The Mystery of Nevermore (18 page)

Another terrified-to-be-out cop.

Calvin was talking again, but I spoke over him and asked, “How deep in the closet are you?”

He blinked and raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

“I mean, are you hanging out with the shoes, or are you so far in the back, you’re with your tuxedo from junior prom and you stink of moth balls?”

“How very literal of you, Sebastian,” he stated dryly.

“I’m being serious.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I think it’s a little my business, considering the sex we had.”

Ben started screeching again.

I could now see why Calvin was at wit’s end. I glared at the bird myself before catching the word it kept repeating. “Book.”

“What?”

I held my hand up and listened as Ben repeated the phrase before scrubbing in an agitated manner at its feathers. “Three words, I think.
Dun
,
dun
, book. Who’s the—Where’s the book?”

“How can you tell?” Calvin asked.

“You know, one sense is weak, so the others compensate,” I replied. “I’ve got excellent hearing.”

“You don’t say?” he asked. “Then which book are we talking about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exceptional detective work, Sherlock,” Calvin concluded.

“Wow, you’re such an asshole today.”

“Someone has access to your shop’s security code,” Calvin said, ignoring the comment as he raised the bag up to stress his point. “You said only you had it.”

“Okay, I lied.”

“Who else knows it, Sebastian?”

“Neil and my dad. Oh, and the crazed Edgar Allan Poe killer, of course. Did I not mention that one?” I tapped my chin thoughtfully.

Calvin dumped the bag onto his desk, turning the note over carefully by the corner. He read the scrawled message in silence. “Threats and love notes.”

“Sounds like my second boyfriend,” I joked.

“You’re a riot, Sebastian.”

“Remember to tip your waitress.”

Calvin crossed his arms and looked back at me. “What do you know about this note?”

I shrugged. “It’s a line from Poe’s poem ‘Tamerlane.’” When Calvin failed to respond, I asked, “What?”

“Is ‘Tamerlane’ a book by him too?”

“No, it’s just a poem,” I said. “Well, if memory serves me correct, he released it and a few other poems on their own and it was called
Tamerlane
, so yeah, technically you’re right.”

Calvin moved around me, went to his filing cabinet, pulled out a large folder, and flipped through the hefty contents.

“What did I say?”

“Do you know a Gregory Thompson?”

“Should I?”

“He’s a member of the antiquing community.”

“Well, it’s not like we all get together for drinks on Tuesday evenings,” I replied. “He’s in the city?”

“Marshall’s Oddities,” Calvin answered as he turned to stare at me, folder still in hand.

“Oddities. Yeah, I know that shop. I’ve met the guy once before, then.”

“And?”

I raised my hands. “And what? If I recall, he was a bit of a jerk.”

“Seems other antique shops have a problem with you.”

“Oh no, Oddities just opened. He’s new to the scene,” I said. “He gave me grief because of some deal I offered a client for whatever silly trinket they were selling. I hardly remember the details. It was early this year.”

“It seemed to me he deals in similar items as you.”

“He does. Or tries, anyway.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, my clientele is growing every year, that’s all. Take from that what you will. What does this have to do with anything?”

Calvin shut the folder and set it carefully on his desk. “Mr. Thompson claims to have received a disturbing phone call, demanding to hand over ‘Tamerlane.’”

I considered this information carefully, knowing Calvin shouldn’t have been sharing it, and I wanted to learn more. “When did he get the phone call?”

“Yesterday.”

“And?”

Calvin looked at me. “And what?”

“You think something is off about it, don’t you?”

“How did you guess?”

“I don’t know. I never received any phone call. Mike neither, right?”

Calvin shook his head. “But you both received letters in the mail. I’m trying to get records of Mr. Thompson’s phone.”

“Do you think this psycho is escalating?”

“Maybe,” Calvin admitted. “But it doesn’t seem right. He’s always kept himself hidden behind Poe’s work. His threats—
love notes
—it’s all to do with Poe. He’s never admitted to being himself, never disengaged from the writing.”

“Do you think Mr. Oddities is making it up?”

