stood and glanced at his slim platinum watch. “I’m afraid I must apologize. I’ve forgotten about an agency meeting.”
“But—”
He extended his hand. “Thank you for your interest in our agency. If you decide to pursue your case, please call Ms. Cassel for an appointment—” He gestured to his office door. The receptionist was standing there, waiting to escort us out.
Less than ten minutes later, we were back on the sidewalk.
Sixteen
On the cab ride back to the Blend, my cell phone rang. It was Matt. Apparently, his morning had gone much differently than mine.
“Clare, I had to call.”
“Matt? What’s wrong?!”
“This is the first time I’ve eaten at Joy’s restaurant and the place is exceptional!”
“That’s nice, but I have to tell you...”
“I’m just finishing my lunch of seared skate with baby root vegetables and sauce grenobloise. Our daughter prepared everything on my plate, and—”
“Matt, I need to...”
“—the skate just melted on my tongue! You know, I haven’t had skate like that since—”
“Listen to me!” I finally shouted. “I have a lot to discuss with you and none of it involves Jacques Pépin’s favorite fish!”
“Clare, why are you freaking?”
I quickly recounted my morning: interrogating Ric about the smuggled cutting; tracking down Ellie at the Botanic Garden; adding the word
“Good god, Clare, have you lost your mind?”
“That’s your response? Don’t you understand that Ric is in danger? And Ellie may be, too, for all I know.”
“Or all you
“I know, Matt, but I am—”
“I’ll tell you what you are. You’re a certifiable nose-hound with an addiction to conspiracy theories.”
“Well, if I am, then so’s your mother.”
“Back up. What are you saying about my mother?”
“She’s been with me all morning, and she’s right here in the cab with me now.”
A long pause followed. “Clare,” Matt said tightly, “I know Halloween’s around the corner, but
“I didn’t have to drag her.”
“For the love of...” He cursed. “Are you telling me that you’re taking my elderly mother on some ridiculous Nancy Drew joyride—”
“It’s not ridiculous—”
Madame tapped my shoulder. “What’s he saying, Clare?”
“He’s going on about how we’re ridiculous.”
“Give me that phone,” she snapped.
I handed over the cell. Matt was still ranting on the other end about how we were on a wild goose chase.
“Young man,” Madame barked into the cell, “this is your mother—”
I raised an eyebrow at “young man,” but then realized just how young a son in his forties was to a woman pushing eighty.
“Look here, Matteo, Clare and I were not just chasing feathered foie gras. We’ve uncovered some rather significant information. So stop spouting off, and for once in your life, listen to your wife!”
“Ex-wife,” I corrected as Madame handed the phone back to me.
“Okay,
“Here’s what. You need to warn your friend Ric what’s happening with this private investigation business. I’ve already called Ellie—twice. But I’m only getting voicemail, and she hasn’t returned my calls. I don’t have Ric’s cell phone number, so I tried calling his room at the V Hotel, but they said Federico Gostwick isn’t registered there, and—”
“He’s not registered there because I booked the room for him under my name, just to be on the safe side.”
“Well, that’s exactly what I’m talking about, Matt! You see the need to protect your friend, right? That’s all I’m doing, and I’m telling you he’s not safe. A private eye was on Ellie’s tail, so now he knows where your friend is staying, which means whoever hired the P.I. also knows where he’s staying. I think that mugging last night was someone— possibly Ellie’s husband—attempting to steal the cutting or harm Ric.”
“Okay, okay. Calm down. I understand what you’re worried about, and I’ll talk to Ric about everything.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise. But you have to promise something, too.”
“What?”
“I need you to chill. Stop interrogating Ric and following people he knows. This is important, Clare. I don’t want Ric spooked.”
“I’m only doing it to help him—”
“He’s a private man, and he’s not going to appreciate your butting into his business. And we need his business, Clare. We can’t afford for this deal to fail.”
“What do you mean by that? The Blend is doing fine.”
“We’re in trouble, Clare...” He paused. “Okay, I’m in trouble.”
“The cutting? Someone figured out it was smuggled into the country?”
“Forget the cutting. It’s far worse than that.”
I heard him take a breath. “The kiosks are in trouble. Financial trouble. For the last few months, I’ve been transferring funds from the profitable kiosks to the unprofitable ones, to shore them up. Keep them going until I can remedy the situation—and the kiosk expansions are partially leveraged against the Village Blend and its townhouse.”
It took me a minute to catch up with Matt, but I still couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I don’t understand. I saw the kiosks’ early numbers. They looked great.”
“The first wave of startups did well. Interest was initially high. But the new kiosks, mostly the ones in California, are in trouble.”
“Why?”
“A lot of the patrons of the high-end shops in those areas have a problem with caffeine. We tested processed decafs as a possible alternative, but a lot of them weren’t happy with the quality. Ric’s hybrid would be a high- profile splash, the kind of new product that’s sure to reel in those premium customers.”
“No wonder you’ve been so eager to make this thing with Ric work.”
“That’s why Friday night is so important. These decaffeinated beans, my exclusive deal with Ric... they’re the life preserver for almost half of the Blend kiosks. It’s a new revenue stream, as well as a way to promote the kiosks that are about to go under.”
“Oh, god...”
“Clare, I need you onboard now more than ever. I need your support in making this launch a success. Do I
