing from sunken patches deep within his skull. “Not a killer like you.”

“A—a killer?” Roops stammered, his whole body trembling violently.

“You had me killed, Murph. You and you alone gave that order!” a second ghostly voice suddenly rang out through the room. And as Roops’s head whipped round, a shadow detached itself from the darkness, and Senator Vickar materialized before his panicky eyes.

“You!” he cried. “You’re dead!”

“You’re starting to sound like a broken record, Murph,” Peverell croaked.

“I’m dead because you killed me,” the senator pointed out.

“This—this is impossible!” Roops stammered, his fingers clutching at his wispy white hair. “You’re dead! You’re both dead!” He turned to Rick. “What’s going on here? Tell me you’re not seeing this!”

“I’m seeing it all right, Mr. Roops. And I’m glad you can see them too, for they’re going to haunt you for the rest of your miserable life.”

“What?!”

“That’s right,” grunted Peverell. “We’re going to be keeping you company from now on, Murph. Me and Job here. We’re going to be your constant companions, twenty-four seven. And not just us, either. We’re bringing our friends!”

He snapped his long, bony fingers, and suddenly the room was crawling with the dead, popping out of the walls, jumping up from the floor, dropping down from the ceiling. Felicity recognized some of them, while others had accepted this particular assignment with the relish only the dead can muster.

Roops watched the room erupt into something akin to a horror movie and screamed bloody murder. He ran for the door, but found it locked, and rattled it furiously, then sank down to the floor, banging the door feverishly.

Felicity saw that Rick, too, looked a little ill at ease. He’d never told her, but she knew he was afraid of ghosts. It was very brave of him to want to go through with this, even though he knew these ghosts would never hurt him.

“What do you say, Murph? Are you having fun yet?” Peverell roared. “Oh, don’t be shy. Come say hi to your friends. We’re going to be there when you wake up in the morning and we’ll be the last thing you see at night.”

“You can’t do this!” cried the aged media tycoon.

“We can and we will,” Senator Vickar told him while the ghosts all crowded around and leered at Roops. Some of them had their heads only loosely attached to their parent bodies, while others were so gruesomely mangled they were nothing more than moving blobs of flesh, blood and bone. One female ghost was missing parts of her lower body but still managed to crawl right up to Roops and make a grab for him with her skeletal hands.

The old man whimpered and huddled in a corner, scared witless.

“Why did you do it?” Vickar now asked. “I thought you were my friend.”

“It wasn’t personal,” Roops whimpered. “I just couldn’t risk that Pinocchio Bill of yours exposing my operation. You know how it is, Vickar!”

“Yes, I do know how it is. And I also know that you tried to run my daughter and her friends off the road,” the senator said darkly.

“She was going to expose me! She was going to expose us all.”

“All of what?” Peverell asked, with an eye at the one-way mirror.

“The consortium! We worked too long and hard to have you ruin it now.”

“I know all about your consortium, Murph,” grunted Peverell. “You invited me to have a seat, remember? I refused, of course. Wanna know why? Because I don’t believe in shadowy organizations that want to run the country. Frankly I think it’s despicable what you people have done.”

“Democracy has failed, Wardop,” Roops said through gritted teeth while he tried to control his shaking limbs. “It only leads to anarchy and chaos. A strong government is like a corporation. A tightly controlled outfit, not ruled by the rabble but by the best and brightest. The only way we can stay on top is if we take matters into our own hands, not let the riffraff vote some pinhead into the White House. You of all people should know that!”

“No, I don’t,” Peverell snarled. “All I know is that you took away the people’s rights.”

“The people have no rights! Only those we decide to grant them.”

“The constitution—”

“Hang the constitution! Strong leadership is what we need.”

“While murdering anybody who stands in your way,” the senator added.

Roops yelped when a particularly juicy ghost tried to bite his ankles. “Yes, I had you killed, Vickar. Because you formed a direct threat to our interests!”

“Who else is on that consortium of yours?” Peverell demanded.

Felicity listened as Roops rattled off fifteen names. She recognized a few of them. There were politicians, judges, businessmen, generals, and former chief of staff Ashley Wince. Roops was clearly the man in charge, though.

“Wince wanted to coerce you into dropping your bill by setting up that slush fund affair, but I knew from the start you would never budge,” Roops continued, sweat streaming down his quivering jowls. “So I decided to take you out permanently. It was the only way to shut you up for good.”

“Why use the name Bucky?” Rick now asked.

Roops stared, wide-eyed, at the reporter. “How do you know about that?” he barked. “My men assured me they didn’t leave a single trace.”

Rick pointed at the senator, who was still carrying the note stuck to his rope, and always would. Roops eyed the note with disconcertion. “Those morons!” he burst out. “I should never have written that note.”

“But why Bucky?” Rick insisted. “I thought only the president called the senator by his nickname?”

