The Stuffing of Nightmares (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Book 7) (11 page)

M
abel had never seen
a creepier manor than Hartford Manor. Though she’d heard stories about the place being haunted, she’d never bought into those tall tales. She’d never even been here before. She knew that the place had been bought by the Cieslok family over a decade ago, but had never had any dealings with them. The manor straddled the Happy Bays limits but officially resorted under the next town’s supervision. As she parked her car next to Felicity’s van, she wondered where Fee could be. She didn’t see any sign of her anywhere. Probably inside, having a nice little chat in the kitchen, she reckoned. She emerged from the car, and smoothed her wrinkled skirt, tucked in her blouse, and approached what she presumed was the back door.

She rang the bell and waited patiently. It was quite hot and muggy out, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. Leaves fluttered, and a bird chirped nearby. She licked her lips. She was thirsty after the drive. She looked up at the dark brick house and had a strange feeling about the place. For a moment, she wondered if this was such a good idea. Perhaps she’d better…

But then the door was opened a crack, and she gave the ruddy-faced woman who peered out at her a warm smile. “Hi, there. I’m looking for Felicity Bell.”

The woman shook her head. “Never heard of her.”

This surprised Mabel a good deal. She continued unperturbed, however, and pointed to the bakery van, parked right next to Bianca’s red Mini. “That’s Felicity’s van right there. She’s inside delivering bread, I presume?”

The woman’s eyes, barely visible between fleshy slits, took Mabel in suspiciously. “What’s it to you?”

Taken aback by so much uncouthness, Mabel huffed, “Why, there are things I need to discuss with her. Very urgent matters, if you must know.”

After a few more moments, in which the woman continued to give Mabel the evil eye, she finally opened the door. “I’ll ask Miss Cieslok.”

Mabel followed the grumpy woman inside, a hand on her chest. She’d never been greeted with such horrid manners before, and it frankly appalled her. Once inside, her eyes had to adjust to the gloomy interior. It was cool here, and the woman plunked a glass of cold water down on the kitchen table, then stomped off. “I’ll see if I can’t find your friend,” she grumbled.

“Thank you,” Mabel said gratefully and took a sip. It hit the spot.

She looked around and saw old drawings of farmhouses haphazardly nailed to grimy walls. The ceiling consisted of exposed wood beams, and the stove looked old and utilitarian, as did the granite kitchen sink. She shook her head disdainfully. The least the Ciesloks could do was install a decent kitchen. The only admission to modernity was the microwave and a bulky food processor, which stood gleaming on the countertop.

The moment the dumpy woman with the scowl returned, Mabel gave her a beaming smile. No matter how horrible people might behave, Mabel always set the right example. She was, after all, the mayor’s representative.

“Miss Cieslok wants to know what your profession is,” the woman said.

“My profession? I don’t understand.”

“What is it, that you do for a living?”

“Oh, I see what you mean. I’m the mayor’s personal secretary.”

The woman nodded once. “Mayor’s secretary,” she repeated. “Don’t think she’s got one of those yet.”

It was a rather strange thing to say, but then the woman was positively weird, Mabel decided. “So have you located Felicity yet?”

“Just a minute,” the woman replied instead and stomped off again.

Mabel pursed her lips censoriously. What kind of an operation these people were running here she didn’t know. Such impertinence!

She looked up when a gorgeous young woman entered the kitchen. She looked sun-kissed, with long blond hair and an engaging smile. Seeing her perked Mabel right up. Finally a normal person. “Oh, hello there,” she said.

“Hi,” the young woman said, extending a hand. “I’m Fabiola Cieslok.”

“Mabel Stokely. I’m looking for my friend Felicity Bell.”

“Of course,” said the woman, holding onto Mabel’s hand and squeezing it lightly. “So you’re a mayoral secretary, huh?”

“That’s right.” She didn’t see what this had to do with anything, but at least this young lady had manners and seemed to know how to treat a guest.

But then Fabiola grinned and said, “We don’t have one of those yet.” And before Mabel could respond to this peculiar statement, the woman raised a small handgun, and shot her in the belly! And as she slowly sank back onto her chair, she saw that the woman’s smile was widening, displaying two rows of perfectly white teeth. And she heard her yell out, “Daddy! I’ve caught us a mayoral secretary! Isn’t that great?”

Not so great, Mabel thought as she teetered on the edge of consciousness.

But then she lost the fight, and the whole world turned black.

C
hief Whitehouse was shuffling
papers across his desk when he happened to look out the window and saw a pony staring back at him. Now this was not as unusual as it sounded. Since Happy Bays was a small town with still a few farms within its borders, animals had been known to escape captivity. But this one had a distinctly eerie feel about it, the chief decided.

He heaved his portly form from the chair, raked a hand over his buzz cut, and ambled over to the window to have a closer look at this phenomenon. It was his duty to escort these errant creatures and return them to their owners, and he was just wondering whom this animal could belong to when the pony started talking to him!

