Val had already quoted prices higher than for her other customers, but not double. “I’m going to have to tell them that you and I are related.”
Granddad flicked his wrist. “You might as well. It wouldn’t be hard for them to find out on their own.”
“The same is true for Simone. She’s probably already researched you thoroughly and discovered you’re related to the book club’s caterer. If she hasn’t, I’ll tell her because I want to know more about the other Usher stand-in she mentioned.” If Simone could identify that man as Emmett Flint, Val could make a stronger case to the chief that Emmett’s death and his work for the Ushers might be related.
Granddad yawned. “I’m turning in now. Got a long day tomorrow. What time is Clancy gonna be at the café?”
“Ten thirty.” Why did Granddad want to know that? “Are you planning to join us?”
“Nope.” He stood up. “Sleep well.”
Val climbed the stairs that went from the kitchen to her bedroom above it. She got ready for bed, snuggled under her quilt, and opened Poe Revisited to “The Purloined Letter.” In Poe’s story the French police tried to foil a blackmail attempt by retrieving a stolen letter from the blackmailer’s rooms. They failed to find the letter in their painstaking search of possible hiding places. Auguste Dupin, Poe’s brilliant detective, located it in plain sight among other letters and stole it back from the blackmailer.
The Rick Usher counterpart to this story, “The Purloined Litter,” dealt with the mysterious disappearance of trash from a street in the Latin Quarter. Val fell asleep halfway through the story.
* * *
Val was delivering smoothies to two young women when Clancy appeared at the entrance to the café. Though dressed casually, in jeans and a bomber jacket, he carried a leather briefcase appropriate for someone in a three-piece suit.
Val extended her hand. “You found me. Welcome to the Cool Down Café.”
He shook hands with her. “This place isn’t at all what I expected. I pictured you in a homey eatery with embroidered tablecloths and ruffled curtains, not this sleek, shiny place. I’m happy to say the coffee aroma lives up to my expectations.” He sniffed appreciatively.
“The café fits the surroundings. The club is all about hard surfaces and hard bodies toned by exercise. If Poe came back to life among the fitness machines, he’d think he stumbled into a torture chamber.”
“Self-inflicted torture. A club for masochists, except here in the café, of course.” He eyed the muffins, biscotti, and breakfast bars under the glass display on the eating bar. “Did you bake those biscotti?”
“Uh-huh.” She went behind the counter. “Would you like to try one?”
“Yes, please. The biscotti you buy in cellophane can’t compare to homemade ones.”
“How about some coffee? On the house.”
“Yes to coffee, but not on the house.” He put down a ten-dollar bill. “I’m paying and I don’t want change.”
“Thank you.” She poured the coffee. “Let’s sit at the table closest to the café entrance so I can spring into action if a customer comes in.”
Once he was seated Clancy appeared in no hurry to talk business. He dipped his biscotti in his coffee and ate it with a satisfied smile.
Val broke the silence. “I’m curious how you ended up as Rick Usher’s coauthor.”
“Ten years ago I was writing software manuals for a company in Baltimore. I went to a lecture Rick gave on how Poe’s writing inspired him. Afterward, I introduced myself to him and said we’d both graduated from the same college.”
“Where was that?”
“Mount St. Mary’s in Emmitsburg, Maryland. We went for a glass of wine. I told him I was writing a horror novel. He offered to read the first fifty pages. He sent them back to me with ideas on how to improve the manuscript and gave me contact information for his agent.”
The story surprised Val. Famous authors probably met wannabe novelists often and had a standard brush-off line. Clancy’s writing must have impressed Usher. “That was generous of him. Did his agent take you on?”
Clancy nodded. “And he found a publisher. My book didn’t sell as well as I’d hoped. I saw Rick a few years later at a book signing. He remembered me and asked me to work with him on his next paranormal novel.”
“Is that when you started staying at his house here?”
