Two Scoops of Murder (Felicity Bell Book 2) (17 page)

R
eece had had a rough night
, but he didn’t mind. Not one bit. This was what an actor’s life was all about. Not just winning the genetic lottery and playing one action flick after another but developing some real acting muscle. Becoming the Brando, De Niro, or Pacino of his generation. Getting inside a character’s head. Portraying torment. Heck, why not go on stage and do some Shakespeare, Pinter, or Beckett? Do the artsy-fartsy stuff for a while. If Ryan Gosling or Matthew McConaughey could do it, why not Reece Hudson?

He stared at the other inmate, studying the man closely. Pity there was only one of him but what an interesting specimen he was.

When Virgil had hauled his ass off to jail, he’d hoped the copper would beat him up some. Take his fists to his kidneys and go to town on him. He could use that experience for his next part. Crunch Time 4 started off with a nice torture scene where Chuck MacLachlan is wrongfully accused of a crime he didn’t commit, locked up in prison and knocked around by a couple of corrupt prison guards.

But instead of police brutality Virgil had given him an apology and a sheepish request for his autograph. Not something he could work with.

But then Chief Whitehouse himself had waddled up, thumbs in his waistband, and a vicious smile on his jowly face.

Here it comes, he thought, bracing himself. Here come the wisecracks, the punches, and the pain.

“I heard you’ve been talking to my daughter?”

“That’s right,” he said defiantly. “What about it?”

The chief smiled and leaned against the bars of his cell.

“She’s a great fan of yours, you know.” A wistful look came into the big man’s eyes. “Yeah, she collects all of your articles in a scrapbook. Once told her mother she would marry you some day.”

Reece eyed the man uncertainly. “So?”

The chief shrugged. “So I’m just saying my daughter’s a big fan.”

Reece sighed, and slumped a bit on his bench. He had the distinct impression no beatings would ensue. “I got that impression.”

It explained why Alice had behaved so strangely when he’d met her at the pigsty. She’d been intimidated. Starstruck. He could relate to that. He himself had been intimidated the first time he met Kirt Stur, one of his all-time heroes.

The chief cleared his throat. “So…go easy on her, will you? She’s a tough kid but underneath all that bravado she’s got a tender heart. A romantic soul.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, both disappointed he wasn’t going to get beaten up and elated that Alice liked him. But he felt he shouldn’t lead the father of the girl he liked on. “You do know I’m engaged to be married, right?”

The chief seemed disappointed. “You are, huh? Of course you are. What’s her name again?” He snapped his fingers, trying to jog his memory.

“Dorothy. Dorothy Valour.”

“That’s it. The one who keeps posting stuff on the internet.”

That was probably the most accurate description of Dorothy he’d ever heard. She posted stuff on the internet and that’s about all she did. His thoughts then turned to Alice’s smile, her easy way of being. He liked her, liked her very much, but knew it simply couldn’t be. His life was so far removed from hers it would never work. And then there was the fact that her father had just thrown him in jail.

“You know I have to press charges, don’t you, son?”

The police chief seemed to feel genuinely sorry for him, but not enough to let him walk.

“I was simply preparing for a part,” he explained. “Getting into character for my next movie. I’m playing a cop.”

“Oh, I know, I know. I love those Crunch Time movies. Chuck MacLachlan.” He cocked his finger the way Chuck always did. “Hot potato! I especially liked the way you stopped that rocket with your bare hands in Crunch Time 2. That was amazing.” He chuckled freely.

Reece winced a little. It was not his finest hour, he felt, and one of the reasons he was contemplating taking on a smaller role in an independent production. Real-life cops didn’t stop rockets with their bare hands, he just knew they didn’t. “Glad you liked it,” he said nonetheless. Never let your fans know you secretly despise your own movies. One of the lessons his agent had taught him when he first signed him. And never talk smack about your director, producers, studio, or co-stars.

“Yeah, I love your stuff, son.” The chief rapped the iron bars with his keys. “Pity I had to take you in, huh?”

“So you’re not going to let me off with a slap on the wrist?”

The chief sighed. “I wish I could. Lord knows I’m a great fan of you myself and Alice will probably give me a tongue-lashing for throwing your ass in the slammer in the first place. But we do have laws in this town, you know, and I for one am all about upholding them.”

