We started walking again. I was sort of amused by the fact that Poe’s printer had been a man named Calvin. Here I was, on a search forTamerlanelike Poe would have been looking for someone to bring his book to realization, and in swoops a man named Calvin. Not that I wanted to be Poe. I was more than happy with my own appearance, had no desire to marry my cousin—or a woman at all, for that matter—and I’d prefer not to die under tragic, mysterious circumstances in a few years.
Calvin F. S. Thomas. If it wasn’t for you, we may not be in this mess today.
Or perhaps Poe never would have published his work at all.
Imagine a world without Edgar Allan Poe.
A more surprising, selfish thought occurred to me: I’d have never metmyCalvin.
Kate brought me to a desk that had been prepared, andTamerlanewas brought out. After I put my regular glasses on and explained my vision issues, I was allowed to look at the book with my magnifying glass.
The book was surprisingly simple. It wasn’t even a book. It was a pamphlet. Forty pages entitledTamerlane and Other Poems. The paper was fragile and discolored from all the years it could have been stored in an attic before finding the light of the literary world. It was small too. A lot smaller than I thought it would have been.
“It didn’t receive any real critical acclaim,” Kate explained. “Much of it was inspired by Lord Byron. Are you familiar with him?”
“I studied his work in college for a time.”
I was allowed to sit and read the poem of “Tamerlane,” which was an incredible experience. And my curator, Kate Bell, was something else. She had endless facts to share about both Poe and the book, which I was sucking up like a sponge.
“DETECTIVE WINTER,”Calvin said when answering his cell.
“It’s me.”
“I know.”
Was that some kind of code? I’m in public so I have to pretend this is a work-related call?
I frowned but didn’t say anything about it. “I’m just calling to say I finished at the library.”
“Where are you going now?” Calvin asked quietly. I could hear other voices in the background.
“Patty’s Diner. Some place a few blocks from the library, actually.”
“For the… brunch.”
“The brunch date,” I corrected. “Yes. Hey, for the record, the last copy ofTamerlanethat went to auction sold for over half a million dollars. That’s some serious motive right there.”
“When was this?”
“Few years ago. Twelve copies are known to exist. The curator was saying the sky’s the limit if there was a thirteenth copy found.”
“And you saw the book?”
“It’s actually a pamphlet, but yeah. Pretty amazing.”
“I need the curator’s name,” Calvin said.
“Why don’t you just ask me for what information you need?”
“You’re not a cop, Sebastian.”
“I’m aware of that,” I said sternly. “But I’m also not an idiot.”
“I never said—”
“It hasn’t been requested in a while. No one recently, for sure, so no leads there. In fact, she asked ifIwas there because of the news.”
“Fucking reporters,” Calvin muttered. “Sebastian, I appreciate the… help, but that’s not enough. I can request far more information than you. I need her name.”
