Two Scoops of Murder (Felicity Bell Book 2) (22 page)

T
hey arrived
at Neil Domino’s house, a nice brownstone just off Loy Street, and Felicity checked her watch. One o’clock. Not the best time to be bothering anyone, especially an elderly banker who probably needed his beauty sleep more than they did. But the majority had ruled in favor of this nocturnal visit, so there was no way out of it.

As she pulled the van to a stop she was surprised to find Reece Hudson’s Maserati idling at the curb. She glanced over to Alice, who had reddened slightly.

“What is he doing here?” she asked.

Alice cleared her throat a little awkwardly. “I may have asked him to tag along…”

“What?”

She shrugged. “I texted him earlier. About our date? So I told him I was busy trying to catch a killer, and then one thing led to another and…” She waved her hand. “Reece! Over here!”

“Hey, Alice,” he said, walking up, and Felicity was surprised to find him as handsome and dapper as ever. Didn’t movie stars ever have a bad day? Or night?

“Reece,” said Virgil, greeting his new friend with a firm handshake.

“How’s my ex?” Reece asked. “Still bundled up in jail?”

“No, we had to let her walk.”

Reece darted a surreptitious look up and down the deserted street. “So she’s loose?” He might have been talking about a wild animal.

“She should be well on her way back to LA by now,” said Virgil. “Said she would never set foot in Happy Bays ever again in her life.”

Reece sighed with relief. “I can live with that.”

“So can I,” said Alice, suddenly very chipper.

“Just so you know, we’re here to catch a killer,” interrupted a prim-faced Marjorie this lovers’ talk.

“Oh, that’s right,” said Reece. “The banker did it, huh? Who would have thought?”

“He’s not our guy, silly,” said Alice, giving Reece a slap on the chest, then allowing her hand to linger. “We’re just here to ask him some questions.”

Seeing as no one else did, Felicity stepped up to the ornately carved door, put her finger on the brass bell and pressed. Inside the house a soft ringing sound greeted their ears and Felicity’s heart leaped. Were they actually doing this?

Moments later the door opened and a cautious Neil Domino peered out. His pale blue eyes widened at the sight of the small delegation gathered on his doorstep. The first face he recognized was Virgil’s and he frowned. “Virgil? What is the meaning of this?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” Virgil began, “but we’re here to inquire into the identity of Mary Long’s brother.”

The banker’s frown deepened. “I gather this is official police business?”

“I, erm, yes,” Virgil said after a poke from Alice. “Indeed, it is.”

“Very well, then,” said the banker, and closed the door to unhook the chain, then opened it to allow them inside. “Though why this can’t wait until the morrow, I don’t understand.”

“It’s a matter of some urgency,” Virgil explained, taking the lead once again. “Three more people have been murdered, you see.”

The banker’s face fell. “Oh, dear Lord, no. Not…”

Virgil nodded. “Rob Long and his wife and sister. It happened just now at the inn.”

“Come in, then,” said the banker, tightening the sash on his velvet robe. He led the way along an ornately decorated hallway to the very end and into what Felicity understood to be the man’s home office, a space crammed with bookcases and a wide desk that stood like a stage in the center of the room. The banker sat down behind it and gestured for the others to take a seat as well.

In a few brief words Virgil explained the theory they’d developed and the banker inclined his head in approval, his bushy white eyebrows wiggling agreeably. “I see. Very astute, Virgil. Very astute indeed.”

“Well, it was Felicity who came up with the idea, actually,” Virgil said, magnanimously giving credit where credit was due.

The banker’s light eyes shifted to Felicity. “You were right,” he said. “The estate will now go to Mary Long’s brother I presume.”

“You presume? You mean you’re not sure?”

“Well, considering that the man has a history of mental illness I very much doubt whether this will be as cut and dried as that.”

“Who
is
Mary Long’s brother?” asked Marjorie, voicing the question that was on everyone’s lips.

