The Tell-Tale Tarte

by Maya Corrigan

  As soon as she closed the door on the Usher house, her spirits lifted. They soared when Gunnar enveloped her in a hug. Thanks to the large umbrella he’d brought, she and Granddad got to their cars with barely a drop of rain falling on them. Once they were on the road, with Granddad in the lead, her next, and Gunnar bringing up the rear in his Miata, she was almost ready to laugh off the fears she’d had at the house. Almost.

  Val left the caravan, taking the road to the racket and fitness club, while Granddad and Gunnar continued on to Bayport. More than the usual number of customers came to the café for breakfast. Many had already signed the petition Monique had circulated opposing the café’s replacement by a sportswear boutique. Some had even e-mailed the manager and the club owner to argue against the change.

  In a free moment Val phoned her cousin and thanked her for the petition drive.

  “I recruited everyone on our tennis team to help,” Monique said. “They each spent an hour at the club gathering signatures from people taking fitness classes and using the exercise equipment. We’re going to do it again today.”

  “I’m not sure the petition drive will save the café, but I really appreciate it.” Val thought of a question her cousin, an avid shopper, might be able to answer. “Yesterday I talked to a woman who won’t wear anything but designer clothes. Is there a store in Bayport that carries clothing like that?”

  “If she doesn’t mind gently used clothes, she could try Then and Now on Lavender Lane. The shop carries high-end clothes, from vintage to the latest fashions,” Monique said. “Tell me why you asked me to age the photos of those men.”

  Two groups of café customers had arrived while Val was talking to her cousin. “It’s a long story, and I have to get back to work. I’ll explain the next time I see you.”

  If Madison wanted champagne clothes on a beer budget, Then and Now would be the place to go. Had she gone there after the rehearsal on Saturday and lied about it because buying secondhand clothes embarrassed her? Val put a visit to Then and Now on her to-do list for this afternoon. Then she could judge for herself if the finicky Madison would even venture into that secondhand shop.

  Gunnar arrived at the café after the breakfast crowd had dwindled and before the lunch rush started. He’d had a few hours to catch up on the sleep he’d missed last night while monitoring the weather and checking for ice on the route to the Usher house.

  Val poured coffee for both of them and gave him some breakfast bread pudding. She told him what Clancy had said about the rare edition of Tamerlane. “Emmett was convinced Usher had stolen that book and asked Clancy to look for it in Usher’s study.”

  Gunnar shrugged. “Emmett automatically believed the worst about everybody.”

  “And everybody believed the worst about him. Clancy assumed Emmett wanted to steal the book and tried to dissuade him by saying it was recognizable as stolen property and had no resale—”

  Gunnar held up his hand as if to stop traffic. “Emmett was a nasty man, but not a common thief. He wouldn’t get satisfaction from reaching into your pocket. Instead, he’d have coerced you into giving him what he wanted. Power mattered to him as much as money.”

  That analysis of Emmett’s character made sense to Val. “He asked Madison to look for Tamerlane on Rick’s shelves and take a picture of it. He wanted photographic proof that Rick Usher possessed a stolen first edition. Then Emmett could threaten to go public with that photo unless Usher buckled to his demands.”

  “Demands for what?”

  “Emmett wanted permission to create a show based on Usher’s life and books. Usher previously turned him down, but Emmett persisted. He went to the house on Saturday made up to look like Usher so he could perform a scene from the show. I think he wanted a photo of that stolen book to pressure Rick Usher into approving the show.”

  “But Emmett didn’t have the photo. Therefore, he couldn’t exert any pressure.”

  Val doubted he’d give up so easily. “Emmett had other ways to get what he wanted. He couldn’t prove Usher was gravely ill and unable to write, but that didn’t stop him from spreading those rumors online. To counter them, Rosana booked public appearances for her husband. But if Emmett spread rumors about a theft that occurred decades ago, how could she disprove them? She had a motive to murder him because, even without proof, he could sully her husband’s reputation by planting the book-theft story online.”

  “That’s a thin motive for murder. Emmett had no proof of the theft, and you have no proof he threatened the Ushers. But I heard him threaten Madison. She lied about it to the police.”

