The Tell-Tale Tarte
3.5/5
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About this ebook
It’s a cold January in the Chesapeake Bay area, but Cool Down Café manager Val Deniston has plenty to sweat over—like catering a book club event, testing recipes for her Granddad’s cookbook, and catching the author of a deadly tale of murder . . .
The last thing Val needs in her life is an unsolved murder, especially when the victim, an actor famed for impersonating Edgar Allan Poe, happens to be dressed exactly like her Granddad. To keep an eye on Granddad, whose latest job takes him to the home of Rick Usher, a local author inspired by Poe, Val gets herself hired as a cook in Rick’s House of Usher. When she discovers the actor wasn’t the only one doing an impersonation, separating the innocent from the murderous becomes a real-life horror story. But Val must decipher a killer’s M.O. sooner rather than later . . . or she can forget about finding poetic justice.
Includes 6 delicious five-ingredient recipes!
Praise for the Five-Ingredient Mysteries
“Cozy mystery readers will love the puzzle and the enjoyable look into this small tourist town by the sea.”—Nancy Coco, author of the Candy-Coated Mysteries
“Suspects abound and the puzzle solution is deftly handled in this charming cozy . . . With recipes included, this is definitely a starter for fans of Diane Mott Davidson, Lou Jane Temple, and Virginia Rich.”—Library Journal
“Corrigan keeps her simple mixture of pleasant characters, murder, and recipes in the oven.”—Kirkus Reviews
Maya Corrigan
Maya Corrigan lives near Washington, D.C., within easy driving distance of Maryland's Eastern Shore, the setting for this series. She has taught courses in writing, detective fiction, and American literature at Georgetown University and NOVA community college. A winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery and Suspense, she has published essays on drama and short stories under her full name of Mary Ann Corrigan. Visit her at mayacorrigan.com.
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Reviews for The Tell-Tale Tarte
20 ratings4 reviews
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Tell-Tale Tarte by Maya Corrigan is the fourth book in A Five-Ingredient Mystery series. Val Deniston is shocked when her grandfather, Don Myer comes home with a new look. She can tell that he up to something, but Granddad is claiming client confidentiality. Val is leaving the mall with her best friend, Bethany O’Shay when she sees a man resembling her grandfather collapse in the parking lot. The man, thankfully, is not her Granddad. The man does not survive, and he is dressed in Granddad’s new look (same haircut, glasses, hat, and clothes). What has Granddad gotten into this time? At dinner that evening with Gunnar, Val discovers the deceased is Emmett Flint. Emmett was an actor with the local theater group along with Gunnar. Gunnar, unfortunately, recently had an argument with the man and benefits from his death which puts him at the top of the suspect list. While catering a book club dinner, Val discovers Granddad’s new job. He was hired to impersonate Rick Usher. Was Emmett Flint hired to perform this task as well? Was the killer after Emmett, Granddad, or Rick Usher? Val soon finds herself embroiled in a mystery surrounding author, Rick Usher. To get closer to Usher, Val accepts a job as the families’ personal chef. Val needs to clear Gunnar’s name and keep her grandfather safe. When Val is not scouting for clues, she is working at the Cool Down Café, testing recipes for The Codger’s Cookbook (another one of Granddad’s projects), and exploring ways to get her contract on the café renewed. Will Val uncover the killer before he strikes again?I found The Tell-Tale Tarte to be a slow starter. I had a hard time finishing this cozy mystery. The pace starting out slow and failed to improve. There is a repetition of information. I find it annoying to find the same details repeated over and over. I have not been able to warm up to Val and her grandfather (or any of the characters). I felt that the characters are lacking in depth. Val is a hard character to like. She does not exude warmth or friendliness. The grandfather’s antics just got on my nerves. Why does it have to be one zany thing after another? I do not mind a little bit of quirkiness, but Granddad is over-the-top. He expects Val to support him in his subterfuge (which she does). My rating for The Tell-Tale Tarte is 3 out of 5 stars. The mystery was interesting, but uncomplicated and could be solved early in the story. The suspect pool is minute and the killer sticks out (might as well have been an arrow pointing at the individual). The subplot of Val’s café contract was too dominant in the book. The details about the contract and who would take over the space are mentioned frequently. The “romance” between Gunnar and Val does not feel real. It is like the author determined that there should be a romance in the book so she put it in. I just do not feel the connection or affection between them. I did enjoy the Poe references in the book. I am a fan of Edgar Allan Poe and his works (did a paper or two on him in college). There are recipes at the end of the book from the Codger.