The banker’s eyebrows rose. “Why, don’t you know? He’s staying at the inn at this very moment. He doesn’t go by the name Long, however. He’s Mary’s half-brother, you see, from her mother’s first marriage.” He was silent for a moment, steepling his fingers and musing. “Yes, very sad case. Apparently he suffered a breakdown when his wife died forty years ago. Never been quite the same since. He spent some time in a mental institution, but what with cutbacks and all he was released and has been living by himself on an outpatient basis. He’s been coming back to Happy Bays every year, no doubt because he and his wife had a wonderful time here. This was before Mary and Alistair took over the place, of course. Back then, he was running the inn with his wife.”

“You mean Alan Shaw is Mary’s brother?” asked Felicity, finally putting two and two together.

The banker looked up from his musings. “He is. Poor man.”

“And you’re telling us that his wife died in an accident?”

“Yes. Yes, she did. He accidentally shot her, you know. Thought she was a deer streaking through the brush. Tragic story. Utterly tragic.”

F
elicity steered
the van along the road breaking every speed limit and not getting so much as a censorious glance from either Virgil or the other members of the neighborhood watch committee. As it was, Virgil was busy calling Chief Whitehouse. As the last of the Longs, it was obvious that Alan Shaw was in mortal danger. The killer would probably go after the old man next. By the time he hung up, Marjorie had called Mabel and Alice had called Aunt Bettina and when they arrived at the inn the gang was all there, Bettina just driving up, having brought Bianca along.

“Mom!” cried Felicity when they all convened in front of the inn entrance, “I don’t think you should be here. This might be extremely dangerous!”

“You’re telling me! I told you this was dangerous. Now where is this killer?” She glanced around as if half expecting him to show up.

“I don’t know, but he’s around somewhere.” She quickly explained to her mother what Neil Domino had told them about Alan Shaw being Mary Long’s brother.

“Of course he’s Mary’s brother,” said Mom. “Didn’t you know? I thought everyone did. You didn’t know, Marjorie?”

Marjorie shook her head, lips tightening. “No one ever bothers to tell me anything,” she grumbled, giving her son the evil eye.

“I knew,” said Aunt Bettina primly. “Though it never occurred to me there was a connection with these horrible murders.”

“And I knew as well,” said Mabel. “The poor man’s been coming back here every year, commemorating the tragic loss of his wife.”

Virgil’s face had reddened and he threw up his arms. “You could have told me!” he cried. “Now we’ve wasted precious time.”

“You never asked,” said Aunt Bettina prissily. “Honestly, Virgil, what kind of a cop are you if you can’t even ask a simple question?”

“Shouldn’t we go in?” asked Reece, who seemed poised for action. Even though he was now venturing into the artsy-fartsy stuff, there was still something of the action hero lingering in him. “I mean, for all we know Alan Shaw could be drowning in a pool of his own blood, slaughtered by the same person who murdered every other member of his family.”

“We’re staying put,” said Virgil. “The detective from the NYPD will be here any minute. Chief Whitehouse told me so himself.”

“Dad’s coming too?” asked Alice. It was obvious what she was thinking. If her father got involved, the role of the HBNWC would be at an end. He would never allow them to come near the inn. Or Alan Shaw.

“I think Reece is right. We should go in,” said Mabel. “By the time the police get here it might be too late for Mr. Shaw.”

Against Virgil’s protestations a quick vote decided them: all in favor of going in: six to one. They went in. Or at least they would have gone in if the front door had been unlocked. As it was, the lobby was dark, and of the night receptionist there was no trace.

“Place looks spooky,” said Mabel as she stared through the glass doors, cupping her hands. “As if no one is even in there.” She turned to Virgil. “Are you sure they haven’t evacuated the place?”

“Chief Whitehouse said most guests wanted to leave, but the NYPD detective didn’t allow them, so they must still be in there.” He frowned. “Odd that they didn’t leave a guard behind, or a patrol car.”

Felicity rattled the door. It was locked all right. Then a shout came from the back. It was Alice. “Over here! There’s a window open!”

The small troupe trotted over to where she stood and Reece volunteered to play the hero once more. The stalwart thespian quickly slipped in through the open window, and there was a soft thud as he landed on the other side.

Alice craned her neck anxiously. “Are you hurt? Reece?”

Reece’s smiling face appeared and he gave them two thumbs up. “I’ll go and open the front door,” he said, and disappeared from sight.

