Val remembered what Simone had said about not being welcome at the Usher house. Had she tried to see the author or just assumed Rosana would turn her away at the door? “You may be able to see him in person. Usher invited my grandfather to come back again when Rosana isn’t around. You could go with him.”
Simone took another candy turtle. “Rosana’s not the only obstacle. Rick may not want to see me either. He’s never tried, though that’s my fault more than his.” She bit off the head of the chocolate turtle.
“How do you know him?”
“He was a visiting professor at Boston University when I was in grad school there. Our fields overlapped. He’d specialized in nineteenth century American history. I was focusing on American lit from that period. We shared a scholarly interest in Poe.” Simone stood up and walked to the sliding door leading to the deck. “The storm clouds are rolling in already. Freezing rain will drive away the last of the diehards hoping to see the Poe toaster tonight.”
Val interpreted Simone’s abrupt change of subject as reluctance to talk about Rick Usher. “The Poe toaster?”
“The annual visitor to Poe’s grave. Beginning a hundred years after Poe’s death, or possibly somewhat earlier, a mysterious figure went to Poe’s grave between midnight and daybreak on January nineteenth, Poe’s birthday. He drank a toast to Poe and left a partial bottle of cognac and three roses at the grave. Crowds used to gather outside the cemetery in the dead of night, in the January cold, to catch a glimpse of him. His last visit was in 2009, the two hundredth anniversary of Poe’s birth. A few people come back every year, still hoping to catch sight of the visitor whose identity no one has ever discovered.”
Thank you for the lecture, Professor. Now it was Val’s turn to change the subject. She pointed to the photos on the white bookcase. “I arrived here a little early, just in time to see that young man leave the house. He rode off on a motorcycle.”
“My son, Raven.” Simone returned to the table.
“I was startled by how much he looked like Edgar Allan Poe.”
“Fascination with Poe runs in the family.” Simone flashed a wry half smile and then lifted her mug to her lips. She drank some coffee and set the mug down again. “Raven would like to follow in Poe’s footsteps as a writer. But looking like a writer doesn’t make you a writer. Which brings me back to your photos—three men who look like a famous writer but aren’t him. Will the real imposter please stand up?” She lifted Emmett’s photo from the table and faced it toward Val.
At last! “Thank you.” Val collected the photos and put them in her bag.
“I take it that’s the answer you wanted.”
Val nodded. Now that she had one answer, she was greedy for more. “Something good came from my grandfather’s attempt to find out if Rick Usher was dead or alive. The two of them hit it off. They had a lot in common, including similar experiences in the army. After they’d talked a while, Rick said he needed to do a few things and then he could die in peace.”
Simone’s hand flew to her mouth. “Die in peace? That sounds as if he doesn’t expect to live long. He must be very sick.” She blinked rapidly. “Did he say what he needs to do?”
“Find his son.” No three words Val had ever said produced such a dramatic effect.
Simone squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together as if trying to bottle up an erupting volcano. She trembled with the effort.
Then she gave up. She covered her eyes with her hand. Tears dripped down her face. “What do I do now?”
Val was asking herself the same question. Should she give Simone privacy or comfort? How do you comfort a distraught woman you barely know? Val decided to encourage her to talk and give her a sympathetic ear.
She took a tissue from her bag and offered it to Simone. “Raven is Rick Usher’s son?”
Simone took the tissue and nodded. “I gave Rick an ultimatum when I became pregnant. Rosana or me. If he chose her, he would never see me again and never meet his child.”
“He decided not to leave her?”
Simone blew her nose. “He couldn’t even bring himself to tell her about us. I used the only leverage I had to ensure my child’s future. In return for my not telling Rosana about the baby, I demanded Rick set up a trust fund to be administered by my lawyer. I instructed the lawyer not to tell Rick how to contact us.”
No wonder she’d said it was her fault he’d never tried to see her. “He agreed to it?”
