A Breath of Dead Air (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Book 8) (16 page)

T
he whole gang
was squashed into Detective Garfield’s squad car, the light on top of the car blazing and the siren whooping and whining. Felicity was squeezed in the back, along with Rick, Alice, and Bo, Grover Calypso riding shotgun. More cars were right behind them as they raced across Manhattan, bringing traffic to a complete standstill at every intersection. She’d never ridden in a cop car before and found the whole thing pretty exhilarating.

“How did you find out about this Ashley Wince guy?” she asked.

Rick smirked, and gave his collar a tug. “Well, now…” he began.

“Yeah, that’s what I’d like to know!” Detective Garfield barked from the front. “Who’s this mysterious source of yours, Dawson?”

“Well, actually he’s pretty high up in the food chain. All the way up.”

Alice frowned. “You mean, like, God or something?”

“No, not God, Alice.”

“I think he means the person who runs his newspaper,” Bo ventured.

“Ah, yes. What’s his name again? Murphy Roops, right?” Felicity said.

“No, it’s not God or Roops.”

“The police commissioner butt into my investigation?” Garfield wanted to know. “Is that where you got your information, Dawson? Or the mayor?”

“Nope. None of the above,” Rick laughed. He shot out his cuffs, and said, with dignity, “If you must know, I got a call from none other than…” His face fell. “Crap.”

“What was that, Dawson?” Garfield shouted over the noise of the whining siren. “It sounded like you just said Crap. Who the hell is Crap?”

Rick hung his head. “I mean, crap, I can’t divulge my source,” he muttered. He looked extremely pained. “I promised I wouldn’t!”

“But you can tell me, right? Ricky?” Felicity asked, kneading his arm.

“No, I can’t. If tell you I have to tell everybody.”

“We won’t listen,” Alice assured him. “Just go ahead and tell Fee.”

“Yeah, don’t mind us, Ricky,” Grover echoed. “Act as if we aren’t here.”

But Rick threw up his hands. “I can’t! I swore a solemn oath!”

“It’s all right, honey,” Felicity said, giving him a little pat. “I believe you when you say you talked to the man up top. I’m sure we all believe you.”

“I think it’s simply his editor,” Bo muttered as she gazed out the window.

Just then, there was a bump in the road, and the car went flying. They all yelled out in surprise, and then the car landed with a crash, metal screeching.

“Sorry about that!” Garfield cried, then added under his breath, “Not!”

They arrived at The Parton, and while police officers quickly cordoned off the area, their colleagues proceeded inside, weapons drawn.

Felicity, Rick, Alice, Bo, and Grover were told to stay behind the police barricade and watched with bated breath as the operation proceeded.

“Do you really think Reece is in there?” Alice asked, her voice shaky.

“I know he is,” said Bo. “I can sense him in there.”

“Bo is psychic,” Rick explained to Grover.

“Oh, isn’t that interesting?” Grover said, looking a little taken aback.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Calypso,” said Bo. “I don’t bite.”

“No, I’m not worried,” he assured her, still looking worried.

“I just hope he’s all right,” Alice said, chewing her lip nervously.

Felicity had clasped an arm across her friend’s shoulder. “Reece will be fine, honey. He’s been through worse.”

“Yeah, remember when he was abducted by that gang of people stuffers?” Rick asked. “What could be worse than that, right?”

“Being abducted by a gang of ex-military gardening killers working for the president’s chief of staff?” Alice muttered, her teeth chattering slightly.

“Yeah, that sounds pretty bad,” Rick agreed.

Felicity watched the entrance to the club intently. One by one, a bunch of elderly men were escorted out by police officers. They shuffled along to be questioned on the sidewalk. None of them looked particularly dangerous in her estimation. Finally, she was starting to wonder about this operation. Perhaps Bo was wrong, and they’d simply sent Garfield on a wild goose chase? If they had, the man would never believe them again. Ever. And might be back to thinking Rick was the prime suspect in the murder of the senator.

And then suddenly a voice behind them spoke, and when she turned she saw that it was the senator himself.

“Hello, you guys,” he said. “What’s going on? Why are we out here?”

“Senator!” Rick cried, visibly pleased.

“Hello, Mr. Vickar,” Alice said.

Felicity gave the ghost a warm smile. “Where have you been, sir? We went by the house earlier, and you weren’t there.”

“No law says that a ghost can’t go visit old friends, right?” Then his face fell, and suddenly he looked uncertainly at the three of them. “Or is there?”

“No, I don’t suppose there’s a law like that,” Felicity said thoughtfully.

Next to her, Bo was staring, open-mouthed, in the direction the others were all looking. It was pretty obvious she couldn’t see her father, though.

“Is he… here?” she asked, her voice quivering, her eyes wide.

