Two Scoops of Murder (Felicity Bell Book 2) by Nic Saint

patted his dad’s callused hand. “As soon as she can tear herself away she’ll come down, Dad, and she’s gonna love it here. I just know she will.” Dad nodded and took out an iPad. Reece’s jaw dropped at the sight of it. “I—I didn’t know you were into technology, Dad?”
    “Oh, sure I am. These days you have to be. I even have the Wi-Fi now.” He put on his reading glasses and frowned at the display, which came to light with an abundance of color. Reece swallowed when he saw Dad had Dorothy’s Facebook page open. “Let’s see,” he muttered, then looked up. “I’ve been following your girl closely, Reece. Ever since you got engaged…” He frowned at the screen. “She’s at some place called The Crichton, having liqueurs with a girl called Avril, and she’s complaining that…” He squinted as he read. “…‘ the service sux a** and if I don’t get something to eat soon I’m gonna die! #ripoff #NewYorkSux #partyhardbitches. ’” He stared at a mortified Reece over his half-moon glasses. “That urgent work stuff seems pretty serious if you ask me, son.”

Chapter 22
    F elicity gulped as she entered Charlie’s Funeral Delight. It was not her favorite place and she’d rather have a very painful bikini wax than have to come here. But then Alice had received an urgent message from her uncle that ‘the body was in’ and urged her to join him so he could get to work.
    The family had opted for an open casket funeral, and since Alistair had apparently fallen on his face after being shot, all of Uncle Charlie’s skills were required to make him presentable.
    She walked past the showroom with its display of caskets and followed Alice to the back, where the prep room was located. She knew the place well. Not too long ago Alice had found it appropriate to prepare her friend for a date by applying Uncle Charlie’s make-up in that exact room. It was also where they’d discovered five strays Alice’s uncle had taken in. The quintet was now a fixture of Stanwyck Street 41.
    “Do you think I should be here for this?” she asked again. Just hearing the creepy Muzak Uncle Charlie insisted on playing had her stomach turning cartwheels.
    “Yes, I do,” said Alice decidedly. “How are you going to write your story if you haven’t even seen the body? You’re a crime reporter now, Fe. So buck up and just do it already.”
    Felicity winced, wishing she was home. Why the heck she ever wanted to be a reporter was beyond her. She was stretching her comfort zone to the max on this assignment and she’d only just begun.
    Uncle Charlie, who’d been patiently awaiting their arrival, stood with hands sheathed in plastic gloves over a body bag. Felicity’s stomach lurched once more.
    “Alice, you do this,” she whispered. “I really can’t—”
    But Alice took her by the hand and pulled her along. “Just a peek, Fe. You need to see this so you can share your story with the world.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Ah, ladies,” caroled Uncle Charlie. “Shall we begin?” He was a potbellied man of about forty, with a bushy rust-colored mustache, his jet-black hair styled with plenty of gel and usually dressed like Elvis Presley, his personal idol. Today he’d opted for scrubs.
    “Let’s get this show on the road,” said Alice, who seemed to be looking forward to the procedure.
    “I checked the report you sent me and the conclusions are pretty straightforward. Alistair Long died from a single gunshot wound to the chest. The bullet penetrated the rib cage between the third and fourth rib and—”
    Another lurch in her stomach told Felicity she wasn’t going to make it to the end. She hadn’t even enjoyed the beginning. She gritted her teeth and willed her stomach to behave itself. She’d witnessed this scene on cop shows so many times it should have been a cinch. Instead, it was that whole high school incident with the frog all over again. The biology teacher had dissected a frog and Felicity had