“No, he was still living in Baltimore then. He moved here permanently about a year later. I drove here to meet him on weekends and cut down on my hours as a tech writer.” Clancy dunked his last piece of biscotti. “About three years ago, he asked me to help write the Gaston Vulpin books as well as the paranormal ones. The writing schedule was so intense that I had to be available all the time. The Ushers had plenty of room in their house and offered me room and board. I quit my job, gave up my apartment, and moved in.”
“Do you have time to write under your own name?”
His mouth turned down. “Not now, but I’m learning a lot from Rick. When he’s no longer publishing books, I’ll write my own. Until then, I’ll stick with him.”
Val saw no sign of either enthusiasm for working with Rick Usher or resentment of the cloistered living arrangements. “Do you just stay at the house and work, or do you get out for fun sometimes?”
His grinned and raised his eyebrows. “I’m open to ideas, especially if you’d like to have fun with me.”
“I wasn’t suggesting—” Val broke off as four middle-aged women came in, carrying athletic bags with tennis rackets stuck in them. “Excuse me, I have to serve these customers.”
The women came to the café every Tuesday after their doubles game in the club’s tennis bubble and ordered the same thing. Two coffees, two teas, and the muffin special of the day for each of them.
After Val delivered their drinks and muffins, she brought Clancy another biscotti.
“Thank you. You read my mind.” He beamed at her. “You were asking what I do in my free time. Helping Rick with two books a year keeps me pretty busy. Still, I make sure I find time to bike outdoors in decent weather and indoors on an exercise bike. Most weekends I visit family in Baltimore.” He searched her face. “It’s hard to know what you’re thinking. Family doesn’t include a wife or kids, in case you’re wondering.”
Val wasn’t, but didn’t want to discourage him from talking. “You visit your parents on weekends?”
“My father’s gone. I spend time with my mother and twin brother. He served in Iraq and lost a leg.” Clancy clutched his throat as if he had trouble swallowing. “He also has PTSD.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Val remembered what Granddad had said about Clancy—he looks into the distance like something out there is haunting him. His brother’s plight must weigh on him. “Is your brother able to manage on his own?”
“The Veteran’s Administration took care of most of his physical needs, including an artificial leg, but his emotional state is still precarious. He can’t work. He’s depressed and has nightmares. My mother had to give up her job to deal with his problems and drive him to therapy sessions. It takes a toll on her. I try to relieve her on the weekend.”
Clancy’s job and his family responsibilities didn’t give him much time for himself, much less for a wife and children. “Your brother’s fortunate to have you as part of his support team.”
“It’s the least I can do. He served his country. I stayed home. He’s broken. I’m whole.” Clancy broke off a piece of biscotti. “Sometimes people who lose a limb feel pain where that limb should be. My brother used to wake up shocked to see his left leg was gone. Amazingly, my left leg aches too. I dream it’s missing like my brother’s leg and, when I wake up, I’m surprised to see it’s still attached to me.”
Val’s eyes burned with nascent tears. Poor Clancy. He had something akin to survivor’s guilt and probably wasn’t as whole as he imagined. “You’re doing what you can for him.”
“I’m not doing enough.” He shook his head as if to cl
ear it. “I apologize. I didn’t come here to talk about myself. Rosana liked all of your suggested menus. She drew up a contract for you to sign.” He pulled a paper from his briefcase.
“Just to clarify, I’ll be making dinner for four people at the house. You, Rick Usher, Rosana Usher, and Madison. What’s her last name again? I didn’t catch it yesterday.”
Clancy grinned. “You had nothing to catch. Madison typically introduces herself by her first name only. Her last name reminds her of a past best forgotten.”
Intrigued, Val waited for Clancy to elaborate. Instead, he pushed the contract toward her, leaving her no choice but to prompt him. “Does Madison have a criminal past?”
Clancy laughed. “No, she has a past as a spoiled rich girl and a double-barreled surname to go along with it.”
Val knew the kind of name he meant, but frowned to suggest confusion. “Double-barreled?”
“Two names with a hyphen between them. Madison Fox-Norton. A name that belongs at a debutante ball.”
