The Mystery of Nevermore

by C. S. Poe

  “To the head.”

  Something was burning.

  I looked away from the book before jumping up and running into the kitchen. So much for lunch. I wasn’t that hungry anyway. I turned off the burner and yanked open the blinds of the small kitchen window. I winced and squinted slightly, fumbling with the latch before thrusting the window up and using a potholder to guide the smoke out.

  I took a long, deep breath. What were the facts? Mike’s shop had been broken into on Sunday night, and the old curmudgeon had pointed an accusing finger at me. Tuesday morning, I found a pig’s heart rotting under the floorboards, and by Wednesday morning, Mike was found dead in his shop. Then there was the curious addition of the cat.

  I wondered what the circumstances of the break-in had been. The detectives hadn’t offered any details yesterday. Something undoubtedly strange had to have occurred, or someone as stiff-lipped as Mike Rodriguez wouldn’t have called for help. And not that I had exactly been paying close attention earlier at his store, but it didn’t appear to have been ransacked. Everything was in order, from what I could tell.

  I stuck the pot of burned soup in the sink and turned the water on.

  I was missing something.

  What did Poe have to do with this? Anything? I couldn’t have been imagining the connection to his writing—could I?

  What Mike and I had in common was pretty basic. We both owned antique shops and lived in Manhattan. That was it. I had worked for him, but that had been years ago. We weren’t friends, but hardly enemies. I was thirty-three. Mike had to be in his midfifties. I was a gay man in a committed, shitty relationship. Mike was straight and had been a long-time bachelor.

  I started scrubbing the pot and thought about calling Calvin. Maybe this was an important revelation in—whatever exactly this case was. The same person could be behind the pig heart in my shop and the untimely demise of Mike. I briefly considered that the heart could have been a warning for me.

  But about what?

  Was I going to get smashed over the head next?

  “You are not a cop,” I told myself sternly. “What happened to Mike is awful, but it’s not your job to find the guy. Stay out of it, or you’re going to get arrested.”

  That would have been enough to stop a regular person from getting caught up in a murder case. Hell, maybe under different circumstances, I would have heeded my own warning too.

  But I was angry.

  Angry at Mike, angry at Neil, angry at a lot of people.

  And my business had been tampered with.

  I felt justified.

  I wiped my hands dry on my jeans while searching for my cell. I held it close enough to read and went through previous contacts, picked out Calvin Winter’s cell, and pressed Call.

  He didn’t answer, and instead his recorded voice told me to leave a message.

  “Uh—hey. It’s Sebastian. Snow. Sebastian Snow….”

  He knows your name. Shut up and get to the point.

  “Look, I had an idea about who may have hurt Mike. It’s a bit farfetched, but if you don’t mind, give me a call back?” Halfway through the message, I began to feel like an idiot.

  I was a civilian, not a detective. My ideas weren’t going to help. The people who cracked these cases were Neil and Calvin.

  Maybe I should bounce the idea off Neil. If he planned on talking to me again.

  I realized I had been silent for an exceptionally long period. “Sorry to waste your time.” I hung up quickly.

  I CRASHED hard afterward and slept through the rest of the afternoon. I think what initially woke me was the pair of cardinals that nested in the tree outside our bedroom window. Cardinals mated for life. I had learned that one afternoon many years back, when I first moved into this apartment.

  Lucky them. I bet they got along great.

  I rolled over onto my back in bed. My eyes hurt. I’d fallen asleep with my contacts in.

  Great.

  The room was pretty dark, and the fuzzy numbers on the alarm said something like 6:DS, so I assumed Neil would be home anytime. I sat up, grabbed my glasses off the nightstand, and put them on before standing.

  I heard a kitchen cupboard open and cans being moved around. Speak of the devil.

  Opening the bedroom door, I rubbed the back of my head absently. I wondered if Calvin had grilled Neil on his morning whereabouts to confirm my alibi. When I stopped in the doorframe between the kitchen and front room, Neil turned to glare at me.