They trotted back to the front of the building and patiently waited. Mere seconds later they were gathering in the lobby, and Marjorie was checking the registry to ascertain which room Mr. Shaw was in.

“Fifteen!” she hissed, and as a body they all started ascending the stairs in search of Mary Long’s elusive brother.

“I hope he’s all right,” huffed Felicity a little breathlessly as she jogged alongside her mother.

“I hope
we
will be all right,” Mom came back. “Why you had to drag me into this mess I will never know.”

“Drag you into this? You volunteered to come!”

“Only because I was worried about you!”

“I’m fine. I’ve got a police escort,” she said as she pointed to Virgil.

“Great escort,” Mom muttered, then held up her hands in apology as Marjorie threw her a look that could kill.

They all gathered in front of room fifteen and it seemed no one knew exactly what the procedure was for saving a person from being murdered. They all looked at Virgil, the only policeman in their company, and he drew himself up, stepped to the fore, and knocked on the door. “Mr. Shaw?” he hollered in what sounded like his official police voice. “This is the police. May we have a word?”

“Why don’t you just knock down the door?!” hissed his mother.

“For all we know the killer is still in there!” countered Mabel.

At these words they all looked at the door, as if expecting a barrage of bullets to come tearing through, and stepped aside, leaving Virgil exposed. The latter knocked again, putting a little more swing into his effort this time. “Mr. Shaw! Police! Open up, sir!”

“Kick it down!” hissed Mabel. “Kick it, Virgil! Kick it!”

Then, feeling the situation called for some kick-ass tactics, Reece unleashed his inner Chuck MacLachlan, placed a sizable foot against the door, and kicked. The door, not used to being assaulted by a movie star, creaked in protest and promptly yielded to the pressure.

Finding themselves staring into a darkened room, the small band of watch committee members and sympathizers exchanged anxious looks, then Felicity gathered all her courage…and stepped into the room.

T
he room was
dark and smelly and Felicity had the distinct impression she was doing the most stupid thing possible. Her mother seemed to agree, for she hissed, “Fe! Come back here! Fe!”

But since she’d already taken the first step she wasn’t about to back down now. She did, however, duck out of the line of sight of any possible shooter, realizing she was the perfect target as she stood framed in the doorway and lit from behind.

She searched around, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then she saw the figure. Just a silhouette, seated on the bed.

“I was expecting you,” the voice came, and she had no trouble recognizing it as old Mr. Shaw’s.

“Thank God you’re all right,” she called out, and quickly added, “has anyone been in here? Are you alone?”

“I’m quite alone,” the man said slowly, and then a light was flicked on and the rest of the company filed in. Felicity blinked and saw that the old man was smiling amiably, dressed in pink pajamas and looking squarely at her.

“He’s fine,” said Aunt Bettina, relieved, and hollered, for the benefit of the hearing-impaired, “He’s fine!”

Mr. Shaw didn’t seem the least bit surprised by this midnight party suddenly gathering in his room, for his smile encompassed them all. “So nice to see you,” he said in his reedy voice. “So nice of you to come visit me.”

“We were worried about you, Mr. Shaw,” said Mabel.

“We just found out you’re related to the Longs,” explained Felicity.

“Well, I knew, of course, but no one bothered to ask me,” huffed Bettina.

“Nor me,” muttered Mabel.

“I think it’s great,” opined Reece, who had, Felicity now saw, his arm slung casually around Alice’s shoulder. That was quick work, she thought. So she was going to have to do the spring cleaning all by herself, huh? Alice gave her a sheepish look.

“This isn’t over, people,” said Virgil, his voice serious. “Remember, there’s still a killer at large and for all we know he could be close by.”

“Oh, he’s very close by,” agreed old Mr. Shaw, producing a hunting rifle from behind him on the bed. He racked it once and fired off a shot that would have knocked out Mom if she hadn’t at that exact moment bent down to pick up a piece of fluff from the carpet.

“Duck!” Reece yelled and followed his own advice by jumping behind a couch, dragging a surprised Alice along with him.