Roops grinned. “The president has no secrets from me, Dawson. I
own
the guy!
I’m
the president of this country, not that pompous silver-tongued fop!”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Detective Garfield muttered next to Felicity. He had a grim look on his face when he opened the door into the study and strode straight up to Murphy Roops, cutting through the huddle of ghosts like Moses parting the Red Sea. Like the camera which had just recorded Roops’s confession, he was unable to see the ghosts. To him it was just Roops and Rick in that room, with Roops confessing what he’d done to the reporter. The detective had been invited for this purpose, and Rick, Peverell, and the senator had given him exactly what he needed to make an arrest.

“Murphy Roops!” the detective barked.

“Huh?!” the old tycoon cried, jerking his head up. “Who are you?!”

The detective produced a badge while Rick opened the door to allow more policemen in. “Detective Jerry Garfield, NYPD. Murphy Roops, you’re under arrest for the murder of Senator Job Vickar.”

And as the detective read Roops his rights, Rick joined Felicity and the others in the small panic room. “Looks like it worked,” he said as he blew out a long shuddering breath. He turned to Bo. “Did you get everything on tape?”

“Yes, I did,” the young woman confirmed. She’d borrowed the equipment from her Temptation Town crew.

A slow smile spread across the reporter’s features. “Wonderful.”

Felicity placed her arms around his neck. “You’re just happy because now you get to write your Pulitzer-prize-winning story.”

He gave a smug shrug. “And because we delivered the country from the yoke of tyranny.”

“Brilliant plan, Fee,” Alice said.

“Yeah, that was great,” Reece agreed. “They should turn this into a movie.” He frowned. “Actually, I
am
turning this into a movie.” And with these words, he whipped out his phone and furiously started typing. “Dead senator—evil media mogul—reality TV—creepy ghosts…” he muttered.

“But most importantly,” Alice said, interrupting her fiancé, “is that the senator’s murderer will finally be behind bars.”

“Thanks, you guys,” Bo said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I’ll never forget this, and neither will my father.”

The foursome watched as Bo was joined by her ghostly father, while Peverell looked on with an approving smile. A copy of the footage was going to be used for the trial, but the scoop was Jezebel Baskerville’s. The former host of Temptation Town was about to break into the big time, presenting her first-ever serious report. A scoop that was sure to reverberate around the world, and herald in a new era for both America and Bo herself.

As Murphy Roops was being led away, Felicity, Alice, Rick and Reece watched on. The Wraith Wranglers had just changed the fate of the entire country, Felicity knew. But most importantly, they’d solved the murder of a great man. The Truth Bill might never be implemented, but it had done what the senator had set out to do: affect great change.

A
lice plunked
down in her seat. She and Fee were occupying their usual booth at Bell’s. They were both taking a break from their respective shifts, Fee behind the counter, where her mom was now doing the honors, and Alice from waitressing, her job temporarily in Aunt Bettina’s capable hands.

The place was packed this morning, one week after the shocking events at Grover Calypso’s party, and still the repercussions were rocking the nation. The entire consortium had been taken into custody by the FBI, and they were to be prosecuted for treason. President Gnash, freed from the shackles of his wardens, had announced a slew of new initiatives which would finally see him realize some of his campaign promises, three years into his presidency.

Bo Vickar, who was being replaced as host on Temptation Town now that her report on the conspiracy had met with such acclaim, had become an anchor on the network where she’d begun her career, making quite a leap.

Temptation Town wasn’t going to be presented by Reece either, for the actor was off to Utah, where parts of his new Crunch Time movie were being filmed. Rick had been burning the midnight oil penning a series of in-depth articles on the scandal, Senator Vickar helping him with his research, proving an invaluable source of information.

As far as Alice was concerned, her uncle Mickey had finally been released and had reopened Mick’s Pick—deciding to stick to selling guns from now on. And with the sudden heat wave that had struck Happy Bays, the number of deaths had increased to the extent that Uncle Charlie had his hands full over at the funeral home. As a consequence, Alice suddenly had so much work there weren’t enough hours in the day to fulfill all her obligations.

Fee herself also had her work cut out for her, as her dad had decided to spend the rest of the summer in Florida, scoping out retirement communities, leaving the bakery in the capable hands of the female members of the family.

As a result, they’d had to blow off Brian Rutherford on more than one Wraith Wranglers assignment. Not that Alice minded. They’d had quite enough ghostly excitement to keep them going for a while, and Bell’s distinctly unghostly atmosphere was actually refreshing for a change.

“So? What are your plans for the weekend?” Alice asked as she took a big bite of her blueberry muffin.

Fee shrugged. “Nothing special. Rick’s still busy with his article, and I’ll be doing the late Saturday and early Sunday shift. What about you?”

“Same. Reece is still in Utah, blowing up buildings and jumping from helicopters and Mickey and Charlie are keeping me pretty busy all weekend.”

Fee grinned. “What a difference a couple of weeks makes, huh?”

“You can say that again.”

They stared out the window at the passing pedestrians and both sighed. After the hectic time they’d had, it was nice to enjoy the peace and quiet of Happy Bays again.

“So no Temptation Town for you?” Fee asked as she plucked a piece of almond from her almond croissant.

“Nope. And probably for the best, too. Bo told me it’s a lot more fun to watch the show than to actually be involved in making it.”

“I can imagine,” Fee murmured as she took a sip of vanilla milkshake.