  Roger that, sir. And target appears hostile. Proceed with caution.

  “Hi, Neil,” I said, leaning against the frame and crossing my arms.

  He didn’t reply. He did slam the cupboard door shut hard enough to rattle plates inside another.

  “So—”

  “Your friend paid me a visit at work,” Neil interrupted.

  “My friend?”

  “Detective Winter,” he retorted, turning to look at me.

  “Ah-ha.”

  “Don’t ah-ha, Sebby. You told him. You fucking told him!”

  “That I had an alibi that would keep me out of jail?” I argued back. “You’re damn right I told him, Neil! And where do you get off like this? I was at a murder scene today, and you didn’t even stay to make sure I was okay!”

  “What did I say to you this morning?” Neil asked as he approached me. “I told you not to go to Mike’s. You promised, and what did you do? You got yourself involved!”

  “Technically I never promised…. Besides, I could have been hurt—!”

  “That would have been your own damn fault!”

  I was stunned speechless for a beat. No matter how angry I could have been at Neil, if he had been in trouble, I know I’d have not given one single shit about arguments in the past. What would have mattered was his health and safety.

  “You’re unbelievable,” I said.

  “Fuck you, Sebastian,” he said through clenched teeth. “You told a cop that I was gay. That’s official now! That’s in the books! Do you know how quickly it will get around? You’ve endangered my entire livelihood!”

  I threw my hands up. “Right, I forgot. This is all about you, Neil. This entire relationship from the start has been what’s best for you!”

  “Sebby—”

  “Stop calling me that! God! I hate it!”

  Neil shook his head and made to move around me in the doorway.

  I stopped him by taking a step forward. “No,” I demanded. “You’re not going to just leave the room without talking to me.” I reached out to put a hand on Neil’s chest, but he shoved me.

  Hard.

  I hit the doorframe as he barged past me. “How do you think I feel?” I called as he went toward the bedroom. “Being someone you’re ashamed of for four years. I can’t even walk too close to you in public without you getting weird.”

  “Shut up, Sebastian.”

  “I needed you today, Neil!” I followed him into the bedroom. “I was scared and could have been thrown in jail. I needed my partner, and you just left me!” I watched him shove clothes into a bag. “Where the fuck are you going?”

  “I’d rather sleep in my car than look at you right now, Seb.”

  “That’s nice. Really nice,” I snapped back. “We’re at a critical juncture in our relationship and you’re walking out.”

  “That’s right,” Neil said while looking up. “I am. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to listen to you. You’ve made me so angry, Sebastian, that—I can’t even yell because I’m beyond it.”

  “What does this say about us, Neil?”

  What was happening? Did he honestly expect to have our relationship stay a secret forever? I couldn’t live like that. The reality—having to give Neil up if he didn’t get comfortable dating me—hurt a lot.

  He wasn’t answering me, just finished filling his bag with a few more items.

  “Neil,” I said again, my voice desperate.

  He shouldered the bag and pushed me aside with it as he lef
t the room.

  I turned and followed, feeling like a pathetic puppy. “You’re really just going to walk out?”

  Silent treatment.

  “Neil, I can’t live like this,” I said, squaring my shoulders.

  He put on his jacket and boots at the door.

  “Neil! Goddamn it!” I couldn’t fight—couldn’t get my point across—if he wouldn’t even meet me halfway. “If you walk out, I’m changing the fucking locks.”

  “Piss off, Seb.” He opened the door and left.

  Chapter Five

  “YOU LOOK like shit.”

  “Thank you.”

  The Emporium was able to open the next morning, the storm having ended sometime during the night. The mayor had lifted the ban on driving, and the MTA, however briefly before the next storm, was running. With delays.

  Of course.

  Max was over an hour late getting to the shop, but frankly I didn’t mind.

  I had been sitting in my office, staring at the black computer screen when he came in.

  “It’s not meant to be interpreted as a compliment,” Max continued as he tried to fix his hair after taking his winter cap off.

