The Stuffing of Nightmares (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Book 7) (12 page)

F
abiola stared
at the bodies on display. This sure was a great catch. Five bodies in one day. She also realized they might pose a problem. They’d never picked up anybody who might be missed a lot. People might come looking for Reece Hudson. The man was famous all over the world and would be sorely missed if not returned to store. She wondered if they’d perhaps overstepped the line with him, but then she’d wanted to add him to the collection so badly she hadn’t given the matter a great deal of thought.

She’d acted purely on instinct. She’d been soaking up the rays at the beach when she’d spotted the actor and had decided to act swiftly. Knocking him out while no one was watching was easy as pie, then dragging his body behind a clump of bushes was the second step, and calling Ray and Rae to lend some much-needed assistance in dumping him into the Ford Raptor was step three.

“Do you want me to start now?” her father asked.

“No, just leave them. I have somewhere I need to be. We can work on them when I get back.”

Her father grinned. “Looks like someone’s got a hot date.”

She smiled wickedly. “You might say that. And if all goes well I might have another addition to our collection. A real prize animal this time.”

Dad’s eyes lit up. At this rate, they’d be able to accelerate both growth rate and customer retention. When Grandpa started the Cieslok collection years ago, he made an extensive list of the professions he needed to acquire to own a complete set. But as the years went by more professions were added to the list. And then some had disappeared. Like basket weaver. Or clog maker. To find a genuine clog maker Grandpa had had to travel all the way to Holland to fetch one of the last remaining specimens. Now those were the true collector’s items.

And of course new professions had sprung up, like telemarketer—they had a couple of those in stock—and internet billionaire—Fabiola was driving up to Silicon Valley next week. They’d recently snagged an Uber driver as well, and then there was that Airbnb guy she snapped up in Ohio.

Dad had already professed that even after he was gone Fabiola would have to continue adding to the collection, as the market kept evolving.

She didn’t mind. Collecting was in her blood, and she loved the game.

Besides, their work was of great importance to mankind. At some point in the future, archeologists would discover the Cieslok collection among the rubble and ruins of Hartford Mansion. It would be like finding Pompeii.

She kissed her father on the cheek, gave her grandfather a wave, and hurried off to get dressed for tonight. And she was just about to ascend the main staircase to her room when Rae called out, “Miss Cieslok! Visitors!”

Christ, she thought. What was it today? Did this endless parade never stop? She just hoped it would be another addition to the collection.

Stepping into the kitchen, she blinked when she discovered three police officers had decided to join the party. With an expert eye, she measured them up: a grumpy fat cop, a petite African-American, and a handsome hunk. Mh.

“Hey there,” she said, her hand already moving to her back pocket to retrieve her tranquilizer gun. To her dismay, she didn’t find it. Then she remembered having left it downstairs.

“We’re looking for Felicity Bell and her friends,” the big one said, puffing up his chest. He looked like the leader of the trio. “They were seen here last.”

She was surprised that these coppers had gotten here so fast. Hadn’t Ray gotten rid of that ugly old bakery van and that Mini Cooper by now?

“I’m sure I haven’t seen them, officer,” she said innocently.

“Chief,” said the burly copper. “I’m Happy Bays’s chief of police.”

Fabiola’s eyes sparkled. “Is that so? A chief of police, huh?”

He squared his shoulders. “Don’t play games with me, young lady. My daughter is amongst those missing. I know for a fact that they’re around here somewhere. My, um, source told me so. I suggest you tell me where they are.”

She gave Rae an almost imperceptible nod, and the cook shuffled off. “Sure they’re here,” she said. “Lemme see. One baker, one actor, one reporter, one mortician’s assistant and one mayoral secretary. How am I doing so far?”

The chief frowned. “Mayoral secretary? You mean to say that you’re holding Mabel Stokely as a prisoner as well?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call her a prisoner,” she said smoothly. “More like a guest. You see, we pride ourselves in the largest collection of professions.” She gave him a beaming smile. “In fact, you three wouldn’t look out of place.”