It rarely happened that animals spoke to Chief Whitehouse outside of his dreams, and then only when he was sauced, so he was startled to say the least. It wasn’t the first time that weird stuff had happened to him. Not so long ago he’d had a drink with his old friend Alistair Long, which wouldn’t have been so strange if Alistair hadn’t been murdered a few weeks before.

It had been one of the more peculiar experiences of his life.

“Excuse me,” the pony repeated. “Are you Chief Whitehouse?”

He growled, “What do you want?”

The pony seemed out of breath, as if he’d come a long way.

“It’s your daughter,” the pony breathed, still panting. “She’s in trouble.”

The chief started violently. “Alice? What are you talking about?”

“She’s going to be stuffed!” the pony cried. “Along with her friends. Reece Hudson…” he managed before he had to gasp for breath again.

And then an even stranger thing happened: the pony, before Chief Whitehouse’s startled gaze, simply stepped through the wall and entered his office, then sagged in a corner and remained there, staring up glassily.

“What—what—what,” he stuttered. “What’s all this?” he finally managed, though he knew perfectly well what all this was. This pony wasn’t just any old pony. This pony was a ghost pony!

He plopped down in his chair, and man and pony stared at each other.

“I know,” said the pony finally. “I’m dead. You don’t have to remind me. I just found out this morning that my owner had me killed, stuffed and gifted as a present to Reece. And even though I don’t mind Reece, I mind being treated this way. I was a good pony, never any complaints about me, and then this. Out of the blue.” He shook his large head. “You’re a policeman, right? Do you think I can file charges against my former owner? Emotional abuse?”

The chief finally found his voice again. All this babble seemed inconsequential. Only one thing stood out, and that was the fate of his daughter. “Are you telling me that Alice is in danger?” he asked, taking for granted for a moment that a dead pony was sitting in his office talking to him.

“Yes, she’s over at Hartford Manor, and the owners have captured her, along with Reece, Felicity, and Ricky.”

“Hartford Manor—the haunted place?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. In any case, if you don’t hurry up they’ll all be stuffed, and will only be able to celebrate Thanksgiving as spooks, which is quite an impediment let me tell you. For one thing, they won’t be able to enjoy the taste of food. Not even a carrot or a simple sugar cube.” The pony licked his lips wistfully. He seemed to speak from experience.

Color was slowly returning to the chief’s ashen cheeks. Even though he’d recently had to adjust his opinions of what was possible and impossible when it came to ghosts and their antics, he’d yet to accept for a fact that ponies could talk and that they could have ghosts being sent to him as emissaries to relay messages of distress. But he was a practical man, so he shot up from his chair, his resolve returning. “What was the name of that place again?”

“Hartford Manor.”

Grabbing his jacket from the hook, he strode from his office, and into the police station. Passing by Louise Rhythm’s desk, he barked, “Follow me,” and kept on walking. He threw a quick gaze at Virgil’s desk, and was surprised to find the man gone, his desk empty. “Where’s Virgil?” he snapped to Louise.

Louise pulled a funny face. “Had to step out, Chief. No idea why.”

He frowned and picked his radio from his belt. “Virgil, come in,” he barked.

When no response came, he repeated, “Officer Scattering, come in!”

A crackle sounded, and then a weak, “What’s up, Chief?”

“I need you for a mission, Virgil. Report for duty at once.”

“No can do, Chief,” Virgil came back, and the chief’s brows rose.

“What do you mean, no can do? This is a matter of life and death, you moron. Report back here on the double or I’ll have your badge and gun!”

There was a momentary silence on the other end, then suddenly a strange crackling sound, as if Virgil was coughing up a particularly nasty phlegm. “…cannot hear you…” Another loud gurgle. “…breaking up…” A final gurgle, and then static filled the air. It was apparently the end of the transmission.

The chief slowly raised his eyes to Louise, who stood suppressing an expression of mirth. “Did Virgil just blow me off with that lame trick?”

“Afraid he did, Chief,” Louise said, red-faced.

The chief gritted his teeth. “I’ll deal with that idiot later. First things first. We need to save Alice from a gang of stuffers.”

“A gang of what, Chief?”

“Stuffers,” the chief repeated curtly. He waved over Officer Wilson, who sat with his feet on his desk, and the latter quickly came jogging up.

“We’re saving Alice from a gang of stuffers,” Louise explained to her colleague as they hurried through the station on their way out.

“Stuffers? What are stuffers?” Wilson wanted to know.

“Don’t ask me, son,” the chief said. “I’m just following instructions from a talking dead pony.” And with these remarkable words, he stepped from the station and headed for his patrol car, followed by Louise and Wilson, who were exchanging puzzled glances. It had finally happened, those glances said. The chief had finally gone off the deep end.

“
S
o what do you think
? Will you do it?”

