The Mystery of Nevermore (11 page)

“The hell it is.”

“It’s on NYPD’s crime map, pal,” I retorted.

Calvin stepped into the kitchen. “What are you doing getting yourself involved in this?”

“Someone killed Mike—”

“And that’s for the police to investigate,” he said sternly. “Not an antique dealer.”

“But they’re related, aren’t they? Both murders and my prank.” I moved forward to meet him. “I could see it, when I mentioned Poe. It got your attention.”

Calvin crossed his arms and didn’t respond.

“A woman above a sushi joint was murdered…,” I started.

“I know that.”

“Something was written in blood—”

“Where the hell did you hear that?” he retorted, voice low and dangerous.

“People talk,” I answered quickly. “Maybe they find blind guys endearing and harmless and want to spill their secrets.”

“Who did you talk to, Sebastian?”

“I went to the sushi bar. The chefs told me.”

Calvin pushed his coat back to rest his hands on his hips, likely counting to ten to keep from killing me.

“What was written?” I dared to ask.

He shook his head.

I didn’t expect him to share that ever so curious piece of information. Really. “Want a beer?”

“I’m on the clock.”

“Water? Coffee?”

“No.”

I looked back. “Well, you don’t seem to be in a rush to leave. I know my personality is addictive but—”

“‘She shall press, ah, nevermore.’”

I paused, considered the response, then asked, “Excuse me?”

“That’s what was written,” Calvin clarified, his voice quiet, as if he didn’t want his partner or superiors hearing the confession of information.

“Nevermore. That’s from ‘The Raven,’” I said.

He nodded. “I know.”

“So this is connected!” I exclaimed, feeling unreasonably triumphant despite there having already been two murders.

Calvin waved at me in an annoyed fashion. “Be quiet.”

I rushed out of the kitchen, too excited to calm down. I fetched the copy of Poe’s work that I had left on the table and flipped to the poetry section. “I remember that poem pretty well,” I said while lifting a magnifying glass to the page and reading briefly. “Right, it’s in regards to Lenore, the narrator’s long lost love.”

“I know,” Calvin said again. “But I don’t know why.”

“Why that line?”

He nodded, staring at me.

I lowered the book. “Well, the narrator is sort of melodramatic. Everything around him reminds him of Lenore, specifically in that moment that she’d never rest her head on the cushion of the chair again. It’s a realization that she is truly gone.”

“Nevermore is also the name of the raven,” Calvin added thoughtfully.

“Well, yes, technically,” I agreed. “Who was the woman?”

“You mean, Lenore?”

“No.” I shut the book. “The real woman who was murdered.”

Calvin grew quiet again, but after a short pause, removed his coat and set it on the back of a chair at the table. “Merriam Byers. She worked for Northeast Unlimited Bank.”

“That name sounds so familiar,” I said, rubbing the back of my head as I thought.

“Please don’t say that. If I can connect you to two murders—”

“Wait a minute,” I said suddenly, holding a hand up. “I
do
know that name!” I looked around the apartment anxiously before opening the first box of estate books.

I could feel Calvin watching me from the table. “What?” he asked in growing curiosity.

“I’ve talked to her.”

“How the hell do you know this woman?” he grumbled. “No friends or family in common, two different career paths….”

He was still talking as I put the top box on the floor and started digging through the next. “Northeast Unlimited. I did business briefly with them a few weeks ago.”

“Sebastian.”

“What?”

“Stop and look at me.”

I looked over my shoulder. Calvin had one hand resting on his coat, the other on his hip. His dark suit hugged his gorgeous body, and the light from the kitchen made his left side shine, looking almost otherworldly.

Something angelic.

“I’m looking,” I said quietly. You’d have to pay me to turn away from such a sight.

“You bank with National Trust.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s my job to know,” Calvin replied. “Explain to me your business with this particular bank.”

“Let me show you.” I pried my gaze away, and after digging through two more boxes, found the paperwork I knew existed somewhere in that general chaos. “Here, see? I made a bid a few weeks ago at an estate sale. Northeast was the bank handling the liquidation of property, and my contact was Merriam Byers.”

