Canary by Nathan Aldyne

Author:Nathan Aldyne
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781937384951
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
Published: 2014-10-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“MY GOD,” VALENTINE said with mock astonishment, “I was expecting Medusa’s daughter, and I get Little Mary Sunshine.”

Clarisse, carrying her telephone with her as she answered her apartment door and with the receiver tucked securely between her left ear and shoulder, motioned him to silence.

It was eight forty-five on Sunday morning, and Valentine had shown up at her threshold with a pot of freshly brewed coffee and a string-tied box of muffins.

Clarisse took the round glass pot from him. Valentine kicked the door shut behind them and followed her across the room to a table by an open back window. He placed the box next to the electric warmer on which Clarisse placed the pot. The table was already set for two, complete with a slender vase of fresh-cut orange-and-yellow tiger lilies. Valentine gave her a puzzled look, which she ignored, and then sat down.

“Fascinating,” Clarisse muttered into the receiver. “I never knew…” She covered the mouthpiece briefly enough to whisper, “Be off in a second, Val.”

Silently, Valentine mouthed the question, Who is it?

Clarisse again briefly covered the mouthpiece. “Paul Harvey,” she replied. “Would you like your buns warmed?”

“The Paul Harvey?” Valentine said aloud. “The news commentator Paul Harvey?”

“Shh!” Clarisse snapped, and then added a nod to his question. “Amazing,” she said into the receiver.

Valentine watched her with growing curiosity. Clarisse opened the refrigerator and retrieved a tub of soft butter from a lower shelf. She transferred a generous amount to a small plate and carried it to the table. She seated herself opposite Valentine and undid the string about the box of pastries and tossed it into the trash can between the stove and the refrigerator. “Unbelievable,” she said with a soft click of her tongue as she rested her elbows on the table. A balmy morning breeze gently rustled the long, curved petals of the tiger lilies and pushed at Clarisse’s hair. As she listened, she gazed out the window at Tremont Street a block away. Her Lucille Ball puff of the previous night was gone and her hair repaged. She wore a loose-fitting melon-colored blouse, jeans, and sandals. The palest hint of rose rouge tinted her cheeks. She turned suddenly away from the window.

“Fine,” she said briskly. “Good day to you, too, Paul.”

Clarisse hung up and flipped open the box of muffins.

“Why in the world would Paul Harvey call you ?” Valentine asked suspiciously.

“He was telling me everything there was to know about German cockroaches,” she confided. She tilted the box in Valentine’s direction. “Which would you like? Orange, cranberry, walnut, or blueberry?”

Valentine selected the blueberry and put it on his plate. Clarisse filled their mugs with coffee. “I never knew cockroaches— German cockroaches,” she amended, “could be so interesting. They’re a growing problem in this country, you know. Paul tells me they could become a plague if something isn’t done about them.”

Valentine put his knife and muffin down. He looked about the kitchen with widened eyes. “Have I just stumbled into the Twilight Zone?”

Clarisse edged the telephone over in front of him.

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