One Spoonful of Trouble (Felicity Bell Book 1) Read online

  Alice narrowed her eyes and tapped her finger. “Mh…”

  “Don’t you ‘mh’ me! You would have said the same thing!”

  “Not really. If I were on a first date with a guy—”

  “We were not on a date.”

  “—a very hot guy, I might add—”

  “That’s…” She mused for a moment and decided that Alice was right. Rick Dawson, in spite of his many defects, was smoking hot. “…of no consequence.”

  “—I wouldn’t antagonize him by tearing into him.”

  “I didn’t tear into him!” She gestured wildly. “See, that’s exactly my point. All I did was state my opinion and he got all hot and bothered, told me I was mean and ran for the door! I mean, what is this? Middle school? I’m sorry but if a guy can’t stand a little criticism he’s not a real man in my book.”

  “He looked like a real man to me.”

  “Looks can be deceiving. He’s a mouse, not a man.”

  “Which proves my case.”

  Felicity frowned at her friend. “What case?”

  “Remember what we were talking about? How you refuse to date because it’s too much hassle?”

  “Oh, God.” She clasped her hands to her head. “You uploaded the entire thing, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” Alice tapped the countertop smartly. “And you just proved me right: you will do anything to sabotage any chance to be with a guy, even arguing pointless…points with him so you can drive him away.”

  “I didn’t drive Rick away. He drove himself away. And for the record, my argument wasn’t pointless. He was attacking womanhood.”

  “And you had to leap to its defense.”

  “Duh. Who else would?”

  Alice threw up her hands. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

  Felicity shrugged, then pointed out the main issue. “We need to take down that video.”

  “We don’t. That video is up and it stays up.” She grinned. “In fact, I put a password on our YouTube account that even you won’t be able to crack.”

  Felicity gasped in horror. “You did not!”

  “I did. I think it’s time that your crazy ideas about men and women were put out there for the whole world to dispute.” She shrugged. “Or at least our fellow Happy Baysians.”

  At that exact moment, the oven dinged, adding emphasis to Alice’s words. Felicity closed her eyes. She’d just remembered she’d told her friend she didn’t need sex since that required getting cozy with a man. And that the first person to watch the Flour Girl videos the moment they went live was…Mom.

  Oh God, kill me now, she thought bleakly.

  CHAPTER 12

  A tiny spider was slowly making its way up the passenger door of the car. Jerry watched it with a baleful eye. He felt very much like that spider: stuck with no chance of escape. “I feel you buddy,” he muttered as the spider discovered the window was closed and it had no place to go. “I feel you.”

  “Who are you talking to?” his associate asked. Johnny, a mountain of a man with plump, rosy cheeks, sat sucking a lollipop, as usual. Ever since the big guy had stopped smoking, lollipops were his poison of choice. His mother, who had encouraged him to drop the habit, said it was the sucking addiction that would be hardest to give up and had advised lollipops as temporary replacement therapy. She didn’t believe in nicotine patches.

  “I’m not talking to anyone,” Jerry said moodily as he transferred his gaze from the spider to his associate, fixing him with the same unhappy stare. Contrary to his partner, he was pale and gaunt and built like a grasshopper, his weaselly face now contorted in a nasty frown.

  “Oh buddy, you look like shit,” Johnny remarked quite tactlessly.

  “Thanks. You would look like shit if you hadn’t eaten in three days.”

  “Why do you do this to yourself, Jer? Come on. Humans weren’t made to fast!” He offered his lollipop. “Here, eat this. Get a little sugar in ya.”

  He eyed the bright pink thing with distaste. Not only because Johnny had been sucking it for the past ten minutes but because he wanted real food, not candy. He wanted a burger with fries. Or onion rings smothered in butter. Or—his stomach made a hopeful leap at the thought—a pork chop with Béarnaise sauce and mashed potatoes on the side.

  God, he thought dispiritedly, why did he ever let his wife talk him into this fast? He knew he’d have a hard time seeing it through. In a manful effort to regain his composure, he poured himself a cup of tea from the thermos Marlene had prepared him. The brew tasted like sewage.

