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Quaid spun around to take in the expanse of the Granville Mansion. “It’s a big house. Palatial, you might say. So, yeah, I’m bunking here for the time being.”
“With Joe Adler.”
“Yes, with Joe Adler. Because I work for him,” Quaid said. “As a personal assistant.”
“You didn’t see anybody lurking around here tonight, did you?” Theodosia asked.
Quaid turned back to her. “Why? Did something happen?”
“Nope,” Theodosia said. “I’m just being proactive. Keeping my guard up.”
Quaid’s gaze wandered back to the mansion again. “With two murders seemingly connected to the movie, I have to admit I’m a little nervous, too.” He turned around, about to say more. But Theodosia had already melted into the night.
* * *
After a brisk three-block walk, Theodosia was back inside, rereading the poem. Not liking the implication—plus the fact that someone had snuck into her backyard—she checked her doors and windows to make sure they were locked, pulled out her phone, and called Riley. When he answered on the first ring, her words tumbled out quickly, telling him all about the scary note she’d found tacked to her door.
“And you say it’s a poem?” Riley said.
“One by Edgar Allan Poe.”
“Ah, our former resident alcoholic poet. What’s the poem about?”
She told him.
When he didn’t respond immediately, Theodosia said, “I was thinking it might relate to the Poetry Tea we had this past Wednesday.”
“Do you think the killer might have been one of your guests?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But it does creep me out.”
“Do you want me to come over there?” Riley asked.
“No,” Theodosia said. Then, “Yes.”
“Okay, I’ll come over and bring my service weapon. You know how it is with us duly sworn officers. We live to protect and serve.”
“Happy to hear it. I’ll open a bottle of wine.”
Theodosia popped the cork on a bottle of California cabernet and set out two wineglasses. Decided cheese would be nice, too, so she sliced some Swiss and cheddar. She paced back and forth from her dining room to her living room, still wondering if one of her new neighbors—either Joe Adler or Quaid Barthel—had left the note in an attempt to frighten her.
Then lights flashed outside as Riley pulled up in front of her house, and Theodosia ran out to greet him.
27
“I have to show you something,” Theodosia said to Drayton. She pulled the poem out of her apron pocket and handed it to Drayton. It was early Saturday morning and only a few guests had shown up so far. Haley was busy in the kitchen, whipping eggs and baking more scones, while Beth Ann poured tea and served strawberry scones with Devonshire cream.
“What’s this?” Drayton asked as he accepted the crumpled paper.
“I found it tacked to my back door last night. When I got home from your place.”
Drayton studied the poetry stanza. “This seems fairly ominous.”
“You recognize it?”
“Absolutely. It’s by Poe. One of his later works.”
“You’re good,” Theodosia said. “Most people wouldn’t be able to identify a partial poem so easily.”