Calvin reached out and accepted the folded, wrinkled records. “Do you know how this looks?” he asked.

“But I hardly even knew her, Calvin! I talked to her once or twice on the phone and met her for all of ten minutes when I went to collect the books.”

“You’re someone I can link to both victims,” Calvin said, almost apologetically.

“But I didn’t kill them! You know that, right? You believe me?” That panic I had felt at Mike’s shop was starting to surface again.

And then suddenly Calvin’s arms were wrapped tight around me, one strong hand on the back of my head.

Initially I froze. What the hell was he doing?

But nothing happened.

He was just hugging me.

And it was so…
nice
.

I felt the tension leave me entirely, and I slowly slid my arms under his, holding the back of his suit coat tightly. He smelled good. Really good. Neil wore some expensive name-brand cologne that always left me trying to guess exactly what it was supposed to smell like. Calvin wore some scent that was natural and simple and likely had a real name.

Spicy.

It made me think of traces of cinnamon and ginger.

It was masculine, and sexy.

He had no idea that this hug just got a lot more awkward for me.

“I believe you, baby,” he whispered.

Whoa. Wait. Holy shit. Okay, I admit it, Calvin Winter was sexy as hell, and I wanted him, but what the fuck was he doing calling
me
baby? Did he
want
me? For God’s sake,
why
?

“Want to repeat that last line again?” I muttered against his shoulder.

“You heard me,” Calvin replied, not letting go.

“This is weird.”

“Why?”

“Can we discuss this face to face?” I asked.

“Would rather not.” Calvin didn’t let go.

I almost laughed at how absurd this had just become. “Ah, are you—?”

“Are you really expecting Millett back tonight?” he interrupted.

“Er… I don’t think so,” I said quietly.

“Good.” Calvin pulled back and kissed me hard.

I tripped backward and hit the wall behind me. Calvin moved close, his hands on either side of my head. He pressed up against me, hot and rough. He caught my mouth, his jaw scraping against mine as he bruised my lips with kisses. Calvin nudged a leg in between mine and pressed his erection against my hip.

I heard myself moan, and that was the end of it. No turning back.

I reached up and wrapped my arms around Calvin’s neck, and then we were stumbling back into the kitchen, which seemed a decent enough place as any. He shoved me against the fridge, magnets and photos falling to the floor. I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him into another searing hot kiss. His tongue pushed against my lips, and I opened my mouth to the warm invasion.

He tasted like coffee and cinnamon mints and male. The combination was erotic as hell.

My entire body was hot, ready to explode after just a few rough kisses. It was like I’d never been touched before, not really. Not like this—like how I needed it. Hard and fast, and still Calvin’s only goal in mind seemed to be
my
pleasure.

I grabbed a handful of his hair as his hands started unbuttoning my trousers.

“Does Millett ever do this for you?” he whispered against my neck.

I groaned pathetically as he bit down. “D-Do what?”

“Suck you?”

Oh good God. This couldn’t be real.

“He doesn’t really like it,” I whispered, breath catching as he bit my neck again.

Calvin raised his head, looking down at me while he asked, “But do
you
? Do you want me to suck you?” He reached inside my pants and fondled me through my boxer briefs.

“God, yes.”

That jerk smiled as he leaned closer. “Let me hear you beg.”

“W-What?”

“Beg me,” he ordered. Calvin slid his hand into my briefs next and gently gripped me with the hand I had imagined just the day before. He kissed my Adam’s apple when I tilted my head back.

“P-Please,” I whispered, pressing against him. “Please, suck me, oh God…!”

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I acknowledged Calvin was laughing at me, and I was about to knock him senseless, but then I opened my eyes and he was kneeling in front of me and sliding my pants off my hips.

A shiver ran over me as he freed my cock, hard and eager for attention. Calvin leaned forward and gave the head a good lick. I sighed and gently thrust my hips forward for more.

Calvin grabbed me firmly. “Don’t hold back, baby. I want you to fuck my face.”

“W-Who are you, and where is that jerk Calvin Winter?” I managed to ask.

