Two Scoops of Murder (Felicity Bell Book 2) (23 page)

I
t wasn’t
long after the stirring events at the inn that Bell’s Bakery was the scene of a peaceful morning. Felicity and Alice were seated at their usual table near the window, devouring a hearty breakfast before they both had to start work, Alice at the gun store and Felicity doing her morning bread run.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that a tragedy like this could happen and no one had an inkling?” Alice asked suddenly.

Felicity agreed wholeheartedly. As it turned out, Alan Shaw had killed before, though not in Happy Bays. It had happened years ago when he came back from the war in Vietnam. This was shortly after he’d accidentally shot and killed his own wife. Alan had gotten into a bar fight in Vermont, had taken out a knife and killed his opponent. He spent a couple of years in a psychiatric institution upstate before being released.

“It’s pretty obvious the man was a walking time bomb, so why didn’t anybody know about this?”

Felicity had wondered the same thing herself. People in town had known about him, but it appeared as if no one knew exactly what he was capable of. “Mary must have known. He was her brother. She probably didn’t want anyone else to know. After all, it happened such a long time ago.”

“I still think it’s strange,” murmured Alice, then shrugged it off. “Ah, well, it’s over and done with. He’s behind bars now and probably won’t be out ever again.”

“I shouldn’t think so. Not after nine murders.”

“Did he confess to all of them?”

“He did. Virgil said he seemed oddly pleased. Said he’d listened to the voice and she was happy with his work.”

“What voice?”

“Supposedly his wife. He said she’d been instructing him all this time. Telling him to get even and ‘kill them all.’”

“Crazy stuff,” opined Alice. “Really crazy stuff.”

“In other news, how is Reece?”

Alice grinned. “He’s fine. Prepping his movie. He’s out in Los Angeles, but should be back real soon.”

“You guys make a great couple.”

“Thanks. I just wish the press would leave us alone. The first time I saw my picture on TMZ I nearly freaked.”

Felicity chuckled. She’d been there when the freaking happened and her eardrums were still recovering. “For someone who loves the tabloids as much as you do you seem to hate being in them.”

“It’s different on this side of the fence,” Alice admitted. “Though it comes with the territory Reece says. He also says that now that he’s resigned to making smaller budget movies the paparazzi will lay off. They’ll lose interest.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Felicity, who really did. She’d had her Notting Hill moment the week before when the doorbell went and she opened the door, dressed in her rattiest dressing gown, her hair up in curlers and her face a mess, to find a bevy of photogs on her doorstep snapping pictures. Then, when they realized she wasn’t their intended target, they’d even hurled abuse at her. A very disconcerting experience.

She munched down the last of her bagel, finished her coffee, and rose. “We better be off. Deliveries wait for no one.”

After a wave to Mom the two friends went out the front door to the waiting van, already loaded up with bakery goods for Bell’s customers.

“Drop you off?” she suggested after a quick peek at the sky. It looked like it might rain.

“Nah, that’s fine. I need the walk,” said Alice. Then, as she saw a small posse of paparazzi approaching from due west, she changed her mind. “On second thought…”

They both hopped in, and before the troupe could snap their first picture of Reece Hudson’s new girlfriend, Felicity had peeled away from the curb, and they were racing away at a healthy clip.

“I have to talk to Virgil about this,” said Alice, not too well pleased. “Can’t he arrest them or something?”

“Oh, look. It’s Neil Domino,” said Felicity as she watched the elderly man cross the street. She waved at him, but he ignored them and went on his way.

“Odd,” remarked Alice.

“What’s odd?”

“Well, that he knew about Alan Shaw and never told the police.”

“Aunt Bettina knew about him and so did Mom and Mabel. They just didn’t think it was important. Or perhaps they figured the police already knew about Shaw’s relationship with the Longs.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Felicity watched the banker disappear into the post office, and decided to put the whole business of Alan Shaw and the murders out of her mind. Her article had been written, the killer apprehended, and the story was closed. Happy Bays was finally a peaceful place again.

“What’s going to happen to the inn?” Alice asked, settling back.

“Mh? Oh, Stephen told me it’s finally been sold. To Jason Donovan.”

“The one who wanted it in the first place? How much did it go for?”

“Twenty million smackeroos.”

Alice whistled. “Not bad. So who gets the money?”

“I don’t know. Alan Shaw, I guess.”

“Much good it will do him.”

She dropped Alice off at the gun store and then went on her usual round, offering fresh bread and pastry to Bell’s grateful customers. And as she was driving back to town she found the thought that had been niggling at the back of her mind refusing to go away. So she parked the van in front of City Hall, on Loy Street, and headed inside, in search of Mabel Stokely.

