Eleven

I did my best to hide my annoyance, but my spine was already rigid.

When I told Matt about the slow traffic and plunge in revenues, I knew he was upset, but I thought he wanted me to deal with it, including breaking the news to his mother.

Madame patted my hand. “Don’t fret, Clare. My son simply mentioned that you had troubling news to convey. He also said that you and your staff are on top of the situation.”

“I believe we are now,” I said, forcing my jaw to unclench.

“Matt also told me how well you handled an emergency this morning. A customer with a medical issue?”

“More like a mental health issue. And Matt did most of the handling. The rest of us simply kept the poor man comfortable until the ambulance arrived.”

“Well, he assured me that you managed everything professionally. He has great faith in you. As do I.”

I thanked her and wondered what else Matt had said.

Instead of guessing, I came clean, confessing everything I’d been holding back: the devastating drop in foot traffic, my creative accounting to keep the shop going, and finally my decision to call a staff meeting to brainstorm solutions.

“Esther proposed an idea that could increase our business exponentially, if we can get the word out—”

“Word out?” Madame looked slightly horrified. “Surely you’re not suggesting we resort to advertising.”

“Uh, no…Nothing so extreme.” I did my best to sound convincing, while keeping the staff’s ideas about karaoke and coupons to myself. “Our approach will be smart and dignified, and we have you to thank for the idea as much as Esther.”

“Me?”

I explained how I found that old metal sign for the Writer’s Block Lounge hidden away in the Village Blend’s attic.

“Once Esther saw that sign, she was hooked on bringing the concept into the twenty-first century. She was so enthusiastic that she managed to reel in the rest of us.”

Madame frowned—not the reaction I was expecting.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy.”

“Are you sure you can manufacture something like that? The original Writer’s Block Lounge was organic, not organized by me or the staff. It was created spontaneously among a group of customers.”

“But the sign. Didn’t you have it made?”

“Not me. One of the members created it as a joke. A play on words. Writer’s Block—as in a block of writers coming together to help writers who are blocked.”

“Well, I think it’s worth a try. The staff does, too—”

“But you know how difficult creative people can be,” Madame argued. “You just saw that firsthand with all those Hollywood people who filmed here.”

“True, but we’re not talking about anything like that. The location filming disrupted our business for weeks, limiting our traffic and revenue. This idea would enhance it.”

“I don’t see how.”

“My baristas do. And the same way you have faith in me, I have faith in them. Now tell me, Madame, what do you remember about the original Village Blend writers’ group?”

“They had disagreements regularly. Loud ones. There was so much drama in the original group, it eventually fell apart.”

“How many members were there?”

“It fluctuated. There were nine or ten regulars. They gathered on the second floor several times a week—until the tragedy.”

“Tragedy?”

“There was a death,” Madame said and looked away. “After that, the Writer’s Block Lounge ended forever.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t recall the details.”

“Really? About a death that broke up a group meeting in your shop. Nothing?”

“It was so long ago—” Her tone was short as she waved her hand. “What does it matter, anyway? It’s over and done with. Ancient history.”

I got the strongest feeling that it wasn’t.

For one thing, Madame was usually a very curious person, especially when it came to unsolved mysteries. Did she really not remember? Or was there a reason she didn’t want to?

I could tell pressing her wasn’t going to produce any answers. Like with those precious Rwandan cherries in my roasting room, knowing when to turn down the heat was as important as knowing when to apply it. So I shifted my focus…

“Do you still know anyone in that original group?”

“One member. She and I hadn’t seen each other for decades, but we crossed paths recently on the charity circuit. Actually, I have a chance to see her tomorrow evening. She’s one of the honorees at the Wordsmyth Awards Dinner. I was going to pass, but…” She paused to think. “This might be an opportunity to call my retired captain back to active duty.”

“Ah, so you have an ulterior motive as well.”

“You know what they say? Strike while the iron is hot—”

“Not to mention the astronaut.”

“Touché, yourself,” Madame said. “Oh, all right, I won’t deny it. The man is attractive, and we women should go after what we want. Isn’t that what I’ve always told you?”

“Absolutely. If you’re going to go, go boldly! See? Now I even sound like a crew member of your captain’s Enterprise.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll RSVP for the Wordsmyths in the morning and invite Captain Siebold as my plus-one.”

“Yes, order him to do his duty. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear from you. And while you’re at that awards dinner,” I gently pressed, “do me a favor and try to persuade your writer friend to pay us a visit. I know my baristas will appreciate connecting with someone from the old Writer’s Block group…”

I didn’t say it, but I was also curious about the whole tragic death thing. If Madame didn’t remember the details of why the group broke up, maybe her writer friend would—

Just then, a sharp electronic buzz rattled the shop and both of us.

Madame looked around. “Is that the night delivery bell?”

“Yes,” I said. “But who makes a delivery in a dark alley at midnight?”

“Quite right,” Madame said. “Amazon stops delivering at ten, though it could be DoorDash.”

“I didn’t order from DoorDash!”

“Then who could it possibly be?”