He grinned, wrapped his mouth around me, and moved down my length until his nose pressed against trimmed hair.

I sucked in a sharp breath and looked down, watching as Calvin deep-throated.

It was true that Neil didn’t like giving blowjobs. I don’t think I’d had one in nearly a year. I’d almost forgotten how
incredible
it was, and even more so when your partner enjoyed giving it. Wet and tight and—and it was
Calvin
. Any moment I’d wake up from maybe slipping on ice. I’d be lying on the sidewalk, staring up at the stormy sky with a hard-on that refused to quit, because even that made more sense than a detective I had been certain was straight suddenly being on his knees in the kitchen, telling me to fuck his face.

Watching Calvin through half-hooded eyes, I reached down to grip his hair. He hummed in response and let go of my hips to unzip his pants. He freed his own cock, erect and huge, and stroked himself as he sucked.

I bit my lip and tentatively thrust into his mouth, gentle, but Calvin immediately groaned and sucked faster in response. I held his head still as I pushed in and out with more enthusiasm. It was an incredible turn-on to see him getting himself off, to be so aroused by giving me pleasure that he couldn’t stand it.

I had no idea what was happening. One minute I’m accused of murder, the next I’m getting the best head of my life.

“Yes, yes,” I heard myself cry out. I begged for more of
something
, never being able to finish the thought. I pulled back and then thrust into his mouth hard, thinking maybe I was being too rough, but Calvin groaned around my cock and egged me on.

And again, and again.

I wondered if he’d let me come in his mouth?

There was a sound I kept hearing, breaking my attention from my impending orgasm.

What the hell was that?

A phone.

Oh my God.

Calvin pulled off me, his breathing ragged and heavy. He wiped his lips on the back of one hand and let go of himself. “Goddamn it.” He reached into his suit coat and pulled out his ringing cell, cleared his throat, and answered, “Detective Winter.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m about to explode all over the kitchen floor, and he’s got to take a phone call?

One look at his face told me we weren’t going to be finishing. I reached down and awkwardly tucked myself back into my pants. I closed my eyes to get the image of Calvin’s hard cock out of my mind, replacing it with the thoughts of cold showers, watching a golf match, filing taxes—what else, what else? Those sloppy old lady kisses my grandmother’s friends used to give me as a little boy.

“Something’s come up.”

I snorted and held back a laugh. When I opened my eyes, Calvin was standing and buttoning his pants. “I’ll say.”

He didn’t reply.

“Do I get a rain check on the second half of the date, or are we done?” I stood away from the fridge, my legs feeling like they’d finally support my weight again.

Calvin finished tucking his dress shirt back into place before looking at me. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

I shrugged, sort of at a loss. What was I supposed to say? “No pillow talk about our feelings, then?”

Calvin looked sideways and turned out of the kitchen, fetching his coat at the table.

All right, then. We’ll pretend that little episode didn’t just happen.
“What about my connection to Byers?” I asked, walking out after him. “It’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

Calvin pulled his arms through his coat as he turned around to look down at me. “Don’t go talking about her to people. Give me a minute to figure this out.”

I nodded. “Sure. Okay. Thanks for not arresting me.”

He grunted while buttoning his jacket. “I’m taking this.” He held up the documents from the estate sale.

“Fine.”

“Good night.”

IT WAS
Friday, and Neil still hadn’t called.

Granted, it was six in the morning and he was most likely asleep. Which was what I should have been doing, but after tossing restlessly for a frustrating three hours, I gave up. I braved the new storm coming down on the city full force now and went to set up the holiday decorations in the Emporium.

Because when I can’t sleep, I deck the halls.

“Goddamn it.” I stopped stretching out the garland and lights to untangle another section. Who put this away last year? I was going to kill them.

It had probably been me.

Hall-decking is a two-man job. Pop helped me the first year the Emporium opened, and last year Neil had helped me hang the garland and set up a small tree. It had been terribly domestic and—dare I say it—
cute
. I missed that. Contrary to the evidence, I’m not always a cynical, crotchety old guy. I like the holidays. They’re so festive and uplifting.