“I’ve considered it, but we’ve kept this pretty wrapped up. I don’t know how he would have gotten these details.”

“This guy seems to be striking at all of the antique shops in the city, then. Maybe—wait, did Gregory tell you exactly what the man said on the phone?”

Calvin stared at me for a moment before opening the folder again and flipping through several pages. “Where’s the book,” he read. “He said the voice was distorted and difficult to make out, sounded like there was some weeping, then it ended with the man screaming for ‘Tamerlane’ and hanging up.”

And then it hit me like a bullet train going full speed.

“Jesus,” I heard myself say. “That’s why… that’s why he went to Merriam.”

Calvin narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Merriam—I told you, she was the woman I worked with on the estate sale. Holy shit. Cal, the lot I won from the bid was for all of the antique books. He had to have known her connection with the sale and tried to pry from her who the store owners were that purchased all of the belongings.

“And the bird,” I continued, pointing at Ben. “That—
where’s the book?
Tamerlane
. He’s asking about
Tamerlane
the book. She must not have told him which antique shops bid on the books, so he’s just been harassing all of us. And Beth’s bookshop—she put in a bid and won all of the paperbacks.”

I could see Calvin’s mind running a mile a minute now. “Do you have this book in your possession?”

I shook my head. “No. Max has been cataloging the books in the shop. He hasn’t come across anything by Poe.”

“Then Beth got it.”

“No, she got romance novels.
Gay
romance novels.”

Calvin put a firm hand on my shoulder and pushed me to the door. “I need you to go.”

“What? But—”

“Sebastian, I need to get on this right now.”

“You wouldn’t have put two and two together without me.”

“I’m the cop. I appreciate your help, but let me do my job.”

“What about the message from this morning?” I pointed at his desk.

“I’ll deal with it.”

“
Calvin
.”

“Baby,
leave
.”

To say I felt slighted was an understatement. I stormed out of the precinct while putting my sunglasses on. I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked toward the end of the block, away from the parked police cruisers and uniformed officers on break.

“Snow!”

I halted from crossing the street and turned around. Lancaster was leaning against the wall of a bakery, smoking a cigarillo away from where other officers would bother her. “Detective?”

“Where you off to in such a rush?”

I shrugged lamely.

She pushed away from the wall and walked toward me. “Mind walking around the block with me?” Lancaster didn’t give me a real choice because she put a firm hand on my elbow and directed me away from the street. “I guess I should have warned you.”

“About what, ma’am?”

She snorted and put the cigarillo to her lips briefly. “Calvin. He’s in a mood today.”

“I’ll say,” I muttered.

“He works hard,” she said, and I could hear the defense in her tone. “Sometimes he forgets to sleep, gets cranky is all.”

That wasn’t all. I knew it was more, but it would be selfish to think it was about me. It was something just out of my reach of understanding.

“Sure.”

Lancaster looked up and stopped walking. She puffed out smoke, and it smelled sort of like vanilla. “I know you’re interested in him,” she said, pointing at me with the cigarillo.

“Yes, apparently I keep a sign around my neck,” I answered shortly.

Lancaster shook her head and let the attitude slide. “And I think he’s got a hang-up about you too.”

Hang-up.

Lancaster wasn’t done, just sucking on the cigarillo again. “Seeing you in Mr. Rodriguez’s shop, covered in blood, I was ready to read you your rights then and there, but Calvin said no. It’s
not
you, and he
knows
it. He’s the senior detective—he calls the shots.”

“You think I killed Mike?” I asked quietly, sort of horrified.

She paused again, blew smoke, and shook her head. “Not anymore. I’m not sure. I can’t figure you out, Snow.”

“Sebastian.”

“Quinn.”

“Pleasure,” I finished.

“Yeah, well,” Quinn continued. “This case is ready to rip open at the seams, and we can’t afford to have superiors or the media looking at the two of you.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m a discreet person.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” she replied, and I shut up.

I’ll be honest, Quinn sort of scared me. But she had an authoritative air about her like she had to fight tooth and nail for respect—polar opposite of Calvin. And I’m sure she did. She was partnered with a real-life hero, and that might have made it easy for her at times, but I hadn’t seen any other female detectives upstairs. Boys’ club.

