The Stuffing of Nightmares (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Book 7) (10 page)

M
abel was a persistent woman
. She needed to talk to Fee so she would talk to Fee. Bianca had told her she’d taken the bakery van, so how hard could it be to find out where she was and follow her to her destination? Probably she had some errand to run, and as luck would have it, the old van’s GPS system was connected to an app on Bianca’s phone. She wasn’t sure how to use it, but Mabel needed only a couple of clicks to access it.

“Some place called Manor Hartford,” she said, squinting at the screen.

“We don’t deliver to Manor Hartford,” said Bianca. “That’s one of Marcel’s clients.”

She didn’t care. If Fee was at Manor Hartford, that’s where she was going.

“I’ll just pop over and see if I can find her, shall I?” she asked good-naturedly. She would convince Fee to get in touch with Brian, Brian to get in touch with those asshats at Armstrong & Tillich, and before the day was through she would have her house back.

Bianca didn’t mind lending her the Mini Cooper, and moments later she was zooming along the road, Taylor Swift blasting from the speakers, and the wind in her hair. Her troubles would all be over very soon now, she knew.

* * *

B
rian didn’t like
to be haunted by ghosts. Usually, he was the one doing the haunting. As the self-proclaimed leader of the Wraith Wranglers, he liked to think of himself as a one stop shop for troubled souls looking for redemption. Ghosts got in touch with him, asking for his assistance, at which point he sent in the team to fix the problem. Only very rarely did he get involved personally, as he had other stuff on his mind with the group.

It was highly irregular, therefore, to be harassed by a ghost, as he was now. He’d only stepped into the living room again, having sprinkled some water on his face after his heated conversation with Peverell, when he noticed the same stink of rotten eggs hitting his olfactory system.

Mabel Stokely’s dad was back.

“God, not again,” he muttered. He wheeled on the old wino, whose name, he’d discovered, was Lombard MacPherson, and who was draped across the chaise longue. “What do you want now?”

“I want you to fix my daughter’s mortgage,” said the ghost. Then, with a snap of his fingers, a dozen more seedy beggars popped out of thin air, occupying every available surface in the cozy living room, their grubby ectoplasm soiling up the whole place.

“I told you I’ll get to it when I get to it! Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Oh, I can tell,” the old guy said with a rasping chuckle. “Chatting with that ghost hater brother of yours. Shooting the breeze with that good-for-nothing Peverell Wardop. And all the while the little people can sod off, eh?”

“Big shot!” another hobo called out. He was checking out Brian’s liquor cabinet. Even when dead, they refused to attend their AA meetings.

“I’m not a big shot!” he shot back, though of course he was.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Brian,” Lombard grumbled. “You come from humble beginnings, and already you’ve forgotten about your own kind. A couple of months of Wardop and you’re too big for your breeches.”

“I’m not—” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Then what do you call this? Hobnobbing with the rich and famous while good, hard-working folk like my Mabel stand to lose their house because of some crooked scoundrel on
your
payroll!” He pointed an accusing finger at Brian.

“I promised I’ll look into it—I just haven’t found the time.”

“Then make the time,” the old man suggested. “Or we’ll be haunting your every waking and sleeping hour from now on, making your life a living hell.”

“Oh, all right,” he said, walking over to his desk. “Give me the lowdown.”

And while old Lombard filled him in on the bank manager who’d been sentenced to prison for murdering a bunch of people at the Happy Bays Inn, he recollected that the guy had been nabbed by Fee Bell herself.

He then put in a call to Rachel, his personal secretary. Armstrong & Tillich was only one small company in a portfolio of thousands, but if anyone could ferret out a file, it was Rachel Fowley. Five minutes later he was checking Mabel Stokely’s Armstrong & Tillich customer file and saw that old Lombard was right. Her account had been plundered by their former manager, along with dozens of other homeowners.

It was baffling. Why had no one taken care of this? Why hadn’t the current manager set the record straight? He shook his head. Incompetence was one of his pet peeves, and he was just picking up his phone to call the bank manager and fix this thing when Lombard piped up.

“Won’t do you any good,” he said. “She’s hardened fraudster herself. She’s taken over the accounts from that convicted murderer, and now she’s carrying on the same policy. Skimming a little here, a little there, until there’s nothing left. Soon she’ll simply skip town to live off her ill-gotten gains.”

He frowned at the old ghost. “Are you sure? That’s a serious accusation.”

“Course I’m sure! I’m a ghost, remember? I can sneak in and out without being noticed. I snuck into that woman’s office the first I heard of this. She’s a sneak thief.” He grinned his decaying lips wide. “It takes one to know one.”

He rubbed his eyes. Stuff like this made him question the human race. “All right,” he finally said. “How about I handle this personally?”

“That’s more like it,” said Lombard. “You’re a good man, Brian.”

He narrowed his eyes at the ghost. “I thought I was too big for my breeches?”

Lombard cackled. “That, too.”

Brian called out, “Peverell? Care for a drive to the Hamptons?”

The moment the billionaire manifested himself, the winos suddenly scrambled to disappear. All except Lombard, who gave Peverell an angry glare. “My, we are keeping busy today, aren’t we?” Pev said with unctuous voice.