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5This wasn't awful. It wasn't great, either, but it was entertaining, and a basically easy read. It's the fourth in a cozy series, and it does a good job at it: I pretty much got the gist of what I needed to know about the characters and the setting and so on pretty painlessly (though there were some issues of painful infodump), and I don't think the previous books were overly spoiled for me if I ever want to go back to them. (Spoiler: I probably won't.) The only thing I can really complain about, writing-wise, is the dialogue. People don't talk like this. I'm a weirdo who can't stop using the fifty-cent words in my arsenal (see?), used to getting the glazed look, and even I don't talk like this: "I can't imagine Granddad as docile as a Stepford wife." Or this: "'The next time you go out with Gunnar, wear something clingy and edgy in a bright color. It might add a spark to your stalled romance.'" (That one should be from an article in a bad women's magazine.) What happens is that heroine Val runs a café in a fitness club, and her grandfather is trying to create a career as an investigator (a "problem solver"). One afternoon, shopping with her (fat) friend, Val sees a man collapse in a parking lot, and he looks just like how her grandfather looked that morning, after a rather drastic makeover. (I specify that her friend is fat, because it was strongly stressed in the telling. Did I say I only had that one thing to complain about in the writing? My mistake.) It turns out that there is some deception going on, with Grandpa and, apparently, at least one other man impersonating a local big-time author called Rick Usher, who, unsurprisingly given his name, has a Poe fixation that probably could have used a good dose of some counter-obsessional medication. The other man, of course, is that fellow who collapsed – and, in fact, died. Was he murdered? Of course he was. The police don't think so, but Val is certain, and before you can say "cozy mystery" she's going undercover-like into Usher's house to see what she can find out. The fact that under the circumstances it seems extremely unlikely that the people who make up the Usher ménage would even consider bringing in an outsider, no matter how tired they were of frozen dinners. I probably shouldn't get as hung up as I do about things like the fact that this café Val runs inside a gym is supposed to offer logically healthy breakfasts and snacks and whatnot. And smoothies do get a mention – but, seriously, so do brownies, pecan muffins, cheddar cheese cookies, bread puddings, and a whole bunch of other baked goods that would instantaneously undo any good people might get out of their exercise. There are recipes at the back of the book, of course; I can't say I was overwhelmed with a desire to make any of them. I don't know; I was never convinced by Val as a professional cook, and it was never entirely believable that she did the cooking for the café. Or like the weird whiffs of misogyny that came up here and there: "Val would have run or yelled for help instead of swinging back, as most women would." Really? The other one I made a note of is Granddad's expressed opinion, but it was still like cookie crumbs in the bed: annoying. Or like the annoying repetitions of annoying things like "she dashed" (Val dashes about quite a bit) or "gobbled" (which might have only been used twice, but in my opinion that's two times too many) or Val pretending to tip a pretend hat in a peculiar little salute to her grandfather. I mean – try it. Go stand in front of a mirror and pretend to tip a hat which you're not actually wearing. Does it look like you're tipping a hat? Or does it just look like you're having a small seizure? Val does that at least twice, too. The story was … fine; the rest of the writing I'm not complaining about was … fine… I sighed over the extreme focus on Poe (a young man named Raven? Really? Help), but such is the way of the cozy. I only rather hope the rest of the books don't have Themes like this. The B-plot of Val trying to save her café in the face of the fitness club manager's plans to replace it with a clothing shop was not bad; I liked how she handled the opportunity to blackmail the manager. And I liked how the situation was resolved. The woman Val hires to help her is a refreshing change from the usual sort of character, with an interesting back story. I'm not sorry I read it; it entertained me while I was reading it (in between grumbles). I won't cross the street to avoid more in the series, but I also won't go out of my way to obtain them. The usual disclaimer: I received this book via Netgalley for review.