A Breath of Dead Air (The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse Book 8) Read Online Free Page B

trying to do here? Make people happy? Relieve their spiritual suffering? There was no arguing with the fact that Chazz Falcone was a happier man now than when he’d stumbled into Saint-Michael’s, looking like something the cat dragged in.
    And with a cheery whistle, Father Gherkin set foot in the direction of his sacristy. He had a sermon to write, the topic of which had just popped into his head. It had something to do with a camel and a needle, and the thought that neither Chazz Falcone nor Grover Calypso would ever enter heaven was balm on his own burdened soul. Loopholes, indeed. Pshaw!

Chapter 5
    P edestrian and vehicular traffic had subsided, and Park Avenue was almost devoid of the hustle and bustle of the early morning rush hour. It was now midmorning, and people were stepping out of the office for a Caramel Macchiato at their local Starbucks or to have a smoke. The last thing on Bomer Calypso’s mind right now were either of those. Staring down at the street below from the confines of his father’s thirtieth-floor condo, he pressed his forehead against the window pane and enjoyed the cooling sensation.
    He’d just been sprung from 26 Federal Plaza, the FBI’s New York digs, and still reeled from the peculiar treatment he’d endured at the hands of the nation’s finest.
    A young man with floppy butter-colored hair, good looks and not an ounce of intelligence, Baldemar ‘Bomer’ Calypso had never been arrested before. Well, except that one time when he released a pig in Columbia University’s President’s House. Unfortunately, the president had been home at the time of the incident, had tripped over the squealing beast and fallen on his face, causing him quite some embarrassment at next day’s commencement address, where his swollen nose had captured the students’ imagination to such an extent his speech was rendered inaudible because of all the catcalls.
    Bomer’s good friend Rick Dawson had warned him that time, but then Rick had always been the more sensible of the two friends. For Rick studying had been about good grades and following in the footsteps of the greats. For Bomer life at Columbia had been one long party before his father locked him up in one of CalypsoCo’s executive suites and threw away the key. But now that he was an executive, with the fancy car and the high-rise office and the private secretary, he found that he didn’t hate it as much he’d anticipated.
    True, he had to show up at the office every day, but since his father was still running CalypsoCo, and considered Bomer a broken reed when it came to the actual day-to-day management of the thing, people pretty much left him to his own devices. Mostly he played Candy Crush all day. Or Donkey Kong.
    And then, of course, married life had slowed him down to some extent. Ever since marrying Charlene Falcone his party days were a thing of the past. In fact, now that he came to think of it, Charlene appeared to share Grover’s career compulsive disorder, always pushing him to outdo himself.
    Well, he’d made it clear from the start that he didn’t want a career. He simply wanted the good life his father had always worked for so that his son could sit back and enjoy. Why make money if his father had already done all that? Why change a winning formula? For all his life his father had worked and slaved and amassed a fortune in the process, while Bomer had skated through life. It was the natural order of things, so why rock the boat now?
    He turned to face the room and saw that Charlene and Grover were still pacing furiously. Grover’s new fiancée was also present, which irked Bomer to some extent. His father and Charlene had staged this ‘intervention’, much to Bomer’s embarrassment, and he disliked strangers being present at what he correctly surmised was not his finest hour.
    The only person he did want present was Ricky, but the reporter had an editorial meeting to attend. They’d had a long call, though, and Rick had