“About time he did something for the common folk,” Lombard grumbled.

Peverell grinned. “When it comes down to it, Lombard, we’re all common folk. Some of us simply have more common sense than others.”

“Why I’ll show you common sense,” growled Lombard, and approached Peverell menacingly. At that moment, the old billionaire did something Brian had never seen before. He emitted a piercingly high sound, like the wail of a banshee. Lombard covered his ghostly ears, and before Brian’s surprised eyes, he suddenly popped off, leaving but a single trace of ectoplasm on the carpet.

“What did you do?” Brian gasped. “Did you kill him?”

“How can I kill someone who’s already dead?” Peverell asked with raised eyebrow.

“But where did he go?”

“Back to where he came from,” Peverell said simply. “Even ghosts need to learn how to behave, Brian. I don’t tolerate nonsense, as you well know.” Then he cheered right up. “Shall we get going? I love a country ramble.”

And before Brian could respond, he was out the door.

Brian shook his head as he followed him at a more leisurely pace. He still had a lot to learn about the world of phantoms, he thought. A whole lot.

G
rover was pacing
the floor of his condo once more. He’d already walked a rut in the carpet by now. Chazz had told him everything was under control. That he would take care of the whole thing, and all he had to do was act naturally, and don’t show his wife he knew about her sordid trysting habit.

“Act naturally,” he muttered to himself. Easier said than done. How could he act naturally when he knew he had pressed a rattlesnake to his bosom? How could he sleep in the same bed with this woman, knowing all the while that she was dreaming of this Hogston rat? He wasn’t an actor, for crying out loud, and he didn’t even begin to know how to behave in front of his wife.

When the door opened, and she strode in, therefore, he jumped up.

“Honey!” he cried a little too enthusiastically. “Where have you been?”

Wrong question! he chided himself. He should never inquire about her whereabouts. He knew where she’d been. With her demon lover!

He managed to plaster a smile on his face, but from the way she frowned at him he realized he was overdoing it, so he diminished the wattage of his smirk to normal proportions. Act naturally, he repeated, and casually walked up to her to press a kiss on her cheek. This was what he always did, right? No? He couldn’t remember! Dammit! How hard it was to act naturally when you couldn’t remember how you acted naturally in the first place!

“I’m great,” she said. “I went shopping with Eva. You remember Eva?”

“Sure, sure,” he barked. “Eva. I know Eva. Sure I know Eva. Your friend Eva!” He clasped his hands behind his back. He stood stiffly, rocking back on his heels, watching her remove her coat while giving him a curious look.

“Are you all right, honey? You look a little peaky.”

He blinked. “I’m fine! Fine, fine, fine. I was just—I was just—” What was he just doing? Acting naturally! “I was just having a drink!” So he walked over to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a stiff one, then downed it in one gulp.

“Oh, honey,” she said, “remember we’re going to the opera tonight? I booked us some great tickets for The Magic Flute, remember?”

“Yes, yes,” he snapped. “The Magic Flute. I remember that flute!”

“Wonderful. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited a friend to join us.”

“Fine, fine,” he snapped. “That’s just fine!”

She eyed him strangely, then walked over and pinched his cheeks. “You’re acting a little weird, Choochoo. Are you quite sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, Chichi. I’m perfectly fine,” he said, blinking as he spoke the words.

And once Chazz finally put his plan into motion, everything would be even better. Now all he needed to do was act naturally for a few more hours. So he blinked again. “I’m fine and you’re fine and your friend’s fine. We’re all fine!”

“Good,” she said with the smile that had won his heart when they first met. “Very good.”

And she stalked off to the bedroom. He sighed with relief, his admiration for actors suddenly soaring. How they managed to put on a show night after night was beyond him. Five minutes of this ‘acting naturally’ and he was already pooped! So he poured himself another drink and swigged it back.

“
Y
ou know
, I’m glad you managed to free us, Fee,” Reece said as he removed the last of his restraints. He’d been worried there for a moment. He’d always envisioned his career as being long and extended, like Clint Eastwood’s. Establish himself as the action hero of his generation, then move onto the more serious stuff, doing some character work, perhaps, and finally, segue into directing and producing. But being stuffed and locked up in this creepy manor? It wasn’t the career plan he had in mind. What disturbed him most was that no one would ever get to see his handsome features again. He’d be restricted to the inhabitants of this gloomy place. If he were getting his likeness made by Madame Tussaud that was a different matter, because the original would still be walking around. But being stuffed? Such a waste.

He stretched his stiff limbs and cracked his knuckles. “Where are those rats?” he asked. He was itching to get some of his own back. No one messed with Chuck MacLachlan and lived to tell the tale.

But as they walked along the back wall of the lab, Reece leading the band of four and Felicity bringing up the rear, he didn’t see any sign of the blond stuffer and her cronies. Spot had joined them again, but when Ricky asked him if he knew where the bad guys were, the dog merely yapped happily.

“He says the coast is clear,” Rick translated.

“Weird,” Reece retorted. Where could they have gone? Were they simply going to leave them trussed up here? Or maybe this was part of some psychological torture plan? Making them sweat for a while before starting the procedure? “We need to watch out for those tranq darts,” he said.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Fee suggested, and that sounded like a plan.

