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“Most people aren’t on the board of the Heritage Society,” Drayton said. “Most people don’t spend their evenings reading Thackeray, Irving, Melville, Poe, Whitman, and Hemingway.”
“You’re so scholarly, Drayton.”
“Would you rather have me thumbing a cell phone and watching Ticky Tocky videos?”
“That would be TikTok, and no I wouldn’t.”
“So what are you going to do about this?” Drayton asked.
Theodosia pursed her lips. “Worry?”
“What do you think this poem is supposed to mean?” Drayton asked.
“Besides a sort of warning? I have no clue.”
“Actually,” Drayton said, “It could be a clue.”
“A clue that points to what exactly?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Great. So we’re back to square one?” Theodosia said.
“Oh no, I think we’ve hopscotched over square one and made a fair amount of progress. By the by, did you get a chance to ask Riley about Molly?”
“He said she’s not a suspect in Helene’s murder by virtue of her alibi.”
“Which was?” Drayton asked.
“It turns out that Molly was attending a pottery class over at the Arts Alliance that night.”
“Then what about the ex-fiancée, Carly? Is she working with the police as you suggested?”
“I asked Riley about that, too, and he said no. Actually, she’s still sitting pretty on his roster of suspects.”
“Then Carly should be on our roster, too. Now we just need to narrow it down.”
“Easier said than done. We’ve been trying to narrow down our suspect list all week,” Theodosia said as the front door opened and a half dozen people walked in, smiles and expectant looks on their faces.
“Then we have to try harder.”
“I agree. I don’t want justice to be an endangered species.”
Drayton held up a finger. “I have an idea percolating. But first I have to make a call.”
Theodosia seated their newly arrived guests and stopped by to chat with the ones who were already sipping tea and eating scones. Later on, when it was closer to lunchtime, they’d roll out Haley’s Saturday prix fixe menu, which today consisted of two choices. The first was a lemon scone served with mushroom soup and duck terrine on toast, and the second was a cherry scone served with fruit salad and ham-and-sweet-potato casserole.
Just as Theodosia was digging out her Tea Totalers menu for a guest who’d asked about tisanes and herbal teas, the front door opened and Lois, the cheerful owner of Antiquarian Books, walked in. She was a retired librarian with a broad, friendly face, plumpish figure, and silver-gray hair worn in a braided plait down the middle of her back. Today Lois was wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt that said commit to lit.
“Is it okay to bring Pumpkin in?” Lois looked expectantly at Theodosia as her adorable little long-haired dappled dachshund peered out from her plaid carry bag, her big puppy eyes shining like twin oil spots. “Drayton called and asked me to stop by. Said it was important. Something about a poem?”
“A poem, right,” Theodosia said, casting a glance toward Drayton, who was busy brewing pots of dragonwell and Keemun tea. Then she turned back to Lois and said, “Lois, you carry books by Edgar Allan Poe, don’t you?”
A smile crinkled across Lois’s face. “Are you kidding? I have five shelves filled with volumes by Poe. He’s one of my bestsellers. Why do you ask? Are you looking to buy one? If you’re in the market for a rare Poe book I have one that dates from 1892 published by Thomas Crowell Company, and another printed in 1900 by Donohue. The rest of my Poe books are fairly run-of-the-mill and modern.”
“Has anybody been in lately and bought a book of poetry by Poe?”
“Poetry.” Lois closed her eyes, thinking. Then she opened them and said, “Now that you mention it, yes. Maybe a day or two ago someone came in asking for one.”