  “I know, but seeing as I feel worse than shit—”

  “A tapeworm in cat crap,” Max offered helpfully.

  “Yeah, sure. Anyway. The just shit is a compliment.”

  Max turned and pointed at the counter. “I brought you a coffee.”

  I looked up with what was certain to be a pathetic smile, because Max suddenly looked so concerned. “Thanks.” I stood.

  “Neil?” he guessed. Not that it was hard.

  I wished I had some minor aggravation to complain about, like the water heater in my apartment building broke, or the college kids who lived above me had a party until four in the morning. Something. Anything. But the reality was, my super was extremely good at his job, and the kids above me were the bookish sort.

  “It’s fine,” I said while waving my hand. I eyed the four cups. “Why so many?”

  “They released new flavors,” Max explained. “Two for each of us!”

  I grabbed one of the coffees that looked like it had my name scrawled on the side and took a sip. Another sugary concoction from Starbucks, but Max loved them. He was trying to sway me in their favor, but I liked my coffee dark and bitter.

  Maybe that said something about me. I set the cup aside and reached for a piece of saltwater taffy I left in a bowl on the counter. Bitter coffee and old-man candy.

  “—Japan has the cherry blossom flavor,” Max was saying.

  “The what?”

  “Sakura, isn’t it? In spring, they have pink fraps. I want to go so I can try one.”

  “I’m sure there’s a better reason to take a trip around the world.”

  “Why would you go to Japan, then?” he asked while sipping his drink.

  “Me? In the Land of the Rising Sun? Come on. I’d be stricken blind,” I teased lightly.

  Max laughed. “What do you need done today?”

  I took a deep breath and another sip of my nutmeg-caramel-mocha-soy-whateverthehellthiswas, which did not go well with taffy, and then nodded toward the back. “We ought to go through the boxes.”

  “Finally?” he asked with a grin.

  “Spring cleaning,” I replied.

  “Little early for that,” Max remarked.

  “I need a fresh start,” I said.

  Hearing myself say that was—strange. Had I meant what I said to Neil the night before, about changing the locks? Did he understand what I had implied by that? Did I understand it in the heat of the moment?

  I guess I had.

  “Get a pair of gloves and the clipboard. Start with box one.”

  “Yup, I got it,” Max said, leaving with his coffee to do as asked.

  I fished my cell out of my pocket and raised it close to pick my dad from the contacts. I knew what he’d say about this. I didn’t even need to hear it.

  Not really.

  Maybe.

  “Dad?”

  “Hey, kiddo. Everything okay? I tried calling you yesterday.”

  “Did you?” Uh-oh.

  “Around eight.”

  I had turned my phone off after Neil left. I wanted to make a point, on the off-chance he tried to call during the evening. “Sorry, Pop. I had my phone off.”

  “What’s going on with Mike Rodriguez? A detective called me yesterday about your visit.”

  “Mike’s dead, Dad,” I said quietly, glancing up, but Max was far in the back of the shop.

  “Good lord!”

  “It’s complicated—not really why I called,” I admitted selfishly.

  “You have something that’ll top this?”

  “Well, no, but…. Neil walked out last night.”

  There was a long pause on my father’s side. So much so that I thought the call had been dropped. “Dad?”

  “Is he coming back?” he finally asked.

  I wasn’t sure and told him as much as I sat on the stool behind the counter. “I don’t know what to do, Pop.”

  “It’s your life, Seb. I can’t tell you how to live it.”

  “You could give me a few pointers,” I joked. “Shit hit the fan because I told that detective I lived with Neil. I had to. He was questioning me.”

  I heard my dad sigh. “I know why you’re torn about this, Sebastian.”

  “Do you?”

  “You’ve been together for a while. It’s… not easy having your heart broken.”

  I felt an unexpected lump form and cleared my throat. Like father, like son. My mother had walked out on my dad and me when I was about six years old. My memories of her aren’t great, but my father’s devastation? That I remembered with painful clarity.