At these words, the chief’s hand instantly reached for his service weapon.

“I hate to use the cliché, Miss Cieslok,” growled the chief, “but please hold your hands where I can see them. I’m afraid you’re under arrest.”

She did show her hands, her smile still in place. “Oh, Rae?” she chanted airily. “If you’re not too busy, now would be a good time to give these police officers a taste of that fabled Cieslok hospitality.”

The cook, at these words, turned around, and with a stern expression on her stony face, fired three shots in quick succession. Each one of them hit its mark, and a moment later, three bodies hit the floor.

With a happy tune on her lips, Fabiola left the kitchen and was on her way upstairs again after this short interlude. Rae and her husband Ray would cart the bodies to the lab, and Dad would have a field day. No less than eight additions to their collection. And if she got lucky—which she was sure she would—number nine was about to be added to the schedule as well.

He would definitely be the crowning piece of the entire collection.

B
rian didn’t
like these petty business dealings. He hated being buried in meetings, scraps with shareholders, tussles with managers, and having to chase after cheats like the bank manager they were about to meet.

On the plus side, he’d developed an abrupt management style. Instead of reprimanding misbehaving managers, he simply cut them loose these days.

Peverell had told him that to put his mark on the organization, he had to put a small cadre of people in place he could trust, and so he’d begun the arduous task of appointing his own people. Peverell, in the last years of his life, had been too weak to fight some of the battles that needed to be fought and had allowed big chunks of his organization to fall prey to power-hungry directors. Now that he was dead and had energy to spare and a young and energetic president in the form of Brian, he was doing a clean sweep.

Seated in the BMW as the powerful German car swallowed up the miles separating Manhattan from Long Island, Brian said, “This presidency is a lot harder than I’d anticipated.”

“Oh?” said Peverell, looking up from his perusal of the Wall Street Journal. Even though he was a ghost, he still liked to observe certain rituals, such as riding in the back of the car, with Brian now acting as his driver.

It was an awkward arrangement, as Brian had a car and driver assigned to him as well. But since he didn’t want anyone to overhear him talking to Peverell, he’d decided to drive himself around for the time being.

“Yeah, I never thought the business world was such a dirty game.”

This whole business with Brice had taken a lot out of him. Not only was he being threatened with a rebellion from his board of directors, but his brother was trying to ruin his life as well. Sometimes he felt as if he was under attack from all sides, with only an ornery old ghost in his corner.

“You’re in the realm of money and power now, both heady intoxicants. Once tasted, some people get so addicted they will do anything to get more.”

“Like a drug,” he mused.

“Exactly like a drug. You see, we have a responsibility, not just to our shareholders but also to the world at large. Once you reach our position, you need to look at the bigger picture, which is about more than money and power alone. Most people fail to understand this, taking the narrow view.”

“I can see that,” he said. His directors simply wanted to make more money, slash more personnel from the payroll, move more production facilities overseas, until they were American companies in name alone.

It frankly sickened him.

“I’m glad I chose you, son. You’re one of the few people I know who’s managed to hold onto his social conscience. Even though you’ve had a taste of the good life, you want to do the right thing. That’s pretty rare nowadays. I’ve trained successors who started out like you: ambitious but idealistic. Within months, they’d turned into power-hungry money-grubbing vultures.”

Brian nodded, looking at his boss in the rearview mirror. “You’re not a money-grubbing vulture. How did you manage to preserve your sense of decency?”

Peverell smiled, his lined face crackling. “A woman,” he said curtly.

Brian was surprised. “A woman?”

“You never met my wife, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.” He didn’t even know Peverell had a wife. He always thought he was married to the company.

“Oh, I did have a wife,” Peverell said, doing that annoying thing again where he could read Brian’s mind. “Unfortunately, she died many years ago, and unlike me decided not to stick around for the encore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He meant it. If he ever fell in love, he expected it to change his life forever. Love was the greatest good.