“Don’t sniff around Calvin.”

“Does… Calvin get this same speech?” I slowly asked.

“He already did.”

I bit my tongue. She needed to give it to him again.

Quinn looked down at her cigarillo. “A police officer can’t be seen fraternizing with a person of interest. Even someone like you.”

“What does that mean? Although I’m honestly not sure I want to know.”

“I’ve only been working with Calvin for a few months,” Quinn said quietly. “And… if the situation had been different, I’d think you’d maybe be a good speed for him.”

So did she know, or was she assuming about Calvin? “Look,” I said. “I won’t lie to you. I’m gay.”

“I know.”

“Swell.”

“No straight guy stares at Calvin like you do,” Quinn said.

“Okay, well, point to you, but—”

“Calvin doesn’t have to say anything to me,” she said, finishing my thought. “If he wants to be quiet about it—and he should be—it’s for the best in our line of work. But I know.”

As if there weren’t enough red lights and sirens now telling me to back away from Calvin. The sex was fucking amazing and so was he, but it was clearly a bad idea.

I pushed my sunglasses up. “I understand.”

ELLA FITZGERALD
and Louis Armstrong were singing to my soul as I entered Exotic Animal Haven on the Upper West Side after being shoved out of the police precinct by Calvin and cornered by his rightfully concerned partner.

I lingered in the doorway, letting Ella’s beautiful voice soothe my nerves. I owned quite a bit of her work on 78 records, but hadn’t been able to play them since my antique gramophone fell into disrepair. Neil had just told me to buy a replica turntable for two hundred bucks if I liked the aesthetic look so much, but that wasn’t the point.

I didn’t want a Bluetooth, USB-enabled gramophone. I wanted
mine
. The real McCoy that had the wear and tear from use and love. The one that needed to have needles constantly replaced to keep the records in mint condition.

Antiques speak to me. It’s not just a job.

Every little item had a story, a past. The gramophone now in a closet had seen how many owners in the last century? How many different records had it spun? What was the music that moved that person? It was all just another aspect of my life that Neil hadn’t understood.

Louis was still craving her kiss when a spunky girl walked out of a side door and waved at me. “Good morning!”

“Hi,” I said, forcing a smile. “Is William Snow here?”

“Sure, but he’s actually with two dogs right now, doing behavioral lessons. Can I help you instead?”

“I’m his son.”

“Oh…. You’re Sebastian!” She pointed at the stairs that led up to where Pop most likely was. “Your dad and Maggie are the best. We have a lot of volunteers, but everyone here loves William the most.”

“I know it means a lot to him,” I agreed.

“I’m Charlotte.”

I shook her hand.

“Want to adopt a lizard?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

“Uh, not really in the market,” I said. “Actually, you
do
deal with parrots, right?”

“Sure!” she said excitedly, and I felt bad because I think she thought I would take one home.

“Can I ask you a question about African greys?”

“Oh yeah. What do you want to know?”

“Why would one pull its feathers out?”

She frowned and tapped her chin. “Sounds like a behavioral problem. If they become agitated or are uncomfortable with their environment, they could harm themselves from the stress.”

“What if one lost their owner very suddenly? Would that freak a bird out?”

“Sure. All animals have a bond with their owners. It isn’t yours, is it?”

“Er… no, a friend of mine suddenly ended up with it when the owner… died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Charlotte answered.

I glanced to the stairs when I heard dogs barking and someone laugh. “One last question? This grey can speak. Is that common?”

“Yeah, they all can learn. African greys are extremely intelligent.”

“Could they learn a word after hearing it only once or twice, though?”

She shrugged, turning to watch the first dog on a leash coming down, tugging an employee along. “They could. If they like the sound or it’s easy to mimic. We actually have a grey here, and after hearing a customer cough, it started to imitate it the next day.”

Huh
.

I thanked Charlotte just as a big pit bull hurried down the stairs. Maggie jumped on her hind legs, slobbering my face. “
Maggie
!”