“Yes. I gave him a chance to change his mind. The money was supposed to go into the trust a month after the child was born. I sent him an It’s-a-boy announcement and a baby picture. I left the baby’s name and date of birth blank in case Rosana saw it. A few days after I mailed it, I found out Rick and Rosana’s daughter had just died.”
Val gasped. She sympathized with all of them—the man, his wife, his lover, the dead daughter, and the newborn son. Her eyes stung with tears. “He couldn’t leave Rosana at a time like that.”
“I’d have thought less of him if he had.” Simone blotted her eyes. “Rick had always struggled with guilt over his success as a writer. He didn’t feel he deserved the acclaim. After his daughter died, he had something else to feel guilty about. I imagine he viewed her death as cosmic punishment for our brief moments of joy . . . and our separation as a way to atone for it.”
Val sipped her coffee. “It couldn’t have been easy for you as a single mom.”
“Easier than a lot of women have it. My parents helped me take care of the baby so I could finish my doctorate. Raven had a grandfather who took the place of a father. A couple of years later, I married Wingard, and he adopted Raven. The marriage lasted until Raven was in high school.”
How odd that Simone called her ex by his surname. “You kept your husband’s last name after the divorce.”
“By then I’d gotten a Ph.D. and published under that name. I saw no reason to go through the rigmarole of changing it.”
“Does Raven know who his biological father is?”
“My ex’s parting shot when our marriage broke up was to tell him that his real father, the famous Rick Usher, had abandoned him. Wingard wanted to make the point that he wasn’t such a bad guy, compared to Raven’s other father.” Simone drank up the rest of her coffee. “Within the space of a year, the kid lost his grandfather to cancer and his stepfather to a bitter divorce. Then he found out his biological father had written him off. I couldn’t tell him the truth, that it was my fault his father had nothing to do with him.”
“You were the only person Raven had.” Val used to believe that the truth trumped everything. Now she wasn’t so sure. “Sometimes the truth does more harm than good.”
“But if you hide it, it comes back to haunt you. What do I do now? Should I help Rick fulfill what sounds like his dying wish to see his son? How would that affect Raven? What would it mean to my relationship with my son?” Simone jerked as if she’d just come out of a trance. “You’re leaving me with a lot to think about.”
Val took the hint that it was time for her to go. She fished a café business card from her wallet and jotted her cell phone number on the back. “I appreciate your taking the time to see me. Call me if you want to talk again.”
A blast of frigid air hit her as she walked back to her car. Thick gray clouds totally obscured the sun. In the short time she’d been at Simone’s house, the temperature must have dropped almost ten degrees.
Back in the car, Val read a text message from Gunnar. His computer-savvy friend had combed social media for references to Rick Usher in the last year. Comments about Usher’s ill health and inability to write, in blogs apparently by different people, tracked back to accounts Emmett Flint created. He’d also posted on Facebook and tweeted from a fake account. Other people with legitimate accounts linked to, shared, and retweeted what he’d written.
Val tucked her phone away. Had Emmett waged the campaign against Rick Usher out of spite or in hopes of profiting from it? Whatever the motive, the campaign an
d Emmett’s impersonation of the author ought to convince Chief Yardley of the connection between him and the Ushers. More than that, her information would present the chief with alternatives to Gunnar as a murder suspect.
Chapter 19
Half an hour after leaving Simone’s house, Val sat in the metal visitor chair in Chief Yardley’s office.
The chief reached across his desk to take one of the oatmeal raisin cookies she’d brought him. “You only bring me sweets when you want to poke your nose into an investigation.”
“I made a New Year’s resolution to bring you them more often so you won’t be on your guard when I visit.” She grinned at him. “The TV newscast showed Emmett Flint’s photo this morning with a request that anyone who saw him Saturday afternoon contact the police. Since that request has been out there for days, I assume few witnesses came forward. I can explain why.”
The chief munched his cookie and didn’t dispute her assumption about the tepid response to the police request for information.
She took three photos from her tote bag and put Emmett’s publicity shot on the chief’s desk. “The media is using this picture. That’s not how he looked when he died.”