“You’re a sentimental fool,” Peverell chuckled in answer to his unspoken musings. “But I’ll grant you this: love
is
the greatest thing. My wife turned me from a hard-nosed businessman into a slightly less hard-nosed businessman. She gave me a heart and showed me that money isn’t the be-all and end-all of human existence. She donated to charity, was a patron of the arts, founded a children’s hospital, a school for the underprivileged... She’s the one who founded the Wardop Foundation, where a great chunk of the Wardop billions will go when I finally decide to call it quits.”

“Who’s in charge of the trust now?” he asked. It was one part of the business he hadn’t acquainted himself with so far.

“Rachel Fowley is our liaison, but the person in charge is a young woman named Elizabeth Danning. She’s doing a great job so far.”

“Is she a relative of yours?” Brian asked, knowing that Peverell trusted family over hired help.

“She’s my wife’s niece,” Peverell confirmed. “She took over when her mother retired. Emily Danning ran the foundation for many years.”

The more Brian got to know and appreciate Peverell, the more he saw that there was a softer side to the billionaire. A gentle and human side that he would never have credited him with. But then his agreement to help the dead was a clear sign that he had his heart in the right place.

They’d arrived at the outskirts of Happy Bays, and Brian breathed with relief. He enjoyed this small place that was seemingly located on the edge of the world. Life was lived at a slower pace here, and coming from New York, he always felt like he could breathe again when he rode into town.

“Elizabeth is from around here,” Peverell said. “Or at least I think she is. My wife was born and raised in Happy Bays before she moved to the city.”

“I didn’t know that,” Brian said.

Peverell chuckled. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Brian.”

Well, that was true enough, of course.

They got out of the car and walked up to the local branch of Armstrong & Tillich. “How do you want to handle this?” Peverell asked.

“Just tell her to pack up and leave,” Brian said curtly.

“You’re coming into your own, Brian.”

Brian shrugged. He had no patience whatsoever with fraudsters.

They entered the bank, and walked straight on through to the manager’s office at the back, without paying any attention to the clerk who called out, “Wait a minute! You can’t go back there! Sir? Come back here, sir!”

After giving the door a vigorous rap, he instantly entered the office. He was surprised to find that it was occupied by a young and attractive woman, the remarkable beauty of her face only marred by an expression of dismay.

“Please refer to the front desk,” she said, returning her eyes to her computer screen. “Customers aren’t allowed back here.”

“I’m not a customer,” Brian said, walking up to the desk, and placing both hands on top of it, forcing her to look up at him.

Frowning, she said, “I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to return to the front desk and talk to the clerk.”

“I’m not here on bank business,” he said, taking a seat across from her.

Annoyance flashed in her eyes. “Who told you you could take a seat?”

He smiled a tight smile. Young, beautiful and clueless, he decided. “My name is Brian Rutherford,” he said by way of introduction.

“Well, Mr. Rutherford, I find your behavior quite appalling,” she said, quirking an eyebrow. Her face was almond-shaped, and a bob of the most gorgeous chestnut-colored hair framed it perfectly.

Brian licked his lips. He suddenly had the distinct impression his collar was way too tight. And had it been this hot in here when he first walked in?

“Don’t be fooled by her appearance, Brian,” Peverell’s voice sounded behind him. “She’s just a fraudulent manager, remember? Get it over with.”

“I’m, erm, I’m the president of the Wardop Group,” he said, trying to get back on track. “And since the Wardop Group is the majority shareholder of Armstrong & Tillich I guess that means I’m technically your boss, Miss…”

There was a momentary silence in the room, as the woman processed this information. Color was suddenly creeping up her cheeks, as her lips parted. A look of panic appeared in her eyes.

Gotcha, Brian thought.