“I understand. So how long am I in here for?”

“Not too long,” the chief said, some of his cheerfulness returning. “About a week should do it.”

“A week?”

“Something like that. Course it’s not up to me to decide. Even in Happy Bays we have a justice system. The judge will see you and take it from there. Knowing Judge Lockhart, I think a week is the minimum.”

“No bail?”

“Judge Lockhart doesn’t believe in bail. He believes in doing hard time for hard crime.”

“Impersonating a police officer is considered a hard crime?”

“It is in Happy Bays,” confirmed the chief. Then he slipped his hand between the bars and Reece saw that it contained a piece of paper and a pencil. “Could I have your autograph? It would mean a lot to…Alice.”

“Sure thing,” Reece said and scribbled his name on the piece of paper before handing it back.

“Thanks,” the chief said, beaming. “I’ll be sure to keep this tucked away safely in my, erm, I mean in Alice’s collection.”

And with those words he strode off, leaving Reece to contemplate the nature of crime and punishment in Happy Bays.

He directed his gaze at his fellow inmate, seated on a bench in the next cell. The toothless old gentleman gave him a wide grin. “Settle in, mate,” he croaked. “This is the best place in town.”

He studied the man carefully and echoed, “Best place in town,” trying to register the same anguish he thought he saw on the man’s face.

“With a nice breakfast thrown in in the morning.”

“With a nice breakfast thrown in in the morning,” he repeated.

“That’s right.” The old man slapped himself on the chest. “Nothing but the prison life for me, mate. Free food, free lodgings, free clothes. Nothing but the best!”

Reece nodded seriously. Yeah, if he could emulate this poor sod in a starring role, he was accepting that Oscar come March. He’d have to lose some weight, of course, shave his head, grow a beard…and the rest could be done with make-up and a pair of dentures.

He settled back on his bench, repeating “Nothing but the best.”

“That’s right!” his compatriot giggled. “Nothing but the best!”

Matthew McConaughey, he thought, here I come.

S
uzy felt the loss keenly
. Mary Long wasn’t merely her employer; she was a personal friend. And to make matters worse, soon she would lose her beloved Happy Bays Inn too, as she was fairly certain that Rob and Ruth would waste no time selling it to the highest bidder.

A couple of months ago she’d already met Jason Donovan, son and heir of the Donovan fortune, when he came round to see if Mary and Alistair wanted to sell. He said he had big plans for the inn, big plans indeed. In fact he wanted to turn it into one of his flagship resorts.

Suzy had taken an instant dislike to the man and she’d said as much to Mary. Now, however, she was pretty sure young Donovan would come sniffing around these parts again, like a vulture circling its prey.

She’d spent half the night crying her eyes out. Who would kill a sweet, wonderful woman like Mary Long? It simply wasn’t possible to be that evil—that a mind could be that twisted.

Her first inclination had been to accuse Rob Long, and when Virgil interviewed her she’d intimated these suspicions. But then Virgil told her Rob had a solid alibi and couldn't possibly be the culprit.

This surprised her, for she’d long harbored a strong resentment against the man. For never visiting his parents. And for plotting with his sister to sell the property.

Then, when morning came, she’d pulled herself together with an extreme effort and had stepped from the room. The running of the inn had now fallen on her shoulders, at least for the time being, and she would have to make the most of it. The other members of the staff would look to her for leadership, and she’d be damned if she would let them down in this, the inn’s darkest hour.

The guests would need to receive their wake-up calls, breakfast, lunch and dinner needed to be prepared and served, beds needed to be made, rooms cleaned, and reservations honored. They couldn’t break down now and neither could she.

So she held her head high, buried her grief deep inside, and walked along the corridor. As the maître d’hôtel she was the only member of staff who slept on the premises and she was usually the first one up and about, taking care of odd jobs here and there and devising the schedule.

And she was just walking along the second floor, wanting to have a word with Giselle about the cleaning, when that same Giselle came cannoning into her, storming from a room and screaming her head off.

“Murder!” the portly maid screamed. “Murder!”