“He is,” Felicity confirmed. Then she turned to the ghostly senator. “Senator Vickar? Why don’t you show yourself to your daughter, sir?”

The senator’s smile disappeared. “I guess… I’m not ready yet,” he said softly. “I mean…” Then suddenly he caught sight of Pronto, his doggie Bo was clutching in her arms. And a tear appeared in his eye. “Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear,” he said huskily. “I guess this is it, huh? I’m really dead…”

“Death is not the end, Senator,” Rick reminded him seriously.

“Yeah, you can hang around as long as you like,” Felicity confirmed.

The senator shook his head. “It’s not the same. It’s—it’s just not.”

Then he stepped to the fore, and suddenly Bo gasped. “Dad!”

“Hello, Bo,” said her father warmly.

If Grover found this conversation odd, he didn’t give any indication of the fact. With a son like Bomer, he’d probably experienced odder things than people talking to thin air. He was staring intently at the entrance of The Parton, and Felicity remembered he was a member there himself, along with his good friend Chazz. And as she watched Bo and her father go for a little stroll, their heads closely together, she pursed her lips. “I hope they’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure they will be,” Rick said softly.

At that moment, there was a commotion at The Parton, and Alice suddenly gasped. Felicity looked up, and when she saw a bedraggled Reece staggering from the club, supported by two policemen, her hand flew to her face. The actor looked pretty banged up. “Oh, God,” she muttered, horrified.

“Reece!” Alice cried. And without heeding the arresting calls of the police officers in charge of crowd control, she stepped from behind the barricade and was running up to her fiancé. Felicity and Rick quickly joined her, and together helped Reece to a waiting ambulance, where he was ushered onto a stretcher by two EMTs. His face was bloodied, his lip was split, and he had a black eye, but otherwise he seemed as cheerful as ever.

“I’m all right, you guys!” he called out with a little bit of a speech impediment. “I’ve been through a lot worse on the set of Crush Hour!”

Alice was nearer to crying, though. “Oh, babe, what happened?”

“Oh, just a little tussle with a couple of guys at the club,” he explained while the medics fussed over him. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. They seemed to think I knew something about the senator’s murder. And when I told them I didn’t know a thing, they didn’t seem to believe me! Can you believe that?”

They watched as Reece was carted into the ambulance, and then Alice jumped in with him and the ambulance took off. Felicity hugged herself as she watched the vehicle careen around the corner at the end of the street. She turned just in time to see police officers emerging from the club escorting the three gardeners. They were handcuffed and didn’t look too happy.

“So those are the guys who roughed up Reece, huh?” Rick asked.

“Yeah, but why? What did they want with him?”

“Beats me, honey. I’m just glad we got here on time.”

They walked back to Grover, who was just getting into a taxi. “Mind if we tag along?” Felicity asked.

“Hop in,” Grover said. “I’m heading back to the office.”

And they were just about to drive away, when Detective Garfield came ambling up, looking pleased as punch. He leaned into the window. “You were right,” he said. “Reece was down in the club’s basement, being ‘interrogated’ by those three goons. They didn’t confirm they were under orders from Ashley Wince, but I’ve spoken to my FBI contacts, and they have a full confession from Emerson Worsnop that he was Wince’s stooge at CalypsoCo. They’re on their way to place the chief of staff under arrest right now.” He tapped the roof of the taxi. “I’ll be in touch for your official statements.”

The taxi drove off, leaving Felicity with about a million unanswered questions. She chewed her lip in annoyance, her brow furrowed. Why did those three goons target Reece? What did they hope to learn from him? And why had they tried to run them off the road earlier? And what about Bo’s statement that she sensed Wince thought she’d heard or seen something?

“I’m just glad Bomer is no longer a suspect,” Grover said. “That poor boy was sick with worry this entire time. Couldn’t sleep or eat, the poor thing.”

Felicity had to suppress a smile. Bomer sick with worry? That didn’t sound like the Bomer she knew. He’d probably forgotten about his FBI interview the minute they released him from custody. Felicity glanced at Rick and saw the twinkle in his eye. He was clearly thinking the same thing.

“Chazz tells me he’s running for president,” Grover said, changing the subject.

Rick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, one of dad’s crazier ideas, I’m afraid.”

“I disagree. I think your father would make one hell of a president.”

“I kind of doubt it,” Rick muttered.

“Look at the bright side, honey,” Felicity said. “If your dad is the president of the United States, you really do have access to the guy up top.”

“But I
have
access to the president,” Rick blurted out, before quickly closing his mouth and reddening to the roots of his hair. “Oops,” he muttered.

“Your source is the president himself?” she whispered.

“Yes, he is,” Rick whispered back, putting a finger to his lips to shush her.

