Sixty-four

Madame had arrived.

Matt’s mother was seasonably wrapped for a fall afternoon in fawn brown cashmere. Sweetly, she waved a single red rose in greeting. A token, no doubt, from the striking figure following her through our front door.

A minute later I was shaking hands with the first and only holder of the Village Blend’s Golden Ticket and the first genuine astronaut I’d ever met.

Captain Richard Siebold, USN, retired, was out of uniform but hardly informal in a dark suit, a starched white shirt, and a silver tie under a long navy blue overcoat.

The captain greeted us warmly. Though his deep voice instantly commanded respect, the artist in me was drawn to his face, a weathered map etched from years of experiences. In profile, his hawkish nose and close-cropped white hair reminded me of a bald eagle.

Nancy, who regarded New York City’s annual Fleet Week as the official start of her summer dating season, followed her natural inclination and gave the officer a grinning salute.

Why not? Saluting the man seemed like the natural thing to do. Well into his seventh decade, he had shoulders that were still square and his spine was as straight as a frigate’s main mast. With his sharp blue eyes under a furrowed brow, I could easily imagine him on a ship’s deck, peering hard at the horizon.

“I’ve brought us a new member,” Madame informed me. “Captain Siebold would like to join our Writer’s Block Lounge.”

The captain nodded. “I’m working on a piece for the Annual Review of Earth and Planetary Sciences, but my skills aren’t up to the task—”

“Oh, pooh,” Madame said, playfully swatting his chest with the rose. “I read your article in National Geographic. You’re a fine writer.”

“I meant my coffee-making skills, Blanche. I reasoned that if I wrote at the Village Blend, that all-important issue would be resolved.”

“Would you like to attend a session today?” I asked.

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’ll have to belay that action for the present, though I’m postponing for a fine reason—”

“Yes,” Madame said. “The captain and I are winging our way to Florida for a week.”

“Ah, snowbirds out for some fun in the sun?” I assumed.

“It’s much more exciting than that,” Madame said, her violet eyes brightening. “We’re going to watch the launch of a weather satellite at Cape Canaveral.”

Blast off, indeed! I thought.

Though I was happy for them both, inside I felt a tightening tension. Madame’s trip would delay more than the captain’s writing schedule. It would also postpone any discussion of the offer from Driftwood’s CEO.

On the other hand, I thought, this could be a good thing for my purposes. This space launch trip would buy me some time to look for cracks in Cody Wood’s mask. There had to be a way to expose him, get him to admit his real intentions, show his true hand.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Captain Siebold said, “I’d enjoy a tour of your coffeehouse, the roasting room, and the upstairs lounge.”

“Of course,” I said. “You couldn’t get a better tour guide than my dear mentor here. And please do put your Golden Ticket to use. Try our freshly roasted single-origin Rwandan. I think you’ll be impressed. After your coffee and Madame’s tour, I’ll introduce you to Esther Best and she can answer any questions you might have about joining our Writer’s Block Lounge…”

With Madame and the captain happily settled at the coffee bar, I decided to head upstairs to check on Tucker and finally satisfy my curiosity about this New York editor who was already in our midst.

So, as Dante prepared drinks for our golden couple, I excused myself and quickly climbed our spiral staircase.