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Val Deniston lives with her grandfather in Bayport, Maryland and runs a cafe in the local fitness club, and does catering on the side. While helping her friend Bethany search for a wedding dress, they see a man who resembles her grandfather's new look - black coat, beard, tinted glasses - and thinks it might be him. When the man falls in front of a car, she dashes toward him, relieved her fears were unfounded, but still helping give him CPR. Unfortunately, no amount of CPR could save the man, still unknown to her and the people nearby. Later that night she she finds out from her boyfriend Gunnar the man's name - Emmett Flint, an actor in the same troupe as Gunnar. When Val goes to her latest job, a book club, it's when she's serving dessert that she sees the "noted author" invited is not only not the author, it's her grandfather Don who, for some unknown reason, is impersonating Rick Usher, the author in question. Rick has made a career of writing in the style of Edgar Allan Poe and has quite a group of followers himself. But when she questions his assistant Clancy, also attending the dinner, she discovers only that 'Rick' is supposedly hoarse from an ailment and Clancy is answering all questions.As time progresses it is discovered that Emmett may not have died from natural causes, and Val is worried for her boyfriend Gunnar, who is the main suspect, and also her grandfather, who is now spending time with Rick himself. So when Val is offered a job catering dinners at Usher's home, she agrees in order to try and find out who killed Emmett and why. Will there be another murder or will poetic justice prevail? Val will have to move fast to find the answer...As a huge Poe fan, I once made a trip to Baltimore just to visit his grave, and own all his books (and wrote an essay on him while in school) so this book was one I was looking forward to reading. While the plot had interesting points, and I did like the fact we have the murder almost immediately - which is always a nice thing so you aren't subjected to pages and pages of needless detail - it also moved slowly for the first quarter of the book.Reading farther, I was somewhat torn; partly because her grandfather seemed a bit of a con man to me: he used her recipes to get a job writing a food column for the newspaper, and then expects to continue so he can write a cookbook. This did not endear me to the man, and grandfather or not, she should have set him straight about who gets the credit and where, especially since he's secretive on other things as well. He seemed more like a "user" than a loving grandfather. It also seemed like they were nothing more than business partners (and not very equal-sided, either). As for the relationship between Val and Gunnar, there doesn't seem to be any "oomph" attached. They just seemed boring when they were talking to each other.Eventually the suspect list was narrowed down to a select few, and then you have the meat of the story. Putting it together at the end was interesting, and it all came together nicely at last. Recommended.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5THE TELL-TALE TARTE, the newest book in Maya Corrigan's Five-Ingredient Mystery series, has an imaginative, twisting plot that revolves around Edgar Allen Poe. Once again Val Dennison and her grandfather, Don Myer get themselves into some sticky, humourous situations while trying to solve a mystery.
Val, who runs the cafe at the gym and caters on the side wonders why her grandfather has changed his look so drastically. He is very evasive with her, but tells her he has been hired for a PI job and he was paid for the changes. When Val sees a man, who looks like her grandfather collapse at the mall she hurries to his side to see that it is not him. The man dies and it turns out that her boyfriend Gunther not only knows him, but recently had a physical altercation with the man where he has pressed assault charges. Of course, Val is worried that Gunther might somehow be dragged into the situation. When it is determined that he died from unnatural causes, Val begins her sleuthing. She is also concerned that her grandfather looks so much like the dead man. Don, as it turns out, has been hired by a famous author's family to impersonate him when he does not make a public appearance. The author, Rick Usher, writes stories based on Edgar Allen Poe, but rather tongue in cheek.
The relationship between Val and her grandfather is fun to read about. She moved in with him so he would not have to sell his house. He has taken on the food column in the paper, now called "The Codger Cook" but uses Val's recipes, sort of. He rewrites them using less than five ingredients. Some of his attempts are pretty funny. They love each other, but that does not mean they do not get on one another's nerves. It is a realistic relationship in most ways. Don was actually much more instrumental in solving the mystery in this book than in the others. Val is busy trying to build up the cafes business, helping her friend with her wedding plans, trying to help Granddad write his Codger Cookbook, catering as well as solving this mystery. She does not spend much time with Gunther in this story, but he is very busy as well. The other characters involved with the Usher family were a little strange. They were not really in the story much, but were talked about when the mystery was being solved. There were some surprises along the way, even though I was pretty sure of who the murderer was. It did start a little slower than some of her other books in this series, but once I got into it, it moved along at a nice pace. Another fun mystery with some pretty good recipes at the end of the book. A good read for cozy mystery lovers. The publisher generously provided me with a copy of this book via Netgalley.
Book preview
The Tell-Tale Tarte - Maya Corrigan
Poe
Chapter 1
Why would a man in his seventies change his appearance overnight? Val Deniston stared at her grandfather, her spoon motionless in the skillet of sizzling onions.