“Mr. Rutherford,” she said. “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“It has come to my attention that you’ve wronged a dear friend of mine.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, sitting up a little straighter. Her fingers, which had been hovering over the keyboard, dropped to her desk.

“Mabel Stokely’s story doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence in your skills as a manager, Miss…”

She blinked. “Oh, dear,” she repeated.

“The last manager was caught skimming, and instead of righting this wrong, you decided to keep up the good work and line your own pockets, putting my good friend Mabel and her family in big, big trouble.”

She nodded, visibly distrait. Her cheeks were glowing now, and Brian thought he’d never met a more attractive woman in his life.

“Keep those hormones in check, Brian,” Peverell grumbled.

Damn that man. Couldn’t he keep his nose out of his mind?

“So I’m sorry to have to tell you that you’ll be removed from your position, awaiting criminal charges that will be leveled against you.”

Her hand inadvertently crept up to her mouth, her eyes wide in shock.

“So clean out your desk, and I’ll escort you from the building, Miss…”

She simply sat and stared at him, as if she hadn’t heard what he said.

“Please don’t make me repeat myself,” he said, feeling like a real heel.

“Be tough, Brian,” Peverell said. “Don’t let that cute face fool you.”

The woman finally snapped out of it. “I heard what you said,” she said in a diminutive voice. “It’s just that…”

“It’s just what?” he asked sharply. In spite of himself, he knew that he couldn’t afford his personal emotions to interfere with doing the right thing.

“It’s just that I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. Then, before he could respond, she quickly continued, “I mean, I know this must sound silly, with me being the manager’s assistant and all, but I’ve never even heard of this problem. I know Mabel Stokely, of course. She’s Mayor MacDonald’s secretary. And a personal friend of my mother. But she never discussed any problems with her mortgage with me. So I don’t know what’s worse: the things you’re accusing me of, or the fact that this is the first I’ve heard of this. In either case, I’m unfit for my position here, of course.”

Brian frowned. “You’re the manager’s
assistant
?”

She nodded vigorously. “That’s right.”

“So then who’s the manager?”

“That would be Miss Day. She’s one door down the hall.”

Brian looked up at Peverell, and he saw that a smile was forming on the old ghost’s face. Damn that man, he thought. Did he think this was a joke?

“You have to admit this is all very droll,” said Peverell.

Now color crept up Brian’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Miss…”

Just at that moment, the door opened, and a middle-aged woman entered, dressed in Vera Wang. She seemed to recognize Brian instantly, for the moment she laid eyes on him, they grew wide behind her half-moon glasses, and then she was making an abrupt about-face and was hurrying away.

“Hey!” he cried, jumping up and going after her in pursuit. “Miss Day!”

But when he reached the street, she was already racing away from the curb in a very nice, brand-new yellow Lamborghini. Fancy car for the manager of a local branch, he thought as Peverell joined him on the sidewalk.

Then the woman he’d accosted also came hurrying out. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Rutherford,” she said, wringing her hands. “I had no idea.”

He nodded as he watched the yellow Lambo disappear around the corner. “That’s all right. You’re not to blame.” He turned to her. “In fact, I owe you an apology. I should never have accused you like that.”

“Oh, no,” she assured him. “I’m the one to blame. I should have known what was going on.” She shook her head. “I’ll resign. I’ll clear out my desk right now.”

The thought of sending this woman packing horrified him, so he put a hand on her arm, and said, “Please don’t. I want you to stay. I have a hunch that you will make a very good bank manager.”

From Peverell’s disgusted snort he had the distinct impression that his mentor didn’t agree with this assessment, but he didn’t care.

The woman’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, Mr. Rutherford. I won’t disappoint you. I promise.”

And as she turned to walk back into the bank, Brian blinked. “Um, what is your name, Miss?”

She turned, her hair swishing delightfully as she did so, and her eyes lighting up with a smile as she spoke. “Stacy. My name is Stacy Kent.”