Chapter 21
When Rick Usher and Granddad came into the kitchen, Val was struck more by the differences between them than by their similarity. Though they were close in size and age and had similar beards, the author’s shoulders were more rounded. Granddad wore gold-rimmed bifocals with clear lenses and Usher the frameless tinted glasses. Had he always looked at the world through gray-colored lenses?
Even behind those lenses, Usher’s dark eyes, one of them larger than the other, mesmerized Val with their intensity.
He clasped her outstretched hand in both his hands. “Welcome to my house. I’ve heard wonderful things about you from your grandfather.”
Really? Nice to know that Granddad said good things about her behind her back, even if not to her face. “Happy to meet you. I’m enjoying the stories in your Poe Revisited book.” The Poe stories more than the Usher ones.
“Thank you for the kind words. I’m looking forward to your dinner.” Usher progressed at a stately pace toward the dining room.
Val could usually read Granddad’s mood by his gait. He either walked on springs or trudged in a swamp. This evening his lively step made him look like Rick Usher’s happy-go-lucky younger brother.
Clancy poured wine while Val delivered the plates. The golden brown hens garnished with fresh orange slices, the tricolor mix of roasted vegetables, and the bright green spinach studded with cranberries and feta made dinner look appetizing. After delivering everyone’s food, Val took the empty chair next to the host, who sat at the head of the table. Madison sat across from her.
“Bon appétit, everyone.” Rosana picked up her fork. “Rick, we’re so glad you joined us for dinner tonight.”
His glasses glinted in the light from the chandelier. “From now on, I’ll be joining you anytime a visitor is here.”
At the other end of the table, Rosana beamed, either missing or ignoring her husband’s grim tone. “Wonderful. I’ll arrange to have company more often.” She cut into her Cornish hen.
Her husband did the same. “I don’t crave company, but it’s bad luck for me to eat alone when we have a guest. The last time I did that, my dog died.”
Val’s heart skipped a beat and she stopped chewing. Could Emmett have been that guest?
“It’s a coincidence, Rick, not bad luck,” Rosana said. “The food is delicious. Did you teach your granddaughter to cook, Don?”
“I taught her a few things in the kitchen,” Granddad said, “but she makes fancier dishes than I do.”
Name one thing you taught me in the kitchen. Val forked a large piece of the hen into her mouth to keep from challenging her grandfather.
Rosana took control of the table talk by quizzing Val on her background—where she’d grown up, gone to college, and worked. Then the hostess switched her attention to Madison and asked her about the play she was rehearsing.
Madison, who’d been systematically slicing meat from the hen, put down her knife and fork. “The Glass Mendacity is a comedy with characters from three different plays by Tennessee Williams. Big Daddy is dying and can’t decide who should inherit the family estate. He’s trying to find the person who can manage it and is worthy of it.”
“A familiar plot.” Rick leaned toward her. “What role do you play?”
“Big Daddy’s daughter, Laura, the shy, disabled girl from The Glass Menagerie.” She didn’t look at all shy as she returned his steady gaze. “Unlike his other two children, Laura loves Big Daddy for himself, not for what she’ll inherit from him.”
Granddad broke the silence that followed Madison’s statement. “Why is the play called The Glass Mendacity?”
“Because all the characters lie.” Madison looked from left to right at her tablemates. “Big Daddy accuses the others of mendacity and deceit, but he lies to himself. He believes what he wants to believe, not the truth.”
Val wondered if Madison justified lying to the police by convincing herself that everyone lies.
“Poe was guilty of mendacity too,” Rick said in his sonorous, professorial voice. “He told tall tales about his past and his family connections to impress people. Why do the characters in the play lie?”
“My character lies out of shame and feels guilty about it.” Madison resumed cutting meat from the hen. “Big Daddy’s other children lie to get more of his inheritance and cut each other out. His wife lies too. She sugarcoats reality and insists Big Daddy is perfectly healthy.”
Granddad grimaced. “That play sure doesn’t sound like a comedy.”