“Oh, crap!” she cried.

“What?”

“I completely forgot about Bo and her father. They’re still back there.”

“They’re fine,” Rick assured her. “Besides, they need some alone time.”

Rick was right, of course. Bo and her father would have a lot to discuss.

The taxi dropped Grover off at Calypso Tower, before driving on to the hospital where Reece’d been taken. And as they traversed Manhattan for the second time in less than an hour, Felicity was reminded once more of the million questions that still went unanswered. And she, unlike Bomer Calypso, wouldn’t be able to sleep until she knew exactly what was going on.

F
elicity was still
deep in thought when they entered New York-Presbyterian Hospital and Rick approached the front desk to find out where Reece had been taken. Moments later they arrived in the actor’s room, and when they entered, the first thing that caught Felicity’s eye was Alice, devotedly seated at Reece’s side, clutching his hand in hers. The other thing she noticed was the steady stream of nurses darting in and out of the room, quite eager to take care of Reece’s every need, undaunted by Alice’s piercing glare.

Good thing the press hadn’t been alerted, or the place would be swarming with paps, Felicity knew. Because of her long association with Reece, Felicity sometimes forgot the man was a bona fide movie star, with all the perks and drawbacks that came with the position.

The actor suffered the hospital staff’s attention with his customary equanimity, good-naturedly sitting up when one nurse fluffed up his pillow, and languidly moving his leg when another offered to tuck in his sheet.

“Looks like he’ll be fine,” Rick muttered under his breath.

“Yes, he seems to have no trouble getting over his ordeal,” Felicity agreed.

“Fee! Rick!” Reece cried from his sickbed. “So glad you guys made it!”

When she saw her friends, Alice got up to give Felicity a hug.

“I was so worried,” she muttered into Felicity’s mass of red curls.

“I know you were, honey. But everything’s gonna be fine now.”

They took a seat at Reece’s bedside, and Felicity saw that a small cut above his eye had been sewn up, requiring several stitches.

Reece followed her gaze and grimaced. “I told them to leave my face alone, but they just had to get in there,” he grumbled.

“Those goons clearly didn’t care about your good looks,” Rick said.

“Not the goons. The doctors. I told them no one works on my face except Dr. Robson Pinson-Gribbin, my personal plastic surgeon. He’s flying in from LA.” He gave them a grim-faced look. “I just hope these butchers didn’t do too much damage. Luckily my face is insured for a million bucks.”

Rick made a strangled sound at the back of his throat, and Felicity elbowed him in the ribs. Even though Reece could be a diva from time to time, he was a great guy and a wonderful friend.

“So tell us, Reece,” she began. “Exactly what happened in that club?”

Reece lay back against the propped up pillows while Rick closed the door, cutting off the supply of nurses. “Well, I decided to pop in there on a hunch. Job told me his last thought before he died was of the club, so I figured there was some information to be gleaned there. And as it happened I hit the jackpot the moment I stepped into the club. Two guys who used to play poker with the senator. Told me they’d seen him the day before he died and he’d been visibly distraught. Clearly off his game. Apparently he’d been receiving a lot of death threats, and it had rattled the old guy.”

Felicity remembered the senator telling them that. “Anything stand out?”

“Well, one of the guys told me most of the threats were written on official Congress stationary. His colleagues were clearly not pulling their punches. Anyway, while we were chatting, I noticed that one table over some wrinkled old dude was intently listening in on our conversation.”

“Who was he?” Rick asked.

“No idea. I can describe him for you. He had a face like a worn-out baseball glove, all saggy and wrinkly and leathery and stuff. I noticed the minute I started asking questions about the senator the guy took out his phone and started texting furiously. Next thing I know, three hulking guys walk into the club and ask me if they could have a word with me in private. And since I’m always eager to please my fans, I was already reaching for my stash of autographed pictures when they took me by the arm and started escorting me out of the clubroom and down the stairs.” He shrugged. “Well, you know what happened next. They took me into one of the storerooms and before I knew it they were rearranging my face. They were no fans of mine, I can tell you that. I doubt they’d even seen my movies. I dropped a few hints—gave them the old ‘Hot Potato’ line—but they were absolutely oblivious.”

“Couldn’t you have taken them on?” Rick asked with a twinkle in his eye. “I mean, for an action hero like you, three guys must be small potatoes.”

Reece grinned. “Ricky, baby, you know I’m just an actor playing a part, right? I don’t even do my own stunts these days. Insurance won’t allow it!”

Alice threw herself on top of Reece, who winced. “Oh, babe,” she cried. “You could have died out there today!”

Reece placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m a survivor, babe.”

Felicity eyed him thoughtfully. “But why? Why were they after you?”

