Eighty-0ne
In the days that followed, my worries continued about the sad fate of Ethan Humphrey, the vulnerability of Mr. Scrib, and the ongoing threat of sabotage by Cody Wood, but my work kept me busy, and the Village Blend’s financial turnaround became the silver lining to those dark clouds.
The Writer’s Block Lounge quickly grew into a normal aspect of our coffeehouse life, and we attracted new sign-ups with every gathering. Esther’s trips to Hudson River Park for “River Scream” became as popular as the writers’ lounge itself. Some folks wanted to join up just for the screaming sessions.
More work meant more hours, and I added them to everyone’s schedule. The only one to complain was Nancy, who believed her overtime was why Tony Tanaka “dumped” her—although his excuse for continually canceling their late-night dates was supposedly a “secret project” involving other lounge writers.
I didn’t want to burst my barista’s romantic bubble, but the way Blair Woodbridge had cozied up to Tony on her visit the previous week, I thought that “secret project” might be a hot date or two with her.
As for Blair, given Ethan’s belief in her duplicity, I kept watch for her reappearance at our shop. But (so far) she hadn’t returned.
Meanwhile, our newest staff member, Howie Johnson, came through with a file of photocopies from the Performing Arts Library on the deceased actor Ace Archer.
Tuck, Esther, and I got together after closing time and pored over it.
There wasn’t much in the file: some old Playbills and clippings with reviews of Ace’s performances. Few of those reviews were kind, and one—from an off-Broadway production of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream—was downright scathing. We didn’t learn much more about the murdered member of the old Writer’s Block group, with one exception.
“This must be the magician connection,” Tucker said, reading another newspaper clipping. “It’s an obituary for Ezra Stephano, an old stage magician who performed under the name ‘The Amazing Stephano, Sleight of Hand Master.’ The obit reads that he is ‘survived by his son, Elmer Archibald Stephano, a New York actor who performs under the name Ace Archer.’ ”
“So Ace wasn’t his real name,” Esther said.
Tuck shrugged. “I’m not surprised. Stage names are de rigueur when it comes to Actors’ Equity. And look at this swoon-worthy headshot of the boy. Under the name Ace, he’s got a chance at leading man roles. Under the name Elmer, not so much.”
Later that same evening, Mike shared his notes on the NYPD’s cold case file, which was finally delivered to his office.
“The deceased actor’s legal name was—”
“Elmer Archibald Stephano,” I said. “He performed under the name Ace Archer.”
“How did you know?” Mike asked, surprised.
I told him my source and asked him to go on.
“Are you sure you need me to?” he said with a half smile. “Or do you have more sources I should know about?”
“No, Lieutenant, I’m all ears. Please continue…”
Mike did, but there was nothing in the police file that could tell me very much.
“What was the cause of death?” I asked.
“Blunt force trauma to the head.”
“What about Madame’s memory of blood in the alley? She said Nero, the barista who served them, told her there was a fistfight in the alley between two men from the writers’ group. More of the group went into that alley before it was over.”
Mike shook his head. “Everyone’s statements, including Nero’s, amounted to Ace Archer leaving the coffeehouse alone one night and never coming back.”
“Then there was a group cover-up?”
“Looks that way, unless Madame’s memory was faulty.”
“I don’t believe that,” I said. “And I’ve already written to Nero in Sicily, asking him to contact me. Was there anything else?”
“The investigators found that drug dealing was going on behind the Village Blend at that time. Witnesses said Ace Archer was a user. Given the Brooklyn location of his remains, the detectives pursued a line of investigation that suggested Archer was involved in a drug deal that went bad. The case was left open and, in my opinion, the detectives expected that a mobster or drug dealer could be linked to the crime down the line.”
“Except that didn’t happen, did it?” I asked.
“No,” Mike said. “The murder of Ace Archer remains unsolved.”
After that disappointing evening, work and life continued without incident.
Although I kept watching for Blair Woodbridge to return, and I knew that Driftwood could drop another saboteur’s shoe on us at any time, several consecutive days of peace lulled me into cautious complacency.
That is, until one chilly morning.
Mike and his most senior officer, Sergeant Franco, headed up to Albany for a meeting on diversion control, and I caught up on my roasting schedule. Then I helped out my baristas in the shop.
As I climbed the spiral staircase that day, serving tray in hand, I looked down on the busy coffee bar and crowded tables and couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride. By pulling together, my baristas and I had resuscitated our dying retail business. We were thriving, and I was feeling happy about that.
As I delivered coffee and pastries to the second floor, I noticed a familiar figure in cobalt blue at a corner table. Tony Tanaka had fallen asleep, doubtless after a long night of Uber driving. He slumped over his work, head completely covered by his hoodie.
No rest for the weary, I thought.
But as I approached, something seemed wrong. Another few steps and I nearly dropped my tray.
“Hey, are you okay?”
I shook Tony’s shoulder and one limp arm slipped off the table. I shook him again and his whole body toppled to the floor. That’s when I realized what I was looking at—or rather who.
The body on the floor wasn’t Tony Tanaka’s.
The sight of the corpse chilled me to the bone. The glassy eyes were open but unfocused. The mouth was gaping wide, and I spied a half-chewed red gummy on the lolling tongue. More gummies were clutched in one waxy dead hand.
That hand belonged to our fledgling filmmaker, the Goth girl who’d shot the viral video of our River Scream.
I bit back my own scream at that moment. Choking back tears, I realized the eerie blank spaces on her black tombstone T-shirt could finally be filled. Death had found another victim to INSERT NAME HERE, and today that name was Mason Dunn.