Madison heaped the meat she’d cut into a pile. “I didn’t want to tell you the funny parts because that would spoil the show for you. Trust me, it’s hilarious. If you go to the play and don’t laugh, I’ll reimburse you for the ticket.”
“That settles it. You can count on laughing.” Clancy swallowed the last of the wine in his glass. “Madison wouldn’t make that offer unless she knew it wouldn’t cost her a cent.” He poured himself more wine.
Val had trouble reading Clancy’s comment. Was it hostile or teasing? The relationship between the two “children” at the table tonight might be like the one between Val and her brother. As teenagers, they’d added large helpings of rivalry and mockery to Deniston family dinners.
Madison cut the last of the meat from the hen’s leg, laying bare its bones. “Here’s an example of the play’s humor. Big Daddy has a son named Brick, the alcoholic from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.” She trained a laser look on Clancy. “Brick is a milquetoast who’ll never amount to anything. In the play we’re rehearsing, he isn’t even played by an actor. He’s a life-size mannequin. It’s very funny when the other characters cart him around the stage and pretend he has ideas of his own.”
Whoa. Val had no trouble picking up on the hostility in that comment.
Rosana gave Madison an icy look and turned to Clancy. “I hope your brother is doing better.”
Clancy described his brother’s slow improvement and his continuing challenges. While he talked, sleet pelted the window.
Rick interrupted him. “How long will this bad weather last?”
“The forecast says it will clear up tomorrow morning,” his wife said. “Don’t worry about it, Rick.”
He stared at the window as if a menacing presence stood there watching them. “Forecasters aren’t always right.”
For a man who rarely left the house, he was certainly obsessing about tomorrow’s weather. Val eyed the window uneasily too, worrying more about tonight’s weather than tomorrow’s.
She rested her knife and fork on her nearly empty plate. “Excuse me. I’d like to dish up the dessert so I can get on the road before it gets icy.”
“I’ll clear the table.” Clancy started to stand up.
Rosana laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Not yet. Madison is still eating. Val, you go ahead and get the dessert ready to serve.”
She sounded like a strict parent, excusing one child from the table and not excusing the other.
Val went to the kitchen, cut the chocolate tart, and put slices on four cake plates.
Clancy brought in a stack of plates, apparently having been excused at last. “Just four pieces? Who’s not eating pie?”
“Granddad and I will skip dessert if the weather’s bad. I’m going outside to see what’s happening. Then I’ll decide if we should stay any longer.”
She went into the foyer and opened the front door. The gravel looked wet, but not icy. Without bothering to go back for her jacket, she crossed the covered entry deck for a closer look at the driveway and went down the two steps to the concrete walk. When her foot hit the concrete, she slid on glazed ice. In an instant, she was lying on her back, being hit by freezing rain. She sat up. Nothing hurt except her tailbone. With her hands on the cold ground, she tried to stand up but her foot skidded as soon as she put weight on it. She fell back again.
“Val! Are you hurt?” Clancy called from the door.
“No, but it’s too icy for me to get any footing. I could use some he
lp.” She held out her hand. “Stay on the steps and pull me toward you.”
He tugged her toward the stairs and then lifted her under her arms until she was sitting on a step. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. If the walkway is covered with ice, so are the roads. You’d better not try to drive.” He held out his hand to help her up off the step. “Ready for a dark and stormy night at the house of Usher?”
Val took his hand and scrambled to her feet. “Bring it on, if dry clothes and central heat are included in the price.”
She went into the dining room and explained why she was soaking wet. “Before I went outside, I should have put on my coat, but I didn’t expect to be out there long. I slipped on the icy walk and had trouble getting up.”
Granddad looked alarmed. “Are you hurt?”
“No broken bones or even bumps.” She couldn’t rule out bruises.
“You must take off those wet clothes,” Rosana said. “Madison, can you lend her something to wear?”
Madison stood up. “Come with me.”
She pointed out Rosana’s office as she took Val past it and into a small hallway. A door at the end of the hall led to a staircase.
Madison’s large room above the three-car garage had a sitting area and a sleeping zone. Though the sloped side roof and dormer windows made the space look cozy, it was cooler than the main part of the house. Val shivered in her wet clothes.