  Val understood his zeal for proving Madison guilty and would have agreed with him if it weren’t for the dog’s death. “I think Usher’s dog and Emmett consumed an overdose of beta blockers at the Usher house. Madison didn’t get back to the house until after Emmett left, so she couldn’t have slipped the pills into his lunch. Rosana or Clancy could have done that, whichever of them dished up Emmett’s meal.”

  “The dog’s death could have been a coincidence. For the sake of argument, assume Madison crushed meds into Emmett’s burrito that morning, in the break room at the theater. Then she lied to make me look guilty. If the police dismiss the case against me as weak, she needs more suspects in the wings. Did she try to throw suspicion on the other people at the Usher house?”

  Val sipped her coffee and reviewed what Madison had said last night. “Trying to throw suspicion on others might explain her unusual chattiness. She made sure I knew Emmett had been at the house for lunch. By the way, what kind of car did he drive?”

  “A black midsize sedan.” Gunnar closed his eyes as if conjuring an image of it. “Probably a Toyota, but I can’t swear to it.”

  Unless Madison was more of a car buff than the average female, she probably couldn’t swear to it either. “Madison said she recognized Emmett’s car near the Usher house. A black sedan doesn’t strike me as memorable enough to recognize.”

  “His car was plastered with Poe bumper stickers.”

  “Ah. Those would make the car distinctive.” Those bumper stickers might have also attracted the attention of other Poe enthusiasts, like Simone and her son, Raven.

  The night Val had spent in the dark at the Usher house, cut off from the world, had focused her suspicions on the people who lived there and made her forget about Raven as a possible murder suspect. But if tests showed the dog hadn’t died from an overdose of beta blockers, there was no reason to limit the suspects to the Usher household. Raven had access to meds at the pharmacy where he worked and possibly resented Rick Usher’s neglect of him. Yet, even with all her practice at jumping to conclusions, Val had trouble imagining how Raven would have had a chance to slip beta blockers into Emmett’s food. During the few hours when the actor could have been mistaken for Rick Usher, he’d driven from the rehearsal to the Usher house, eaten lunch there, and then driven to the outlet mall. That accounted for most of his time.

  Two women came into the café and claimed Val’s attention. As she made smoothies for them, the café filled with more customers, and Gunnar left.

  * * *

  Val went to the Bayport Police Department headquarters on her way home from the café. She told the chief everything she and Granddad had learned at the Usher house.

  The chief winced at the idea of exhuming the dog. “We don’t have cause to do that yet. For the last few days we’ve been asking the public for information about Emmett Flint’s whereabouts on Saturday afternoon. Nobody at the Usher house came forward, but now you’ve given us enough reason to question the lot of them about his visit there. I’ll call your granddaddy and find out exactly where he saw that bug in Usher’s study. Both of you gotta step back now. We’ll handle it from here.”

  “I’m supposed to cook dinner there tomorrow night,” she said.

  “Check with me first. Even if I okay it, they might not want you there. We won’t tell them who tipped us off.”

  “They’ll figure it out.” And Rosana migh
t not pay her for last night’s dinner.

  Aside from that, Val didn’t mind losing the Usher catering gig. She looked forward to focusing on the café and forgetting about Emmett Flint, but she couldn’t do that as long as Gunnar was a suspect. He wouldn’t be a suspect if Madison had told the truth about his fight with Emmett.

  As Val left police headquarters, she reviewed what Madison had told her the night before. Though forthcoming about Emmett, Madison had stonewalled and lied about where she’d gone after the rehearsal. Because she’d shopped at a secondhand shop or because she’d done something else she wanted to hide?

  Val drove to Lavender Lane, parked half a block from Then and Now, and stuffed her distinctive curly hair under a knit cap before going into the shop.

  Unlike most secondhand stores Val had seen, this one wasn’t crammed full of clothes. It had more open space than racks. Attractive outfits hung face out from hooks on the walls. Jewelry and accessories complemented the clothes on display. Yes, Madison might shop here.

  A slim fortyish woman in designer jeans approached Val and asked if she had any questions.