  “Tea,” scoffed Johnny. “How you can stomach the stuff is beyond me.”

  “It’s beyond me too,” he said morosely, then gulped the remainder of the bilge down and screwed up his face.

  “How much longer, Jer? How much longer?!”

  “Seventeen days, three hours and—” He checked his watch. “—five minutes.”

  “Better you than me, buddy,” Johnny said magnanimously, then shoved the lollipop back into his mouth and gave it a good suck, closing his eyes in horror at the thought of his friend’s ordeal.

  Both men were seated outside Rafi’s Deli. They’d picked up some chatter the day before that Rick Dawson, the man they were here to find, had been spotted hanging out there. Apparently the rube had allowed himself to be arrested. Pity they hadn’t heard about it until now, or else they could have picked up his trail at the police station.

  Jerry stared moodily at the deli. He hated surveillance jobs, and never more than when he wasn’t allowed to eat what he wanted. Usually when he was asked to take part in a stakeout like this, he kept a sizable section of the local pizza delivery guys in business. Now? He felt hamstrung. What worried him most was that when push came to shove, and he was forced to use violence, he would be unequal to the task. Already he felt himself weakening, his body growing thinner every day. He could almost see himself shrink before his very eyes.

  “I think I’m dying buddy,” he lamented as he watched some young punk saunter by, sinking his teeth into a blueberry muffin.

  “You’re not dying. You’re just hungry is all. My advice? Get some food into you. Marlene will never know.”

  “She will. She knows everything. First thing she does when I come home is smell my breath and look at my tongue. I swear, she can read my tongue like a map. Last night she said my liver is practically dead. Said I had white spots on my tongue where they should be pink.” He shook his head. “If I eat something, she’ll smell it on my breath.”

  “Then brush your teeth before you go home. Suck a mint.”

  “I’m telling you she knows. She knows, Jer!” He threw up his hands in a frantic gesture of despair.

  “Oh look, there’s that girl. The one who took down that Ramsey fellow.”

  He looked out the side window and saw a stout young woman in a floral print dress stride past. Her hair was an abundance of curls, and the sheer curviness of her figure gave him another pang of regret that he’d ever agreed to go on this fast. “She’s pretty.”

  “Yeah, she is. Real pretty. And she’s very handy with a gun too. Almost shot Ramsey in the gizzard.”

  “She connected?”

  “Must be. Girl like that? Probably works for some local outfit.”

  The woman had apparently taken down Anton Ramsey, some lowlife crook, and managed to get Rick Dawson arrested in the process. Though why exactly Dawson had gotten mixed up in this mess was unclear.

  “Who is she?”

  Johnny frowned. “Name of Felicity Bell. Daughter of Peter Bell.” He checked the little notebook he always carried. “Owner and proprietor of Bell’s Bakery & Tea Room. Famous for its…” He squinted at his notes. “…gaufres.”

  “Gophers? Who the hell eats gophers?”

  “Not gophers, gaufres.”

  “Same difference.” He closed his eyes. He could eat a gopher now, deep-fried and marinated.

  “No, they’re some type of waffle, apparently. They’re from a place called Belgium.”
>
  “Never heard of it.”

  “Me neither. Must be down south someplace.”

  Jerry heaved a deep sigh. This was just his luck, he thought. Now he was knee-deep in a business that required him to hobnob with Belgian waffle bakers. Just the thought made his mouth water. “A waffle house,” he muttered, rolling the words around his tongue.

  “Yeah, looks like. Says here the Bell family has operated this waffle house since 1938 when grandfather Peter Bell established it.”

  “Who cares when they started this frickin’ waffle house?” he snapped. “The woman’s bad news, that’s what she is.”

  They both stared at Felicity Bell as she walked into Rafi’s Deli, their eyes following her every move. Yeah, she was definitely pretty, Jerry reflected, very pretty indeed. And of no interest to them.

