I rushed out of the kitchen, too excited to calm down. I fetched the copy of Poe’s work that I had left on the table and flipped to the poetry section. “I remember that poem pretty well,” I said while lifting a magnifying glass to the page and reading briefly. “Right, it’s in regards to Lenore, the narrator’s long lost love.”
“I know,” Calvin said again. “But I don’t know why.”
“Why that line?”
He nodded, staring at me.
I lowered the book. “Well, the narrator is sort of melodramatic. Everything around him reminds him of Lenore, specifically in that moment that she’d never rest her head on the cushion of the chair again. It’s a realization that she is truly gone.”
“Nevermore is also the name of the raven,” Calvin added thoughtfully.
“Well, yes, technically,” I agreed. “Who was the woman?”
“You mean, Lenore?”
“No.” I shut the book. “The real woman who was murdered.”
Calvin grew quiet again, but after a short pause, removed his coat and set it on the back of a chair at the table. “Merriam Byers. She worked for Northeast Unlimited Bank.”
“That name sounds so familiar,” I said, rubbing the back of my head as I thought.
“Please don’t say that. If I can connect you to two murders—”
“Wait a minute,” I said suddenly, holding a hand up. “Idoknow that name!” I looked around the apartment anxiously before opening the first box of estate books.
I could feel Calvin watching me from the table. “What?” he asked in growing curiosity.
“I’ve talked to her.”
“How the hell do you know this woman?” he grumbled. “No friends or family in common, two different career paths….”
He was still talking as I put the top box on the floor and started digging through the next. “Northeast Unlimited. I did business briefly with them a few weeks ago.”
“Sebastian.”
“What?”
“Stop and look at me.”
I looked over my shoulder. Calvin had one hand resting on his coat, the other on his hip. His dark suit hugged his gorgeous body, and the light from the kitchen made his left side shine, looking almost otherworldly.
Something angelic.
“I’m looking,” I said quietly. You’d have to pay me to turn away from such a sight.
“You bank with National Trust.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s my job to know,” Calvin replied. “Explain to me your business with this particular bank.”
“Let me show you.” I pried my gaze away, and after digging through two more boxes, found the paperwork I knew existed somewhere in that general chaos. “Here, see? I made a bid a few weeks ago at an estate sale. Northeast was the bank handling the liquidation of property, and my contact was Merriam Byers.”
Calvin reached out and accepted the folded, wrinkled records. “Do you know how this looks?” he asked.
“But I hardly even knew her, Calvin! I talked to her once or twice on the phone and met her for all of ten minutes when I went to collect the books.”
“You’re someone I can link to both victims,” Calvin said, almost apologetically.
