Mrs. Cartwright, swathed in black, with a black scarf around her neck and black gloves on her hands, sported large-framed dark sunglasses. The red hair provided a sharp contrast to her clothes, and her face had been expertly—though heavily from what I could tell—made up. I supposed she was vain enough about her appearance that she didn’t want to look like a centenarian in public.

“This is an unexpected pleasure, Mrs. Cartwright.” Teresa smiled. “I thought your grandson was coming with you.”

“Eugene had something else to do.” Mrs. Cartwright bumped her cane against the edge of the table. “Besides, this is my business, not any of his. Nor any of my daughter’s. Isn’t that right, Marcella?”

“Yes, Mother.” Marcella stared at her lap and spoke in a whisper.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cartwright. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you in person.” Mrs. Taylor’s voice, quavery at first, grew more assured as she continued. “I thought I wouldn’t get to meet you until next week, but here you are.”

“Who are you?” Mrs. Cartwright sounded brusque. “I know Mr. Harris there”—she nodded at me—“but I don’t know you.”

Mrs. Taylor giggled. “Oh, dear, I have completely forgotten my manners, haven’t I? I’m Carrie Taylor, the editor and publisher of the EBC newsletter, The Thane Chronicles.”

“Then I suppose I should thank you for all the work you’ve done to keep Veronica Thane’s name alive.” Mrs. Cartwright smiled. “I’ve been happy to know that there are readers out there who still remember me and my little books.”

“Oh, there are, there are. Millions, probably. If you only knew how much people love you and your writing.” Mrs. Taylor bobbed up and down a bit in her chair.

“That’s wonderful to hear.” The author turned to Teresa, and beside me Mrs. Taylor stopped moving. “Now, about the speaker’s fee for my appearance next week. Marcella said there is a problem.”

“I’m afraid so.” Teresa paused for a breath. “Before we discuss that, though, I wonder if you could tell me why you didn’t mention a fee when we visited you the other day. We proceeded with our plans in all good faith that you were happy to appear without one.”

“I thought you had already discussed that with my daughter.” Mrs. Cartwright frowned. “At least, that is what she led me to believe.”

“We did not talk about a fee at any time.” Teresa shook her head. “We simply don’t have that kind of money in our budget. We can’t afford to pay you.”

“That’s outrageous.” Marcella Marter’s head jerked up. “You have to pay what we’re asking. You’ve already told everyone my mother will appear here next week.”