“Are you kidding?” Rick asked. “Asking a lot of questions about the senator’s murder? The guy probably works for Ashley Wince. He must have figured Reece was a potential threat and told Wince to send in the goons.”

“We have to tell Garfield,” Felicity said. “Give him a description of rumple-face.”

“So you think Ashley Wince is this Tarantula Bo was talking about?” Alice wanted to know. “The one who’s orchestrating this whole thing?”

“I’m sure he is,” Rick responded. “The president told me as much.” He closed his eyes, muttering, “Oh, crap.” Once again he’d broken his oath.

“The president?” Reece asked. “You talked to the president?”

The actor was impressed. For a man who was used to rubbing elbows with the greats of the earth, clearly the president wasn’t on his speed dial yet.

“Yes, I talked to the president,” said Rick emphatically. “But keep it between us, all right? He called me in the strictest confidence. Said he’d spoken to the senator’s ghost, if you please, and wanted the truth to be told.”

“So that’s where he was when we called by his house earlier,” Alice said.

Rick quickly darted a look at the door, then continued, “Apparently this Ashley Wince and a group of his associates are running the country. The president told me they pick a candidate, prep him for the presidency, and make sure he gets elected, but only on the condition he’ll do what they tell him to. Gnash said he’s just a puppet on a string, and that Wince and his gang were deathly afraid the whole scheme would be revealed by Job’s Truth Bill. Once Bo got into play, she would reveal all. She’d know Gnash was being coerced to do this consortium’s bidding every step of the way. And to avoid exposure, they decided to remove the senator from endangering their plan.”

Felicity and Alice had listened with mouths agape. Only Reece didn’t seem surprised by this startling revelation. “I’ve known all along,” he declared solemnly. “I have a script lying around somewhere depicting just such a scenario. Movie’s called
Marionette Nation
, and it’s about a guy who becomes president, uncovers this great conspiracy and decides to fight back. Morgan Freeman is the head of the conspiracy. I’m the president, of course.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” Rick asked. “Morgan Freeman always plays the president. In which case you’re the head of the conspiracy.”

Reece leveled an amused look at the reporter. “Come on, Ricky. You of all people should know that I never play the bad guy. I’m building a brand here, buddy.”

“So tell me more about these conspirators,” Felicity said, interrupting Reece’s spiel. “Do you think the president was telling the truth?”

“I do,” confirmed Rick. “And that’s what I’m going to put in my article.”

Felicity stared at him, taken aback. “You’re writing an article about this?”

“Of course. That’s why the president picked me,” Rick said.

“So who are these conspirators?” Alice asked, intrigued.

“Well…” He hesitated. “That’s the catch. The president doesn’t know. He only knows that Wince is the liaison. He’s the one who tells him what to do.”

“Christ, this is even worse than
Marionette Nation
,” Reece grunted.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” Rick agreed. “I talked to the president for half an hour, and the things he told me…” He shook his head. “Then he made me promise to turn the entire conspiracy into a front-page article, and so I did.”

“This is your big scoop, Rick,” Reece said. “This is your Pulitzer, buddy.”

Rick beamed at him. “It just might be.” Then his face darkened. “Unless I can’t find out who’s behind this conspiracy. Ashley Wince must be the one in charge, but there must be others, probably in very important positions.”

“Judges, perhaps,” Alice suggested.

“And captains of industry,” Rick added.

“And studio executives,” Reece grunted. “Those guys are the worst.”

Felicity decided she needed to speak up. “I don’t think you should write this article, Rick,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

The others all gaped at her.

“What do you mean?” Rick asked. “This is my big break, honey. This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

“I mean that this is really dangerous stuff, Rick. Look at what happened to the senator. Or to Reece just now. Or to us. They tried to drive us off the road, just because they think Bo knows something. When these people find out you’re writing your exposé, they’re going to come after you next.”

“Not when their leader is locked up in federal prison,” Rick countered.

She shook her head. “There may be dozens more out there, and you don’t know what they’re capable of, with or without Wince calling the shots.”

There was a momentary silence, then Alice said, “Fee’s right. Is this really worth risking your life for, Rick?”

Rick eyed his fiancée ponderously. “But I have to do this, honey. People have a right to know.”

“It’s far too dangerous,” Felicity said, and there was a note of finality in her voice. “You’re not doing it, Ricky.” She clasped his hand in hers. “I still want to have a husband. I want to have a family and grow old together.”

“But what about this conspiracy? Don’t you care that our country is being run by a shady group of old and wrinkly men?”

Reece produced a chortle. The image seemed to tickle his funny bone.

“No, I don’t. All I care about is that you get to live another day.”

And that was her final word on the matter. She could see Rick disagreed, but was sure that when he thought things through, he’d see she was right. What use was it to expose some obscure conspiracy when you were dead?