  “Let’s get out of here. Dawson’s a no-show.” And the sight of people walking out of this deli with their arms full of food was seriously depressing him. As Johnny put the car in gear, he made up his mind that if he survived this fast, he would stuff his face like it had never been stuffed before. White spots be damned.

  CHAPTER 13

  Felicity swallowed a lump in her throat as she neared Bell’s. She knew chances were slim that her mother had already taken a look at the latest Flour Girl video, but it was still good to be prepared.

  After Rick’s sudden departure, she’d sat down at her desk and pounded out five hundred words for Stephen Fossick. It was definitely harder than writing menu cards for her mother, or her daily diary entries but after going over the text about a dozen times, she felt pretty good about it. It had a beginning, a middle and an end, and that was all that mattered.

  She’d wanted to call the piece ‘Death at the Deli’ since it had a nice ring to it, but remembering she was a reporter dealing with facts, not a novelist peddling fiction, she changed it to ’Ruckus at Rafi’s’. She’d always been a sucker for alliteration.

  Passing Rafi’s Deli, she hesitated for a moment, then decided to step inside. Just a quick visit to see how Rafi was holding up. The poor guy had probably spent most of the afternoon at the police station, testifying about the terrible events.

  The sound of the bell as she pushed open the door gave her mood a cheerful boost, and when she saw Rafi, busily ringing up his customers’ wares, she felt her mood surge even more.

  In spite of what happened, it was business as usual and it warmed her heart.

  “Miss Bell! Welcome, welcome!” Rafi caroled the moment he laid eyes on her.

  Ben and Rachelle Atkins, the customers waiting in line, put their hands together for an impromptu applause and added cheers to their clapping.

  “The heroine of the hour!” Ben exclaimed cheerily. A handsome middle-aged man with a shock of white hair, he owned the pharmacy across the street.

  Rachelle, his bottle blond wife of indiscernible age, held out her hand and shook Felicity’s. “That was a very brave thing you did, young lady,” she trilled.

  “Oh, well. Just spur of the moment kind of stuff,” she assured the couple.

  Ben nodded seriously. “If everybody was a courageous can-do girl like you there would be no crime in Happy Bays. Crooks wouldn’t come near the place!”

  “Thanks, Ben.” Felicity’s cheeks were reddening at the unexpected praise, and when she looked up she caught sight of a familiar figure walking by. She pursed her lips, a twinge of panic setting in when she realized Rick Dawson was about to enter the shop.

  She braced herself in anticipation of the meeting. This time the cheery clanging of the bell didn’t strike her as uplifting. It was more like a death knell.

  The smile on Rick’s face evaporated like breath on a razor blade the moment he caught sight of Felicity.

  “Oh,” he said, hesitating on the doorstep, then seemed to make up his mind, and stepped inside.

  “Rick,” Felicity said coldly.

  “Felicity. How nice to see you again.”

  Behind them, Rafi’s face had taken on a deeper tinge of mauve. He was pointing a trembling finger at Rick. “It’s him!” he cried. “The crook! He’s back!”

  “Oh, no,” Rick hastened to say, holding out his hand. Unfortunately for him, the object he was holding, his unopened umbrella, looked a lot like a weapon.

  “Miss Bell! Do something!” implored Rafi. “Stop him!”

  “Here,” Rachelle grunted, “take this,” and hurled the frying pan she’d been intending to buy in Felicity’s direction.

  There are moments in a person’s life when a split second is all the time one has to react. This was one of those moments. The fact that Felicity had always been last to be picked in gym class was because she could always be relied upon to fumble the ball. She watched the skillet zoom through the air, made a grab for it, and bobbled the pan.

  Abruptly changing course in midair, the heavy object landed on Rick’s head with a dull thud and both it and Rick went down hard. And while the pan bounced once or twice, seeming to enjoy the process, Rick remained where he lay, out for the count.

  “Way to go, Fe!” cried Ben.

  “She good. She very good,” agreed Rafi proudly.