Framed in the doorway to the kitchen, Granddad looked as if he belonged in a fountain-of-youth drug ad, not at all like the man who’d welcomed her as a housemate a year ago. Only yesterday he’d resembled Santa Claus, with a fluffy beard, white curls fringing his head, and wire-framed bifocals slipping down his nose. Now he had shorter hair, a trimmed beard, rimless glasses with tinted lenses, and a tweed driver’s cap covering his bald spot on top.
Val pointed her wooden spoon at him. Who are you, and what did you do with the real Don Myer?
I got a new style for the New Year. What do you think?
He sauntered across the kitchen as if on a runway in a fashion show. Then he shed his black wool car coat, hung it over his chair at the breakfast table, and showed her his shirt and pants—black, hip, and expensive.
You look . . . fantastic, Granddad.
Something other than the New Year must explain his makeover and possibly also his long absences from the house the last few days . . . something or someone. Six months ago, he’d spruced up his appearance, though less radically, to charm an attractive widow, but he’d soon reverted to his plaid shirts and well-worn pants.
He patted his jaw. How do you like my whiskers?
A big improvement.
He’d grown a full beard to play Santa, arriving by boat at the town dock to kick off Bayport’s holiday fest. Instead of shaving off the beard after the fest, he’d hacked at it for weeks. Your barber gave you an elegant beard, but he took off too much hair above it. I liked the curls around your ears.
He snorted. Barber! I went to a stylist in Annapolis. You should go too. You’re starting to look like that poodle across the street.
She feigned horror. The apricot poodle? No way. My hair’s darker, like cinnamon.
She fingered her unruly curls. And if it needs a trim, Bayport has plenty of stylists. Why’d you go all the way to Annapolis?
He pointed to his tweed cap. I bought it at Hats in the Belfry. You can’t buy anything like this in Bayport.
True. The hats sold in this town appealed to the tourists who flocked to Maryland’s Eastern Shore for boating on the Chesapeake Bay, duck hunting, and golfing. Before now Granddad had never worn a driving cap. He’d bought few new clothes since Grandma died almost seven years ago, except maybe underwear. He could count on receiving socks, shirts, sweaters, and pajamas for birthday and Christmas gifts. What are you doing that requires a stylish wardrobe?
Work for a new client. I’m finally attracting the right type of business. No more tracking down runaway tabbies or stolen garden gnomes.
With a business card that identifies you as a problem solver and sleuth, you have to be prepared for any challenge. Mrs. Smith was very grateful you found her cat.
She wasn’t grateful enough to pay me with cash, just cookies. I want to earn back some of the money I forked over for that online private-eye course. My client is paying my expenses and even gave me an advance.
He adjusted the angle of his driver’s cap.
Val turned the burner down as she digested Granddad’s words. With that dubious online training and a minor role in solving a murder or two, what could he be doing to merit up-front payment? Did his client want him to go where a younger person wouldn’t fit in? Maybe he’d exaggerated his undercover snooping in a retirement community last summer. She only hoped he wasn’t getting in over his head. What kind of work does your client want you to do?
That’s confidential.
He pointed to the pan on the stove. Looks like you’re making enough onions for the whole town.
He sniffed. I smell beef and bacon too. What’s the occasion? You don’t usually cook good stuff like that for me.
At her mother’s insistence and despite his grumbling, Val kept him on a low-cholesterol diet. The French onion soup and the daube Provençal are for a dinner party I’m catering tomorrow. The flavors have to blend for a day.
You didn’t tell me you had another catering job.
I just got it three days ago, and I’ve barely seen you since then.
She wouldn’t let him get away with changing the subject from his gig to hers. When did you start working for your new client?
This week.
Granddad picked up her recipe card from the counter and held it at arm’s length. I can’t read it with these tinted glasses. I need my bifocals. Can we use this soup recipe in the cookbook?
"Sorry. It doesn’t meet your exacting standards. If an old codger like me can cook, anyone can. Five ingredients is all you need."
He frowned. When did I say that?
In your first interview, after you submitted my recipes as your own and won the job of food columnist.
Having fooled local newspaper readers into believing he could cook, he now wanted to take his Codger Cook ruse to a larger audience by publishing a cookbook.
I think of them as family recipes. Your grandmother taught you to cook right here.
His sweeping gesture encompassed the cheerful kitchen and the butler’s pantry in the old house.
Val still felt Grandma’s calming spirit in the kitchen and changed the subject rather than argue with Granddad over his right to the recipes. By the way, I’m going out to dinner tonight with Gunnar. There are some leftovers in the fridge.