Felicity, rooted to the spot, stared at Mr. Shaw as he took a small pistol from his nightstand, took careful aim and started to squeeze off another shot. In the last second her frozen limbs finally thought better of it, unfroze, and allowed her to drop to the floor as a bullet tore into the wall behind her and took out a nice picture frame of Montauk whalers.

“Drop it!” suddenly thundered a voice. Felicity looked up in surprise, to find Virgil aiming his own service weapon at the old man. Shaw hesitated for a moment, then seemed to shrug off the threat, fired at Virgil, and missed.

The policeman, not expecting this, stood there for a brief moment, uncertain how to proceed, then shouted, a little more feebly, “Drop it!”

Far from impressed, Shaw simply drew another bead on him and would have fired again if Felicity hadn’t tired of this show and decided to end it. From where she’d ducked to the floor she had perfect access to a potted plant placed on a low table. She picked it up with both hands and hurled it at the old man, aiming for his gun hand.

The potted plant, which was quite heavy, cannoned into his chest instead, knocked him back against the bed and sent the gun flying from his hand. The moment the aged killer was thrown off balance, the HBNWC, as one woman, jumped on top of him to pin him down.

While Virgil, with shaking hands, took out the pair of handcuffs that seemed to be part of his personal costume, Felicity, Aunt Bettina, Mom, Mabel and Marjorie incapacitated the murderer. It took Virgil a few brief moments to outfit the man with the cuffs and when he read the killer his rights he did so with a noticeable quiver in his voice.

Being shot at in the line of duty was clearly a novel experience for the police officer.

Only now did Felicity realize that Alice wasn’t amongst those present, and when she went in search of her found her still behind the couch, only now engrossed in a deep embrace with Reece Hudson, the two apparently having had complete confidence that things would work themselves out. When finally they disentangled, Alice blinked, a happy glow on her face and sparkle in her eye. “Did you get the bad guy?” she asked breathlessly.

“We did,” confirmed Felicity.

“That’s great,” said Reece. “I would have helped you guys out, but I had…um…more pressing matters to attend to.”

And with a wide grin the two went under again, leaving Felicity to roll her eyes and return to the scene of the crime.

“Why?” she asked the man whom she’d figured an innocent victim and not a brutal killer.

“That’s what I would like to know,” echoed Mom, still clutching a hand to her heart. Being shot at was a new experience for her as well.

Alan Shaw stared at them, a strange glint in his eyes. “Are they all gone now?” he asked. “Did I make it right?”

He seemed to be talking to someone behind Felicity, but when she turned to see who he was addressing, she found no one.

“You killed your own family!” cried Aunt Bettina, aghast. Though that formidable woman sometimes harbored similar aspirations, she would never actually carry out those whimsical fantasies.

He blinked, and seemed to snap out of whatever it was that had a hold on him. “A promise is a promise,” he said slowly, now focusing on his handcuffs, as if wondering what was going on. “When—when Sophia died and Mary and Alistair took over the inn, they promised me—they promised me they would never sell. And then—then they did.”

He looked up at her, a crazed look in his eyes. The banker had been right. Alan Shaw was mentally unbalanced. But apparently not unbalanced enough not to be able to hatch a murderous scheme.

“They promised to keep the inn,” he repeated, “in memory of Sophia. But then they sold it anyway. Someone had to stop them. For Sophia’s sake, someone had to stop them…”

“But what about Jack and Jules Rafter? Why kill them too?”

“They were going to inherit. If anything happened to Mary and Alistair, they would inherit the inn. And sell it, of course. They would have desecrated Sophia’s memory. They had to die…”

The sound of sirens grew louder, and Felicity knew that the real police were on their way. There was still one thing she needed to know.

“And Malcolm Samovar and Nathan Cox?”

The aged killer was rocking back and forth now, his eyes unfocused and a tight smile on his lips. “They had to die—they all had to die…”

Virgil shook his head. “I think he’s out of it, Fe.”

“So it seems.”

Police lights streaked across the ceiling, and she allowed herself to be led from the room by her mother.

“It’s over, Fe,” Mom murmured. “It’s finally over.”

She was right. The Happy Bays Inn murderer was finally caught.