  The shop door opened, and I heard Max go to greet the customer. I turned my back to continue the call with my dad. “Maybe we just need some time apart,” I said lamely.

  “Seb,” my dad started.

  “Sebastian?” Max called.

  “Hold on, Pop.” I turned. “What is it?”

  Max pointed. “It’s your detective.”

  “My—?” Neil?

  No.

  Calvin stepped into view from around a pillar. “Good morning.”

  My heart did a sudden jump of excitement, which was definitely not what I thought I should be feeling. “I, uh, sorry, I’ve got to go, Pop. Can I call you later?” I hastily said good-bye before hanging up and walking down the steps to meet Calvin.

  “How’s everything here?” he asked.

  I looked at Max, who got the hint and excused himself. “Fine,” I said, looking up. “Free of any ritualistic dismemberments.”

  “Good,” he said simply, as if he were expecting that as my response.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “No, but if you want to see the inside of a cell so badly, just ask,” Calvin replied.

  I was caught off guard by the smartass response.

  Then he did something I hadn’t seen yet. He smiled.

  “So you can be rendered speechless,” he stated. “I’ll be.”

  I didn’t really know how to answer. I squinted a bit to get a better read on Calvin’s expression. Despite the smile, he looked tired. Haggard, but holding it together. “Have you slept? Since yesterday?”

  He consulted his watch, like he really didn’t know what time it was. “No.”

  To my surprise I asked, “Do you want some coffee?”

  “That’d be nice.”

  I led Calvin over toward the register and picked up the second coffee Max had purchased for me. “I don’t know what crazy flavor it is,” I warned.

  “I’m not picky,” he said while taking it. “Thank you.”

  I watched him take a drink. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company,” I said casually, “but why are you here?”

  “You called me.”

  “I did?” Butt dial?

  “Yesterday.”

  “Oh. Right. I didn’t mean to
waste your time. It was a mistake.”

  “You said you may have an idea about Mr. Rodriguez’s murder. That’s not a waste of my time.”

  “Why didn’t you just call me back?”

  “I prefer these conversations happen in person.” Calvin took another sip. “So?”

  “So what?”

  He looked more tired. “What did you want to tell me?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I… had a bad night.” It could be argued that Calvin was the reason. If he hadn’t talked to Neil—but no. It was childish to pass the blame. The fact was, Neil was a thirty-seven-year-old man that was ashamed of himself.

  And me, by proxy.

  “I’m sure,” Calvin muttered.

  “What?”

  “Detective Millett.” He looked up from studying the secret language of the barista on the coffee cup. “I assume you don’t need me to say more.”

  I deflated a little. “No,” I admitted. For a beat there was no sound but that of Max using a box cutter. “Anyway. It’s kind of an out-there proposal.” I looked back up, Calvin watching and waiting in polite silence. “Do you know much about Edgar Allan Poe?”

  A flicker of something betrayed his stoic features. I wasn’t certain what it had been, but I could tell I now had his undivided interest. “He was a writer,” Calvin supplied. “Poems and short stories, essays, and criticisms. Known for his mystery and macabre. Expelled out of West Point. Married his first cousin, Virginia Clemm. He died under mysterious circumstances in Baltimore, 1849.”

  I was surprised but not really sure why. It had been sort of a rhetorical question, but Calvin knew more than I expected, which was rude because who was I to say that he wasn’t the literary sort? Or even someone intrigued by the mysterious death of a mysterious man? I was judging Calvin based off my knowledge of Neil, who wasn’t much of a reader of fiction.

  “Ah… that’s right,” I stupidly answered. “Have you read much of his work?”

  Calvin took a sip of coffee.

  “Specifically ‘The Black Cat.’”

  “I have not,” he answered.

  “A madman kills his pet black cat by tying a noose around its neck and hanging it from a tree,” I explained. “The guilt from the killing of the first cat causes the man to try to kill a second, but he ends up murdering his wife instead.”