  “This is my first time here, so I’m not sure where to look.”

  “Welcome. I’m Holly, one of the owners, and I’ll be glad to help you. We’re putting out spring clothes in the front here. We still have a few winter things available along the wall to the right, and some of those are greatly reduced.”

  Val wouldn’t mind checking out the reduced clothes. Maybe another time. Today she wanted to give the impression of having lots of money to spend. She browsed in a rack near the store entrance.

  Two women pushing strollers came into the shop and drew the owner’s attention away from Val. After Holly cooed over the babies, she asked the young women if she could help them.

  “We’re interested in your vintage clothes,” one of them said. “I’ve been here before so I know where you keep them.” She and her friend pushed their strollers toward the back of the shop.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular?” Holly asked Val.

  “A dress or a pants outfit for a special dinner date. A friend suggested I come here. Maybe you know her. She’s about my age, slender with really long brown hair. She sometimes wears it in a braid.”

  “Oh, yes. She’s a good customer.” Holly nudged Val toward a rack with elegant short dresses on it. “She buys a lot here, and she’s brought us fabulous vintage clothes to sell on consignment.”

  Maybe the vintage clothes had belonged to Madison’s mother or grandmother. Keep Holly talking, Val told herself, and wait for a chance to ask nonchalantly if Madison had visited the shop on Saturday. “Between the vintage stuff and the latest fashions, you have a really unique business. It sounds as if it’s going well. I moved back to Bayport about a year ago. How long have you been in this location?”

  “Not a lot longer than that. My partner would like to open a different type of shop. I’m looking for someone to buy into this one. If you’re interested . . . ?”

  “It’s not a good fit for me.” Val saw a way to bring Madison back into the conversation. “But that friend I mentioned might be interested. She’s really into clothes.”

  “I’ve already asked her.” Holly looked at the sales tag on a dress. “Time to mark this one down.” She took it over to the counter.

  One of the young women who’d gone to the back in search of vintage clothes approached her. “Excuse me. Last Friday I saw some dresses here from the 1920s or 30s. I didn’t have time to try them on then. I was going to do that today, but they’re gone. Did they all get sold?”

  “No, the woman who consigned them took them back on Saturday. She’d expected them to sell over the holidays. If there’s one in particular you wanted, I could ask the next time she comes in if she’d bring it back.”

  “The mint green silky one with cap sleeves and a long scarf.”

  An image of a dress like that popped into Val’s mind. The actress playing the divorced wife in the Treadwell Players’ production last fall had worn a clingy green dress just like it. Gunnar had talked about the disappearance of costumes after the show ended.

  She slipped out of the shop, convinced that Madison had swiped the vintage dresses used in the show, consigned them for sale, and come back on Saturday to reclaim them. Was that theft the secret Emmett had threatened to reveal unless she did what he wanted? If it came out that she’d stolen the costumes, the Treadwell Players wouldn’t want her around any longer and Rosana Usher might fire her. Madison, though, could neutralize the threat Emmett posed by sneaking the costumes back to suggest they’d been mislaid not stolen.

  Yes, she’d been dishonest, but she’d found a way to get around Emmett without resorting to murder. And if she had put a deadly dose of beta blockers in his burrito at the rehearsal, she wouldn’t have had a reason to retrieve the clothes from the shop. Besides, how would she, or anyone else except a doctor, know how much a deadly dose was?

  Val climbed into her car. As she’d learned from a previous murder, arsenic was fatal in tiny amounts, but the same wasn’t true of medicines. She whipped out her phone, opened a browser, and searched for the standard dosage of those drugs. It varied widely for each type of drug, and pills came in different strengths.

  She tucked her phone away and drove home. How could the murderer have calculated how many pills to give Emmett? Crush too many into the food, and the texture, if not the taste, would change. Then the victim might stop eating before swallowing a lethal dose. Overkill in this instance didn’t guarantee a kill. Neither did too few pills. Emmett’s killer had either researched fatal dosages or made a lucky guess. Research suggested premeditation. A chill crept over her as another scenario popped into her head. His killer might have tried out the murder method on someone else first.