Virgil stared at the wad of cash in his hand. Chazz had offered him half the money up front, half on delivery. He was afraid to ask what delivery meant in this context, but he assumed it had something to do with the seduction routine the billionaire had hinted at.

“Of course, sir. Of course I will.”

When Virgil had first entered the club, Chazz had seemed disappointed at the sight of the policeman. As if the product delivered didn’t match the description. But then his eyes had traveled down to Virgil’s snazzy uniform, and he’d nodded appreciatively. “I like the uniform, Scattering.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You know, I was thinking of sending you in as a French billionaire, but now I’m not so sure.”

“A French billionaire, sir?”

Chazz snapped his fingers. “You know what? Let’s go with the uniform. I know for a fact that Emilia loves a man in a uniform. And if that doesn’t work, you can tell her that you’re a French billionaire, undercover as a cop.”

“Yes, sir,” said Virgil, his head starting to swim a little. “Of course, sir.”

They’d taken a seat in a corner booth, and Virgil looked around, noticing that several of the club’s distinguished guests were staring at him intently.

“Don’t worry about them,” chuckled Chazz, noticing the policeman’s discomfort. “They’re just wondering if the place is being raided by the cops. Now have you thought about a strategy yet?”

“A strategy, sir?”

“You know, to put the moves on Emilia?”

“Um…”

The billionaire leaned back. “I want you to kiss this woman fervently, Virgil. Kiss her with everything you’ve got. In fact, I want you to lay one on her like she’s never experienced before. Then make sure she takes you up to her room—”

“Her room, sir?” he said, eyes widening.

“Yes, she keeps a room at the Ritz-Carlton. Something else she didn’t mention to Grover. It’s where she meets that damned lover of hers.”

“Yes, sir,” Virgil said, starting to feel way out of his league.

“Have you thought of a line?”

“A line, sir?”

“Yes, you know. A pick up line.”

“Um…”

“What I would suggest is that you talk to her about your mission.”

“My mission, sir?”

“Yes, and a very important one at that. Women are always impressed with a man on a mission. Tell her that you’re on the hunt for a dangerous international criminal and that you need her urgent help.”

“Her help, sir?”

“Don’t keep repeating everything I say, Scattering. What are you, a man or a parrot? Just tell her that you can’t catch this guy without her. Tell her…” He mused for a moment, then brightened. “Can you do a French accent?”

Virgil gulped. “Pardon?”

“
Très bien, mon ami!
You’re a French billionaire working for Interpol, see? Catching the bad guys in your spare time, if you know what I mean. She won’t be able to resist your fatal charm, Scattering. French, rich
and
a cop?” He rubbed his hands together with glee. “She won’t know what hit her!”

Virgil didn’t know what had hit him either, as he stared at the tubby billionaire glassily. He hadn’t understood a word. All he knew was that he needed to kiss a woman, then take her up to her room at the Ritz. So far so good. “So what happens next?” he asked, curious how the story would end.

“Well, then you hit the sack, of course.”

He gulped again. “The sack, sir?”

“Well, you kiss her some more, and then you sleep with her,” Chazz explained, a little impatiently.

“Sleep with her, sir?” he asked.

“You do know how to sleep with a woman, don’t you?” Chazz asked, exasperated.

“Well—that is to say—I mean—”

Chazz gawked at him. “You mean to say you’ve never slept with a woman?”

“Well—um…” He cast down his eyes. His big secret was out, and shame and confusion were on full display. “I guess I haven’t,” he finally confessed.

Chazz was silent for a moment. As a man who’d been married five times, he was visibly surprised. “There’s nothing to it, Virgil,” he said, placing a fatherly hand on the policeman’s arm. “Deep down we’re all animals, so just go with your gut instinct and you’ll be just fine.”

Virgil looked up, hope shining in his eyes. “Do you think so, sir?”

“Oh, yes, trust me. Just let nature take its course. And make sure you don’t close the curtains. And keep a clear line of sight of the windows.”

He didn’t ask why this window stuff was so important. Chazz would have his reasons. The man was a billionaire, after all, and a billionaire always knows best. “Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Falcone,” he said gratefully.

“Just call me Chazz, son.”

“Thanks, Chazz.”

“You’re welcome, Virgil.”

He was starting to experience a warm glow inside. It was just the way Chazz had explained. Just follow those primal urges and all would be well. Hadn’t his mother always said that all men were animals? That they were no better than the beasts of the field? So there was certainly some truth to that.

The love of his life was getting married to Reece Hudson soon, so all was lost in that department anyway, so he might just as well give those animal urges his mother always harped on about free reign.

Fifty thousand reasons said it was the right thing to do.

He smiled at the billionaire. “I’ll be sure not to disappoint you, sir.”

“I know you won’t, Virgil,” said Chazz, and there was an unusual warmth in the billionaire’s voice as he spoke these words. “I know you won’t.”

And as Chazz removed his hand from Virgil’s arm, he casually dropped something in the policeman’s drink. It was a small, blue pill.