Alice watched as Virgil Scattering, member of the Happy Bays Police Department, crossed the street, and saw Mabel Stokely and Marjorie Scattering meet him in front of the bakery. A lively discussion erupted, Virgil scratching his head while his mother and Mabel, who was the mayor’s secretary, pointed at a dog turd which had been strategically placed on the sidewalk.

Just then, Rick passed the trio with a jolly wave and stepped inside.

“Hey, you guys,” he called out as he walked to the counter to give Fee’s mom his order. He joined them with a tired but satisfied look on his face.

“What’s up, Ricky?” Alice asked.

“Everything all right, hon?” Fee put in.

He gave his fiancée a quick peck on the lips, then slid into the booth. “Oh, you know, the usual. My editor has had to hire a bunch of interns to cope with all the fan mail I’ve been getting. This conspiracy thing refuses to die down. I’ll be on Oprah next week, by the way, to talk about the whole affair.”

Alice’s eyebrows shot up. “Oprah, huh? Hey, that’s great, Rick!”

“Yeah, it’s just wonderful,” Rick said blankly.

Fee wiped a tuft of blond hair from his brow. “Don’t be nervous, hon. You’ll do just great.”

“Ah, well…” he said uncertainly. “It’s one thing to write a bunch of articles from behind the safety of your desk, quite another to appear on national television.”

“Like I said, you’ll do just fine. Oprah will love you. Like we all do.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he muttered.

Just then, the doorbell clanked, and an elderly lady trudged up.

“Ricky Dawson!” she called out.

They all looked up, and Alice found they’d been joined by the one person in the world who didn’t love Rick Dawson: an irate-looking Caroline Loosely.

“Oh, God,” Rick groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Not again.”

The distinguished-looking woman planted a hand on her hip, the other cradling a Chihuahua against her chest. “Will you or will you not fill out that diary?!”

Alice grinned as Rick’s face darkened. Even the rich and famous had their cross to bear, and Rick’s personal cross was obviously Caroline Loosely.

“I told you,” he began tiredly, “I’m not filling out that—”

“Here you go, Caroline,” Fee interrupted him, producing two diaries and placing them into the woman’s hand. “Mine and Rick’s. For your approval.”

“And here is mine,” Alice added, handing over her own copy.

The woman stood staring at the three diaries, and her mouth opened and closed a few times. Then she produced a thin-lipped smile. “Thank you, Fee, Alice… Mr. Dawson. I’m sure that everything is in order.” She dropped the diaries into her Louis Vuitton clutch and tilted her chin. “I’ll be sure to read them over carefully, and if I have any comments to make you’ll be the first to know.” She gave Rick a hard stare. “Because some people in this community don’t seem to take their emotional well-being seriously enough to my liking.”

“And some take it too seriously,” Rick muttered under his breath.

“Did you know that Rick is going to be on Oprah?” Fee quickly put in, placing a hand on her fiancé’s shoulder and massaging it gently. “And I’m sure he’s going to tell her all about this wonderful idea of yours, Caroline.”

As if by the intervention of Harry Potter’s wand, Caroline’s glare disappeared and was replaced by a look of such rapture it was as if she’d been touched by an angel. “Oprah? You’re going to be on Oprah, Mr. Dawson? And you’re going to mention my emotional diary?”

“Why not?” said Rick, also softening. “I’ll plug that diary of yours.”

“Oh, that is so wonderful of you, Mr. Dawson! So thoughtful!” And before Rick could duck, she’d swooped in and placed a lipstick-smeared kiss on his cheek, making a sound like an elephant removing its foot from a swamp. And as she tripped away with a happy gait, she could be heard extolling Rick’s virtues to the other patrons, his name suddenly ubiquitous.

“Ah, Happy Bays,” Rick sighed, furiously rubbing his sleeve across the sticky cherry-red stain. “The ocean breeze, the sun-kissed beauties, the peaceful scenery… and the nosy parkers. Where would we be without them?”

“Let’s just hope Caroline doesn’t hand your emotional diary to Oprah,” Alice commented as she deftly popped the final piece of muffin into her mouth. “Wouldn’t that be a scoop? All of
your
secrets revealed for a change.”

She enjoyed the look of alarm that stole over Rick’s face, and so did Fee, apparently, for she frowned and asked, “Now did or didn’t I mention your allergy to leather? Or the fact that you’re afraid of ghosts and like to sleep in an old AC/DC shirt, now torn and tattered and a couple sizes too small?”

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” Rick said in a low voice.

Alice laughed heartily, as she and Fee resumed their shift, leaving Rick to groan in quiet agony. For an investigative reporter, the man sure was easy to fool, she thought. But then that was part of her housemate’s charm, of course.

And as she went round the tearoom, taking orders and dispensing bakery joy, she thought she was probably the luckiest mortician’s assistant slash gun store clerk slash tea room waitress in this part of the Western Hemisphere, if not the Eastern one as well. And what if she wasn’t a movie star or a top reporter or even the future owner of Happy Bays’s most popular bakery? She was happy and blessed with great friends, and that was all that mattered.