  Val was still pondering the possibility of another victim when she went inside the house.

  Granddad sat at the dining room table writing checks. He looked up. “What’s new?”

  Plenty. Except for their brief conversation in the Ushers’ driveway and their whispered chat in the bathroom at the Usher house, she’d barely had a chance to talk to him since yesterday. She still hadn’t told him about her visit with Simone. “I’ll start with yesterday’s news. I found Usher’s son. His name is Raven, and he looks like Edgar Allan Poe.”

  “Very funny.” Granddad went back to writing checks.

  “I wasn’t jok—” She broke off as her phone rang.

  Chief Yardley was calling her. “I’m at the Usher house,” he said. “There’s no one here. Do you know where they went?”

  “They were planning to do something this evening, but I’m surprised they’re gone already. It’s barely past three o’clock. I’ll see if my grandfather knows.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Granddad, did the Ushers say anything about their plans for today?”

  “Not to me.” He stroked his beard. “I know it’s a special day. Last night, while we were sitting in front of the fire after dinner, Rosana poured us all a nip of cognac. Usher proposed a toast to Edgar Allan Poe on the eve of his birthday.”

  Poe’s birthday. A toast. Cognac. Usher’s concern about today’s weather. Val could guess where the birthday party would be. “They went to Poe’s grave in Baltimore, Chief.”

  Chapter 26

  “What?” Chief Yardley’s single word sounded like a bark over the phone. “All of them went to Poe’s grave?”

  Val remembered Rosana’s words—One evening a year, Madison.... You have an essential role. “They’re taking part in an annual ritual there. Rick Usher will do what the legendary toaster did at Poe’s grave every year for decades on this day. Raise a bottle of cognac in a toast, drink from it, and leave the bottle behind. I don’t know what role the others in the Usher household will play.”

  But she was convinced one of them was a murderer. The question she’d asked herself earlier echoed in her mind—Could Emmett’s killer have tried out the murder method on someone else first? What if it was
the other way around? Emmett might have been the test case, not the primary target. If so, this year’s toast at Poe’s grave would have a new ingredient—a fatal overdose.

  “I’m not going all the way to Baltimore for a toast to a dead writer,” the chief said. “I’ll talk to those four tomorrow.”

  “One of them may not be alive tomorrow.” Val couldn’t waver and expect help from the chief. “If we don’t get to Poe’s grave fast, Rick Usher will die. I know where, when, and how it will happen—Poe’s tomb, this evening, with an overdose of beta blockers in the cognac.”

  Granddad’s jaw dropped. He jumped out of his chair. “I’ll drive. I know how to get to the cemetery.” He crossed the sitting room to the hall.

  She followed him and kept talking on the phone. “Emmett’s killer will commit another murder unless we stop it. And you may not be able to prove it wasn’t an accident.” She ignored the chief’s torrent of questions while she put on sturdy walking shoes, exchanged her parka for a down jacket, and grabbed a black pashmina shawl for extra warmth.

  She interrupted him. “It’ll take you longer to get to Baltimore from the Usher house than it will take us, Chief. We’re leaving now.” She rushed out of the house.

  “You two stay at home,” he shouted as she walked toward Granddad’s Buick. “Officer Wheeler’s driving me back to Bayport now. You have until I get there to convince me that you’re right. Do that, and I’ll alert the Baltimore PD of possible trouble in the cemetery.”

  Val climbed into the passenger seat as Granddad started up his car, a sound the chief could surely hear through the phone. “If the Baltimore police close the graveyard, you won’t be able to catch the murderer in the act. The killer’s next try might happen behind closed doors. This evening’s attempt will occur out in the open. We’ll see you there.”

  The chief sighed. “Tell me who you suspect and what evidence you have.”

  Val could handle the who and why, but the police would have to get the evidence. Knowing that Granddad would want to add his two cents, she pressed the speaker button on her phone. “Five clues point to the killer—the dog, the dish, the book, the bug, and the blogs. Number one, the dog’s death limits who could have committed Emmett’s murder to the people in the Usher house.”