But apparently not on the stage, where she was Maddie Norton. The job of cooking for the Ushers came with an unexpected perk—access to the woman who disputed Gunnar’s version of his fight with Flint. Val might figure out what motivated Madison’s lie by approaching her not as Gunnar’s girlfriend, but as a caterer. For now, she’d mine whatever information Clancy had about the woman. “Madison went to a debutante ball? Where do they still have those?”
“Don’t take me literally. I meant her pedigree fits the mold. Madison led a pampered life, growing up on the east side of Manhattan, attending private schools. Then her father lost big on risky investments, lost his clients’ money too, and sullied the Fox-Norton name. She had to work her way through a state university instead of going to an Ivy on her dad’s dollar.” Clancy fiddled with his coffee spoon. “Aren’t you going to look at the contract?”
“Of course.” Clancy would wonder about her motives if she showed too much curiosity about Madison. Val skimmed the single-spaced document. It allowed either party to opt out of a dinner with a day’s notice or end the contract with two days’ notice. Val couldn’t have asked for more flexible terms. But before signing, she’d lay her cards on the table and see if Clancy followed suit. “This looks fine. Just one more question. When did you start hiring Rick Usher impersonators?”
Chapter 12
Clancy went rigid in response to Val’s question about impersonators. His ruddy complexion turned the color of vanilla pudding. “What? How do you—I mean, I didn’t realize you knew Rick Usher.”
“I don’t, but I know the man who posed as him on Sunday night. Don Myer is my grandfather. We were amazed to see each other at the book club gathering.” Val would like nothing better than for the Ushers to fire Granddad, but not for cause. He deserved to be paid for his work. “He kept his impersonation of Usher a secret, even from me. He fulfilled the terms of his contract, but he couldn’t deny what I’d seen with my own eyes.”
Clancy’s lower lip protruded. “You never said a word about your grandfather when you came to the house yesterday.” He looked like a fibbing child peeved by another kid’s fib.
“A minor deceit compared to yours. At least I wouldn’t enter a business agreement without being completely honest. I doubt you’d have told me about the Usher pretenders if I hadn’t raised the subject.”
Clancy reddened. “Why would I? I had no reason to tell you anything unrelated to your catering.”
Val noticed he hadn’t changed her plural pretenders to singular. “I won’t take the job under false pretenses. You’ll have to tell the Ushers I’m aware of their deception, even if it means they withdraw this offer.” She pointed to the contract.
“They won’t. It doesn’t do any good to rescind the offer. We’re better off if you’re on board with us, since you already know what’s going on.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m on board with it. My grandfather makes his own decisions. I’m not happy with this one, but I won’t betray him.”
“I couldn’t betray the people who pay me.” Clancy put his index finger on his lip like a bashful boy. “I was just doing my job.”
Doing his job. The same reason Gunnar had given for hiding his true purpose in coming on to her when they first met. She’d forgiven him, but not right away. She might forgive Clancy too as long as he was truthful from now on. “What was the reason for the impersonation hoax?”
“Rick wasn’t feeling well last week. Rosana wanted someone to stand in for him so she wouldn’t disappoint the book club. She’d seen your grandfather’s picture in the newspaper and approached him. He agreed to help her out.” Clancy gave her a weak smile. “No harm done.”
Val pretended to swallow the story. “Oh, so it was just a onetime hoax?”
Clancy tilted his head left and right, as if weighing his answer. “We may need your grandfather this coming weekend if Rick isn’t feeling well again.”
And how many times in the past had Rick not felt well and needed a stand-in? She’d gain nothing by asking Clancy that question. She couldn’t count on him for the truth. “I have one more clause to add to the contract.”
Clancy smiled, but with a clenched jaw. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“I won’t do any catering for the Ushers until my grandfather is paid for the work he already did.”
Clancy’s jaw relaxed. “I’ll do what I can to move that along. If Rosana pays him today, will you make dinner for us tomorrow?”