Don’t need ’em. Got plans of my own tonight.
He went to the sink for a glass of water. Gunnar hasn’t been around lately. I was afraid you two broke up.
A few months ago, Granddad would have been thrilled if her romance with Gunnar turned sour. He’s working on a big forensic accounting contract and rehearsing for the Treadwell Players’ next production.
Val had seen less of him lately than at any time since he moved to Bayport last summer.
With Gunnar so busy, you have more time to test recipes for the cookbook.
She put down the wooden spoon and turned toward him, her hands on her hips. "In the fall, when you came up with this cookbook idea, you agreed to test the recipes for it. Unless you do that, you don’t get to use my recipes in The Codger’s Cookbook and put Don Myer on the cover along with Val Deniston."
Don’t get in a snit about it. I’ll do my part when I’m not tied up with a client, but we gotta move fast on the cookbook. I’m lining up an agent.
Val stared at him, incredulous. Unless publishing had become far less competitive in the year since she left her job as a cookbook publicist, he couldn’t have snagged a reputable agent with so little of the book finished. He must have fallen for a scam. Where did you get this agent?
Never mind. Just test some recipes and get ’em on paper. You got a couple hours now, before you go to dinner, and you can work on it tomorrow if Bethany manages the café for you.
This afternoon I’m going to help her pick out a dress for a wedding. She worked today at the café. I can’t ask her to do it again tomorrow. After teaching first graders all week long, she needs at least one day off.
Bethany would also work at the café on Monday, the Martin Luther King Day holiday, so Val could sleep in after catering the night before.
Granddad stroked his neat white beard. If I find someone to help you at the café, do you think you can finish the cookbook in the next six weeks?
She stirred the onions vigorously. Six weeks from now she might not have a café to manage. Based on the rumor she’d heard today, the space occupied by her café at the athletic club would turn into a sportswear boutique. She’d hold off on telling Granddad until she confirmed the rumor. I can’t work every day for the next six weeks on the cookbook. Do you know what happens in the middle of next month?
Middle of February? Hmm. Your birthday.
He shrugged. You’re gonna be thirty-three, so it’s not a big birthday. That shouldn’t keep you from finishing the cookbook.
My birthday is also Valentine’s Day. I’d like to take some time off to spend with my valentine.
Gunnar had talked about the two of them making a trip to New York then, her first visit back there since leaving her fiancé and her cookbook-publicist job. Val tried to ignore her grandfather’s dejected expression. I can finish three chapters by the beginning of March, but only if you test the recipes. Three chapters will be enough for an agent to send to a publisher.
Okay.
He took the black car coat from the back of the kitchen chair. I’m going to run some errands.
He left the kitchen.
His new look and his secrecy about what his client wanted him to do struck her as fishy, but as long as the work didn’t land him in hot water, it wasn’t all bad. The job had pulled him out of the post-Christmas doldrums he’d suffered ever since her brother’s family had gone home to California. Granddad had really enjoyed his great-grandsons over the holidays and missed them.
The café contract occupied Val’s thoughts as she caramelized the onions. If she lost the contract, she’d need another job fast to help Granddad with the household expenses. Without her income, he’d have to sell the large Victorian where he’d spent most of his life. And she’d have to admit failure, that sickening feeling she’d had after her career and her engagement ended. She had six weeks to prove she wasn’t a failure at the café.
* * *
Val drove into the parking lot at the Queenstown outlet mall. At three on a Saturday afternoon, with the post-holiday sales in full swing, the mall was swarming with shoppers. She pulled into a space and read the text Bethany had sent with the name of the shop where they should meet. Unfortunately, she didn’t say in which of the outdoor mall’s four sprawling buildings the shop was located. With parking lots around and between the buildings, Val could have a long chilly walk.
She got out of the car, scanned the longest building in the complex, and counted herself lucky to see the shop nearby.
When she went into it, she immediately spotted Bethany’s ginger hair and neon yellow parka. Val joined her at a circular rack of dresses. Sorry I’m late. Buying and prepping the food for the book club dinner took longer than I expected. I have to serve a meal related to the book under discussion.
What are they reading?
Rick Usher’s recent best seller. I’m making a French dinner because the story’s set in Paris.
Bethany moved the hangers along the rack, studying one brightly colored dress after another. I’ve read every one of Usher’s horror books. I didn’t know he had a new one. What’s it called?