“We generally don’t give the media photos of dead people.”
“Understood. But Emmett walked around looking like an older man for three hours before he dropped dead. After the Treadwell Players’ rehearsal Saturday morning, he made himself look two decades older with theatrical makeup. A member of the theater group saw him drive away, looking something like this.” Val handed the chief a photo of the digitally aged actor.
He glanced at it. “Where did this come from?”
“My cousin took Emmett’s publicity shot and used software to make him look older. She also added glasses and a hat like the ones he wore when I saw him walking in the mall parking lot.” Val presented the chief with photo exhibit three, Rick Usher’s publicity photo. “Here’s a picture of another man dressed similarly.”
The chief put the two pictures side by side. “I see the resemblance. Who is this man?”
“The author Rick Usher.” With the caffeine coursing through her system from Simone’s high-test coffee, Val could no longer sit still.
She stood up like a lawyer making a closing argument in court. The chief munched an oatmeal cookie as she wove together the connections between Emmett Flint and the people who lived at the Usher house. Rick Usher had a meeting with Emmett Flint last summer. Shortly after that meeting, the news circulated online that Usher was dying and someone else had taken over writing his books. A computer expert tracked the rumors back to Emmett. The gossip about Usher died down as the news broke that he would appear in public after an absence of seven years.
As the chief took another cookie, Val got to the key point. “Ten days ago Emmett impersonated Usher at a bookstore in Salisbury.” She anticipated the chief’s skepticism and tried to forestall it. “A woman who knew Usher well twenty-some years ago recognized the man who pretended to be him as an imposter. She identified the imposter as Emmett from that touched-up photo I showed her, the one I gave you.”
“Why would Emmett impersonate Rick Usher?”
“The Usher family probably paid him to do it.”
“Probably? You’re only guessing.” The chief brushed away cookie crumbs along with her argument.
His skepticism convinced Val that she’d have to break down and tell him about Granddad. “I’m not just guessing. After Emmett died, the Ushers paid someone else to act as a stand-in for the author.”
The chief said nothing for a moment. “I’m waiting for you to tell me who this someone else is.”
Val took a break from pacing the room and perched on the edge of the metal chair. “Granddad.”
Chief Yardley’s mouth dropped. “Nobody can keep that man down. How did that come about?”
“Rick Usher’s wife, Rosana, recruited him. Usher’s coauthor, Clancy Curren, trained him and accompanied him when he appeared as Usher last weekend. Granddad promised me he wouldn’t do it again.” Val noticed the chief’s stern look soften. “From what I’ve heard about Emmett, he’d have tried to squeeze more money from the Ushers. Maybe he threatened to tell the world that they hired him to impersonate the author.”
“That’s not a reason to murder him. The Ushers can say he tricked them. Their word would carry more weight than his.”
She couldn’t argue against the chief’s reasoning. The Ushers wouldn’t have put it in writing that he was supposed to impersonate Rick. Val had yet to see Granddad’s contract with them, but it probably said he could represent Usher, which could mean anything. Clancy knew about the impersonations, but he also knew who buttered his bread. He’d side with the Ushers in any dispute about the meaning of the agreement.
“Okay, Chief. I concede that Rosana and Rick Usher don’t have a strong motive for murder.” Val wouldn’t go so far as to say they had no reason to kill Emmett. She just needed to find a more compelling motive for them.
“Tell me what you know about Clancy.” The chief put a half-eaten cookie on his desk and picked up his pen. He took notes while she talked. Then he looked up. “How is he paid for his work? Does he get a percent of the sales or is he on salary?”
“No idea.” Val made a mental note to ask Clancy that question. “Clancy needs money to take care of his brother’s medical bills. If sales of Usher’s books declined because of rumors about his health and Clancy’s compensation is tied to those sales, he’d want to make sure the rumors didn’t resurface. Maybe he found out Emmett was behind them.”
The chief flicked his wrist. “Ifs and maybes.”