The mayoral secretary was already hard at work at her desk, down the hall from the mayor’s office, for when Felicity knocked on the doorjamb she found Mabel on the phone. The energetic woman held up a finger, then finished her call while Felicity patiently waited.

She hung up the phone with a sigh and fluffed her pink hairdo. “Trouble in Happy Bays!” she cried. “The new lawn chairs for the mayor’s annual ball won’t be arriving on time, so I have to find a new supplier at the last minute. But I’m guessing that’s not why you’re here.”

“Do you happen to know who’s handling the Long estate now that the inn has been sold?” she asked without preamble.

Mabel blinked, but then briskly said, “Of course. Neil Domino is still the executor. Nothing has changed as far as I know.”

“But what happens now that Alan Shaw is in prison?”

“Well, I guess Neil will handle the sale anyway he sees fit. Why do you ask?”

Felicity shrugged. “Just my reporter’s brain making overtime I guess. Loose ends and all that.”

“Yes, don’t you just hate them? Oh, you will cover the mayor’s ball for the Gazette, won’t you?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Thanks, honey.”

She rapped the door. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to deal with your chair affair.”

Mabel heaved a tremulous sigh. “Organizing the mayor’s ball is the most ungrateful job I’ll ever do.”

“You’ll handle it just fine, Mabel. You always do.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, honey. Now run along and say hi to your mom for me.”

Felicity retraced her footsteps back to the van, not able to dispel the sense of foreboding that had stolen over her.

Loose ends. She really did hate them.

S
he went into Armstrong
& Tillich Bank and was relieved to find Gemma Weston at the counter. She’d been in school with the fair-haired young woman and they’d always gotten along great.

“Hey, Fe,” said Gemma, looking up from her screen. Felicity caught a glimpse of the Facebook profile she’d been consulting to wile away the time. “Did you bring me a bagel? Muffin? Croissant?” She grinned, then held up a baggie from Marcel, Bell’s main competitor.

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” said Felicity.

“Mom likes Bell, I like Marcel,” Gemma said with a shrug. “I guess it’s a generational kind of thing. I’m sure my kid will love Bell’s with a vengeance.”

“I’m sure they will.”

Gemma narrowed her almond-shaped eyes. “I say kid you say kids. Do you see something in my future I don’t? Huh?”

Felicity held up her hands. “Just a figure of speech, Gemma. Though I’m sure you’ll make a great mother—”

“First have to find a boyfriend.”

“—and someone a great wife.”

“Right…” she said doubtfully.

Felicity cleared her throat. “Anyway. What I came here for—”

Gemma suddenly sat up and displayed her brisk customer service face. Her manager had just strode in. “Yes, Miss Bell. Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Bell?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I was wondering…” She brought her head closer to Gemma’s and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been working the Alan Shaw case.”

“Terrible, isn’t it? A mass murderer in Happy Bays?”

“Terrible is right. And now I was wondering what you know about the sale of the inn.”

Gemma blinked. “Yes?”

“I know Neil Domino is executor of the estate, so I guess the money from the sale went through this branch?”

Gemma eyed her curiously. “Is this going to be in the Gazette?”

“No, strictly off the record. Just some follow-up I’m doing.”

“Myes, well…” She glanced over her shoulder and appeared relieved to find that the manager had disappeared into his office. “Twenty million dollars, Fe. Can you even imagine that much money?”

“Not really,” Felicity admitted. “So you made someone a very rich man, huh?”

Gemma snorted. “We made a very rich man even richer.”

“You mean Alan Shaw was loaded?”

“Shaw? Of course not. The money went into Mr. Domino’s account. And believe you me, I don’t think Alan Shaw will ever see a cent.”

“Why do you think so?”

Gemma leaned in. “The entire sum went into Mr. Domino’s
personal
account.”

Felicity’s eyes widened. “No account was set up for Alan Shaw? No trust fund?”

Gemma shook her head emphatically, then hissed, “You didn’t hear it from me!”

Felicity knew enough. “Thanks, hon. I owe you one.”

“One of those chocolate croissants will do, the ones with almonds on top.”

“I thought you preferred Marcel?”

Gemma wrinkled her nose. “Nah. That’s just to piss off Mom. Secretly I adore Bell’s.”

“Do you have a sec?”

The bank teller’s face lit up. “You’re going to make me a very happy woman?”

A quick hop to the van later she was handing Gemma a paper bag full of chocolate croissants, and left her with a blissful smile on her face.

Next port of call was the police station, and this time she had a much tougher nut to crack. As she was led into Chief Whitehouse’s office, she held out a bag of vanilla cream muffins as a peace offering. They were the chief’s favorite, she knew.

He took the bag, glowered at her, unearthed a muffin, took a bite and continued glowering. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he said between two bites. “This—” He waved the muffin. “—won’t win you any points.”