"The Murders in the Rue Cler, but it’s not horror. I looked it up online. It’s about a French detective, Gaston Vulpin."
Usher models his writing on Edgar Allan Poe’s. He publishes one eerie book and one murder mystery each year. I don’t know how he manages to write so much. He’s getting kind of old.
He has help. There’s another name on the book cover, under his.
If Granddad had his way, his name would appear first on The Codger’s Cookbook and the person who actually came up with the recipes would get second billing in smaller type.
Bethany pulled a hanger off the rack. I picked out a couple of dresses I liked. Everyone says sideways stripes make you look fat, but up-and-down ones should be okay. What do you think of this?
She showed Val a boxy sheath with multi-hued vertical stripes.
The colors reminded Val of a set of jumbo crayons. Narrow vertical stripes might be slimming, but those wide stripes would make even a runway model look chunky.
No matter how much I diet, I’ll never be thin enough for a runway.
Bethany put the dress back and unhooked another one from the rack. This is my second choice.
She held up a full-skirted dress cinched at the waist by a wide black belt. Above and below the waist were amorphous blobs of red, pink, and white, with bits of green interspersed, like a field of poppies viewed by someone nearsighted.
Val couldn’t decide whether the flower riot would look better or worse than the crayon box on Bethany. Neither would flatter her. That dress would be fine in the spring,
and on someone half Bethany’s size. A January wedding calls for something else. Let’s try another store.
A frigid wind whipped around them when they left the shop. Val spotted a bearded man in a black coat and a driver’s cap sauntering through the parking lot. Granddad in his new clothes. Maybe this visit to the mall was related to the job he was keeping secret from her. Could someone have hired him to be a mystery shopper?
Val pointed toward the farthest lane of the parking lot. There’s my grandfather over there.
Bethany squinted at him. That doesn’t look like him.
He got a makeover since the last time you saw him.
Val stopped at a window display. Look, this shop has forty percent off.
She pulled the door handle.
Wait, Val. Your grandfather’s walking funny. Weaving and—
Bethany broke off as a car horn sounded from the far end of the lot.
Val watched a car creep toward Granddad. He paid no attention to it. He staggered. Then he disappeared as if a trap door in a stage had swallowed him. The car jerked to a stop.
Her heart raced. Granddad had fallen, or the car had knocked him down.
She dashed across the lanes of the parking lot, evading drivers cruising for empty spaces. A pickup truck backing out of a space nearly hit her. By the time she reached the place where she’d last seen Granddad, a crowd had gathered.
A middle-aged woman on the fringe of the group wrung her hands. He just dropped on the ground in front of my car. I called 911.
As Val edged her way into the crowd, she spotted a tweed driving cap and tinted glasses on the pavement. Granddad’s new purchases. Her eyes burned with tears.
Three people bent over him, blocking her view of his face. She saw only his dark trousers and shoes. Black loafers with metal hardware.
Granddad never wore loafers! And those shoes would be way too small for him.
Dizzy with relief, she wiped away her tears, craned her neck, and glimpsed the face of the man on the ground.
A day ago she wouldn’t have seen any resemblance between him and her grandfather. But now, after an extreme makeover, Granddad had a similar haircut and beard, as well as the identical hat and glasses.
A burly teenager bending over the stricken man said, I can’t feel his pulse.
Val shivered, chilled to the core. Granddad was a dead ringer for a dead man.
Chapter 2
Val’s heart pounded as she peered at the ashen face of the man now receiving CPR. Where was her grandfather while his double lay motionless on the ground? If she knew, she would rush to him and hug him tightly enough to feel his heart pulsing.
Bethany sidled up next to her. I couldn’t keep up with you in these.
She pointed toward her boots with chunky high heels. Then she peered over Val’s shoulder at the man on the ground. Poor guy. He reminds me of someone, but not your grandfather.
Granddad just got his hair and beard trimmed exactly like that man’s.
Your grandfather cut his hair? I loved his white curls.
Bethany sounded shocked and hurt, like a freshman returning from college to find her room at home redecorated.
The burly young man giving CPR looked up, beads of sweat on his forehead. I don’t know if I’m doing this right. Anyone else want to try?
The teenager looked distraught. Like Val, he’d probably done chest compressions only on a dummy. Her recent CPR refresher gave her confidence. I can spell you.
She switched places with him as sirens sounded. Mouthing the words to Stayin’ Alive,
the recommended song to set the beat for CPR, Val kept up the compressions until the EMTs arrived and took over.