“I can do that.” Val added the contingency to the contract, signed it, and gave it back to Clancy.
“Thank you.” He tucked it into his briefcase. “By the way, your grandfather’s a pistol. I really like him. He reminds me of my grandpa.”
“Did your grandpa impersonate Usher too?” She grinned as his eyes widened in surprise. “Just kidding, Clancy. I’m looking forward to meeting the real Rick Usher.”
“Alas, I can’t promise you that. He often eats in his study, not in the dining room with the rest of us.”
Yesterday morning Val might have taken those words as support for Granddad’s theory that Rick Usher was dead. Now she knew better. The anguished shouts of buried alive must have come from the author inspired by Poe.
She noticed Irene at the entrance to the café and acknowledged her with a wave. “I’ll be right with you, Irene.”
Clancy’s head swiveled toward the entrance.
Irene’s face lit up with a broad smile. “Clancy!”
His smile matched hers. He stood up and greeted her with a hug.
How did they know each other? “Are you two old friends?” Val asked.
“Clancy was my tea shop’s writer-in-residence. He sat typing in the corner for hours.”
“I missed the tea shop once it closed.” His lips pressed together and downward, making an upside-down smiley mouth. “You took good care of your customers.”
Val listened in surprise to Clancy’s praise and hoped Irene’s people skills hadn’t dried up in the ten months since her business went under.
“All good things must come to an end.” Irene patted him on the shoulder. “How is your brother?”
“About the same. Thank you.” Clancy pushed up the sleeve of his sweater, revealing a digital watch with a nylon band. “Time to return to my keyboard. Wonderful to see you both.”
Irene waved as he left the café. “Does he come here often?”
“This was his first visit.”
Val greeted three men in their sixties who came into the café every Tuesday and Thursday morning. They seated themselves at the rectangular table in the far corner.
Irene sat at the eating bar. “I’ll wait until you aren’t busy with customers.”
After Val served the three men, she sat on the stool next to Irene’s and got down to business. “Clancy gave you a great endorsement. I hope we can reach an agreement for both you and Jeremy to work here. Lunch deliveries will work best if we have regular customers and get a commitment up front for a certain n
umber of lunches. I’ll have flyers for Jeremy to distribute by tomorrow. I hope he’ll have time to do that.”
Smile lines appeared around Irene’s eyes, cracks in her usually icy demeanor. “He’ll make time.”
“I’ll also work on getting some press coverage in the Treadwell Gazette for the delivery service. Do you have any suggestions about the lunch deliveries?”
“I’ve been studying your sandwich menu. You have lots of different breads, meats, cheeses, and spreads. A simplified menu with set combinations might work better for delivery orders.”
She had a point. The limited menu Val had offered at the town festival last fall had streamlined ordering and prep. “Great idea. I’ll work on a shorter menu for lunch deliveries. I’ll also create a survey to find out what kinds of food the club members would like us to have in the evening.”
Irene drummed her fingers on the eating bar. “We still haven’t discussed money.”
The tricky part. “I’ll pay you the same hourly rate as my other assistant, Bethany O’Shay. In addition, because you’re managing the café in the evening, you’ll get a percent of the sales and, of course, all the tips.”
Irene’s eyebrows rose. “That sounds fair.”
Apparently, she hadn’t expected fair wages, but she probably expected to work more hours at that pay than Val wanted. “I’ll pay that for the hours from four to seven, but not for the midafternoon time. I don’t anticipate selling much food between two and four.”
Irene pursed her lips. “Do you plan to close the café during those hours?”
Val shook her head. Time to sweeten the deal. “I’d like to hire someone I could pay less than you because there won’t be any cooking involved. I was thinking Jeremy might be interested. Do you think you can train him to sell snacks and make coffee and smoothies?”
Irene’s eyebrows reached new heights. “I’m sure I can. He used to help me in the tea shop.”
“I’ll pay him minimum wage for working behind the counter and for the time he spends delivering lunches. He should make good tips.”
The Tell-Tale Tarte Page 10