“I’m not trying to win any points, chief. Just need your attention for five minutes while I tell you a little tale.”

“Oh, God,” he muttered. “What tale?”

“The tale of the cold-blooded killer and the puppetmaster behind the stage.”

The chief’s eyes flickered as he lowered another muffin into the abyss. “So good…” he muttered, then drew his attention back to the present. “I still haven’t forgiven you or that motley crew of nosy parkers for messing around my investigation, endangering lives, corrupting my officers—God this is good—and getting me in bad with the NYPD—how do you even make these?”

“We did solve a murder case, Chief,” Felicity reminded him.

“The NYPD would have solved it just fine I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” she echoed peaceably. “Now, about my story…”

“Yes, about your story. Don’t tell me this is going to appear in the Gazette, or, God forbid, in one of those tabloids like my daughter’s pictures?”

Felicity had to suppress a shudder at the thought of what Alice was going through. “No, this one’s just for me.”

“Good. It’s bad enough she suddenly decided to spring some Hollywood movie star on me. Did you know about this?”

“Sure. I was there from the beginning.”

“Of course you were,” the chief said, as if suspecting Felicity of being responsible for the whole disaster. “Not that I have anything against the boy. I love those Crunch Time movies. Hot potato! But it’s different when he’s dating your daughter.” He peered into the bag and dug up another muffin. “So. You have a story for me? Out with it, Bell.”

“Yes, sir. Did you know that the Happy Bays Inn was recently sold for the sum of twenty million dollars?”

“Sure. Everybody knows.”

“And did you know that the money is going entirely to Neil Domino?”

The chief shrugged. “As the executor of the estate I guess that’s a given.”

“Into Neil Domino’s private account?”

“So?”

“And that since Alan Shaw is going to be in prison for the remainder of his life Domino will be able to do with the money as he pleases?”

“So?”

“So I’ve listened very carefully to the psychological evaluation of Mr. Shaw at the trial, which I followed for the Gazette, and it struck me as poignant that due to his mental illness Shaw was deemed quite incapable of hatching a plot as intricate as the one that took out the Long family.”

“Poignant, huh?” His steely eyes narrowed into slits. “Don’t give credence to that psychobabble, Fe. The man confessed, remember?”

“He confessed that a voice told him to do it. The voice of his late wife.”

“The guy’s a nutcase, honey. They were going to sell his beloved inn, so he snapped and went on a killing spree. End of story.”

Felicity shook her head. “I’m certain that he was coaxed by a very clever puppeteer. Someone who stood to gain substantially from the murders. Someone smart enough to push all the right buttons and lead a psychotic mind to seek revenge.”

The chief snorted. “What are you telling me? That Domino set the whole thing up? Come on, Fe. That’s a stretch, even for a reporter from the Gazette.”

“I think if you dig deep enough you’ll find that the hired guns brought in to assist Shaw were, in fact, hired by Domino.”

The chief looked doubtful. “Okay, I admit it’s dubious that a guy like Shaw would go out and hire a pair of goons like Samovar and Cox, but to jump to the conclusion that Domino is involved?”

She scooted forward in her seat. “Think about it, chief. Domino handed us Shaw on a silver platter. He knew that his work was done and he needed to produce the killer. I think Domino knew that Shaw could be induced to kill the Rafter brothers, but he would never kill his own sister and her husband, so two professionals were brought in, to be taken out when their usefulness expired. Then Shaw only had to do away with Rob and his wife and sister and the road to twenty million dollars lay wide open.”

Chief Whitehouse fished another muffin from the bag. “Quite a theory, Fe, but I have my doubts.”

“Just do some more investigating. I’m sure there must be something to connect Domino to the hired killers. He hired them, not Shaw. And that voice Alan Shaw said he kept hearing? I’m pretty sure that wasn’t his wife speaking from beyond the grave but Domino.”

“Well, he didn’t mean it literally, I’m sure.”

“But what if he did? What if Domino called him?”

“Pretending to be the late Mrs. Shaw?”

“All I’m asking is to check my story, chief. See if it holds water. If it doesn’t—”

“No more cream muffins for me. I get it.” He pondered for a moment. “I spoke to Jack Hudson. He asked me to cut you some slack. And in honor of my old friend I’m prepared to do so. I’ll do some poking around. See if what you’re saying makes sense. Fair enough?”

She felt a weight lift from her shoulders. “Fair enough.”

“Mind you, I’m not saying you’re right. Just that I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks, chief.”

“And in the meantime I want you to stay away from Neil Domino.” He held up a hand when she started to speak. “I know how your mind works, Fe. And I’m telling you right now, stay away. For your own good.”

“I will, chief,” she said gratefully. She had no intention of coming anywhere near the banker. If her suspicions were correct, the man was the real killer, and not Alan Shaw.