Madison opened a cedar closet. She took out gray knit pants, a matching zip-up jacket, and a red sleeveless sweater. “The pants are roomy and a little short on me so they should fit you just fine.”
“Thanks.” Val could have done without the reminder that Madison was taller and thinner than she was. Who’d want to have a stick figure anyway?
“Put your wet clothes on a towel rack in there for now.” Madison pointed to the bathroom. “Later you can hang them up in the laundry room downstairs.”
Later? Val had planned to go back to the first floor immediately, but Madison seemed to have other plans for her. In the bathroom Val hurriedly removed her top and slacks. Fortunately, the rain hadn’t penetrated through to her underwear.
She took Madison’s clothes off the hanger, amazed at how soft they were. Cashmere, all three pieces. A Bergdorf Goodman label was sewn below the designer label in the pants and jacket. To afford these clothes, she must have overcome the financial problems she’d faced after her father’s investments tanked.
When Val came out of the bathroom, Madison was removing the cork from a bottle of wine. “Care for some Pinot Noir?”
An invitation Val hadn’t expected. Until now, Madison had treated her more like a servant than a guest. Why the sudden hospitality? “Yes, I’d like a little.”
Okay, Val had failed to follow the advice she’d given Granddad, but surely it was safe to drink wine poured from a just-opened bottle. As an added precaution, Val wouldn’t take a sip of the Pinot Noir until her hostess had drunk some.
“Have a seat.” Madison gestured toward a pair of barrel swivel chairs that flanked a small table under the dormer window.
Val took the chair that gave her a view of the wet bar and the staircase. “I noticed you didn’t drink the wine at dinner. Is that because you don’t care for white wine?”
Madison twisted the corkscrew like an expert. “I never drink the wine at dinner because Rosana doesn’t serve it at the right temperature. The white wine goes straight from the fridge to the table, so it’s ten degrees too cold. The red wine is at least ten degrees warmer than it should be. Room temperature in a house where the thermostat’s set at seventy-five isn’t the same as room temperature in a wine cellar.” The cork came out with a pop. “I don’t say anything to Rosana about the wine at the table. I just don’t drink it.”
Val sat in the chair and glanced at the small wine fridge near the wet bar. Madison had her own wine stock here, no doubt kept at the right temperature. Did she usually drink alone here or did she invite Clancy? Bad idea if Clancy had alcohol problems as she seemed to imply tonight at dinner. Not wanting to drink alone might be the reason she invited Val to join her.
Whatever the reason, Val couldn’t pass up a chance to talk to Madison in private.
Or was it private? This room, like Rick Usher’s study, might be bugged.
Chapter 22
Val scanned the room for a place where a bug might hide, though she couldn’t imagine why anyone would bug Madison’s room. Because of the sloped roof, there weren’t any tall bookcases where such a device could go unnoticed, as it did in Rick Usher’s study. With Madison focused on pouring the wine, Val reached under the small table next to her chair and felt around for a bug. Nothing there.
Madison handed her a glass. “Cheers.” She clinked her glass with Val’s, took a healthy swig, and then fiddled with the CD player on a low bookcase in the sitting area. Classical music filled the room.
As long as they stayed in this spot, the music would drown out their conversation. Relieved, Val put her glass on the side table between the two chairs. “I appreciate your lending me these warm clothes. They’re really comfortable and, like everything you wear, beautiful.”
Madison smiled. “With my sensitive skin, I have to wear good clothing. The labels on most clothes scratch me and sometimes the fabrics do too. I can’t stand to wear anything synthetic. Even cheap cashmere is uncomfortable.”
Nothing less than three-ply cashmere would do. Fortunately for Val’s budget, she’d never gotten used to such luxury. “I’ll get these clothes cleaned and return them to you in a few days.”
“Please don’t do that. Dry cleaning makes cashmere itchy. I hand-wash all my cashmere things to keep them fluffy. But I don’t want you to wash the clothes. I have special laundry soap for cashmere only.”