  But instead of rejoicing, Felicity clasped her hands to her face in shock. Without hesitation she crouched on the floor next to the stricken man and placed a soothing hand on his brow. “Rick,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry!” And to show that these were not idle words, she cradled his head in her lap and rocked him gently.

  It would have warmed Rick’s heart had he been conscious during this touching scene, and he would have instantly revised his statement that Felicity Bell was the kind of modern girl possessing a heart of stone and a soul of ice.

  As it was, he simply lay there, dead to the world.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Come, come. No harm, no foul, right?”

  Doctor Denby Jennsen, coincidentally one of Felicity’s former classmates at Happy Bays High, didn’t seem to think much of the incident. Seated beside her in the corridor of Happy Bays Hospital, he was explaining that all would be well. Rick had only suffered a mild concussion and would be out of there in no time.

  “I’m so sorry Denby,” she repeated. “It was an accident. Really.”

  “That’s all right, Fe. I’m sure he won’t hold it against you.”

  She doubted that very much. It was the third time now that she’d attacked the man. First with cans of baby peas, then eggs, and now a skillet. He must think she was some sort of murdering maniac.

  Denby seemed to find the whole thing quite amusing, for he smiled broadly. “You never could handle a pass, could you Fe?” he grinned. She’d explained to him what had happened, and Denby, looking as bronzed and athletic as ever, had shaken his head and laughed heartily.

  She wondered if he would have laughed so hard if that skillet had killed the patient instead of merely wounding him. She didn’t think so.

  Denby rose to his feet. “Rick Dawson will be just fine. The man’s got a thick skull.” He gestured to the door. “Look for yourself, if you want to. I’m sure he won’t mind. But Fe,” he added, giving her a warning glance, “don’t hit him over the head with the bedpan now, you hear?”

  And with those words, he chuckled and sauntered off, leaving Felicity to wonder if Rick wouldn’t press charges against her for assault and battery.

  He very well might.

  Rick watched Felicity step into his room and blinked. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling a little confused. One minute he’d been stepping into Rafi’s Deli, wanting to snap up a pack of Newports, and the next he was lying on a stretcher being carted into an ambulance, two EMTs discussing the upcoming Mets game.

  After the day he’d had it was enough to disconcert him even more. The doctor who’d examined him and given him a clean bill of health, explained he’d had an episode at the store but that fortunately for him Felicity Bell had been there when he collapsed and had immediately administered first aid and called 911.

  For the li
fe of him he couldn’t remember how the episode had occurred. All he remembered was that the excitable store owner had started screaming something and then the world had turned dark.

  The doctor said he’d simply passed out. Things like that sometimes happened, the medical man had assured him and had asked him a lot of questions about his family health history and his job. When informed he’d just been fired, the doctor had nodded knowingly, as if that was what had caused the sudden collapse.

  Rick glanced up. “Hello, Felicity. The doctor told me what you did and I wanted to say—”

  “Oh, Rick. I can explain everything. You see, even in high school I used to bobble the ball.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “I was quite notorious for it. They called me butterfingers.”

  He nodded, wondering what she was talking about. “Mmm, yes. Look, I already asked the doctor and now I want to ask you. Could you tell me what happened, exactly? I mean…” He knew it was silly of him to ask. She was, after all, not a medical professional. But she’d seen him take the fall and he wanted to know if there were any symptoms she’d detected, perhaps a rolling up of the eyes or some other indication. “Based on your experience, will this happen again, you think?”

  “Definitely not!” She quickly closed the distance between them and took a seat next to him on the bed. “This will never happen again, Rick. I swear.”

  And as if to prove it, she took his hands in hers.

  Her hands felt nice. Soft and warm. He blinked as she gazed into his eyes with a pleading look. She was very pretty, he thought. Exceedingly so. He’d admired those eyes before but only now did he notice those remarkable flecks of gold. Like tiny splashes of stardust.

  He’d been wrong, he now saw, to think she was one of those hard-hearted girls. She was sweet and tender and he suddenly became aware of a thunderous noise in his ears. He realized it was the powerful beating of his heart, responding to this sudden proximity with this wonderful girl.