How long had it been since the man collapsed? She’d lost all sense of time. Chest compressions alone had a minute chance of reviving him, but CPR plus defibrillation within five minutes of cardiac arrest would give him a better chance of survival.
Val joined Bethany on the sidelines. I hope he makes it.
You did all you could,
Bethany said. When did you learn CPR?
I took a training course after I moved in with Granddad. I’d never forgive myself if he had a heart attack and I stood by helplessly.
Val reached into her shoulder bag for her phone. I’m calling him.
She’d feel calmer once she heard his voice.
He didn’t answer the landline or his cell phone. She was disappointed, but not alarmed. He must have gone out without his cell phone or forgotten to recharge it.
She marched toward the row of stores lining the parking lot. Let’s go find you a dress.
Bethany limped behind her. Slow down. I think I got a blister from trying to run in these boots. You flew off in a panic just because you saw a man with a coat and hat like your grandfather’s.
Val shifted her pace from fast forward to slow-mo. Not only the clothes, his hair and beard too. Granddad just got those trimmed this morning.
Simple explanation. When he went for a haircut, he saw that man in the shop and asked the stylist to trim his hair and beard the same way. He could have bought a similar hat and coat because he liked the guy’s style.
You can explain away the hair and the clothes, but not Granddad’s new eyeglasses. They were like the ones on the ground where that man fell—rimless with tinted lenses.
Val stood aside for a family of shoppers strolling abreast on the sidewalk. With the family past them, she and Bethany resumed walking. You can buy sunglasses and reading glasses from a rack in a drugstore, but where do you find glasses like that on the spur of the moment?
That does sound eerie, like a horror story—the Stepford grandfathers.
Val laughed. I can’t imagine Granddad as docile as a Stepford wife.
But he’d submit to a makeover if a client stroked his ego and paid him enough.
They went into the shop with the forty-percent-off sign.
Bethany zeroed in on a ribbon-trimmed lilac dress with puffy sleeves and a tiered skirt. Do you think this will work on me?
Maybe for a square dance. You’d look more sophisticated in a simpler style.
Bethany checked the label. Uh-oh. A size too small. I could probably squeeze into it if I began dieting today, but I can’t. I have to start my new diet when the moon is full, and I just missed it for this month.
Val rolled her eyes. Her friend’s latest fad diet sounded even wackier than the others she’d tried. What does the moon have to do with your diet?
It’s the werewolf diet. You fast on the first day of the full moon. There are other rules too.
Like running around the woods and howling?
Not funny, Val.
Bethany hung up the lilac dress.
Give me a heads-up when you go on the vampire diet so I stay away from you after sundown.
Val had an idea how to get Bethany to try on something that would flatter her more than her usual outfits. You asked for my advice about a dress. Will you let me pick one out for you?
As long as I get a veto.
Giving her veto power would just prolong this shopping jaunt. Val wanted to get home in time to catch Granddad before he left for the evening. How about if I pick out two dresses and you choose between them?
Bethany folded her arms. I’ll do it, if you let me pick out a dress for you.
You’re the one going to a wedding, not me. I don’t need a dress.
Duh. You don’t need a wedding to wear a new dress. For a change, put on something with more pizzazz.
Val suppressed a laugh. Until now she hadn’t realized her tastes in clothes offended Bethany. Ironic that they were both trying to give each other’s wardrobes a makeover. I wear comfortable clothes in classic styles.
You mean slacks and sweaters in navy, black, and tan. The next time you go out with Gunnar, wear something clingy and edgy in a bright color. It might add a spark to your stalled romance.
People burned by previous romances are wary of sparks.
Val went over to the sales rack and sorted through dresses in Bethany’s size. "And stalled is the wrong word. We’re still moving along."
Slowly.
We both have a lot going on. He’s working on the Treadwell Players’ upcoming play. I’m busy with the three Cs—café, catering, and cookbook.
Be careful you don’t drift apart.
Bethany studied the dresses in Val’s size. The same rules apply for both of us. I select two dresses for you. You buy the one you like best.
Or disliked the least. Val rejected the fire engine red dress Bethany chose and agreed to buy a clingy electric blue dress. The color worked well with her hair. Bethany rejected a cream-colored dress as dull, and then hemmed and hawed over a teal dress. Yes, the princess cut flattered her curves without emphasizing them, but wasn’t the dress too plain for a wedding? Val solved the problem by finding a multicolor scarf