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.Ifhe 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 CRASHEDhard 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.