Val figured Madison would pass the princess-and-the-pea test with flying colors. “I enjoyed hearing about the play you’re rehearsing. I’m not familiar with it, but I’ve seen The Glass Menagerie. You strike me as perfect for the part of Laura.”
Madison looked as startled as if Val had discovered a deep dark secret. “Why do say that? I’m not shy like her. I don’t have a disability.”
“You have the right body type for the role. You can project an air of fragility. I’ll bet you have other things in common with the character.” Like that you’re both liars.
The actress gazed into her wineglass. “You’re right. Playing Laura has made me realize something about myself. I’ve withdrawn from the world like she has. I don’t polish glass animals, but I endlessly polish an author’s reputation.”
“You get paid to do it, and you must like the job or you’d leave it.”
“I might earn as much at another job, but with this one I don’t have to fork out anything for food or a roof over my head. I’m saving money now so I can live the way I want in the future.”
She couldn’t save much if she bought designer clothes, but maybe her wardrobe consisted of leftovers from her life as a rich girl. “Are you saving for anything in particular?”
“A house. My fiancé teaches in a charter school in Washington, D.C. He loves the job, but it doesn’t pay enough for us to live in a nice place. I don’t want to live in a bad neighborhood or a tiny apartment. That’s all we can afford when we combine our salaries. He’s not happy about us living so far apart.” She looked around the room. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand it here. I feel like I’m entombed in this house.”
As tombs go, it was spacious. Val sipped her wine. “Can you live elsewhere and work remotely?”
“I suggested that. Rosana wouldn’t hear of it. I’m not allowed to post anything online about Rick until she approves it. She looks over my shoulder when I’m at the computer. I could e-mail her my drafts to approve, but she refuses to put her fingers on a keyboard or a touch screen. She says she doesn’t trust the computer.” Madison made air quotes around the last three words.
“She doesn’t trust herself to use it.” Or Madison to do her job
.
“Rosana hovers over me because she needs something to do. Her whole life has been about her husband. He worships at the shrine of Poe. She worships at the shrine of Rick Usher. So do Clancy and I.” Madison swigged her wine. “We all need to get out of this house more.”
“You’re free to do what you want every evening, aren’t you?” Except for tomorrow evening.
“There’s not much to do around here unless I’m rehearsing a play. Most weekends I visit my fiancé.”
Val’s hope that Madison would blurt out what she was doing tomorrow evening was dashed, but at least she’d mentioned the theater group, another subject Val wanted to explore. “The rehearsals get you out of this house and give you a chance to socialize with other people. It must have been a shock for all of you when one of the cast members died suddenly.”
Madison jumped as if someone had poked her with a skewer. “Yes, it was.” She topped off the wine in her glass and held up the bottle. “More for you?”
Val shook her head. She would bring up Emmett again, once Madison had drunk more wine and relaxed. “What got you interested in acting?”
“The theater has always fascinated me, even when I was a child. I grew up in Manhattan and loved going to the plays. It was like magic to sit in the dark when the curtain rose and a different world opened up. I saw everything from Broadway to Off-Off-Broadway.” She returned to her chair and sighed. “But after my family moved away from the city, I didn’t have many chances to go to the theater. I read a lot of plays, though, and I would stage them in my head.”
“Did you ever consider the theater as a career?”
“Considered and rejected it. I couldn’t face living hand-to-mouth like most actors when they’re starting out. Very few people make it big on the stage.”
“Do you expect to make it big in your current job?” Maybe by inheriting money from Rick Usher?
“No, but it’s a steady income, which actors don’t usually have.” Madison glanced at her watch. “This is about the time I call my fiancé.”
Val ignored the hint to leave. With the clock running down on this game, she might as well go for broke. “You’ve obviously seen and read a lot of plays. Maybe you can tell me what play a snippet of dialogue comes from.” She paused to remember the threat that Gunnar had overheard Emmett make Thursday night and that Madison had claimed was a line from a play. “I’m calling the shots now. Do what I say unless you want your secret to get out.”
The Tell-Tale Tarte Page 18