At first Suzy wondered if this was perhaps a belated response to what had happened last night, but then she glanced into the room Gisele had sprung from and saw the dead body lying in a pool of blood.

Oh, God, she thought. Will it never end?

V
irgil Scattering was reading
his morning paper while sipping from a cup of coffee and eating a bagel. This was always his first task of the day, a habit he’d developed since joining the force. A news article in the entertainment section attracted his attention.

‘Hot Potato! Reece Hudson Arrested in Backwater Town.’

He almost spat out his coffee when he saw that the article contained a picture of himself, apparently taken at the last police ball, when he’d been festooned with a party hat and a reindeer nose. Beneath the ridiculous picture the caption read
‘Arresting Officer Virgin Spatterling.’

His face took on a deeper shade of mauve when he realized this little farce would haunt him for the rest of his days. And indeed as he looked up he saw that Louise Rhythm, junior police officer, was just at this moment tacking the same article on the police bulletin board for the whole world to see.

“Take that down!” he cried, but Louise merely gave him a cheeky wink and went on her way.

And it was as he was striding over with furious steps to take the article down himself, that he heard the hubbub coming from the hallway. He looked up to see a woman who looked familiar homing in on him, like a drone on a Middle Eastern terrorist.

“Are you Virgin Spatterling?!” she vociferated furiously.

His sizable chin jerked up like a battering ram and he corrected tersely, “My name is Officer Virgil Scattering. And who might you be?”

The woman had reached him and drew her face up against his, until they were mere inches apart. He could see the red flecks dotting her eyes and wondered if it was sulfur he smelled on her breath.

“I’m Dorothy Valour and I’ve been informed that some
idiot
answering to the name Virgin Smattering has had the
gall
to arrest
my
fiancé!”

“If you’re referring to Mr. Hudson, he has indeed been detained for crimes committed and will in due course be arraigned.”

“I want to speak to the man in charge of this loony bin!” the woman cried. “Where’s your manager?!”

“This is a police station, ma’am. We don’t have managers.”

She jabbed her finger against his collarbone with some force and he frowned, wondering if this was cause for an arrest on the grounds of assaulting a police officer. “I will have you fired! You don’t go around arresting
my
fiancé!”

“Your fiancé was in breach of the law, ma’am. And if you’re not careful you might find yourself in the same predicament.”

They’d been joined by the rest of the police station and he was not about to lose face in front of his colleagues.

Once again she jabbed him with a surprisingly sharp and bony finger. “I demand that you release Reece Hudson
right now
.”

“I’m afraid that is out of the question,” he insisted stubbornly, getting fed up.

“You. Horrible. Little. Man!” Each word was accentuated by a stab.

That did it. With a swift movement he flipped the woman around, jerked her hands to her back and applied standard issue handcuffs to her wrists.

“I’m placing you under arrest—”

“What?! You can’t do this!”

“—for assaulting a police officer. You have the right to remain silent—”

“I’ll have your badge for this, you stupid,
stupid
man!”

“Virgil? What’s all this?”

The voice belonged to Chief Whitehouse, who’d been attracted by all the noise. Virgil indicated the woman. “This woman has attacked me, sir.”

The chief raised one eyebrow. “Physically or verbally?”

“Both, sir.”

“Are you this idiot’s manager?”

The chief drew himself up to his full height. “I am the chief of police.”

“I want you to fire this moron! I want you to fire him right now!”

The chief and Virgil exchanged a glance. “Put her in the cooler, son,” the chief suggested. “Give her some time to think things through.”

“Will do, sir,” acknowledged Virgil gratefully, and started propelling a berserk Dorothy Valour in the direction of the cells.

“You can’t do this! Do you know who I am?!”

As she passed, the chief gave her a look of appraisal. “I think you will find that your behavior may be tolerated wherever it is you come from, but not here in Happy Bays, lady. We don’t tolerate contempt of cop. Not from movie stars and not from…internet people.”

A round of applause broke out behind him, as Virgil’s colleagues appeared to second this motion from their superior officer. Virgil nodded his gratitude to the chief. “I couldn’t have said it better, sir.”

“Oh, and Virgil? Once you’ve put away Miss Valour, you better head on over to the Happy Bays Inn. There’s been another murder.”