As far as he could tell, there were two ways out of this place: the elevator and the staircase. Neither one seemed particularly appealing, as they might be congested with evil stuffers. So he decided to one-up them by finding a third exit. And he thought he’d found the solution when he spotted another door built into the back wall. He led the small company over, and the foursome stood gazing at the door for a moment, trying to decide what to do.

“I say we go for it,” Reece said.

In his estimation, since no bad guys had arrived through this door, it stood to reason that they wouldn’t find any on the other side. Simple logic.

Rick disagreed. “What if there’s an entire army behind this door?”

Rick always had to strike the pessimistic note, Reece thought with a groan. But then, before they could thresh this matter out any further, Alice tired of the back-and-forth, stepped up and yanked open the door.

Behind it lay another room, they saw, and this one was much more plushly appointed. It almost looked like a ballroom, with marble floors, gilded columns reaching to a ceiling hung with chandeliers and painted with murals that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Sistine Chapel. The wow factor was definitely high in this place. Benches were placed at the center, like in a museum, and as they stepped into the room, Reece saw that a series of glass display cases were set up along one wall, and he gasped in shock when he finally saw what this place was: the room that housed the Cieslok collection!

As they ventured deeper into the room, Reece rubbed his arms. It was pretty chilly in here, especially since he was still dressed in his swimming trunks. Display case after display case stood at attention, the final resting places of dozens of people, who’d been snuffed and stuffed by the Ciesloks.

And each display case sported a small gilded sign that announced both the name of the person it housed and his or her profession. And the weirdest thing was: they were all dressed in the costume of their trade. As he walked along the spooky collection, he recognized a mailman dressed in a US Postal Services uniform, a college professor in his long, flowing garb, a plumber carrying a wrench, a butcher with bloodied apron, and even a pimpled pizza delivery boy, Pizza Hut cap firmly in place on his carrot-colored hair.

The latest addition to the collection was an electrician called Jonathan Kid, a pair of tweezers pressed in his hand, a look of sheer horror on his face.

All of them were staring before them, faces twisted in agony, put down in their prime. Christ. This was horrible! he decided. Those poor people!

And just when he thought perhaps this wasn’t the place to be after all, the scientist who’d been eager to stuff a hook down his gullet popped up as if from a trap. “I see you’re admiring our work!” he cried out, stepping up behind them and rubbing his hands gleefully. “Welcome, most welcome. I’m glad you get to see our collection before becoming a permanent part of it!”

Behind him, Reece saw some old fogey shuffle in, and the babe who’d become the bane of his existence. Three generations of Ciesloks, he ventured.

“Hello there,” the old guy said, and he seemed to be addressing Fee.

“Hello,” Fee responded with little enthusiasm.

“Have you met before?” the scientist asked, genuinely surprised.

“Yes, she’s the girl who brings me my afternoon tea,” said the old guy.

“Grandpa gets a little confused at times,” the blonde explained. And turning to her grandfather, she said, “She’s not the girl who brings you your tea, Grandpa. She’s a baker. And she’s going to look great in our collection!”

“A Quaker? What do we need a Quaker for? We’re Presbyterians!”

The blonde made a throwaway gesture, then turned to Reece and his friends. “See what I’m dealing with here?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t diss your grandpa, Fabiola,” chided her father gently. He gestured to the row of display cases. “All of this will be yours one day, and he’s the one who made it possible.”

She planted a quick kiss on her dad’s cheek. “I know, Dad. Just kidding.” Then she threw a cheeky glance at Reece. “Will you let me do Chuck MacLachlan? I’d love to take the stuffing out of him, so to speak.”

Her father smiled benignly, as only a proud father can. “Of course. You do the actor. I’ll take care of the women, and Grandpa can do the reporter.”

Reece heard Rick gulp behind him, and he understood where he was coming from. The old guy seemed to be so far gone he’d probably botch the job. Turn Rick into a caricature of himself. He just hoped the babe had some skills. If he was going to die, at least she might retain his good looks for posterity. “Do you get a lot of visitors here?” he heard himself ask.

“Oh, sure,” said Anselm Cieslok. “Dozens.”

Reece heaved a quiet sob. For a man used to an audience of millions, this was a hard pill to swallow. “At least respect the abs, all right?” he asked, pointing to his six-pack. “God knows I’ve worked hard to get them.”

“Reece!” Alice growled behind him, giving him a prod.

“What?! If we’re going to die, we might as well die with dignity.”

“Now if you’ll be so kind to return to the lab?” Cieslok asked. “I think we’ve wasted enough time already, don’t you?”

“I could waste a little more time,” Alice said, hugging Reece from behind.

“Me too,” Fee piped up, sliding her arm through Rick’s.

“And me,” the latter chimed in.

Cieslok grinned. “I thought as much, so I brought you a little present.”

Reece, Fee, Alice and Rick heaved exasperated groans when they saw Cieslok and his daughter bring out those nasty peashooters.

“Not again!” cried Reece, disgusted.

“Afraid so,” said the taxidermist, and fired the first shot.