Val moved toward more solid ground. “The person at the Usher house with the most obvious reason to get rid of Emmett is Madison Fox-Norton, known as Maddie Norton in the theater group. Gunnar overheard Emmett blackmailing her. She had the opportunity to add meds to Emmett’s burrito during the rehearsal. Did she and the other people at the Usher house have access to blood pressure meds?”
“We have no probable cause to search the Usher house for meds, if that’s what you’re hoping. To get a court order for a search, we need compelling evidence tying someone to a crime.”
Val was disappointed, but not surprised. “Granddad and I will be at the house this evening. Maybe we can find out something that will give you a reason to conduct a search.”
The chief threw up his hands in an I-give-up gesture. “You just tried to convince me that someone in that house is a murderer. If you’re right, it could be dangerous for both of you. Stay away from there.”
She wasn’t going there only to snoop. “I have a contract to cook dinner for the Ushers. They’re expecting me there tonight.”
“The forecast is calling for freezing rain tonight. Tell them you can’t make it.”
“The bad weather’s arriving late. We’ll be home before it starts.” She hurried to change the subject. “Given that Emmett looked and dressed like Rick Usher on Saturday afternoon and impersonated Usher the week before, he may have been murdered by someone who mistook him for Rick Usher.”
Chief Yardley squinted at her. “Who’d want to murder Rick Usher?”
Val described how Rick Usher behaved at his final public appearance, fleeing the room after declaring that he wasn’t ready to die. “After that night, he went into seclusion and moved away from Baltimore, possibly because he feared being killed.”
“And seven years later, someone kills a man who resembles him? That’s your most far-fetched theory yet.”
The chief would call her theory that Raven Wingard killed his father even more far-fetched. Without any evidence to support it, she didn’t dare bring it up.
* * *
The motion-sensing outdoor lights turned on as Val drove along the circular driveway to the Usher house. Maybe because of the chief’s warning, the house that had looked gloomy on her last visit now struck her as menacing. She parked behind Granddad’s Buick. As she climbed out of the car, he rushed out the front
door of the house, shoving his arms into his parka.
His unusual speed alarmed her. “What’s wrong?”
“I gotta tell you something.”
“Out here?” She opened the trunk and took out the recyclable grocery bags with tonight’s food. “You could have waited until I was inside.”
“Can’t talk inside. The walls have ears.”
The Ushers’ front door opened again, and Clancy stuck his head out. “You need some help?”
“No!” Granddad shouted. “We’ve got it covered.” He watched Clancy shut the door. “I found a bug in Rick’s study. Other rooms could have bugs too. Don’t stand there gaping at me. Act like you’re reorganizing the stuff in the trunk in case somebody’s watching us.”
Val tried to think of reasons for planting a listening device in the study. “Maybe Rosana wants to make sure he’s okay.”
“It’s not like a baby monitor. It’s a voice-activated recorder. Whoever put it there can download the recorded conversations wirelessly. I was going to remove the thing, but I didn’t want to tip them off that I found it.”
“Where is it?”
“On a shelf where Usher’s writing awards are displayed. It was sitting near the trophies. Weird trophies—two shaped like haunted houses, and three like Edgar Allan Poe heads.”
“Good hiding spot. Nobody moves trophies once they’re in place.” Val shifted the grocery bags in her trunk again. “Are you sure it’s a bug?”
“Positive. We studied listening devices in my investigation course. You told me I was wasting my money on that online course, but I learned a lot. I’m gonna put one lesson to use right now. If we stay out here talking in the freezing cold, that would look suspicious. So we gotta do something to make it look natural.” Granddad took a grocery bag from the trunk, peeked in it, and then spilled the contents, accidentally on purpose. “I’ve got more to tell you. Take your time picking up that stuff.”
“Gee, thanks.” Val crouched to pick up the vegetables and salad ingredients strewn on the ground. Fortunately, they were all in plastic bags. “What else did you discover besides a bug?”
The Tell-Tale Tarte Page 16
